Inspirational

(Time, Morning. Scene, the Shore.[1])

Once more to daily toil--once more to wear
The weeds of infamy--from every joy
The heart can feel excluded, I arise
Worn out and faint with unremitting woe;
And once again with wearied steps I trace
The hollow-sounding shore. The swelling waves
Gleam to the morning sun, and dazzle o'er
With many a splendid hue the breezy strand.
Oh there was once a time when ELINOR
Gazed on thy opening beam with joyous eye
Undimm'd by guilt and grief! when her full soul
Felt thy mild radiance, and the rising day
Waked but to pleasure! on thy sea-girt verge
Oft England! have my evening steps stole on,
Oft have mine eyes surveyed the blue expanse,
And mark'd the wild wind swell the ruffled surge,
And seen the upheaved billows boso...

Fair charmer, cease! nor make your voice's prize,
A heart resign'd, the conquest of your eyes:
Well might, alas! that threaten'd vessel fail,
Which winds and lightning both at once assail.
We were too blest with these enchanting lays,
Which must be heavenly when an angel plays:
But killing charms your lover's death contrive,
Lest heavenly music should be heard alive.
Orpheus could charm the trees, but thus a tree,
Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he:
A poet made the silent wood pursue,
This vocal wood had drawn the poet too.

ON A FAN OF THE AUTHOR'S DESIGN,

IN WHICH WAS PAINTED THE STORY OF CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS, WITH THE MOTTO, 'AURA VENI.'

'Come, gentle Air!' the Aeolian shepherd said,
While Procris panted in the secret shade;
'Co...

We will be what we could be.    Do not say,
    "It might have been, had not or that, or this."
No fate can keep us from the chosen way;
    He only might, who IS.

We will do what we could do.    Do not dream
    Chance leaves a hero, all uncrowned to grieve.
I hold, all men are greatly what they seem;
    He does, who could achieve.

We will climb where we could climb.    Tell me not
    Of adverse storms that kept thee from the height.
What eagle ever missed the peak he sought?
    He always climbs who might.

I do not like the phrase, "It might have been!"
    It lacks all force, and life's best truths perverts
For I believe we have, and reach, and win,
    Whatever our deserts.

Through the sunshine, and through the rain
    Of these changing days of mist and splendour,
I see the face of a year-old pain
    Looking at me with a smile half tender.

With a smile half tender, and yet all sad,
    Into each hour of the mild September
It comes, and finding my life grown glad
    Looks down in my eyes, and says 'Remember.'

Says 'Remember,' and points behind
    To days of sorrow, and tear-wet lashes;
When joy lay dead and hope was blind,
    And nothing was left but dust and ashes.

Dust and ashes and vain regret,
    Flames fanned out, and the embers falling.
But the sun of the saddest day must set,
    And hope wakes ever with Springtime's calling.

With Springtime's calling the pulses thrill;
    And the heart i...

Sometimes I long to write an ode
    And magnify his name,
The man of honor, on the road
    To opulence and fame,
On whom was never aid bestowed
    By any helpful dame.

To all the world I fain would show
    That talent widely known,
Rare eloquence, of burning glow
    To melt a heart of stone,
That all his gifts, a dazzling row,
    Are his, and his alone.

But him, of character and mind
    Superb, alert, and strong,
I never study but to find
    The subject of my song,
Some paragon of womankind,
    Has helped him all along.

He may not know, he may not guess,
    How much to her he owes,
How every scion of success
    That in his nature grows,
Developed by her watchfulness,
    Becomes a blooming rose.

Upon a rock that, high and sheer,
Rose from the mountain's breast,
A weary hunter of the deer
Had sat him down to rest,
And bared to the soft summer air
His hot red brow and sweaty hair.

All dim in haze the mountains lay,
With dimmer vales between;
And rivers glimmered on their way,
By forests faintly seen;
While ever rose a murmuring sound,
From brooks below and bees around.

He listened, till he seemed to hear
A strain, so soft and low,
That whether in the mind or ear
The listener scarce might know.
With such a tone, so sweet and mild,
The watching mother lulls her child.

"Thou weary huntsman," thus it said,
"Thou faint with toil and heat,
The pleasant land of rest is spread
Before thy very feet,
And those whom ...

I know not wherefore, but mine eyes
    See bloom, where other eyes see blight.
They find a rainbow, a sunrise,
    Where others but discern deep night.

Men call me an enthusiast,
    And say I look through gilded haze:
Because where'er my gaze is cast,
    I see some thing that calls for praise.

I say, "Behold those lovely eyes -
    That tinted cheek of flower-like grace."
They answer in amused surprise:
    "We thought it such a common face."

I say, "Was ever scene more fair?
    I seem to walk in Eden's bowers."
They answer with a pitying air,
    "The weeds are choking out the flowers."

I know not wherefore, but God lent
    A deeper vision to my sight.
On whatsoe'er my gaze is bent
    I catch the beauty Infinite;

And I behold once more
My old familiar haunts; here the blue river,
The same blue wonder that my infant eye
Admired, sage doubting whence the traveller came,--
Whence brought his sunny bubbles ere he washed
The fragrant flag-roots in my father's fields,
And where thereafter in the world he went.
Look, here he is, unaltered, save that now
He hath broke his banks and flooded all the vales
With his redundant waves.
Here is the rock where, yet a simple child,
I caught with bended pin my earliest fish,
Much triumphing,--and these the fields
Over whose flowers I chased the butterfly
A blooming hunter of a fairy fine.
And hark! where overhead the ancient crows
Hold their sour conversation in the sky:--
These are the same, but I am not the same,
But wiser th...

to -----

Sometimes my heart by cruel care opprest
Faints from the weight of woe upon my breast,
My soul embittered far beyond belief; -
As damned one, drinking galling draughts of grief,
Which boils and burns within without relief,
While fervid flames inflict the wounds unhealed,
With hellish horrors not to man revealed;
When Peace and Joy seem wrapt in sable shrouds,
And young Hope's heaven is black with lowering clouds
'Tis then thy vision comes before my view,
'Tis then I see those beaming eyes of blue,
And hear thy gentle voice in accents kind,
And see thy cheerful smile before my mind;
And taking heart, I battle on anew;
And thank my God for sending to my soul
His own blest, soothing balm of peace again,
Who sometimes still as in the days of ol...

The clouds that promise a glorious morrow
    Are fading slowly, one by one;
The earth no more bright rays may borrow
    From her loved Lord, the golden sun;
Gray evening shadows are softly creeping,
    With noiseless steps, o'er vale and hill;
The birds and flowers are calmly sleeping;
    And all around is fair and still.

Once loved I dearly, at this sweet hour,
    With loitering steps to careless stray,
To idly gather an opening flower,
    And often pause upon my way, -
Gazing around me with joyous feeling,
    From sunny earth to azure sky,
Or bending over the streamlet, stealing
    'Mid banks of flowers and verdure by.

You wond'ring ask me why sit I lonely
    Within my quiet, curtain'd room,
So idly seeking and clinging only

The time has been that these wild solitudes,
Yet beautiful as wild, were trod by me
Oftener than now; and when the ills of life
Had chafed my spirit, when the unsteady pulse
Beat with strange flutterings, I would wander forth
And seek the woods. The sunshine on my path
Was to me as a friend. The swelling hills,
The quiet dells retiring far between,
With gentle invitation to explore
Their windings, were a calm society
That talked with me and soothed me. Then the chant
Of birds, and chime of brooks, and soft caress
Of the fresh sylvan air, made me forget
The thoughts that broke my peace, and I began
To gather simples by the fountain's brink,
And lose myself in day-dreams. While I stood
In nature's loneliness, I was with one
With whom I early grew familiar, ...

We are much bound to them that do succeed;
    But, in a more pathetic sense, are bound
To such as fail. They all our loss expound;
They comfort us for work that will not speed,
And life - itself a failure.
        Ay, his deed,
Sweetest in story, who the dusk profound
    Of Hades flooded with entrancing sound,
Music's own tears, was failure. Doth it read
    Therefore the worse? Ah, no! so much, to dare,
    He fronts the regnant Darkness on its throne. -
So much to do; impetuous even there,
    He pours out love's disconsolate sweet moan -
He wins; but few for that his deed recall:
Its power is in the look which costs him all.

Three saints, for their salvation jealous,
Pursued, with hearts alike most zealous,
By routes diverse, their common aim.
All highways lead to Rome: the same
Of heaven our rivals deeming true,
Each chose alone his pathway to pursue.
Moved by the cares, delays, and crosses
Attach'd to suits by legal process,
One gave himself as judge, without reward,
For earthly fortune having small regard.
Since there are laws, to legal strife
Man damns himself for half his life.
For half? - Three-fourths! - perhaps the whole!
The hope possess'd our umpire's soul,
That on his plan he should be able
To cure this vice detestable. -
The second chose the hospitals.
I give him praise: to solace pain
Is charity not spent in vain,
While men in part are animals.
The...

Written at the request of the corporation of the city of New York.




Gushing from this living fountain,
Music pours a falling strain,
As the goddess of the mountain
Comes with all her sparkling train.
From her grotto-springs advancing,
Glittering in her feathery spray,
Woodland fays beside her dancing,
She pursues her winding way.

Gently o'er the rippling water,
In her coral-shallop bright,
Glides the rock-king's dove-eyed daughter,
Decked in robes of virgin white.
Nymphs and naiads, sweetly smiling,
Urge her bark with pearly hand,
Merrily the sylph beguiling
From the nooks of fairy-land.

Swimming on the snow-curled billow,
See the river-spirits fair
Lay their cheeks, as on a pillow,
With the foam-beads in ...

1869-1891

Auvergne, Auvergne, O wild and woful land,
O glorious land and gracious, white as gleam
The stairs of heaven, black as a flameless brand,
Strange even as life, and stranger than a dream,
Could earth remember man, whose eyes made bright
The splendour of her beauty, lit by day
Or soothed and softened and redeemed by night,
Wouldst thou not know what light has passed away?
Wouldst thou not know whom England, whom the world,
Mourns? For the world whose wildest ways he trod,
And smiled their dangers down that coiled and curled
Against him, knows him now less man than god.
Our demigod of daring, keenest-eyed
To read and deepest read in earth's dim things,
A spirit now whose body of death has died
And left it mightier yet in eyes and wings,

We meet in peace, though from our native East
The sun that sparkles on our birthday feast
Glanced as he rose on fields whose dews were red
With darker tints than those Aurora spread.
Though shorn his rays, his welcome disk concealed
In the dim smoke that veiled each battlefield,
Still striving upward, in meridian pride,
He climbed the walls that East and West divide,
Saw his bright face flashed back from golden sand,
And sapphire seas that lave the Western land.

Strange was the contrast that such scenes disclose
From his high vantage o’er eternal snows;
There War’s alarm the brazen trumpet rings
Here his love-song the mailed cicala sings;
There bayonets glitter through the forest glades
Here yellow cornfields stack their peaceful blades;
There the deep t...

TO COLONEL FRANCIS EDWARD YOUNGHUSBAND

    Across the Western World, the Arabian Sea,
    The Hundred Kingdoms and the Rivers Three,
    Beyond the rampart of Himalayan snows,
    And up the road that only Rumour knows,
    Unchecked, old friend, from Devon to Thibet,
    Friendship and Memory dog your footsteps yet.

    Let not the scornful ask me what avails
    So small a pack to follow mighty trails:
    Long since I saw what difference must be
    Between a stream like you, a ditch like me.
    This drains a garden and a homely field
    Which scarce at times a living current yield;
    The other from the high lands of his birth
    Plunges through rocks and spurns the pastoral earth,
    Then settling silent to his deeper course
    Draws in ...

Thou hast seen many sorrows, travel-stained pilgrim of the world.
But that which hath vexed thee most hath been the looking for evil;
And though calamities have crossed thee, and misery been heaped on thy head,
Yet ills, that never happened, have chiefly made thee wretched.
The sting of pain and the edge of pleasure are blunted by long expectation,
For the gall and the balm alike are diluted in the waters of patience:
And often thou sippest sweetness, ere the cup is dashed from thy lip;
Or drainest the gall of fear, while evil is passing by thy dwelling.
A man too careful of danger liveth in continual torment,
But a cheerful expecter of the best hath a fountain of joy within him:
Yea, though the breath of disappointment should chill the sanguine heart,
Speedily gloweth it again, warme...