SONNET.
In the mid garden doth a fountain stand;
From font to font its waters fall alway,
Freshening the leaves by their continual play:—
Such often have I seen in southern land,
While every leaf, as though by light winds fanned,
Has quivered underneath the dazzling spray,
Keeping its greenness all the sultry day,
While others pine aloof, a parchèd band.
And in the mystic garden of the soul
A fountain, nourished from the upper springs,
Sends ever its clear waters up on high,
Which, while a dewy freshness round it flings,
All plants which there acknowledge its control
Show fair and green, else drooping, pale, and dry.
THE ETRURIAN KING.
[See Mrs. Hamilton Gray’s “Visit to the Sepulchres of Etruria.”]
I.
One only eye beheld him in his pride,
The old Etrurian monarch, as he, died;
II.
And as they laid him on his bier of stone,
Shield, spear, and arrows laying at his side;
III.
In golden armour with his crown of gold,
One only eye the kingly warrior spied;
IV.
Nor that eye long—for in the common air
The wondrous pageant might not now abide,
V.
Which had in sealèd sepulchre the wrongs
Of time for thirty centuries defied.
VI.
That eye beheld it melt and disappear,
As down an hour-glass the last sand-drops glide.
VII.
A few short moments,—and a shrunken heap
Of common dust survived, of all that pride:
VIII.
And so that gorgeous vision has remained
For evermore to other eye denied:
IX.
And he who saw must oftentimes believe
That him his waking senses had belied,
X.
Since what if all the pageants of the earth
Melt soon away, and may not long abide,
XI.
Yet when did ever doom so swift before
Even to the glories of the earth betide?
THE FAMINE.
I.
Oh, time it was of famine sore,
That ever sorer grew;
And many hungered that before
Rich plenty only knew!
II.
For year by year the labouring hind
Bewailed his fruitless toil,
And ever seemed some spell to bind
The hard, unthankful soil.
III.
His seed-corn rotted in the ground,
And did no more appear;
Or if in blade and stalk was found,
It withered in the ear.
IV.
And now unseasonable rains,
And now untimely drought,
With blight and mildew, all his pains
And hopes to nothing brought.
V.
And ever did that keen distress
In wider circles spread;
Who once with alms did others bless,
Now lacked their daily bread,
VI.
—One only, who was never known
To bless another’s board—
In all that Suabian land alone
This cruel, impious lord,
VII.
Did all the while exempt appear
From this wide-reaching ill;
With largest bounties of the year,
His broad fields laughing still.
VIII.
The Autumn duly had outpoured
For him its plenteous horn,
And safe in ample granaries stored
He saw his golden corn;
IX.
And high he reared new granaries vast,
Of hewn stone builded strong,
And made with bars of iron fast,
And fenced from every wrong.
X.
Till safe, as seemed, from every foe,
He now, as if the sight
Of others’ want, and others’ woe
Enhanced his own delight,
XI.
Sate high, and with his minions still
Did keep continual feast;
Long nights with waste and wassail fill
Which not with morning ceased;
XII.
Till ofttimes they who wandered near
Those halls at early day,
Culling wild herbs and roots in fear,
Their hunger to allay,
XIII.
Heard sounds of fierce and reckless mirth
Borne from those halls of pride,
While famine’s feeble wail went forth
From all the land beside;
XIV.
And strange thoughts rose in many a breast,
Why God’s true servants pined,
And largest means this man unblest
Did still for riot find;
XV.
Which stranger grew, as more and more
He did his coffers fill
With gold and every precious store,
Wrung from men’s cruel ill;
XVI.
As he each poor man’s field was fain
To add unto his own—
To the wide space of his domain,
Now daily wider grown.
XVII.
For some, their lives awhile to save,
Had sold him house and lands;
And some to bonds their children gave,
As grew his stern demands:
XVIII.
Yet not a whit for poor man’s curse
This evil churl did care;
He said,—it passed, nor left him worse—
That words were only air.
XIX.
He, if they cried “For Jesu’s sake,
That so may light on thee
God’s blessing!” answer proud would make,
“What will that profit me?”
XX.
“I ask no blessing—yet my fields
Have store of spiky grain:
The earth to me its fatness yields,
The sky its sun and rain.
XXI.
“And high my granaries stand, and strong,
Huge-vaulted, ribbed with stone:
What need I fear? from any wrong
I can defend mine own.”—
XXII.
Thus ever fierce, and fiercer rose
His words of scorn and pride;
And more he mocked at mortal woes,
And earth and heaven defied.
XXIII.
And thus it chanced upon a day,
As oft had been before,
That from his gates he spurned away
A widow, old and poor;
XXIV.
When to his presence entered in
A servant, pale with fear,
And did with trembling words begin:—
“Oh, dread my Lord, give ear!
XXV.
“As me perchance my business drew
Thy storehouse vast beside,
I heard unwonted sounds, and through
The iron grating spied.
XXVI.
“The thing I saw, if like it seemed
To any thing on earth,
I might some huge black bull have deemed
That hellish monstrous birth.
XXVII.
“Yet how should beast have entrance found
Into that guarded place,
Which strangely now it wandered round,
With wild, unresting pace?
XXVIII.
“Oh, here must be some warning meant,
Which do not now deride:
Oh, yet have pity, and relent,
Nor speak such words of pride!”
XXIX.
Slight heed his tale of fear might find,
Slight heed his counsel true;
That utterance of his faithful mind
He now had learned to rue,
XXX.
But that, even then, another came,
Worse terror in his mien:
—“Three monstrous creatures, breathing flame,
These eyes but now have seen;
XXXI.
“They toss about the hoarded store,
And greedily they eat,
Consuming thus a part, but more
They stamp beneath their feet.
XXXII.
“Oh, Sir! full often God doth take
What we refuse to give;
But yet to him large offering make,
And all our souls may live.”
XXXIII.
—“Fool!—Let another hasten now,
But if he shall not see
The self-same vision, fellow, thou
Shalt hang on yonder tree.”
XXXIV.
He said—when, lo! inrushed a third
Within the briefest space:—
—“Of horses wild and bulls an herd
Is filling all the place.
XXXV.
“The numbers of that furious rout
Wax ever high and higher;
And from their mouths smoke issues out,
And from their nostrils fire.
XXXVI.
“From side to side they leap and bound,
The hoarded corn they eat,
They toss and scatter on the ground,
And stamp beneath their feet.
XXXVII.
“My Lord, these portents do not scorn;
Thy granary doors throw wide,
And poor men’s prayers even yet may turn
The threatened wrath aside.”
XXXVIII.
—“What, all conspiring in one tale!
Or fooled by one deceit!
Yet think not ye shall so prevail,
Or me so lightly cheat.
XXXIX.
“Come with me;—fling the portals back;—
I too this sight would see:
What! one and all this courage lack?
Give me the ponderous key.”
XL.
In fear the vassal multitude
Fell back on either side:
Before the doors he singly stood—
He singly—in his pride.
XLI.
But them, or ere he touched, asunder
Some hand unbidden threw;
With lightning flash, with sound like thunder
The gates wide open flew.
XLII.
How shook then underneath the tread
Of thousand feet the earth!
Day darkened into night with dread!
So wild a troop rushed forth.
XLIII.
And all who saw like dead men stood,
As swept that wild troop by,
Till lost within a neighbouring wood
For aye from mortal eye.
XLIV.
But when that hurricane was past
Of hideous sight and sound,
And when they breathed anew, they cast
Their fearful glances round:
XLV.
They lifted up a blackened corse,
Where scorched and crushed it lay,
And scarred with hooves of fiery force,—
Then bore in awe away;
XLVI.
They bore away, but not to hide
In any holy ground;
Who in his height of sin had died
No hallowed burial found.