Hesperus Part 13

Beating heart! I deemed that sorrow, With its torture-rack of pain, Had eclipsed each bright to-morrow; And that Love could never rise Into life's cerulean skies, Singing the divine refrain-- "Young again! Young again!"

Young again! Young again!

Pa.s.sion dies as we grow older; Love that in repose has lain, Takes a higher flight, and bolder: Fresh from rest and dewy sleep, Like the skylark's matin sweep, Singing the divine refrain-- "Young again! Young again!"

Young again! Young again!

Book of Youth, thy sunny pages Here and there a tear may stain, But 'tis Love that makes us sages.

Love, Hope, Youth--blest trinity!

Wanting these, and what were we?

Who would chant the sweet refrain-- "Young again! Young again!"

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GLIMPSES.

Sounds of rural life and labour!

Not the notes of pipe and tabour, Not the clash of helm and sabre Bright'ning up the field of glory, Can compare with thy ovations, That make glad the hearts of nations; E'en the poet's fond creations Pale before thy simple story.

In the years beyond our present, King was little more than peasant, Labour was the s.h.i.+ning crescent, Toil, the poor man's crown of glory; Have we pa.s.sed from worse to better Since we wove the silken fetter, Changed the plough for book and letter.

Truest life for tinsel story?

Up the ladder of the ages Clomb the patriarchal sages, Solving nature's secret pages, Kings of thought's supremest glory; Eagle-winged, and sight far reaching-- Are we wiser for their teaching?-- Wrangling creeds for gentle preaching!

Falsest life for truest story!

Man is overfraught with culture, Virtue early finds sepulture, While our vices sate the vulture

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We misname a bird of glory; Life is blindly artificial, Rarely pa.s.s we its initial, All our aims are prejudicial To its earnest, simple story.

Hail, primeval life and labour!

Martial notes of pipe and tabour, Gleam of spears and clash of sabre, Hero march from fields of glory, All the thundering ovations Surging from the hearts of nations, Poet dreams and speculations, Pale before thy simple story!

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MY PRAYER.

O G.o.d! forgive the erring thought, The erring word and deed, And in thy mercy hear the Christ Who comes to intercede.

My sins, like mountain-weights of lead, Weigh heavy on my soul; I'm bruised and broken in this strife, But Thou canst make me whole.

Allay this fever of unrest, That fights against the Will; And in Thy still small voice do Thou But whisper, "Peace, be still!"

Until within this heart of mine Thy lasting peace come down, Will all the waves of Pa.s.sion roll, Each good resolve to drown.

We walk in blindness and dark night Through half our earthly way; Our clouds of weaknesses obscure The glory of the day.

We cannot lead the lives we would, But grope in dumb amaze, Leaving the straight and flowery paths To tread the crooked ways.

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We are as pilgrims toiling on Through all the weary hours; And our poor hands are torn with thorns, Plucking life's tempting flowers.

We wors.h.i.+p at a thousand shrines, And build upon the sands, Pa.s.sing the one great Temple, and The Rock on which it stands.

O, fading dream of human life!

What can this change portend?

I long for higher walks, and true Progression without end.

Here I know nothing, and my search Can find no secret out; I cannot think a single thought That is not mixed with doubt.

Relying on the higher source, The influence divine, I can but hope that light may dawn Within this soul of mine.

I ask not wisdom, such as that To which the world is p.r.o.ne, Nor knowledge ask, unless it come Direct from G.o.d alone.

Send down then, G.o.d! in mercy send Thy Love and Truth to me, That I may henceforth walk in light That comes direct from Thee.

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HER STAR.

When the heavens throb and vibrate All along their silver veins, To the mellow storm of music Sweeping o'er the starry trains, Heard by few, as erst by shepherds On the far Chaldean plains:

Not the blazing, torch-like planets, Not the Pleiads wild and free, Not Arcturus, Mars, Ura.n.u.s, Bring the brightest dreams to me; But I gaze in rapt devotion On the central star of three.

Central star of three that tingle In the balmy southern sky; One above, and one below it, Dreamily they pale and die, As two lesser minds might dwindle, When some great soul, pa.s.sing by,

Stops, and reads their cherished secrets, With a calm and G.o.dlike air, Luring all their radiance from them Leaving a dim twilight there, Something vague, and half unreal, Like the Alpha of despair.

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Gazing thus, and holding converse With the silence of my heart, I would speak with famed Orion, I would question it apart, Wrest her love's strange secret from it, If there's strength in human art.

And there come to me sweet whispers, Half in answer, half in thought:-- "Be but strong, impa.s.sioned mortal!

Love will come to thee unsought; Love is the divine Irene,-- It is given, and not bought.

[Transcriber's note: In the original book, the e's in the "Irene" in the above verse were e-macrons, Unicode U+0113.]

Strong of heart. Be wise, be steadfast, Learn, endeavour, and endure; Blest with strength and light, in wisdom Make the higher purpose sure; Never can her heart receive thee Till thine own is rendered pure.

I but shone in truth above her; Psyche-like, she yearned to me, And her soul, an Aphrodite, Rose above the ether sea.