When her last breath was taken
And the old miser death had shaken
The last, last glim from her eyes
He retired
And to the world's surprise
Wrote these inspired, passion-fired
Poems of Sacrifice!
The world said:
If she had not been dead
(And buried)
He'd never have written these.
She was hard to please.
They're better apart
Now the stone
Has rolled away from his heart
Now he's come into his own

Some one came to me and said
Forget, forget that you've been wed
Who's your man to leave you be
Ill and cold in a far country
Who's the husband — who's the stone
Could leave a child like you alone.

You're like a leaf caught in the wind
You're like a lamb that's left behind.
When all the flock has pattered away
You're like a pitiful little stray
Kitten that I'd put in my vest
You're like a bird that's fallen from nest.

We've none of us too long to live
Then take me for your man and give
Me all the Keys to all your fears

O God, we praise thee, and confess
That thou the Only Lord
And Everlasting Father art,
By all the earth adored.

To thee all angels cry aloud;
To thee the powers on high,
Both cherubim and seraphim,
Continually do cry:

O holy, holy, holy Lord,
Whom heavenly hosts obey,
The world is with the glory filled
Of thy majestic sway!

The apostles' glorious company,
And prophets crowned with light,
With all the martyrs' noble host,
Thy constant praise recite.

The holy Church throughout the world,

A beam of light was shaken out of the sky
On to the brimming tide, and there it lay
Palely tossing like a creature condemned to die
Who has loved the bright day.

" Ah, who are these that wing through the shadowy air"
She cries, in agony. " Are they coming for me?"
The big waves croon to her: " Hush now! There — now — there!"
There is nothing to see.

But her white arms lift to cover her shining head
And she presses close to the waves to make herself small.
On their listless knees the beam of light lies dead
And the birds of shadow fall.

I.

When grief is felt along the blood,
And checks the breath with sighs unsought,
'Tis then that Memory's power is wooed
To soothe by ancient forms of thought.
It is not much, yet in that day
Will seem a gladsome wakening;
And such to me, in joy's decay,
The memory of the Roebuck Glen.

II.

Nor less, when fancies have their bent,
And eager passion sweeps the mind;
'Twill bless to catch a calm content

I.

When life is crazy in my limbs,
And hope is gone astray,
And in my soul's December fade
The love-thoughts of its May,
One spot of earth is left to me
Will warm my heart again:
'Tis Caudebec and Mailleraie
On the pleasant banks of Seine.

II.

The dark wood's crownal on the hill,
The river curving bright,
The graceful barks that rest, or play,
Pure creatures of delight, —

ON HEARING HIM MISPRAISED

Because thou hast believed, the wheels of life
Stand never idle, but go always round;
Not by their hands, who vex the patient ground,
Moved only; but by genius, in the strife

Of all its chafing torrents after thaw,
Urged; and to feed whose movement, spinning sand,
The feeble sons of pleasure set their hand;
And, in this vision of the general law,

Hast labour'd, but with purpose; hast become
Laborious, persevering, serious, firm—
For this, thy track, across the fretful foam

Grant me the moment, the lovely moment
That I may lean forth to see
The other buds, the other blooms,
The other leaves on the tree:

That I may take into my bosom
The breeze that is like his brother,
But stiller, lighter, whose faint laughter
Echoes the joy of the other.

Above on the blue and white cloud-spaces
There are small clouds at play.
I watch their remote, mysterious play-time
In the other far-away.

Grant I may hear the small birds singing
The song that the silence knows ...

I.

I lived an hour in fair Melrose;
It was not when " the pale moonlight "
Its magnifying charm bestows;
Yet deem I that I " viewed it right. "
The wind-swept shadows fast careered,
Like living things that joyed or feared,
Adown the sunny Eildon Hill,
And the sweet winding Tweed the distance crowned well.

II.

I inly laughed to see that scene
Wear such a countenance of youth,
Though many an age those hills were green,

Lamp to my feet! shine forth into my soul
That I may better see what way I tread
In the dark hours and when I lose control
Of mine own steps, by vague desires misled.
In faltering moments, when I scarce can pray,
Through failing faith, or wandering thoughts, and sink
Back to my bondage, let thy kindly ray,
Lamp to my feet! prevent me on the brink.