Poems & Ballads Volume III Part 2

XXIX

She gazes till the strenuous soul Within the rapture of her eyes Creates or bids awake, arise, The light she looks for, pure and whole And wors.h.i.+pped of the wise.

x.x.x

Such sons are hers, such radiant hands Have borne abroad her lamp of old, Such mouths of honey-dropping gold Have sent across all seas and lands Her fame as music rolled.

x.x.xI

As music made of rolling thunder That hurls through heaven its heart sublime, Its heart of joy, in charging chime, So ring the songs that round and under Her temple surge and climb.

x.x.xII

A temple not by men's hands builded, But moulded of the spirit, and wrought Of pa.s.sion and imperious thought; With light beyond all sunlight gilded, Whereby the sun seems nought.

x.x.xIII

Thy shrine, our mother, seen for fairer Than even thy natural face, made fair With kisses of thine April air Even now, when spring thy banner-bearer Took up thy sign to bear;

x.x.xIV

Thine annual sign from heaven's own arch Given of the sun's hand into thine, To rear and cheer each wildwood shrine But now laid waste by wild-winged March, March, mad with wind like wine.

x.x.xV

From all thy brightening downs whereon The windy seaward whin-flower shows Blossom whose pride strikes pale the rose Forth is the golden watchword gone Whereat the world's face glows.

x.x.xVI

Thy quickening woods rejoice and ring Till earth seems glorious as the sea: With yearning love too glad for glee The world's heart quivers toward the spring As all our hearts toward thee.

x.x.xVII

Thee, mother, thee, our queen, who givest a.s.surance to the heavens most high And earth whereon her bondsmen sigh That by the sea's grace while thou livest Hope shall not wholly die.

x.x.xVIII

That while thy free folk hold the van Of all men, and the sea-spray shed As dew more heavenly on thy head Keeps bright thy face in sight of man, Man's pride shall drop not dead.

x.x.xIX

A pride more pure than humblest prayer, More wise than wisdom born of doubt, Girds for thy sake men's hearts about With trust and triumph that despair And fear may cast not out.

XL

Despair may wring men's hearts, and fear Bow down their heads to kiss the dust, Where patriot memories rot and rust, And change makes faint a nation's cheer, And faith yields up her trust.

XLI

Not here this year have true men known, Not here this year may true men know, That brand of shame-compelling woe Which bids but brave men shrink or groan And lays but honour low.

XLII

The strong spring wind blows notes of praise, And hallowing pride of heart, and cheer Unchanging, toward all true men here Who hold the trust of ancient days High as of old this year.

XLIII

The days that made thee great are dead; The days that now must keep thee great Lie not in keeping of thy fate; In thine they lie, whose heart and head Sustain thy charge of state.

XLIV

No state so proud, no pride so just, The sun, through clouds at sunrise curled Or clouds across the sunset whirled, Hath sight of, nor has man such trust As thine in all the world.

XLV

Each hour that sees the sunset's crest Make bright thy sh.o.r.es ere day decline Sees dawn the sun on sh.o.r.es of thine, Sees west as east and east as west On thee their sovereign s.h.i.+ne.

XLVI

The sea's own heart must needs wax proud To have borne the world a child like thee.

What birth of earth might ever be Thy sister? Time, a wandering cloud, Is suns.h.i.+ne on thy sea.

XLVII

Change mars not her; and thee, our mother, What change that irks or moves thee mars?

What shock that shakes? what chance that jars?

Time gave thee, as he gave none other, A station like a star's.

XLVIII