A Hidden Life and Other Poems Part 10

And o'er the years that follow soon, So all unlike the dreams, Wander their odours, gleams their moon, And flow their winds and streams.

Now I would dream that I awake In scent of cool night air, Above me star-clouds close and break; Beneath--where am I, where?

A strange delight pervades my breast, Of ancient pictures dim, Where fair forms on the waters rest, Or in the breezes swim.

I rest on arms as soft as strong, Great arms of woman-mould; My head is pillowed whence a song, In many a rippling fold, O'erfloods me from its bubbling spring: A t.i.tan G.o.ddess bears Me, floating on her unseen wing, Through gracious midnight airs.

And I am borne o'er sleeping seas, O'er murmuring ears of corn, Over the billowy tops of trees, O'er roses pale till morn.

Over the lake--ah! nearer float, Down on the water's breast; Let me look deep, and gazing doat On that white lily's nest.

The harebell's bed, as o'er we pa.s.s, Swings all its bells about; From waving blades of polished gra.s.s, Flash moony splendours out.

Old homes we brush in wooded glades; No eyes at windows s.h.i.+ne; For all true men and n.o.ble maids Are out in dreams like mine.

And foam-bell-kisses drift and break From wind-waves of the South Against my brow and eyes awake, And yet I see no mouth.

Light laughter ripples down the air, Light sighs float up below; And o'er me ever, radiant pair, The Queen's great star-eyes go.

And motion like a dreaming wave Wafts me in gladness dim Through air just cool enough to lave With sense each conscious limb.

But ah! the dream eludes the rhyme, As dreams break free from sleep; The dream will keep its own free time, In mazy float or sweep.

And thought too keen for joy awakes, As on the horizon far, A dead pale light the circle breaks, But not a dawning star.

No, there I cannot, dare not go; Pale women wander there; With cold fire murderous eyeb.a.l.l.s glow; And children see despair.

The joy has lost its dreamy zest; I feel a pang of loss; My wandering hand o'er mounds of rest Finds only mounds of moss.

Beneath the bare night-stars I lie; Cold winds are moaning past: Alas! the earth with grief will die, The great earth is aghast.

I look above--there dawns no face; Around--no footsteps come; No voice inhabits this great s.p.a.ce; G.o.d knows, but keepeth dumb.

I wake, and know that G.o.d is by, And more than dreams will give; And that the hearts that moan and die, Shall yet awake and live.

TO AURELIO SAFFI.

_To G.o.d and man be simply true: Do as thou hast been wont to do:_ Or, _Of the old more in the new:_ Mean all the same when said to you.

I love thee. Thou art calm and strong; Firm in the right, mild to the wrong; Thy heart, in every raging throng, A chamber shut for prayer and song.

Defeat thou know'st not, canst not know; Only thy aims so lofty go, They need as long to root and grow As any mountain swathed in snow.

Go on and prosper, holy friend.

I, weak and ignorant, would lend A voice, thee, strong and wise, to send Prospering onward, without end.

SONNET.

To A.M.D.

Methinks I see thee, lying calm and low, Silent and dark within thy earthy bed; Thy mighty hands, in which I trusted, dead, Resting, with thy long arms, from work or blow; And the night-robe, around thy tall form, flow Down from the kingly face, and from the head, Save by its thick dark curls, uncovered-- My brother, dear from childhood, lying so!

Not often since thou went'st, I think of thee, (With inward cares and questionings oppressed); And yet, ere long, I seek thee in thy rest, And bring thee home my heart, as full, as free, As sure that thou wilt take me tenderly, As then when youth and nature made us blest.

A MEMORIAL OF AFRICA.

I.

Upon a rock, high on a mountain side, Thousands of feet above the lake-sea's lip, A rock in which old waters' rise and dip, Plunge and recoil, and backward eddying tide Had, age-long, worn, while races lived and died, Involved channels, where the sea-weed's drip Followed the ebb; and now earth-gra.s.ses sip Fresh dews from heaven, whereby on earth they bide-- I sat and gazed southwards. A dry flow Of withering wind blew on my drooping strength From o'er the awful desert's burning length.

Behind me piled, away and upward go Great sweeps of savage mountains--up, away, Where panthers roam, and snow gleams all the day.

II.

Ah, G.o.d! the world needs many hours to make; Nor hast thou ceased the making of it yet, But wilt be working on when Death hath set A new mound in some churchyard for my sake.

On flow the centuries without a break.

Uprise the mountains, ages without let.

The mosses suck the rock's breast, rarely wet.

Years more than past, the young earth yet will take.

But in the dumbness of the rolling time, No veil of silence will encompa.s.s me-- Thou wilt not once forget, and let me be: I easier think that thou, as I my rhyme, Wouldst rise, and with a tenderness sublime Unfold a world, that I, thy child, might see.

A GIFT.

My gift would find thee fast asleep, And arise a dream in thee; A violet sky o'er the roll and sweep Of a purple and pallid sea; And a crescent moon from my sky should creep In the golden dream to thee.

Thou shouldst lay thee down, and sadly list To the wail of our cold birth-time; And build thee a temple, glory-kissed, In the heart of the sunny clime; Its columns should rise in a music-mist, And its roofs in a spirit-rhyme.

Its pillars the solemn hills should bind 'Neath arches of starry deeps; Its floor the earth all veined and lined; Its organ the ocean-sweeps; And, swung in the hands of the grey-robed wind, Its censers the blossom-heaps.

And 'tis almost done; for in this my rhyme, Thanks to thy mirror-soul, Thou wilt see the mountains, and hear the chime Of the waters after the roll; And the stars of my sky thy sky will climb, And with heaven roof in the whole.

THE MAN OF SONGS.

"Thou wanderest in the land of dreams, O man of many songs; To thee the actual only seems-- No realm to thee belongs."

"Seest thou those mountains in the east, O man of ready aim?"

"'T is only vapours that thou seest, In mountain form and name."