Identity

I.

Often, when I wake at night,
I can hear the strangest sounds,
Stealthy noises, left and right,
As of some one going his rounds:
On the stairs there comes a crack
As if some one mounted there;
Then the door creaks; and the back
Settles of the rocking-chair,
As if some one had sat down.
Then I get up in my gown;
Run to mother; hide my head;
Snuggle down by her in bed.
And she says to me, "My dear,
There is nothing here to fear:
All the noises that you hear
Are the old house and the weather,
Dry old weather,
Having a little talk together.
You just heard the old house stretching,
Waking up to have a chat:
Seems to me that it is catching.
Don't wake up again for that."

II.

And again I wake at night,
...

'Twas a balmy day in Autumn,
In the drowsy, dreamy Autumn,
When from out the quiet woodland
Sounds of rustling leaves came only -
Leaves that floated softly earthward -
And the streamlets had a murmur
Such as wanders through our visions
In the hushed and starry midnight -
Low, soft murmur, full of music.

With the small hand of her darling
Clasped in her's, there came a mother
To an Artist - fondly asking
For the picture of her pet-lamb -
Winsome pet-lamb full of child-life,
Full of merry, ringing laughter -
Laughter that went up unceasing
Like the happy chime of streamlets
Singing thro' some mountain valley, -
Like the bird-song in the forest
In the time of early roses, -
Like the tinkle of sweet waters
Dripping o'er a marble fou...

Where are all the young men?
There are only grey-heads here.
What has become of the young men?

        *            *            *            *            *

This is the young men's year!
They are gone, one and all, at duty's call,
To the camp, to the trench, to the sea.
They have left their homes, they have left their all,
And now, in ways heroical,--
                    They are making history.
From bank and shop, from bench and mill,
From the schools, from the tail of the plough,
They hurried away at the call of the fray,
They could not linger a day, and now,--
                    They are making history,
And we miss them sorely, as we look
At the seats where they used to be,
And try to picture them as they are,--
Then hastily drop the ...

"I die, I die!" the Mother said,
"My children die for lack of bread.
What more has the merciless Tyrant said?"
The Monk sat down on the stony bed.

The blood red ran from the Grey Monk's side,
His hands and feet were wounded wide,
His body bent, his arms and knees
Like to the roots of ancient trees.

His eye was dry; no tear could flow:
A hollow groan first spoke his woe.
He trembled and shudder'd upon the bed;
At length with a feeble cry he said:

"When God commanded this hand to write
In the studious hours of deep midnight,
He told me the writing I wrote should prove
The bane of all that on Earth I lov'd.

My Brother starv'd between two walls,
His Children's cry my soul appalls;
I mock'd at the rack and griding chain,
My be...

Adapted to a Spanish Melody.




My lady hath as soft a hand
As any queen in fairy-land;
And, hidden in her tiny boot,
As dainty and as light a foot.
                    Her foot!
Her little hand and foot!

No star that kindles in the sky
Burns brighter than my lady's eye;
And ne'er before did beauty grace
So fair a form, so sweet a face!
                    Her face!
Her gentle form and face!

My lady hath a golden heart,
Free from the dross of worldly art;
Which, in the sight of heaven above,
Is mine with all its hoarded love!
                    Her love!
Her boundless wealth of love!

What now we like anon we disapprove:
The new successor drives away old love.

When the south-west wind came
The air grew bright and sweet, as though a flame
Had cleansed the world of winter. The low sky
As the wind lifted it rose trembling vast and high,
And white clouds sallied by
As children in their pleasure go
Chasing the sun beneath the orchard's shadow and snow.
Nothing, nothing was the same!
Not the dull brick, not the stained London stone,
Not the delighted trees that lost their moan--
Their moan that daily vexed me with such pain
Until I hated to see trees again;
Nor man nor woman was the same
Nor could be stones again,
Such light and colour with the south-west came.
As I drank all that brightness up I saw
A dark globe lapt in fold on fold of gloom,
With all her hosts asleep in that cold tomb,
Sealed by an iron law.

Asleep! O sleep a little while, white pearl!
And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee,
And let me call Heaven’s blessing on thine eyes,
And let me breathe into the happy air,
That doth enfold and touch thee all about,
Vows of my slavery, my giving up,
My sudden adoration, my great love!

As homeward by the evening star
I pass along the plain,
I see the taper's light afar,
Shine through our cottage pane.

My brothers and my sisters dear,
The child upon the knee,
Spring when my hastening steps they hear,
And smile to welcome me.

But when the fire is growing dim,
And mother's labours cease,
I fold my hands, repeat my hymn,
And lay me down in peace.

The toad beneath the harrow knows
Exactly where eath tooth-point goes.
The butterfly upon the road
Preaches contentment to that toad.


Pagett, M.P., was a liar, and a fluent liar therewith,
He spoke of the heat of India as the "Asian Solar Myth";
Came on a four months' visit, to "study the East," in November,
And I got him to sign an agreement vowing to stay till September.

March came in with the koil. Pagett was cool and gay,
Called me a "bloated Brahmin," talked of my "princely pay."
March went out with the roses. "Where is your heat?" said he.
"Coming," said I to Pagett, "Skittles!" said Pagett, M.P.

April began with the punkah, coolies, and prickly-heat,,
Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found him a treat.
He grew speckled and mumpy-ha...

One winter night, at half-past nine,
Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy,
I had come home, too late to dine,
And supper, with cigars and wine,
Was waiting in the study.

There was a strangeness in the room,
And Something white and wavy
Was standing near me in the gloom,
I took it for the carpet-broom
Left by that careless slavey.

But presently the Thing began
To shiver and to sneeze:
On which I said "Come, come, my man!
That's a most inconsiderate plan.
Less noise there, if you please!"

"I've caught a cold," the Thing replies,
"Out there upon the landing."
I turned to look in some surprise,
And there, before my very eyes,
A little Ghost was standing!

He trembled when he caught my eye,
And got behind a chair.
"...

I.

Roar, raging torrent! and thou, mighty river,
Pour thy white foam on the valley below;
Frown, ye dark mountains! and shadow for ever
The deep rocky bed where the wild rapids flow.
The green sunny glade, and the smooth flowing fountain,
Brighten the home of the coward and slave;
The flood and the forest, the rock and the mountain,
Rear on their bosoms the free and the brave.

II.

Nurslings of nature, I mark your bold bearing,
Pride in each aspect and strength in each form,
Hearts of warm impulse, and souls of high daring,
Born in the battle and rear'd in the storm.
The red levin flash and the thunder's dread rattle,
The rock-riven wave and the war trumpet's breath,
The din of the tempest, the yell of the battle,
Nerve your steeled bosom...

Tune - "Tam Glen."


I.

    My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie!
        Some counsel unto me come len',
    To anger them a' is a pity,
        But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?

II.

    I'm thinking wi' sic a braw fellow,
        In poortith I might make a fen';
    What care I in riches to wallow,
        If I maunna marry Tam Glen?

III.

    There's Lowrie the laird o' Dumeller,
        "Gude day to you, brute!" he comes ben:
    He brags and he blaws o' his siller,
        But when will he dance like Tam Glen?

IV.

    My minnie does constantly deave me,
        And bids me beware o' young men;
    They flatter, she says, to deceive me,
        But wha can think so o' Tam Glen?

Sorrow and sin have worked their will
    For years upon your sovereign face,
    And yet it keeps a faded trace
Of its unequalled beauty still,
    As ruined sanctuaries hold
    A crumbled trace of perfect mould
In shrines which saints no longer fill.

I knew you in your splendid morn,
    Oh, how imperiously sweet!
    I bowed and worshipped at your feet,
And you received my love with scorn.
    Now I scorn you.    It is a change,
    When I consider it, how strange
That you, not I, should be forlorn.

Do you suppose I have no pain
    To see you play this sorry part,
    With faded face and broken heart,
And life lived utterly in vain?
    Oh would to God that you once more
    Might scorn me as you did of yore,
And I might wo...

No eve of summer ever can attain
The gladness of that eve of late July,
When 'mid the roses, filled with musk and rain,
Against the wondrous topaz of the sky,
I met you, leaning on the pasture bars, -
While heaven and earth grew conscious of the stars.

No night of blackest winter can repeat
The bitterness of that December night,
When at your gate, gray-glittering with sleet,
Within the glimmering square of window-light,
We parted, - long you clung unto my arm, -
While heaven and earth surrendered to the storm.

Fairy snow, fairy snow,
Blowing, blowing everywhere,
Would that I
Too, could fly
Lightly, lightly through the air.

Like a wee, crystal star
I should drift, I should blow
Near, more near,
To my dear
Where he comes through the snow.

I should fly to my love
Like a flake in the storm,
I should die,
I should die,
On his lips that are warm.

        Glide soft, ye silver floods,
        And every spring:
        Within the shady woods
        Let no bird sing!
    Nor from the grove a turtle-dove
    Be seen to couple with her love;
But silence on each dale and mountain dwell,
Whilst Willy bids his friend and joy farewell.

        But (of great Thetis' train)
        Ye mermaids fair,
        That on the shores do plain
        Your sea-green hair,
    As ye in trammels knit your locks,
    Weep ye; and so enforce the rocks
In heavy murmurs through the broad shores tell
How Willy bade his friend and joy farewell.

        Cease, cease, ye murd'ring winds,
        To move a wave;
        But if with troubled minds
        You seek his grave;
    Know 'tis as various a...

No one was with me there -
Happy I was - alone;
Yet from the sunshine suddenly
A joy was gone.

A bird in an empty house
Sad echoes makes to ring,
Flitting from room to room
On restless wing:

Till from its shades he flies,
And leaves forlorn and dim
The narrow solitudes
So strange to him.

So, when with fickle heart
I joyed in the passing day,
A presence my mood estranged
Went grieved away.