English

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

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;

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,

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—

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.

Even thus, methinks, a city reared should be,
Yea, an imperial city, that might hold
Five times a hundred noble towns in fee,
And either with their might of Babel old,
Or the rich Roman pomp of empery
Might stand compare, highest in arts enroll'd,
Highest in arms; brave tenement for the free,
Who never crouch to thrones, or sin for gold.
Thus should her towers be raised—with vicinage
Of clear bold hills, that curve her very streets,
As if to vindicate, 'mid choicest seats
Of art, abiding Nature's majesty,

Lift me, Lord Jesus, for the time is nigh
When I must climb unto thy cross at last;
The world fades out, its lengthening shadows fly,
Earth's pomp is passing and the music past;
Phantoms flock round me, multiplying fast;
Nothing seems tangible; the good I thought
Most permanent hath perished. Come away,
O sated spirit, from the vacant scene;
The curtain drops upon the spun-out play,
The benches are deserted. Let us go,
Forget the foolish clown, the king, the queen,
The idle story with its love and woe;

While the priest said " perpetua luceat , "
Sprinkling the palms that graced a maiden's bier,
I felt a light stream in upon my soul;
And one that near me in the chancel sate,
Who was to the departed soul most dear,
Saw the same light, as my hand softly stole
To hers, and suddenly a glory played
Around those palms that seemed to check my breath;
Even as he prayed for light the darkness fled
To both of us: I looked into her eyes,
And saw through tears a raptured look that said —
A strength new-born doth in my spirit rise,

I.

Imperial City! I have dreamed of thee
Through long — long years, — since when in early prime,
I traced, with heart deep stirred, thy history
Of men heroic, and of deeds sublime:
Thy storied names, which on the scroll of time,
But gather brightness with the flight of years;
Or — if all stained with tyranny and crime,
With blood of slaughtered innocence and tears
Of bitter agony — but blacker grow,
As grows the detestation of mankind;
Around thy Tiber, have availed to throw,