The Project Gutenberg eBook of Orpheus and Other Poems
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Orpheus and Other Poems
Author: Edward Burrough Brownlow
Release date: December 24, 2016 [eBook #53800]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ORPHEUS AND OTHER POEMS ***
ORPHEUS
AND
OTHER POEMS
BY
EDWARD BURROUGH BROWNLOW.
(SAREPTA.)
Published by
The Pen and Pencil Club.
Montreal.
1896.
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the Year 1896, by
The Pen and Pencil Club,
at the Department of Agriculture, Ottawa.
THESE POEMS
ARE NOW COLLECTED AND PUBLISHED
IN MEMORY OF
EDWARD BURROUGH BROWNLOW,
Born in London, England,
27 November, 1857,
Died in Montreal, Canada,
8 September, 1895,
BY
His Fellow-Members of
THE PEN AND PENCIL CLUB.
CONTENTS.
ORPHEUS AND OTHER POEMS.
Printed by D. Bentley & Co.
At Montreal, Canada, this First day of May,
A.D. 1896.
ORPHEUS.
Unto the realm of Pluto many roads
Lead with dark winding from the bright abodes
Of men, and when life’s last detaining thread
Is cut by Iris, and the body, dead,
With Charon’s coin in palm, rests in the tomb
Or on the pyre, the dæmon of its doom
After much pitiful forbearance tears
The soul from its environment of cares
With promise sweet of love’s awaiting kiss,
Of old friends greeting, and much holy bliss
On shores Elysian, where all ways are peace,
And all existence virtue without cease;
But ere the fields of Asphodel are won
Dire labours manifold must first be done
By soul and dæmon.
Lead with dark winding from the bright abodes
Of men, and when life’s last detaining thread
Is cut by Iris, and the body, dead,
With Charon’s coin in palm, rests in the tomb
Or on the pyre, the dæmon of its doom
After much pitiful forbearance tears
The soul from its environment of cares
With promise sweet of love’s awaiting kiss,
Of old friends greeting, and much holy bliss
On shores Elysian, where all ways are peace,
And all existence virtue without cease;
But ere the fields of Asphodel are won
Dire labours manifold must first be done
By soul and dæmon.
All the paths descend
To four great streams, whose turgid waters blend
With suffering souls: here flows sad Acheron
On whose black banks impatient spirits run
And call to that grim boatman, ferrying o’er
His last embarker to the nether shore
In silence, bent with duty’s measured pull,
Certain of all to follow; there, too, full
Of awful lamentations from lost souls
Cocytus its fierce waves of sorrow rolls
Wherein dwells one whose face is only seen—
To four great streams, whose turgid waters blend
With suffering souls: here flows sad Acheron
On whose black banks impatient spirits run
And call to that grim boatman, ferrying o’er
His last embarker to the nether shore
In silence, bent with duty’s measured pull,
Certain of all to follow; there, too, full
Of awful lamentations from lost souls
Cocytus its fierce waves of sorrow rolls
Wherein dwells one whose face is only seen—
Above the surface, human and serene,
Below, her horrid serpent-form encoils
And stings the hapless spirits in her toils
With scorpion venom; Phlegethon rolls by
Flaming with waves that hiss, and mount on high
To lick with burning tongue each crusted shore
Where not the vilest weed dare clamber o’er,
There swim huge salamanders, whose desire
Grows with the maddening tumult of the fire;
And lastly, Styx, that pool of pitchy slime
Whereby the great gods swear their vows sublime,
In whose black channel hatred finds a home,
And breeds with fury many a plague-born gnome
Loathsome to gods and men.
Below, her horrid serpent-form encoils
And stings the hapless spirits in her toils
With scorpion venom; Phlegethon rolls by
Flaming with waves that hiss, and mount on high
To lick with burning tongue each crusted shore
Where not the vilest weed dare clamber o’er,
There swim huge salamanders, whose desire
Grows with the maddening tumult of the fire;
And lastly, Styx, that pool of pitchy slime
Whereby the great gods swear their vows sublime,
In whose black channel hatred finds a home,
And breeds with fury many a plague-born gnome
Loathsome to gods and men.
These rivers run
Far to the West, beyond the sinking sun,
Beyond old Ocean’s limits, past the range
Of starry travel or where comets strange
Rush in hot madness; there too Lethe flows
Where souls must drink to gain the sweet repose
Of all-forgetfulness, before the Fates
Lose power to plague them, or their bygone states
Haunt them like ghosts.
Far to the West, beyond the sinking sun,
Beyond old Ocean’s limits, past the range
Of starry travel or where comets strange
Rush in hot madness; there too Lethe flows
Where souls must drink to gain the sweet repose
Of all-forgetfulness, before the Fates
Lose power to plague them, or their bygone states
Haunt them like ghosts.
These waters safely crossed,
The plains beneath thick filled with spirits lost,
Avernus meets the view, vast, horrid lake
At Hades’ entrance; who its waters take,
Sicken and die in torture that must rend
With endless tooth, for such death has no end.
Beyond Avernus stands the gate of Hell,
With Cerberus to guard its portals well.
The plains beneath thick filled with spirits lost,
Avernus meets the view, vast, horrid lake
At Hades’ entrance; who its waters take,
Sicken and die in torture that must rend
With endless tooth, for such death has no end.
Beyond Avernus stands the gate of Hell,
With Cerberus to guard its portals well.
Unto that gate came Orpheus with his lute
Whose most melodious music had made mute
The wailing souls on Acheron’s sad shore,
And charmed old Charon, as he ferried o’er
The son of great Apollo in his quest
For her whom of all women he loved best,
And as he came fierce Cerberus stood still
Fixed by the magic of the player’s skill:
On Orpheus went and played, for he knew well
The wondrous potency of this great spell
Would by a pause be broken, and his fate
Never to pass alive the solemn gate;
He roused the Harpies, those most fearful things
With heads and breasts of women and the wings
Of birds, and talons of the lion fierce,
Whose breath is poison and whose venoms pierce
Deep in man’s soul—the hags were planning then
Foul plots for planting grief in hearts of men;
He stayed stern Nemesis, now poised for flight
As she in darkness left her mother Night;
The three great judges of the soul now paused
In giving sentence, for the music caused
Minos and Æacus and Rhadamanthus think
What change the gods had wrought, that at the brink
Of Tartarus such heavenly sounds should rise
To make the heart upleap and to the eyes
Communicate swift tears of sudden joy—
Had Jupiter grown mad to let this boy,
This gold-haired stripling with the silver strings
Enter dark Hades with such sound that brings
Pity to their stern breasts?
Whose most melodious music had made mute
The wailing souls on Acheron’s sad shore,
And charmed old Charon, as he ferried o’er
The son of great Apollo in his quest
For her whom of all women he loved best,
And as he came fierce Cerberus stood still
Fixed by the magic of the player’s skill:
On Orpheus went and played, for he knew well
The wondrous potency of this great spell
Would by a pause be broken, and his fate
Never to pass alive the solemn gate;
He roused the Harpies, those most fearful things
With heads and breasts of women and the wings
Of birds, and talons of the lion fierce,
Whose breath is poison and whose venoms pierce
Deep in man’s soul—the hags were planning then
Foul plots for planting grief in hearts of men;
He stayed stern Nemesis, now poised for flight
As she in darkness left her mother Night;
The three great judges of the soul now paused
In giving sentence, for the music caused
Minos and Æacus and Rhadamanthus think
What change the gods had wrought, that at the brink
Of Tartarus such heavenly sounds should rise
To make the heart upleap and to the eyes
Communicate swift tears of sudden joy—
Had Jupiter grown mad to let this boy,
This gold-haired stripling with the silver strings
Enter dark Hades with such sound that brings
Pity to their stern breasts?
The Gorgons stare
In vain at Orpheus through their viper-hair,
He sings and heeds them not, and he alone
Looks at them, eye for eye, and not to stone
Is turned; the Lemures, that spectral swarm,
That fill the space of Hades without form,
Halt in their wanderings to hear the notes
That fall as from a thousand song-birds’ throats.
Pale Death sits sharpening her dart and hears
With sad dismay the sound that soothes her ears,
Her arm grows powerless—the black dart falls
With echoing clang on Hades’ marbled halls;
The triple sisters who turn mad the mind
With envy, rage, and hatred, and make blind
The heart with judgment false, hear the high strains,
And knowledge of lost joy o’erwhelms their brains;
Triptolemus stands still with bated breath
While on his way to that great hall of death
Where his stern fellow judges sit aghast
Still pondering on Orpheus.
In vain at Orpheus through their viper-hair,
He sings and heeds them not, and he alone
Looks at them, eye for eye, and not to stone
Is turned; the Lemures, that spectral swarm,
That fill the space of Hades without form,
Halt in their wanderings to hear the notes
That fall as from a thousand song-birds’ throats.
Pale Death sits sharpening her dart and hears
With sad dismay the sound that soothes her ears,
Her arm grows powerless—the black dart falls
With echoing clang on Hades’ marbled halls;
The triple sisters who turn mad the mind
With envy, rage, and hatred, and make blind
The heart with judgment false, hear the high strains,
And knowledge of lost joy o’erwhelms their brains;
Triptolemus stands still with bated breath
While on his way to that great hall of death
Where his stern fellow judges sit aghast
Still pondering on Orpheus.
Now he passed
Poor Marsyas, whose love of music great
Lured him to challenge for his after-fate
The laurel-crowned Apollo and his lyre,
Wherefore he stayed in the eternal fire;
But Orpheus, passing, played so wondrous well
That all the flames about him flickered, fell,
And left the wretch in peace to hear once more
The power of sound he staked his spirit for.
Black Discord in her den of hideous noise
Grew sudden silent, and her breast with joys
Filled, as the gentle tremblings of the lute
Found subtle ways to reach her.
Poor Marsyas, whose love of music great
Lured him to challenge for his after-fate
The laurel-crowned Apollo and his lyre,
Wherefore he stayed in the eternal fire;
But Orpheus, passing, played so wondrous well
That all the flames about him flickered, fell,
And left the wretch in peace to hear once more
The power of sound he staked his spirit for.
Black Discord in her den of hideous noise
Grew sudden silent, and her breast with joys
Filled, as the gentle tremblings of the lute
Found subtle ways to reach her.
Resolute
Strode Orpheus on his path, and to the right
Stood Sisyphus, the stone just at the height
Of the great mountain, ready to roll again
Into the vale beneath, but that sweet strain
Held it in place so long as it could reach
The spot it rested on—and to beseech
Eternal playing, Sisyphus held high
Tired arms to Jove as Orpheus passed him by;
There to the left Ixion ceased to feel
The endless revolutions of the wheel
Over the flaming river, and the fangs
Of serpents leave him as he, listless, hangs
Listening to such sweet music.
Strode Orpheus on his path, and to the right
Stood Sisyphus, the stone just at the height
Of the great mountain, ready to roll again
Into the vale beneath, but that sweet strain
Held it in place so long as it could reach
The spot it rested on—and to beseech
Eternal playing, Sisyphus held high
Tired arms to Jove as Orpheus passed him by;
There to the left Ixion ceased to feel
The endless revolutions of the wheel
Over the flaming river, and the fangs
Of serpents leave him as he, listless, hangs
Listening to such sweet music.
Now the lake
Whose tempting waters Tantalus forsake
When his parched lips and maddened hands would take
Of their cool touch relief, hears the new sound
And Tantalus with surfeit is near drowned
For this brief respite, and with hungry clutch
Plucks tender fruits before he could not touch,
Eating in joyous wonder that Hell’s God
Gave him such feasting for a period.
Now Orpheus passed the black, oblivious lair
Of Sleep, a cave devoid of light or air,
Paved with strange shapes and horrid phantasies
Inanimate and senseless, and they rise,
As through the cave’s dark mouth the music sweet
Fills to the inmost parts that foul retreat,
Crying for air to breathe and light to see
The wondrous worker of such harmony.
Pluto’s high throne within the distance looms,
Built of the gold and marble of men’s tombs
Upon a base of bones, and by its side
Stood the pale throne of his beloved bride,
Persephone.—Behind her shadowy seat
Shone one blue star and at its cloud-hid feet
Glared the red oval of the waning moon
That tells sage shepherds of a storm in June
When flocks grow restless.—When the player came
Nearer to that great place a sudden flame
Shot from the silent air, and blazed as fierce
As though a thousand lightning strokes would pierce
In one vast sheet of overwhelming fire
The daring mortal who would thus aspire
To reach great Plato’s love-shrine;—in the blaze
Millions of serpents writhe, but Orpheus plays
Heedless of all, nor dares to cease lest he
Lose the safe conduct of his minstrelsy.
Unharmed he passes through the floods of flame
That would arrest his progress, and he came
Unharmed beyond them.
Whose tempting waters Tantalus forsake
When his parched lips and maddened hands would take
Of their cool touch relief, hears the new sound
And Tantalus with surfeit is near drowned
For this brief respite, and with hungry clutch
Plucks tender fruits before he could not touch,
Eating in joyous wonder that Hell’s God
Gave him such feasting for a period.
Now Orpheus passed the black, oblivious lair
Of Sleep, a cave devoid of light or air,
Paved with strange shapes and horrid phantasies
Inanimate and senseless, and they rise,
As through the cave’s dark mouth the music sweet
Fills to the inmost parts that foul retreat,
Crying for air to breathe and light to see
The wondrous worker of such harmony.
Pluto’s high throne within the distance looms,
Built of the gold and marble of men’s tombs
Upon a base of bones, and by its side
Stood the pale throne of his beloved bride,
Persephone.—Behind her shadowy seat
Shone one blue star and at its cloud-hid feet
Glared the red oval of the waning moon
That tells sage shepherds of a storm in June
When flocks grow restless.—When the player came
Nearer to that great place a sudden flame
Shot from the silent air, and blazed as fierce
As though a thousand lightning strokes would pierce
In one vast sheet of overwhelming fire
The daring mortal who would thus aspire
To reach great Plato’s love-shrine;—in the blaze
Millions of serpents writhe, but Orpheus plays
Heedless of all, nor dares to cease lest he
Lose the safe conduct of his minstrelsy.
Unharmed he passes through the floods of flame
That would arrest his progress, and he came
Unharmed beyond them.
Lo! before his eyes
A scene of wondrous beauty did arise;
Such as a poet sees when every sense
Leaves its abode, and the intelligence
Of soul usurps the functions of the mind,
When unto every object he grows blind
Seeing through all beyond.
A scene of wondrous beauty did arise;
Such as a poet sees when every sense
Leaves its abode, and the intelligence
Of soul usurps the functions of the mind,
When unto every object he grows blind
Seeing through all beyond.
For Pluto’s throne
Is more magnificent than Love might own
In higher regions. Orpheus stood beneath
The lowest step thereof; a flowery wreath
Crowned his bright golden locks—the flowers
Plucked from the dew-fed meadows and fair bowers
Where he had wandered with his beauteous bride
In happy love-quests, ere that eventide
When he was wakened by the short, sharp cry
Calling his name, and saw a snake glide by
Into the thicket—when he saw the breast
That oft had made his head a pillowy rest
Marked with the fatal venom, which his lips,
Used to the honey that the love-bee sips,
Closed on in vain endeavor to remove
The sentence of the gods on their sweet love—
When his strong hands clutched madly the thin air
As unto Jove he poured his soul’s deep prayer
For pity—when, with all his blood turned lead,
He looked and saw Eurydice was dead,
And when ’gainst all the gods he took that oath
Sacred to her, Death’s awful bridal troth,
That by the power of music’s magic spell
Against their will he would go down to Hell
And rescue his lost love. Whereat Jove laughed
And said to Bacchus as they gaily quaffed
In high carousal: “Let the fool take care,
Pluto can mind his own. Once in the lair
Of Hades, e’en Apollo’s son must stay,
No goats from that black fold can ever stray.”
Is more magnificent than Love might own
In higher regions. Orpheus stood beneath
The lowest step thereof; a flowery wreath
Crowned his bright golden locks—the flowers
Plucked from the dew-fed meadows and fair bowers
Where he had wandered with his beauteous bride
In happy love-quests, ere that eventide
When he was wakened by the short, sharp cry
Calling his name, and saw a snake glide by
Into the thicket—when he saw the breast
That oft had made his head a pillowy rest
Marked with the fatal venom, which his lips,
Used to the honey that the love-bee sips,
Closed on in vain endeavor to remove
The sentence of the gods on their sweet love—
When his strong hands clutched madly the thin air
As unto Jove he poured his soul’s deep prayer
For pity—when, with all his blood turned lead,
He looked and saw Eurydice was dead,
And when ’gainst all the gods he took that oath
Sacred to her, Death’s awful bridal troth,
That by the power of music’s magic spell
Against their will he would go down to Hell
And rescue his lost love. Whereat Jove laughed
And said to Bacchus as they gaily quaffed
In high carousal: “Let the fool take care,
Pluto can mind his own. Once in the lair
Of Hades, e’en Apollo’s son must stay,
No goats from that black fold can ever stray.”
Thus Orpheus stood; but now no longer mute,
For to the rich-wrought tremblings of his lute
He raised his rare-heard voice and stilled the word
On Pluto’s lips, and then all Hades heard:—
For to the rich-wrought tremblings of his lute
He raised his rare-heard voice and stilled the word
On Pluto’s lips, and then all Hades heard:—
Persephone! Persephone!
Give back my lost delight to me!
By thy great love for thy great lord,
By each sweet thought for him adored,
By love that thrills and love that fills
Thy heart as with a thousand rills
Of joy, break down his frozen breast
And lull his vengeful mood to rest,
Till mighty Pluto joyfully
Shall, from his very love for thee,
Give back my soul’s delight to me—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Give back my lost delight to me!
By thy great love for thy great lord,
By each sweet thought for him adored,
By love that thrills and love that fills
Thy heart as with a thousand rills
Of joy, break down his frozen breast
And lull his vengeful mood to rest,
Till mighty Pluto joyfully
Shall, from his very love for thee,
Give back my soul’s delight to me—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Persephone! Persephone!
Recall thy lord’s great love for thee,
When in sweet Enna’s golden meads
Thou heard’st that rustling of the reeds,
And in thy hands the love-crushed flowers
Were grasped with fear, as from earth’s bowers
He strained thee to his mighty breast,
And bore thee, senseless, to the West
Beyond the opalescent sea
That nightly sings its song of thee;
Give back my soul’s delight to me—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Recall thy lord’s great love for thee,
When in sweet Enna’s golden meads
Thou heard’st that rustling of the reeds,
And in thy hands the love-crushed flowers
Were grasped with fear, as from earth’s bowers
He strained thee to his mighty breast,
And bore thee, senseless, to the West
Beyond the opalescent sea
That nightly sings its song of thee;
Give back my soul’s delight to me—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Persephone! Persephone!
I bring love’s garland unto thee:—
She made it with her loving hands,
She plaited it in golden bands,
And placed it on my chosen brow
When by my side she sat, as now
Thou sittest by thy great lord’s side:
That night no lover snatched his bride,
But Death seized all remorselessly,
And took her soul beyond the sea;
And life became a memory—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
I bring love’s garland unto thee:—
She made it with her loving hands,
She plaited it in golden bands,
And placed it on my chosen brow
When by my side she sat, as now
Thou sittest by thy great lord’s side:
That night no lover snatched his bride,
But Death seized all remorselessly,
And took her soul beyond the sea;
And life became a memory—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Persephone! Persephone!
Let this lute’s magic minstrelsy
Find with love’s music, sweet and clear,
Thy heart-depths through each pearly ear:
Behold! how when I strike one string
The lone sound floats with cheerless ring;
Behold! when double chords are driven,
With harmony the air is riven;
So Fate plays on our souls, and we
Yield plaints of love or misery;
Give back my soul’s delight to me—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Let this lute’s magic minstrelsy
Find with love’s music, sweet and clear,
Thy heart-depths through each pearly ear:
Behold! how when I strike one string
The lone sound floats with cheerless ring;
Behold! when double chords are driven,
With harmony the air is riven;
So Fate plays on our souls, and we
Yield plaints of love or misery;
Give back my soul’s delight to me—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Persephone! Persephone!
By all the joy that lovers see
When first they feel the hidden fire
Burst forth in blaze of heart’s desire,
By all the music lovers hear
When language laps against the ear,
Like crystal waves on golden sands,
By touch of lips and clasp of hands
When long-zoned raiments are made free,
By all love’s sweets that fell to thee;
Give back my soul’s delight to me—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
By all the joy that lovers see
When first they feel the hidden fire
Burst forth in blaze of heart’s desire,
By all the music lovers hear
When language laps against the ear,
Like crystal waves on golden sands,
By touch of lips and clasp of hands
When long-zoned raiments are made free,
By all love’s sweets that fell to thee;
Give back my soul’s delight to me—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Persephone! Persephone!
Mark how thy lord yet frowns on me,
Behold the tightening of his lip—
Kiss—kiss his mouth lest there may slip
One word of doom to dash my hope;
Bend down on him thine eyes and cope
With love the gleams that in them shine,
The while I summon to me, mine;
Break—break—by love and memory
The bond of Hades, set me free
Her soul, that is the soul of me—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Mark how thy lord yet frowns on me,
Behold the tightening of his lip—
Kiss—kiss his mouth lest there may slip
One word of doom to dash my hope;
Bend down on him thine eyes and cope
With love the gleams that in them shine,
The while I summon to me, mine;
Break—break—by love and memory
The bond of Hades, set me free
Her soul, that is the soul of me—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Persephone! Persephone!
Clasp him so close he may not see;
Look deep into his soul with love
That from thine eyes he shall not move
His own;—ah! thus I gazed on her
That night and heard no serpent stir,
For love, once thralling all the mind,
Makes all the little senses blind;
’Tis well! he drinks love’s alchemy!
Where’er in Hades thou may’st be—
Come back! my love! come back to me,
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Clasp him so close he may not see;
Look deep into his soul with love
That from thine eyes he shall not move
His own;—ah! thus I gazed on her
That night and heard no serpent stir,
For love, once thralling all the mind,
Makes all the little senses blind;
’Tis well! he drinks love’s alchemy!
Where’er in Hades thou may’st be—
Come back! my love! come back to me,
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Persephone! Persephone!
Lull him with love that unto me
No thought may leap with sudden ire,
And steal again my heart’s desire
When she shall come. Ye Gods! that light!
It shone when on that fatal night
The dæmons took her from my side;—
’Tis she! they bring her back! my bride!
Let Pluto wake—let Jove decree—
My self—my soul—come back to me
My joy in life and death to be—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Lull him with love that unto me
No thought may leap with sudden ire,
And steal again my heart’s desire
When she shall come. Ye Gods! that light!
It shone when on that fatal night
The dæmons took her from my side;—
’Tis she! they bring her back! my bride!
Let Pluto wake—let Jove decree—
My self—my soul—come back to me
My joy in life and death to be—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
Persephone! Persephone!
A moment more and we are free;
I feel the breath of outer air,
I see the upper stars so fair,
I hear the lapping of salt waves,
I see the light of day that saves,
I feel the pulsing heart-throbs run
Through her fair limbs, I watch the sun
Uprising in her eyes—and see!
Its living light thrills into me;
She has come back! come back to me—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
A moment more and we are free;
I feel the breath of outer air,
I see the upper stars so fair,
I hear the lapping of salt waves,
I see the light of day that saves,
I feel the pulsing heart-throbs run
Through her fair limbs, I watch the sun
Uprising in her eyes—and see!
Its living light thrills into me;
She has come back! come back to me—
Eurydice! Eurydice!
DEAD SUMMER.
The lord and lover of the year is slain,
Fair Summer! Nature’s joy and earth’s sweet pride.
The wind mourns sadly as a mournful bride
Loading the air with monodies of pain;
Down from the branches rustle, light as rain,
The rarely-coloured leaves; afar and wide
Blight-stricken blossoms strew the country-side,
No more to deck it with delight again;
The bright winged choristers that carolled round
Sweet overflowings of supernal joy,
No more their thrilling ecstasies employ
To glad man’s soul with music’s purest sound;
Summer lies dead upon the lap of earth,
Pale melancholy weeps where late laughed mirth.
Fair Summer! Nature’s joy and earth’s sweet pride.
The wind mourns sadly as a mournful bride
Loading the air with monodies of pain;
Down from the branches rustle, light as rain,
The rarely-coloured leaves; afar and wide
Blight-stricken blossoms strew the country-side,
No more to deck it with delight again;
The bright winged choristers that carolled round
Sweet overflowings of supernal joy,
No more their thrilling ecstasies employ
To glad man’s soul with music’s purest sound;
Summer lies dead upon the lap of earth,
Pale melancholy weeps where late laughed mirth.
AUTUMN.
When Autumn, like a prophet filled with fears,
Warns Summer’s golden beauty of that death
Which soon the chilling blast of Winter’s breath
Shall bring; fond Nature by her falling tears
Attests her grief unchanged through all the years,
And from the blossoms that lie dead beneath
Seizing the unseen colours, weaves a wreath,
And lo! a garland on each tree appears.
So, when to thee life’s end is drawing near
And weeping kinsmen kneel about thy bed
May all the rays of goodness thou hast shed
From out the buried past shine bright and clear,
And golden deeds and thoughts of heavenly hues
Over thy fading mind soft light diffuse.
Warns Summer’s golden beauty of that death
Which soon the chilling blast of Winter’s breath
Shall bring; fond Nature by her falling tears
Attests her grief unchanged through all the years,
And from the blossoms that lie dead beneath
Seizing the unseen colours, weaves a wreath,
And lo! a garland on each tree appears.
So, when to thee life’s end is drawing near
And weeping kinsmen kneel about thy bed
May all the rays of goodness thou hast shed
From out the buried past shine bright and clear,
And golden deeds and thoughts of heavenly hues
Over thy fading mind soft light diffuse.
THE SKY-LARK.
Blithe is the lark when first the morning breaks,
And from his nest up-circling through the air
He leaves below a world of shadowy care,
And off his wings the dew of darkness shakes;
For those high lakes of blue he gladly makes,
With song that overfloweth everywhere
Like the sweet grace that falleth after prayer
To one who from sin’s sleep at last awakes.
Poets have sung thy praises;—but thy song
Is far above all sound of poet’s voice,
Though listening to thy notes he may rejoice,
And wonder if some raptured angel-throng
Pause in their service as thou soarest near,
And to thy music lend entrancèd ear.
And from his nest up-circling through the air
He leaves below a world of shadowy care,
And off his wings the dew of darkness shakes;
For those high lakes of blue he gladly makes,
With song that overfloweth everywhere
Like the sweet grace that falleth after prayer
To one who from sin’s sleep at last awakes.
Poets have sung thy praises;—but thy song
Is far above all sound of poet’s voice,
Though listening to thy notes he may rejoice,
And wonder if some raptured angel-throng
Pause in their service as thou soarest near,
And to thy music lend entrancèd ear.
CONSTANCY.
I did not ask thy love nor tell mine own
When others sought thee in thy sovereign days,
For my sad heart, beholding the bright blaze
Of thy great beauty, seemed to turn to stone,
And on my lips that now have bolder grown,
No word would form to utter thy high praise;
So stricken was I in love’s conquering ways
That my poor soul consumed its love alone.
When others sought thee in thy sovereign days,
For my sad heart, beholding the bright blaze
Of thy great beauty, seemed to turn to stone,
And on my lips that now have bolder grown,
No word would form to utter thy high praise;
So stricken was I in love’s conquering ways
That my poor soul consumed its love alone.
Vindictive time now veils thy queen-like charms
To thy old champions, and they quickly leave,
As grim misfortune comes to cross their arms
And pluck thy colours from each coward sleeve,
All fly the tilt-yard. Now to Fate’s alarms
I fling my gage at last. Wilt thou believe?
To thy old champions, and they quickly leave,
As grim misfortune comes to cross their arms
And pluck thy colours from each coward sleeve,
All fly the tilt-yard. Now to Fate’s alarms
I fling my gage at last. Wilt thou believe?
A BALLADE OF THE STREET.
High clamour of rooks o’er a meadow of clover
That make for their haunts at the break of the day;
Low babble of brooks where the rain-spotted plover
Paddles at noon through the sand-banks grey;
Gold-banded bees on their murmuring way
To the honey-filled blossoms that yield their sweet—
These are the visions that round us play
As we steer through the turbulent throng of the street.
That make for their haunts at the break of the day;
Low babble of brooks where the rain-spotted plover
Paddles at noon through the sand-banks grey;
Gold-banded bees on their murmuring way
To the honey-filled blossoms that yield their sweet—
These are the visions that round us play
As we steer through the turbulent throng of the street.
Slow pacing of herds and the song of the drover;
A score of clean sails in a Kentish bay,
With a glimpse of the castle and cliffs of Dover,
And the girdle of sea that shall gleam alway;
Far off in the fields where they make the hay
Darby and Dorothy manage to meet,
And kiss for a moment—alack-a-day!
As we steer through the turbulent throng of the street.
A score of clean sails in a Kentish bay,
With a glimpse of the castle and cliffs of Dover,
And the girdle of sea that shall gleam alway;
Far off in the fields where they make the hay
Darby and Dorothy manage to meet,
And kiss for a moment—alack-a-day!
As we steer through the turbulent throng of the street.
Across the wide world Love is ever a rover,
In palace or cot not content to stay.
Soon the pastoral play of our youth is over
With its spangles of hope and its fine array.
June stifles the flowers that are born in May,
And their beauties the autumn shall not repeat;
Our fancies the Fates try to strangle and slay—
As we steer through the turbulent throng of the street.
In palace or cot not content to stay.
Soon the pastoral play of our youth is over
With its spangles of hope and its fine array.
June stifles the flowers that are born in May,
And their beauties the autumn shall not repeat;
Our fancies the Fates try to strangle and slay—
As we steer through the turbulent throng of the street.
Let us heed not the passers or what they say,
While Love in our hearts finds a safe retreat,
For souls can reach Heaven, though feet may stray
As they steer through the turbulent throng of the street.
While Love in our hearts finds a safe retreat,
For souls can reach Heaven, though feet may stray
As they steer through the turbulent throng of the street.