Robert F. Murray: His Poems with a Memoir Part 10

The voyager may rest awhile, When rest invites, and yet may be Neither a sluggard nor a craven.

With strength renewed he quits the isle, And putting out again to sea, Makes sail for his desired haven.

LOST LIBERTY

Of our own will we are not free, When freedom lies within our power.

We wait for some decisive hour, To rise and take our liberty.

Still we delay, content to be Imprisoned in our own high tower.

What is it but a strong-built bower?

Ours are the warders, ours the key.

But we through indolence grow weak.

Our warders, fed with power so long, Become at last our lords indeed.

We vainly threaten, vainly seek To move their ruth. The bars are strong.

We dash against them till we bleed.

AN AFTERTHOUGHT

You found my life, a poor lame bird That had no heart to sing, You would not speak the magic word To give it voice and wing.

Yet sometimes, dreaming of that hour, I think, if you had known How much my life was in your power, It might have sung and flown.

TO J. R.

Last Sunday night I read the saddening story Of the unanswered love of fair Elaine, The 'faith unfaithful' and the joyless glory Of Lancelot, 'groaning in remorseful pain.'

I thought of all those nights in wintry weather, Those Sunday nights that seem not long ago, When we two read our Poet's words together, Till summer warmth within our hearts did glow.

Ah, when shall we renew that bygone pleasure, Sit down together at our Merlin's feet, Drink from one cup the overflowing measure, And find, in sharing it, the draught more sweet?

That time perchance is far, beyond divining.

Till then we drain the 'magic cup' apart; Yet not apart, for hope and memory twining Smile upon each, uniting heart to heart.

THE TEMPTED SOUL

Weak soul, by sense still led astray, Why wilt thou parley with the foe?

He seeks to work thine overthrow, And thou, poor fool! dost point the way.

Hast thou forgotten many a day, When thou exulting forth didst go, And ere the noon wert lying low, A broken and defenceless prey?

If thou wouldst live, avoid his face; Dwell in the wilderness apart, And gather force for vanquis.h.i.+ng, Ere thou returnest to his place.

Then arm, and with undaunted heart Give battle, till he own thee king.

YOUTH RENEWED

When one who has wandered out of the way Which leads to the hills of joy, Whose heart has grown both cold and grey, Though it be but the heart of a boy-- When such a one turns back his feet From the valley of shadow and pain, Is not the suns.h.i.+ne pa.s.sing sweet, When a man grows young again?

How gladly he mounts up the steep hillside, With strength that is born anew, And in his veins, like a full springtide, The blood streams through and through.

And far above is the summit clear, And his heart to be there is fain, And all too slowly it comes more near When a man grows young again.

He breathes the pure sweet mountain breath, And it widens all his heart, And life seems no more kin to death, Nor death the better part.

And in tones that are strong and rich and deep He sings a grand refrain, For the soul has awakened from mortal sleep, When a man grows young again.

VANITY OF VANITIES

Be ye happy, if ye may, In the years that pa.s.s away.

Ye shall pa.s.s and be forgot, And your place shall know you not.

Other generations rise, With the same hope in their eyes That in yours is kindled now, And the same light on their brow.

They shall see the selfsame sun That your eyes now gaze upon, They shall breathe the same sweet air, And shall reck not who ye were.

Yet they too shall fade at last In the twilight of the past, They and you alike shall be Lost from the world's memory.

Then, while yet ye breathe and live, Drink the cup that life can give.

Be ye happy, if ye may, In the years that pa.s.s away,

Ere the golden bowl be broken, Ere ye pa.s.s and leave no token, Ere the silver cord be loosed, Ere ye turn again to dust.

'And shall this be all,' ye cry, 'But to eat and drink and die?

If no more than this there be, Vanity of vanity!'

Yea, all things are vanity, And what else but vain are ye?

Ye who boast yourselves the kings Over all created things.