Lady Jane Wilde
(1826-1896)
France in '93 IIIIII
The Fall of the Tyrants IIIIIIIVVVIVIIVIIIIXXXIXIIXIIIXIVXVXVIXVIIXVIII
Who Will Show Us Any Good? IIIIIIIVVVIVIIVIIIIXXXIXIIXIIIXIVXVXVIXVIIXVIIIXIXXXXXIXXIIXXIIIXIV
A Lament for the Potato
Have We Done Well For Ireland
William Carleton
The New Path IIIIIIIVVVIVIIVIIIIXXXI
O'Connell
Aspirations
The Parable of Life IIIIIIIVVVIVIIVIIIIXXXIXIIXIIIXIVXVXVIXVIIXVIIIXIXXXXXIXXII
Vanitas
Fatality IIIIIIIV
Destiny IIIIIIIVVVIVIIVIIIIXXXI
Memory
Corinne's Last Love-Song III
The Dying Christian
La Via Dolorosa
Shadows From Life IIIIIIIVVVIVIIVIIIIXXXIXIIXIIIXIVXVXVI
Sympathies with the Universal
A Remonstrance
addressed to D. Florence M'Carthy, M.R.I.A.STAND on the heights, O Poet! nor come down
Amid the wise old serpents, coiled around
The Tree of Knowledge in Academics.
The Poet's place is by the Tree of Life,
Whose fruit turns men to Gods, and makes them live,
Not seeking buried treasure in the tombs.
Leave the dim records of a by-gone age
To those great Archivists, who flash the torch
Of Truth along Time's mouldering records,
Illuminating all the fading Past,
Like golden letters on an ancient scroll.
The Poet soars with eagles, breathes pure ether,
Basks in the light that suns the mountain peak,
And sings, from spirit altitudes, such strains,
That all the toilers in life's rugged furrows
Are forced, for once, to lift the bow'd-down head,
And look on Heaven. Flashes from Poet's words
Electric light, strong, swift, and sudden, like
The clash of thunder-clouds, by which men read
God's writing legibly on human hearts.
O Poet-Prophets! God hath sent ye forth
With lips made consecrate by altar fire,
To guide the Future, not to tread the Past;
To chaunt, in glorious music, man's great hymn,
The watchword of humanity--Advance!
Advance in Wisdom, Nobleness, and Truth,
High aims, high purposes, and self-control,
Which is self-reverence, knowing we shall stand
With crownéd angels before God's great throne
The Poet nerves the arm to do great deeds,
Inspires great thoughts, flings o'er the tears of life
The rainbow arch, to save us from despair;
Quickens the stagnant energies to act,
Bears the advancing banner of the age,
Full in the van of all Humanity;
And, with a strength, God-given, rolls the stone,
As angels may, from off the Sepulchre
Where souls lie bound, bidding them rise and live.
O Poet! preach this Gospel once again--
True Life, true Liberty, God's gifts to man;
Freedom from servile aims and selfish ends,
That swathe and bind the kingly spirit down,
Like Egypt's grave-clothes on the royal dead;
Scatter the golden grain of lofty thoughts
From which spring hero-deeds--that so, in truth,
Our Future may be nobler than our Past,
In all that makes a nation's life divine--
This is the Poet's mission, therefore--THINE.
France in '93
I
HARK! the onward heavy tread--Hark! the voices rude--
'Tis the famished cry for Bread
From a wildered multitude.
They come! They come!
Point the cannon--roll the drum;
Thousands wail and weep with hunger--
Faster let your soldiers number.
Sword, and gun, and bayonet
A famished people's cries have met.
II
Hark! the onward heavy tread--Hark! the voices rude--
'Tis the famished cry for Bread
From an armed multitude.
They come! They come!
Not with meek submission's hum.
Bloody trophy they have won,
Ghastly glares it in the sun--
Gory head on lifted pike.
Ha! they weep not now, but strike.
III
Ye, the deaf ones to their cries--Ye, who scorned their agonies--
'Tis no longer prayers for bread
Shriek in your ears the famishéd;
But wildly, fiercely, peal on peal,
Resoundeth--Down with the Bastile!
Can ye tame a people now?
Try them--flatter, promise, vow,
Swear their wrongs shall be redressed--
But patience--time will do the rest;
Swear they shall one day be fed--
Hark! the People--Dead for Dead!
IV
Calculating statesmen, quail;Proud aristocrat, grow pale;
Savage sounds that deathly song:
Down with tyrants! Down with wrong!
Blindly now they wreak revenge--
How rudely do a mob avenge!
What! coronetted Prince of Peer,
Will not the base-born slavelings fear?
Sooth, their cry is somewhat stern:
Aristocrats, à la Lanterne!
Ghastly fruit their lances bear--
Noble heads with streaming hair;
Diadem and kingly crown
Strike the famine-stricken down.
Now, the People's work is done--
On they stride o'er prostrate throne;
Royal blood of King and Queen
Streameth from the guillotine;
Wildly on the people goeth,
Reaping what the noble soweth.
Little dreamed he, prince or peer,
Of who should be his heritor.
Hunger now, at last, is sated
In halls where once it wailed and waited;
Wild Justice fiercely rives the laws
Which failed to right a people's cause.
On that human ocean floweth,
Whither stops it no one knoweth--
Surge the wild waves in their strength
Against all chartered rights at length--
Throne, and King, and Noble fall;
But the People--they hold Carnival!
The Fall of the Tyrants
A Spanish Ballad, 1492I
HO! SPANIARDS! rise for Liberty--your country on ye calls,To fight to-day, in proud array, before Granáda's walls;
A proud array is here to-day, full fifty thousand strong,
Of Fantassins and Cavaliers Gonzalo leads along.
II
From Leon to Granáda--from Corunna to Sevílle,Gather, Spaniards, gather, by the banks of the Xenil!
Eight hundred years of blood and tears beneath a foreign sway--
Eight hundred years of blood and tears must be avenged to-day.
III
Think of your ancient glory, Oh ye lions of León!And how in ancient story your great lion name was won;
Think of Zamora's conquest field, and royal Douro's flood--
How ye bridged with Moslem corses, and swam it in their blood.
IV
And, mountaineers, have ye no tears to be avenged to-day--Asturians, and Gallicians, and wild dwellers by Vizcày?
Ye, the unconquered remnant of the brave old Celtic race--
For ne'er could Roman, Goth, or Moor, your nationhood efface.
V
Ye, too, proud Gothic nobles! by your memories as men,Will never fail, or shrink, or quail to meet the Saracen;
Ye, 'fore whose conquering arm were the bravest forced to yield,
Who smote the Suevi in their tent--the Romans in the field.
VI
Now, now, oh, shame and misery! a stranger rules your lands!--A stranger's spoil is your native soil--a stranger's voice commands;
Ye, princes once and chieftains, ere the false foe crossed the flood,
Now, drawers of their water and base hewers of their wood!
VII
And, Adalusian Brothers, of the old Vandalic race,Will ye alone 'midst Spaniards, be proud of your disgrace?
They flatter, fawn, but hate you, these proud foes to whom you've sold
Your Liberty for mocking smiles--your country for their gold.
VIII
They own your stately palaces, they desecrate your shrines,They trample on your vineyards, yet ye stoop to drink their wines;
Ye wear their silk, their gold, their gems, and to their feasts ye run;
Now shame for ye, my brothers, is it thus that Freedom's won?
IX
Back to your wild sierras, better die there in your homesThan cringingly bow low beneath your masters' haughty domes;
Their Syrian silks, their Indian gems, go--fling them to the Sea,
But keep their Syrian steel, for it will help to set us free.
X
Oh! by your ancient memories, rise Prince, and Peer, and Chief--Smite down the foe that wrought our woe at Gebel el Taríf.
The robber horde awaits your sword--draw, Spaniards! for your land!
The crown ye lost by Roderic, regain it by Fernand!
XI
No coward fears--eight hundred years ye've lived as slaves, not men;But swords makes bright each chartered right--ye'll have your own again.
Brave hearts and leal of proud Castile--Revenge, on Mauritania!
Rend earth and sky with your gathering cry: Charge! Cierra Espana!
XII
As tempests sweep the surging deep, thus on the Moorish ranksDashes the Spanish chivalry; they charge on van and flanks.
From Calpe's rock the thunder-shock re-echoes o'er the main--
Now, God and Santiago, for our Liberty and Spain!
XIII
Little they think of mercy, these slaves of eight hundred years;Never they spare a foeman, these bold true Iberian spears.
Crescènted hosts your taunting boasts this day find answer meet,
For the light of Heaven is darkened by the dust of your flying feet.
XIV
Granàda falls! From the Castle walls tear down the Alien's rag--On turret and Alcàzar, comrades, up with our ancient flag!
It floats from the proud Alhambra! Thank God, we've lived to see
Our ancient standard waving once again above the Free!
XV
Pass out, ye weeping people; aye, weep--for never moreShall ye gather in Granàda by the sound of Atambór;
For, by the rood, ye Moslem brood, we swore it in Castile,
Never again should Spain be ruled by foreign Alquazil.
XVI
O Moorish King! by suffering thou has earned a name to-day--But we give thee life, Abdallah; pass onwards on thy way.
Accursed race, the foul disgrace thy rule hath brought on Spain,
Is cleansed away in blood to-day--we drive thee 'cross the main.
XVII
By Elvira's gate he goeth, all solemnly and slow--One last look at Granàda, ere they pass that gate of woe.
"Oh, better far thy scimitar had laid thee with the dead,
Than weep for what thou could'st not keep"--the proud Zoràya said.
XVIII
Allah, Allah Hu Akbar! what sorrow like my sorrows?Thus he goeth weeping by the way of Alpujarras;
Allah, Allah Hu Akbar! on his tomb is written down--
The King who lost a Kingdom when great Spain regained her Crown.
Who Will Show Us Any Good?
I
BEAUTIFUL IRELAND! Who will preach to thee?Souls are waiting for lips to vow;
And outstretched hands, that fain would reach to thee,
Yearn to help, if they knew but how,
To lift the thorn-wreath off thy brow.
II
Passionate dreamers have fought and died for thee,Poets poured forth their lava song;
But dreamer and poet have failed as a guide for thee--
Still are unriven the chains of wrong.
III
Suffering Ireland! Martyr-Nation!Blind with tears thick as mountain mist;
Can none amidst all the new generation
Change them to glory, as hills sun-kissed
Flash lights of opal and amethyst?
IV
Welcome a Hero! A man to lead for us,Sifting true men from chaff and weeds;
Daring and doing as those who, indeed, for us
Proved their zeal by their life and deeds.
V
Desolate Ireland! Saddest of mothers,Waits and weeps in her island home;
But the Western Land--has she help for others
Who feeds her eagles on blood of brothers?
Not with cannon or roll of drum,
Or foreign flag can our triumph come.
VI
Why seek aid from the arm of a stranger?Trust thy sons, O Mother! for good;
Braver can none be in hours of danger,
Proudly claiming thy rights withstood.
VII
Then, Ireland! wake from thy vain despairing!Grand the uses of life may be;
Heights can be reached by heroic daring,
Crowns are won by the brave and free,
And Nations create their own destiny.
VIII
But, Time and the hour fleet fast unbidden,A turbid stream over golden sands;
And too often the gold is scattered or hidden,
While we stand by with listless hands.
IX
Then seize the least grain as it glistens and passes,Swift and sure is that river's flight:
The glory of morning the bright wave glasses,
But the gold and glory soon fade from sight,
And noon-tide splendours will change to night.
X
Ah! life is too brief for languor or quarrel,Second by second the dead drop down;
And souls, all eager to strive for the laurel,
Faint and fall ere they win the crown.
XI
Ireland rests mid the rush of progression,As a frozen ship in a frozen sea;
And the changeless stillness of life's stagnation,
Is worse than the wildest waves could be,
Rending the rocks eternally.
XII
Then, trumpet-tongued, to a people sleeping,Who will speak with magic command,
Bidding them rise--these dead men, keeping
Watch by the dead in a silent land?
XIII
Grandly, solemnly, earnestly preaching,Man's great gospel of Truth and light;
With lips like saints' in their love beseeching,
Hands as strong as a prophet's to smite
The foes to Humanity's sacred right.
XIV
Earth is thrilling with new aspirations,Rending the fetters that bar and ban;
But we alone of the Christian nations
Fall to the rear in the march of Man.
XV
Alas! can I help? but a nameless singer--Weak the words of a woman to save;
We wait the advent of some light-bringer,
Strong to roll the stone from the grave,
And summon to life the death-bound slave.
XVI
Down from heights of the Infinite drifting,Raising the prisoned soul from gloom;
Like the white angels of God uplifting
Seal and stone from the Saviour's tomb.
XVII
Yet, hear me now, for a Nation pleading;Strike! but with swords yet keener than steel;
Flash on the path the new Age is treading,
As sparks from grooves of the iron wheel,
In star-flames its onward march reveal.
XVIII
Work by the shore where our broad ocean rages,Bridging it over by wraiths of steam;
Linking two worlds by a chain that sages
Forged in the heat of a science dream.
XIX
For Nature has stamped us with brand immortal,Highway of nations our Land must be:
We hold the keys of the Old-world portal,
We guard the pass of the Western Sea--
Ireland, sole in her majesty!
XX
Work! there is work for the thinker and doer,And glory for all when the goal is won;
So we are true to our Country, or truer
Than Planets are to the central Sun.
XXI
Call from the hills our own Irish Eagle,Spread its plumes on the "The Green" of old;
With a sunrise blaze, as a mantle regal,
Turning the dust-brown wings to gold--
Symbol and flag be it then unrolled!
XXII
Face Heaven's light with as proud a daring,Tread the heights with a step as grand,
Breast the wild storm with brave hearts unfearing
As kings might do for their rightful land.
XXIII
Irish daring by land and by river,Irish wealth from mountain and mine,
Irish courage so strong to deliver,
Irish love as strong to combine
Separate chords in one strain divine;
XXIV
These are the forces of conquering power,Chains to sever, if slaves we be;
Then strike in your might, O Men of the hour!
And Ireland springs on the path of the free!
A Lament for the potato
A.D. 1739.(From the Irish)
THERE is woe, there is clamour, in our desolated land,
And wailing lamentation from a famine-stricken band;
And weeping are the multitudes in sorrow and despair,
For the green fields of Munster lying desolate and bare.
Woe for Lorc's* ancient kingdom, sunk in slavery and grief;
Plundered, ruined, are our gentry, our people, and their Chief;
For the harvest lieth scattered, more worth to us than gold,
All the kindly food that nourished both the young and the old.
Well I mind me of the cosherings, where princes might dine,
And we drank until nightfall the best seven sorts of wine;
Yet was ever the Potato our old, familiar dish,
And the best of all sauces with the beeves and the fish.
But the harp now is silent, no one careth for the sound;
No flowers, no sweet honey, and no beauty can be found;
Not a bird its music thrilling through the leaves of the wood,
Nought but weeping and hands wringing in despair for our food.
And the Heavens, all in darkness, seem lamenting our doom,
No brightness in the sunlight, not a ray to pierce the gloom;
The cataract comes rushing with a fearful deepened roar,
And ocean bursts its boundaries, dashing wildly on the shore.
Yet, in misery and want, we have one protecting man,
Kindly Barry, of Fitzstephen's old hospitable clan;
By mount and river working deeds of charity and grace:
Blessings ever on our champion, best hero of his race!
Save us, God! In Thy mercy bend to hear the people's cry,
From the famine-stricken fields, rising bitterly on high;
Let the mourning and the clamour cease in Lorc's ancient land,
And shield us in the death-hour by Thy strong, protecting hand!
Have We Done Well for Ireland?
O COUNTRY, writhing in thy chainWith fierce, wild efforts to be free,
Not seeing that with every strain
The bonds close firmer over thee;
Or grasping blindly in thy hate
The temple pillars of the State,
To hurl them down on friend and foe,
Crushed in one common overthrow--
Can none of all thy Poet band
Preach nobler aims, loved Ireland?
As David drove with magic chords
The Evil Spirit back to night;
As Moses by his mighty words
Led Egypt's bondmen up to light;
Hast thou no Poet, strong to calm
Thy troubled soul with holy psalm?
Or trusted Chief, who, safely on
Across the fatal Rubicon,
Could lead thee with pure heart and hand
To Freedom--my own Ireland?
By those doomed men, in dull despair
Slow wasting in a dungeon's gloom;
By all youth's fiery heart can dare
Quenched in the prison's living tomb--
By the corroding felon chain,
That tortures with Promethean pain
Of vultures gnawing at the core
Of their lost lives for evermore--
I ask you, People of our Land,
Have ye done well for Ireland?
By History traced on dungeon walls,
By scaffolds, chains, and exiles' tears,
Slow marking, as the shadow falls,
The mournful sequence of the years;
By genius crushed and progress barred,
By noble aspirations marred,
Till with a smouldering fire's life
They burn in deadly hate and strife--
I ask you, Rulers of our Land,
Have ye done well for Ireland?
O Men! these men are brothers too,
Tho' frenzied by a fatal dream,
Their living souls were meant to do
Some noble work in God's great scheme,
Perchance to hew down, branch and root,
The tree that bore such bitter fruit;
But, left unguided in the Right,
They grope out blindly in the night
Of their dark passions; striking down
Their Country's proud hopes with their own.
But now, ye say, the Land hath rest--
Aye, with the death weights on her eyes;
And fettered arms across her breast,
And mail'd hands stifling down her cries.
So rests a corpse within the grave
O'er which the charnal grasses wave.
Oh, better far some kindly word
To stay the vengeance-lifted sword,
Or Love, with queenly, outstretched hand,
To soothe thee--fated Ireland!
William Carleton
died, January 30th, 1869OUR land has lost a glory! Never more,
Tho' years roll on, can Ireland hope to see
Another Carleton, cradled in the lore
Of our loved Country's rich humanity.
The weird traditions, the old, plaintive strain,
The murmured legends of a vengeful past,
When a down-trodden people stove in vain
To rend the fetters centuries made fast;
These, with the song and dance and tender tale,
Linked to our ancient music, have swept on
And died in far-off echoes, like the wail
Of Israel's broken Harps in Babylon.
No hand like his can wake them now, for he
Sprang from amidst the people: bathed his soul
In their strong passions, stormy as the sea,
And wild as skies before the thunder-roll.
Yet, was he gentle; with divinest art
And tears that shook his nature over much,
He struck the key-note of a people's heart,
And all the nation answered to his touch,
Even as he swayed them, giving smiles for gloom,
And childlike tenderness for hate that kills--
As rain clouds threat'ning with a weight of doom
Flash sudden, silver light upon the hills.
But, he had faults--men said. Oh, fling them back,
These cold deductions, marring praise with blame;
When earthquakes rend the rocks they leave a track
For central fires issuing forth in flame;
And by the passionate heat of gifted minds
The ruddest stones are crystallised to gems
Of glorious worth, such as a poet binds
Upon his brow, right royal diadems!
Like the great image of the Monarch's dream,
Genius lifts up on high the head of gold,
And cleaves with iron limbs Time's mighty stream,
Tho' all too deep the feet may press earth's mould.
Yet, by his gifts made dedicate to God
In noblest teachings of each gentle grace,
Through every land that Irishmen have trod
We claim for him the homage of our race.
With pen of light he drew great pictures when
Nothing but scorn was ours; and without fear
He flung them down before the face of men,
Saying, in words the whole world paused to hear:
So brave, so pure, so noble, grand, and true
Is this, our Irish People. Thus he gave
His fame to build our glory, and undo
The taunts of ages,--strong to lift and save
So, with a nation's gratitude we vow
In every Irish heart a shrine shall be
To The Great Peasant, on whose deathless brow
Rests the star-crown of immortality.
The kings of mind, unlike the kings of earth,
Can bear their honours with them to illume
The grave's dark vault; so Carleton passes forth,
As through triumphal arches, to the tomb!
The New Path
I
WE stand in the light of a dawning day,With its glory creation flushing;
And the life-currents up from the pris'ning clay
Through the world's great heart are rushing.
While from peak to peak of the spirit land
A voice unto voice is calling:
The night is over, the day is at hand,
And the fetters of earth are falling!
II
Yet, faces are pale with a mystic fearOf the strife and trouble looming;
And we feel that mighty changes are near,
Tho' the Lord delayeth his coming.
For the rent flags hang from each broken mast,
And down in the ocean's surges
The shattered wreck of a foundering Past
Sinks mid the night wind's dirges.
III
But the world goes thundering on to the light,Unheeding our vain presages;
And nations are cleaving a path to Right
Through the mouldering dust of ages.
Are we, then, to rest in a chill despair,
Unmoved by these new elations;
Nor carry the flag of our Island fair
In the onward march of nations?
IV
Shall our hands be folded in slumber, whenThe bonds and the chains are shattered;
As stony and still as enchanted men,
In a cave of darkness fettered?
The cave may be dark, but we'll flash bright gleams
Of the morning's radiance on it,
And tread the New Path, tho' the noontide beams,
As yet, fall faintly upon it.
V
For souls are around us, with gifts divine,Unknown and neglected dying;
Like the precious ore in a hidden mine,
Unworked and as useless lying.
We summon them forth to the banded war,
The sword of the Spirit using,
To come with their forces from near and far,
New strength with our strength infusing.
VI
Let each bear a torch with the foremost bands,Through the Future's dark outgoing;
Or stand by the helm, mid the shoals and sands
Of the river of life fast flowing.
Or as guides on the hills, with a bugle note,
Let us warn the mountain ranger
Of the chasms that cross and the mists that float
O'er his upward path of danger.
VII
For the chasms are deep, and the river is strong,And the tempest is wildly waking;
We have need of brave hands to guide us along
The path which the Age is taking.
With our gold and pearls let us build the State;
Faith, courage, and tender pity
Are the gems that shine on the golden gate
Of the Angels' Heavenly city.
VIII
O People! so richly endowed with allThe splendours of spirit power,
With the poet's gift and the minstrel-soul,
And the orator's glorious dower;
Are hearts not amongst us, or lips to vow,
With patriot fervour breathing,
To crown with their lustre no alien brow
While the thorn our own is wreathing.
IX
Ev'n lovelier gifts on our lowly poor,Kind Nature lavishly showers,
As the gold rain falls on the cottage door,
Of the glowing laburnam flowers;
The deathless love for their Country and God
Undimmed through the ages keeping,
Tho' the fairest harvests that grew on our sod
Were left for the stangers' reaping.
X
The gentle grace that to commonest wordsGives a rare and tender beauty;
With the zeal that would face a thousand swords
For their Country, home and duty.
Still breathing the prayer for their Motherland
Her wrongs and her sorrows taught them;
Tho' the scaffold's doom, or the felon-brand,
Were the only gifts she brought them.
XI
But we, let us bring her--as eastern kings,At the foot of Christ low kneeling--
The gold that symbols our costliest things,
And myrrh for the spirit's healing
Oh, Brothers! be with us, our aim is high,
The highest of man's vocation:
With these priceless jewels, that round us lie,
To build up a noble Nation.
O'Connell
HIBERNÆ LIBERATOR AD LIMINA APOSTOLORUM PERGENS GENOÆOBDORMIVIT
CROWNED with a liberated people's love,
Crowned by the Nations with eternal fame,
His great heart burning still with patriot-fire,
Tho' Death's pale shadow rested on his brow,
Forth went the mighty Chief from his loved Land,
'Mid the hushed reverence paid to dying Kings,
On his last pilgrimage; yearning to find rest
For the o'erwearied hero-heart and brain,
After great trials pass'd and triumphs won,
Within the Temple-City of the World.
But, faint with combats of a glorious life,
Tho' Freedom's hymns still murmured on his lips,
And his dim eyes still tracked the western Sun
Would rise on Ireland, but no more for him,
Seeking the gates of God's great Church on earth,
He found the gates of Heaven, and entered in
There Angels met him with the conqueror's Palm,
And passing from the portal to the Throne,
Circled with golden glitter of their wings,
God crowned him Victor for his work well done!
Aspirations
OH! for pinions to bear me sunward,Ever and ever higher and onward;
With a glance of pride, and a wing of might,
Cleaving a path through the starry skies,
As the soul of a poet that heavenward flies,
Daring the depths of the Infinite.
Soaring and singing, still upward aspire,
Trailing a path through the crimson fire,
Bathing in oceans of purple and gold,
Treading the glory that men behold,
Like far-off fields of Elysian light,
Where angels walk in radiance bright;
And never to rest till the goal is won,
And I furl my wings at the blazing sun--
I alone, the Conquering One!
Then, said Love, I will lend thee mine;
And with strange enchantments, and many a sign,
He bound on me the wings divine.
Onward, onward--higher, higher,
Seemed to bear me those wings of fire;
Over the earth, the clouds, the moon,
Till the portals of Heaven glittered soon.
But, ah! too near the Sun of Truth
I passed, in the vain, proud spirit of youth;
And Love's cement could not, tho' strong,
Retain the glowing pinions on;
And they fell from my heart, and left it bare;
And so I sank down weeping there,
Into the fathomless sea of despair.
Long I lay in depth of dole,
Till a Voice like a trumpet stirred my soul:
My wings, it said, will bear thee far,
Over yon highest glittering star.
Glorious thoughts of high emprize,
These will lift thee to the skies,
Where the goal of glory lies.
Trust thy own undaunted will,
Let ambition's spirit fill
All thy being, till no height
Seems too distant or too bright,
Through the stars of upper air,
For a soul like thine to dare.
Then upon my spirit came
Flooding glory, like a flame;
And I soared away from the mountain height,
Filled with a strange and mad delight:
Away, away, over march and fen,
Over the heads of my fellow-men;
Hearing their choral praises rise,
As I soared away through the pathless skies,
In ever-echoing symphonies.
But never a rest till I reached the star
Ambition had pointed out afar;
Alas! I knew not the dazzling ray
Of its glory was made for no mortal sight--
And I sank back dazed with excess of light.
Still the proud wings bore me on,
I knew not whether, my sight was gone;
But I heard the tempest raging round,
And the rolling thunder's terrible sound,
As if all fierce passions were unbound.
And the wings Ambition had tied so fast,
Were rent from my soul by the tempest blast;
And down I sank to earth again,
Like the dead eagle on the plain,
By the blasting lightning slain.
Then I heard a low Voice near,
Murmuring softly in my ear:--
Shall I give thee wings of power,
Wings that will thy spirit dower,
With a strength that, angel-wise,
Up will waft thee to the skies?
Passing, unscathed, the Sun of Truth,
Fatal to wings of Love in sooth;
Past the false but glittering light,
Whose glory dimm'd thy mortal sight;
On, through the trackless firmament,
Where the wings Ambition lent,
By the stormy winds were rent.
Onward still, and ever higher,
Past the solar central fire,
Past the hymning angel choir;
Till thou standest at the Throne
Of the great Eternal One.
Ever more to dwell on high,
Breathing like a harmony,
Through the unnumber'd worlds that lie
Far in yon blue Infinity--
Wilt thou have these wings of mine?
Murmured that low Voice divine.
Yet my touch is cold and chill,
Horror through thy heart would thrill,
Pale dismay thy bosom fill,
Could'st thou see me face to face.
Never one of human race
Could that dreadful sight behold;
Mortal lips have never told,
All the terrors that abide,
All the gloom, yet kingly pride,
In the pale form at thy side.
Ha! the cold sweat on thy brow,
As I bind them on thee now:
Canst thou bear the touch of pain,
For the glory thou shalt gain?
Then I asked, with faltering breath
Thy name, dread Spirit? and he saith--
I who give these wings am Death!
The Parable of Life
I
HE treads alone the burning sandOf the fiery desert plain;
No human heart is near to love,
No human hands sustain.
There are spirits dread in that region wild,
And they howl in the desert blast;
There are spirits lost, who wail and weep
As viewless they hurry past.
II
There are forms that man never looked upon,Nor mortal eye could bear--
The terrible sight of an angel's brow,
On which is stamped despair.
No lofty palm-tree casts a shade,
Gusheth no silvery well,
Where the stately Giraffe stoops down to drink,
Or cometh the soft Gazelle.
III
For the desert islands of waving greenAre far, oh! far away;
And never a spot can the wanderer find
To rest from the noontide ray.
Oh! weary, weary, the changeless, waste,
Of that burning desert sand;
Oh! weary, weary, the changeless sky,
Of that blasted fiery land!
IV
Weary to listen, with straining sense,For the step or the voice of man;
To watch in despair, till the sun goes down,
For the wandering caravan.
But the sun goes down, and the white stars rise,
And never a sound is heard,
Save the roar of the Lion, the Panther's howl,
Or the scream of the carrion bird.
V
Still on the pale young wanderer goes--On, without fear or dread,
The hot sand burning beneath his feet,
The hot sun above his head:
On, tho' never his fevered lips
Have been cooled in the desert springs;
For the soul that is filled with the Spirit of God,
Recks little of earthly things.
VI
On, tho' never the bending fruitOf the palm-tree meets his hand;
No food, no rest, no shelter for him
In all that terrible land.
And the powers of Hell seem gathering round
That frail and gentle form,
But, sublime in the strength of faith, he stands
Unmoved, amid the storm.
VII
The spirit is strong, but the flesh is weak,He hath borne what a mortal can;
And down on the desolate waste he sinks,
A fainting, dying man.
Now the hot samiri approaches fast,
The desert wind of dread;
Glaring upon the horizon's verge,
Like a pillar fiery red.
VIII
Onward it comes in its lurid light,Like a giant form of death,
Blasting the earth, and air, and sky,
With its scorching, deadly breath.
The sands rise high as the billows at sea,
Raging when tempest-tossed:
Ah! the fiery column has reached him now--
Pale wanderer--thou art lost!
IX
It drinks the blood from his youthful cheek,It burns up the life within;
And fiercely around him it dashes and whirls,
With a wild, unearthly din.
Then he seems to hear a silvery flow,
Soft gushing, like Paradise streams;
For of such whom the desert kills, it is said,
These are the dying dreams.
X
And he lifts his head from the burning waste;But in place of the silvery fall,
He sees but that lurid, fiery cloud
Encircling him as a pall.
Nearer and nearer it gathers round,
Stifling the half-breathed prayer,
And the fainting hands drop weary down,
That were lifted in mute despair.
XI
There's an hour of dread for human souls,When help there seemeth none,
And the powers of Hell rage fierce around
The God-forsaken one;
'Tis the hour of dread, when souls are tired,
And angels are bending down,
Watching each one that resisteth to death,
To weave for him the crown.
XII
But an hour more dark, a trial more dread,That Weary-one hath known;
For now he must fight the Lord of Hell,
In the desolate waste alone.
Oh! the burning breath of the fiery wind,
Hunger, and thirst, and woe--
What are they all to that strange, lone strife
With man's dark Demon-foe?
XIII
What terrible form the Tempter chose.Saw never a mortal eye--
Did he come in the flame, or the thunder-cloud,
Or flash as the lightning by?
Was his blasted brow as the midnight black,
Or wreathed with a lurid light,
Like the livid rays that play on the ice
In the gloom of a polar night?
XIV
None can tell; but the subtle wordsHe poured in the wanderer's ears,
Are echoed to us from that desert wild,
Through the long, long course of years.
And ages many have shadowed the earth
Since human woes began,
Yet still, with the self-same words and lures,
He tempteth the sons of man.
XV
Woe, woe to the suffering soul, unlessSustained, O God, by Thee,
Who hears in its anguish the Tempter's words--
"Fall down, and worship me."
Woe to the soul that ascends the mount
Of pomp, and power, and pride,
With the glories of earth within his reach,
And the Demon at his side.
XVI
But Christ, with His meek and holy brow,Shuns not the deadly strife;
For His soul is strong in the armour of faith,
And His sword is the Word of Life.
The soul is strong, tho' the human frame
May faint 'neath the chastening rod;
And the Demon-foe recognises there
The mortal and the God.
XVII
With the radiant light of a stainless soul,As a crown upon His brow,
How He forces the trembling Chief of Hell
To bend in homage low.
Thus, with His foot on the serpent's head,
He stands a triumphant king;
But the serpent fangs that have pierced His heel,
Sorrow and Death must bring.
XVIII
How glorious now is that frail, weak form,Strong in the spirit within,
Standing alone in the desert of life,
Conquering Hell and Sin.
And we must tread the desert too,
Where want and woe assail;
We must war, like Christ, with the Prince of Hell,
We--human, weak, and frail.
XIX
The Tempter will come in those moments of life,When the soul is dark with fears,
And we sit by the empty urn of joy,
Filling it with our tears;
When those we love, as shadows pass,
And we tread life's desert lone,
Without hope in heaven, or love upon earth,
Wearily ever on.
XX
It is then he will lead us to doubt upon God,Doubt in His love for us;
And the murmuring soul he will tempt to ask--
"Why must I suffer thus?"
And pleasure and power will seem so near,
If we but kneel to him--
O God, keep from us the Tempter far,
When faith is burning dim!
XXI
O Christ, who hast known the Tempter's strength,Bend from Thy throne of light;
Aid in the terrible strife with Hell,
Aid with Thy power and might.
Teach us to fight as Thou hast fought;
To conquer as Thou hast done;
That angels may bring from the starry skies
The plan for the conquering one.
XXII
For never yet was the Tempter foiledBy the might of Jehovah's name,
But holy joys in the sufferer's heart.
Like blessed angels came.
And the terrible strife, and the desert drear,
Will pass like earthly things;
But the soul that has conquered will rest in peace,
'Neath angels' shadowing wings.
Vanitas
THE glory of Life is fleeting;Its splendour passeth away,
As the tints and odours meeting
In the flowers we twined to-day.
How brightly, in varied light,
They reflected the morning sun;
But the chilling dews of the night
Withered them one by one.
So the stream of Existence floweth
O'er the golden sands of youth,
In the light of a joy that gloweth
From the depths of its love and truth.
But heavy, and cold, and fast,
The gathering clouds uprise,
Eclipsing the light, which cast
On the waters a thousand dyes.
And onward, in sullen endeavour,
Like a stream in a sunless cave,
It floweth in darkness ever:
Yet--could we thus reach the grave!
But we wake to a sorrow deeper--
The knowledge of all we have lost;
And the light grows fainter and weaker
As we're borne from youth's sunny coast.
Yet onward with drifting motion,
Still farther from life and light;
Around us a desert Ocean--
Above us eternal Night.
Fatality
From the GermanI
ONE glance from thy dark eyes is all I pray for,One word from thy lips breathed on mine,
One clasp of thy dear hand as a last favour--
Then go--I'll never more repine.
II
Yet, thoughts of thee will dim my eyes with weeping,In the noon-day's glorious light,
And dreams of thee will haunt my troubled sleeping,
'Neath the shadows of the night.
III
A fatal gulf for ever lies between us,I know we dare not speak of love,
Yet angels, purest angels, had they seen us,
Might well have pardoned from above.
IV
The future is too dark for my sad seeing;I gaze, but, weeping, turn away--
No hope, alas! of our ever being
Less sad than we are here this day.
Destiny
I
THERE was a star that lit my life--It hath set to rise no more,
For Heaven, in mercy, withdrew the light
I fain would have knelt before.
II
There was a flower I pluck'd in my dreams,Fragrant and fair to see;
Oh, would I had never awoke and found
Such bloom not here for me.
III
There was a harp, whose magic tone,Echoed my faintest words--
But Destiny's hand, with a ruthless touch,
Hath rent the golden chords.
IV
There was a path like Eden's vale,In which I was spell'd to stray,
But Destiny rose with a flaming sword
To guard that path alway.
V
I've looked on eyes were like the star--Their light is quench'd for me;
And a soul I have known like the golden harp
That breath'd but melody.
VI
And moments bright as that dream-landWhere bloomed the radiant flower.
Oh! would I had died ere I felt the gloom
Of this dark, joyless hour.
VII
Fatal the time I rais'd mine eyesTo eyes whose light hath blasted--
Yet ere I could turn from their glance away,
Life had with gazing wasted.
VIII
Bitter the thought that years may pass--Yet thus it must be ever,
To look on thy form, to hear thy voice--
But nearer--never, never.
IX
Could I but love as I love the stars,Or the gush of the twilight breeze,
Or the pale light of the wandering moon
Glancing through forest trees;
X
With a sinless, calm, untroubled love,Look upwards and adore--
Could I but thus gaze life away,
Without the wish to soar.
XI
In vain! in vain! I hope, I weep,I kneel the long nights in prayer--
Oh! better to die in the noon of life,
Than love, and yet despair.
Memory
"Nessun maggior doloreChe ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria."--Dante.
WHEN the gloom the light appalleth--
When no tear-dew ever falleth
Downward silently--
When the tired heart, from languor
Of Life's poor unmeaning clangour,
Droopeth wearily--
When the day, in its uprising,
Bringeth nought that's worth the prizing,
And the night, all dark and lonely,
No star showeth, but clouds only--
I think of thee.
Pleasures past, a ghastly vision--
Words and looks but now tradition
That thought brings;
Holy Kalends of past meetings
Rise again, with quick heart-beatings,
On spirit wings.
For a moment seems the vision
A reality Elysian
As the joy before the Fall;
While I gaze the brightness waneth,
Passeth, fadeth--what remaineth?
Ashes all!
Corinne's Last Love-song
I
HOW beautiful, how beautiful you streamed upon my sight,In glory and in grandeur, as a gorgeous sunset-light!
How softly, soul-subduing, fell your words upon mine ear,
Like low aerial music when some angel hovers near!
What tremulous, faint ecstacy to clasp your hand in mine,
Till the darkness fell upon me of a glory too divine!
The air around grew languid with our intermingled breath,
And in your beauty's shadow I sank motionless as death.
I saw you not, I heard not, for a mist was on my brain--
I only felt that life could give no joy like that again.
II
And this was Love--I knew it not, but blindly floated on,And now I'm on the ocean waste, dark, desolate, alone;
The waves are raging round me--I'm reckless where they guide;
No hope is left to light me, no strength to stem the tide.
As a leaf along the torrent, a cloud across the sky,
As dust upon the whirlwind, so my life is drifting by.
The dream that drank the meteor's light--the form from Heav'n has flown--
The vision and the glory, they are passing--they are gone.
Oh! love is frantic agony, and life one throb of pain;
Yet I would bear its darkest woes to dream that dream again.
The Dying Christian
BY the streams of living water,Rest, my daughter.
Soul, I would not stay thy flight;
Jesus waiteth at the portal--
See, poor mortal,
Open stand the doors of light.
Let me go, life's tempest braven,
To the haven;
There, beside the Saviour's throne,
Where the choir of seraph voices
Now rejoices
In eternal jubal-tone.
By thy earthly Virgin Mother--
Saviour, Brother,
Thou hast known the gloom of death;
Through its shadows now I wander,
Angels yonder,
Keep me even as Jesus saith!
Now I see the distant glory--
Life's poor story
Ends, as it began, in pain.
Earthly form, doth it grieve me
Thus to leave thee?
No, for Christians die to reign.
What availeth life's brief sorrow?
Ere the morrow
Christ will change to smiles my sighs;
Dreaming, pass we through death's portal--
Then, immortal,
Waken up in Paradise.
Soul-Redeemer, by Thy power,
In this hour,
Keep faith's light from burning dim;
I am strong when Thou art near me--
Saviour, hear me!
Guard me with Thy Cherubim.
Thou the martyr's crown hath borne,
Shame and scorn,
All to save my soul from sin;
Thou the hosts of death assailest,
Sinner frailest
Through Thee rises conquering.
Prince of Life! my soul's endeavour,
Now and ever,
Be to sing Thy glorious love;
Death is conquered! Thou hast given
Peace from heaven--
Soon I'll chant Thy praise above!
La Via Dolorosa
I WANDER here, I wander there,Through the desert of life, all wearily;
No joy on earth for the pilgrim soul--
On, on for ever drearily;
O'er the mountain height,
In the tempest night,
Through the mist and the gloom,
We press on to the tomb,
While the death-like pall of a midnight sky
Hangs over past and futurity.
And the echo of wandering feet I hear,
And human voices and hearts are near;
But lonely, lonely each one goeth
On his dark path, and little knoweth
Of love, kind words, or sympathy.
Oh! fain would I lay me down and die;
For the upward glance of a tearful eye,
Is all I have known of humanity.
Yet must I on, tho' darker and drearer
And lonelier ever the pathway seems,
And the spectral shadow of death draws nearer,
And rare and faint are the sun-light gleams;
An unseen power impelleth us on--
No pause, no rest for the weary one,
Till we reach the shores of that fathomless sea
Where Time poureth down to Eternity.
Shadows From Life
"Che bella es el sognar aunque es mentira!"I
VAIN the love that looketh upward; we may worship, may adore;From the heart's o'erflowing chalice all the tide of feeling pour;
Dash our souls against the barriers that divide us from the shrine;
Fling the incense; pour libations--aye, of life's own ruddy wine;
But, the angel we gaze up to, calm as form of pictured saint,
From its golden mist of glory bendeth never to our plaint;
Heedeth not if crushed the temple where the altar fires burned,
For the doom runs through the ages--Love was never yet returned.
II
Thus it was he loved a lady: never priest in IspahànSo adored when mount and ocean morning's flashing glories span.
Never sun-god in its glory, marching stately from the east,
Crimson-robed and cloud-attended, heeded less the praying priest,
Than the lady that pale lover, while her lonely path she took
O'er the spirit's glittering summits, with her proud and queenly look;
Like that Roman Sybil bearing in her hands the mystic scroll,
And her large eyes looking onward where the future ages roll.
III
So, in lone and lofty beauty, she stood high above the world,Never heeding, dashing neathward, how life's stormy billows curled;
As a pine upon the mountain, warring tempests raging round,
As an island peak of ocean, with the starry midnight crowned.
How could she who trod the pathway of the spirit's starry zones
Stoop to listen, bending earthward, to a lover's murmuring tones?--
While her ear was gathering music from Creation's golden chords,
List the human tears low falling, with the pleading human words?
IV
And could he, who tracked the eagle borne on through cloud and light,With her glorious regnant beauty filling soul and sense and sight,
Stoop to gaze on me, half-blasted by fierce Passion's fiery skies,
Only Love, the love of woman, burning strangely in my eyes?
Oh! I've watched his glance dilating, as it rested where afar
Rose her lofty brow, as riseth the pale glory of a star;
Heard the world's praise hymning round her, saw his cheek of flushing pride,
Whilst I, writhing in heart-agony, all calmly sat beside.
V
No rays of genius crowning, such as brows like hers enrol,With no flashing thoughts, like North-lights, rushing up my darkened soul;
Waking but his earnest feelings with, perchance, my graver words,
While her spirit, like a tempest, swept the range of Passion's chords.
Oh, Woman! calmest sufferer! what deep agony oft lies
In thy low, false-hearted laughter, glancing bright through tearless eyes!
And how little deemed he truly that the calmest eyes he met
Were but Joy's funereal torches, on Life's ruined altar set.
VI
How could I light up his nature, with no glory in my own?Soul like his, that throbbed and glittered in the radiance of her throne.
Bitter came the words of plaining:--Why should fate to me deny
All the beauty of the mortal, all the soul to deify?
What had she done, then, for Heaven, so that Heaven should confer
Every gift, to make man prostrate at her feet as worshipper?
Raised her high enough to scorn him--aye, to trample in disdain
On the heart flung down before her--heart that I had died to gain!
VII
Trod his love down calmly, queenly, like a mantle 'neath her feet,While with lordly spirit-monarchs she moved proudly to her seat,
Grand as eagle in the zenith, with the noonday radiance crowned--
Lone and icy as an Alp-peak, with the circling glaciers round.
But an echo of all beauty through her fine-toned spirit rang,
As a golden harp re-echoes to each passing music clang,
Till in thrilling, clear vibrations rang her poet-words in air,
Summoning souls to lofty duties, as an Angelus to prayer.
VIII
Oh! she flung abroad her fancies, free as waves dash off the foam--As the palm-tree flings its branches on the blue of Heaven's dome,
With a genius-shadow dark'ning in the stillness of her eyes--
With her rainbow-spirit arching half the circle of the skies,
Like a dark-browed Miriam chanting songs of triumph on the foe,
As the rushing waters bore them to the Hades halls below,
Till up through the startled ether, down the far horizon's rim,
Clashed the swords of men in music to her lofty prophet-hymn.
IX
But no beauty thrill'd my nature, noon, or night or sunset skies;For the only heaven I gazed on was the heaven of his eyes--
I'd have bartered Freedom, Justice, People's rights, or native Land,
All the island homes of Ocean, for one pressure of his hand;
Trembling, weak, a coward spirit, only wishing low to lie,
As a flower beneath his footstep, breathe my life out, and so die.
Yet he liked me--aye, he liked me--'twas the phrase--O saints above!
Cold and cruel sounds this liking from the lips of one we love.
X
They said that he was dying; could I longer silence keeping,Only pour forth my deep passion in my chamber lonely weeping?
I reck'd not if 'twere womanly, cold convention little heeding,
But in mine his hand enfolding, said, with tearful raised eyes pleading--
"She hath left you, left you lonely--sorrow's harvest death may reap;
I say not--love me; let me only watch here by you and weep!"
Then he said, his pale brow raising, with a faint, unquiet smile,
And with saddest eyes upgazing upon mine for all the while--
XI
"Sweetest friend, this sorrow-blighted, faded form, and searéd heart,To pale death, I fear, are plighted, yet 'twere bitter now to part;
For the chords of life are shaken by a sympathy so true,
And they tremble, in vibration, with a pleasure strange and new.
Still, no love-dream may be cherished--ah! the time of love is o'er--
Youthful heart, by passion blighted, can be kindled never more;
But if sympathy thou darest with a heart so wrecked as mine,
I will give thee back the rarest kindred souls can inter twine."
XII
And so bending coldly, gently, on my brow he placed his lips;While, I trembling in the shadow of that faint and brief eclipse,
Murmur'd:--"Tell me, tell me truly, do you love her then so well?"
And the hot tears, all unruly, through my twinèd fingers fell,
And I sank down there unheeding so of maidenhood or wrong,
While I told him, weeping, pleading, how I'd loved him, loved him long;
Seen my hopes all faded, perished, spread around in pale dismay,
Wept their pallid corses over--I alone, like Niobe!
XIII
Thank God, that no cruel scorning dimm'd his starry eyes divine,Softly, tender, earnest gazing down the tearful depths of mine--
But with warmest splendours resting on the paleness of his cheek,
As the roseate tinted sunset on a snowy Alpine peak,
Bent he down upon my shoulder, murmuring loverlike and low,
While his breathing softly trembled on my pale lips lying so:--
"Ah! such deep and tender loving hath recall'd me from the grave--
And this heart with soft approving bids you keep the life you gave;
XIV
"Woman's soothing grief to lighten hath a mystic healing power,And their sympathy can brighten man's most dark and destined hour.
Let the holy words be spoken that bind soul to soul for life;
Let me place the symbol token on this hand--my wedded wife!"
Oh! never yet did an angel breathe diviner words of bliss,
Never mortal heard evangel of a joy like unto this;
In my gladness, smiling, weeping, knelt I down before him there,
Blessing God with wild words leaping from my full heart's inward prayer;
XV
And a glory, ruddy, golden-hued, streamed down on me from high,As with lifted hands enfolden gazed I up into the sky--
Ever brighter, flashing downward, till my pained eyes ached with light,
And I turned from gazing sunward back to earth's more calm delight.
But--was it spell, or was it charm?--when I turned me to the room,
Fading seem'd the loved one's form, half in light and half in gloom--
Throbb'd my brain in wild confusion, slowly died his words in air,
All around me seemed illusion, save that streaming golden glare.
XVI
On my fevered eyelids aching, madly press'd my hands I keep--
Then arose like one awaking from a strange and magic sleep;
Round I gazed in wild amazement for the glorious light that shone,
Was morn streaming through my casement, but it shone on me alone!
The last cold words he had written still lay there beside my bed;
The last flowers he had given lay beside them, faded, dead;
Life's lonely bitter desolation was true, for aye, I deem,
But, joy's blessed revelations, that--oh, that--was but a dream!
Sympathies with the Universal
THE Angel of the Universe, for ever stands he thereWithin the planet circle, the grand Hierophant of prayer;
His altar is the eternal sun, his light its flames of gold,
And the stars are his rosary, through the hands of angels rolled.
Down, down, throughout the Infinite, they're falling, world on world;
Like coral beads from praying hands, the planet beads are hurled.
Thus, for unnumbered ages on their diamond string they run,
The circling planet rosary from Uranus to the Sun.
A rythmic music rises from that stately choral band,
Like a vibrant-chorded lyre when struck by angel hand;
Pealing down the deep abysses, soaring up the infinite,
The grand hymn of the Universe is sounding day and night.
The grand cathedral chanting from the choir of the spheres,
Within the star-roofed temple, tho' unheard by mortal ears.
Never prayer from lip ascendeth, or from spirit never groan,
But the flooding planet music bears it up before God's throne.
Thus, ages after ages, will the cherub, earnest eyed,
Within the starry temple of the Universe abide,
Till hymns of spheral litanies, till solemn chants are done,
Then he'll rise up from the altar within the glowing sun.
By his mighty pinions shaken, star falleth after star,
And he flings the planet rosary down from him afar;
As by an earthquake riven, temple, altar, falleth crush'd,
And the wailing planet music of the choral band is hush'd.
But he leads the praying spirits up from each burning world,
Till before the Throne in Heaven his radiant wings are furled.
There he resteth calm in glory, his holy mission done,
For within the Golden City, Altar, Temple, needeth none.