Like to a ship that storms urge on its course,
By its own trials our soul is surer made.
The very things that make the voyage worse
Do make it better; its peril is its aid.
And, as the storm drives from the storm, our heart
Within the peril disimperilled grows;
A port is near the more from port we part--
The port whereto our driven direction goes.
If we reap knowledge to cross-profit, this
From storms we learn, when the storm's height doth drive--
That the black presence of its violence is
The pushing promise of near far blue skies.
    Learn we but how to have the pilot-skill,
    And the storm's very might shall mate our will.

Weary of myself, and sick of asking
What I am, and what I ought to be,
At this vessel's prow I stand, which bears me
Forwards, forwards, o'er the starlit sea.

And a look of passionate desire
O'er the sea and to the stars I send:
"Ye who from my childhood up have calm'd me,
Calm me, ah, compose me to the end!

"Ah, once more," I cried, "ye stars, ye waters,
On my heart your mighty charm renew;
Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you,
Feel my soul becoming vast like you!"

From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,
Over the lit sea's unquiet way,
In the rustling night-air came the answer:
"Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they.

"Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,
These demand...

What would you have? said I;1
’Tis so easy to go and die,
’Tis so hard to stay and live,
In this alien peace and this comfort callous,
Where only the murderers get the gallows,
Where the jails are for rogues who thieve.

’Tis so easy to go and die,
Where our Country, our Mother, the Martyr,
Moaning in bonds doth lie,
Bleeding with stabs in her breast,
Her throat with a foul clutch prest,
Under the thrice-accursed Tartar.

But Smith, your man of sense,
Ruddy, and broad, and round, like so!
Kindly, but dense, butt dense,
Said to me: “Do not go:
It is hopeless; right is wrong;
The tyrant is too strong.”

Must a man have hope to fight?
Can a man not fight in despair?
Must the soul cower down for the body’s weakness,

'Tis the midnight hour; I heard
The Abbey-bell give out the word.
Seldom is the lamp-ray shed
On some dwarfed foot-farer's head
In the deep and narrow street
Lying ditch-like at my feet
Where I stand at lattice high
Downward gazing listlessly
From my house upon the rock,
Peak of earth's foundation-block.

    There her windows, every story,
Shine with far-off nebulous glory!
Round her in that luminous cloud
Stars obedient press and crowd,
She the centre of all gazing,
She the sun her planets dazing!
In her eyes' victorious lightning
Some are paling, some are brightening:
Those on which they gracious turn,
Stars combust, all tenfold burn;
Those from which they look away
Listless roam in twilight gray!
When on her my looks I be...

How should I know,
That day when first we met,
I Would be a day
I never can forget?
And yet 'tis so.
That clasp of hands that made my heartstrings thrill,
Would not die out, but keeps vibrating still?
How should I know?

How should I know,
That those bright eyes of thine
Would haunt me yet?
And through Grief's dark cloud shine,
With that same glow?
That thy sweet smile, so full of trust and love,
Should, beaming still, a priceless solace prove?
How should I know?

How should I know
That one so good and fair,
Would condescend
To spare a thought, or care,
For one so low?
I dared not hope such bliss could be in store; -
How dare I who had known no love before?
How should I know?

But now I know -
Too lat...

Yes, let them gather! Summon forth
The pledged philanthropy of Earth.
From every land, whose hills have heard
The bugle blast of Freedom waking;
Or shrieking of her symbol-bird
From out his cloudy eyrie breaking:
Where Justice hath one worshipper,
Or truth one altar built to her;
Where'er a human eye is weeping
O'er wrongs which Earth's sad children know;
Where'er a single heart is keeping
Its prayerful watch with human woe:
Thence let them come, and greet each other,
And know in each a friend and brother!
Yes, let them come! from each green vale
Where England's old baronial halls
Still bear upon their storied walls
The grim crusader's rusted mail,
Battered by Paynim spear and brand
On Malta's rock or Syria's sand.!
And mouldering pennon-st...

Bold words affirmed, in days when faith was strong
And doubts and scruples seldom teased the brain,
That no adventurer's bark had power to gain
These shores if he approached them bent on wrong;
For, suddenly up-conjured from the Main,
Mists rose to hide the Land that search, though long
And eager, might be still pursued in vain.
O Fancy, what an age was 'that' for song!
That age, when not by 'laws' inanimate,
As men believed, the waters were impelled,
The air controlled, the stars their courses held;
But element and orb on 'acts' did wait
Of 'Powers' endued with visible form, instinct
With will, and to their work by passion linked.

("Quels sont ces bruits sourds?")

[XXIV., July 17, 1836.]


Hark to that solemn sound!
It steals towards the strand. -
Whose is that voice profound
Which mourns the swallowed land,
    With moans,
    Or groans,
New threats of ruin close at hand?
It is Triton - the storm to scorn
Who doth wind his sonorous horn.

How thick the rain to-night!
And all along the coast
The sky shows naught of light
Is it a storm, my host?
    Too soon
    The boon
Of pleasant weather will be lost
Yes, 'tis Triton, etc.

Are seamen on that speck
Afar in deepening dark?
Is that a splitting deck
Of some ill-fated bark?
    Fend harm!
    Send calm!
O Venus! show thy starry spark!
Though 'tis Triton, et...

THE DIVINE VOICE
Go seek thine earth-born sisters, - thus the Voice
That all obey, - the sad and silent three;
These only, while the hosts of Heaven rejoice,
Smile never; ask them what their sorrows be;

And when the secret of their griefs they tell,
Look on them with thy mild, half-human eyes;
Say what thou wast on earth; thou knowest well;
So shall they cease from unavailing sighs.


THE ANGEL
Why thus, apart, - the swift-winged herald spake, -
Sit ye with silent lips and unstrung lyres
While the trisagion's blending chords awake
In shouts of joy from all the heavenly choirs?

FIRST SPIRIT
Chide not thy sisters, - thus the answer came; -
Children of earth, our half-weaned nature clings
To earth's fond memories, and her whispered name...

IF truth give pleasure, surely we should try;
To found our tales on what we can rely;
Th' experiment repeatedly I've made,
And seen how much realities persuade:
They draw attention: confidence awake;
Fictitious names however we should take,
And then the rest detail without disguise:
'Tis thus I mean to manage my supplies.

IT happened then near Mans, a Normand town,
For sapient people always of renown,
A maid not long ago a lover had
Brisk, pleasing, ev'ry way a handsome lad;
The down as yet was scarcely on his chin;
The girl was such as many wished to win:
Had charms and fortune, all that was desired,
And by the Mansian sparks was much admired;
Around they swarmed, but vain was all their art
Too much our youth possessed the damsel's heart.

I see the starting buds, I catch the gleam
    In the near distance of a sun-kissed pool,
    The blessed April air blows soft and cool,
Small wonder if all sorrow grows a dream,
    And we forget that close around us lie
    A city's poor, a city's misery.

Of every outward vision there is some
    Internal counterpart. To-day I know
    The blessedness of living, and the glow
Of life's dear spring-tide. I can bid thee come
    In thought and wander where the fields are fair
    With bursting life, and I, rejoicing, there.

Yet have I passed, Beloved, through the vale
    Of dark dismay, and felt the dews of death
    Upon my brow, have measured out my breath
Counting my hours of joy, as misers quail
    At every footfall in the quiet night
   ...

When first we met she seemed so white
    I feared her;
As one might near a spirit bright
    I neared her;
An angel pure from heaven above
    I dreamed her,
And far too good for human love
    I deemed her.
A spirit free from mortal taint
    I thought her,
And incense as unto a saint
    I brought her.

Well, incense burning did not seem
    To please her,
And insolence I feared she’d deem
    To squeeze her;
Nor did I dare for that same why
    To kiss her,
Lest, shocked, she’d cause my eager eye
    To miss her.
I sickened thinking of some way
    To win her,
When lo! she asked me, one fine day,
    To dinner!

Twas thus that made of common flesh
    I found her,
And in a mortal lover’s mesh

[1]

The wise, sometimes, as lobsters do,
To gain their ends back foremost go.
It is the rower's art; and those
Commanders who mislead their foes,
Do often seem to aim their sight
Just where they don't intend to smite.
My theme, so low, may yet apply
To one whose fame is very high,
Who finds it not the hardest matter
A hundred-headed league to scatter.
What he will do, what leave undone,
Are secrets with unbroken seals,
Till victory the truth reveals.
Whatever he would have unknown
Is sought in vain. Decrees of Fate
Forbid to check, at first, the course
Which sweeps at last with torrent force.
One Jove, as ancient fables state,
Exceeds a hundred gods in weight.
So Fate and Louis[2] would seem able
The univers...

To-day a bird on wings as white as foam
    That crests the blue-gray wave,
With the vesper light upon its breast, flew home
    Seaward. The God who gave
To the birds the virgin-wings of snow
Somehow telleth them the ways they go.

Unto the Evening went the white-winged bird --
    Gray clouds hung round the West --
And far away the tempest's tramp was heard.
    The bird flew for a rest
Away from the grove, out to the sea --
Is it only a bird's mystery?

Nay! nay! lone bird! I watched thy wings of white
    That cleft thy waveward way --
Past the evening and swift into the night,
    Out of the calm, bright day --
And thou didst teach me, bird of the sea,
More than one human heart's history.

Only men's hearts -- tho' God shows each ...

Go thou forth, my book, though late,
Yet be timely fortunate.
It may chance good luck may send
Thee a kinsman or a friend,
That may harbour thee, when I
With my fates neglected lie.
If thou know'st not where to dwell,
See, the fire's by.--Farewell!

O aptly named, Illustrious One!
    Thou art that flower fair
That filled this vast and changeful world
    With mystic perfume rare -
Shedding on all the balmy breath
    Of countless virtues high,
Rising like fragrant odours rich,
    To God's far, beauteous sky.

Mystical Rose! O aptly named!
    For, as 'mid brightest flowers
The lovely Rose unquestioned reigns
    The Queen of Nature's bowers,
So 'mid the daughters fair of Eve
    Art thou the peerless One!
The chosen handmaid of the Lord!
    The Mother of His Son!

Yes, He endowed thee with all gifts
    Which could thy beauty grace;
And ne'er did sin, e'en for one hour,
    Thy spotless soul deface,
For from the first thou had'st the power
    God's fav'ring love to w...

Earthly props are useless,
    On Thy grace I fall;
Earthly strength is weakness,
    Father, on Thee I call,--
    For comfort, strength, and guidance,
    O, give me all!

I dreamed a dream: I dreamt that I espied,
Upon a stone that was not rolled aside,
A Shadow sit upon a grave, a Shade,
As thin, as unsubstantial, as of old
Came, the Greek poet told,
To lick the life-blood in the trench Ulysses made,
As pale, as thin, and said:
‘I am the Resurrection of the Dead.
The night is past, the morning is at hand,
And I must in my proper semblance stand,
Appear brief space and vanish, listen, this is true,
I am that Jesus whom they slew.’

And shadows dim, I dreamed, the dead apostles came,
And bent their heads for sorrow and for shame,
Sorrow for their great loss, and shame
For what they did in that vain name.

And in long ranges far behind there seemed
Pale vapoury angel forms; or was it cloud? that kept
Strange w...