Andromeda and Other Poems Part 11

So die, thou child of stormy dawn, Thou winter flower, forlorn of nurse; Chilled early by the bigot's curse, The pedant's frown, the worldling's yawn.

Fair death, to fall in teeming June, When every seed which drops to earth Takes root, and wins a second birth From steaming shower and gleaming moon.

Fall warm, fall fast, thou mellow rain; Thou rain of G.o.d, make fat the land; That roots which parch in burning sand May bud to flower and fruit again.

To grace, perchance, a fairer morn In mightier lands beyond the sea, While honour falls to such as we From hearts of heroes yet unborn,

Who in the light of fuller day, Of purer science, holier laws, Bless us, faint heralds of their cause, Dim beacons of their glorious way.

Failure? While tide-floods rise and boil Round cape and isle, in port and cove, Resistless, star-led from above: What though our tiny wave recoil?

Eversley, 1852.

DOWN TO THE MOTHERS

Linger no more, my beloved, by abbey and cell and cathedral; Mourn not for holy ones mourning of old them who knew not the Father, Weeping with fast and scourge, when the bridegroom was taken from them.

Drop back awhile through the years, to the warm rich youth of the nations, Childlike in virtue and faith, though childlike in pa.s.sion and pleasure, Childlike still, and still near to their G.o.d, while the day-spring of Eden Lingered in rose-red rays on the peaks of Ionian mountains.

Down to the mothers, as Faust went, I go, to the roots of our manhood, Mothers of us in our cradles; of us once more in our glory.

New-born, body and soul, in the great pure world which shall be In the renewing of all things, when man shall return to his Eden Conquering evil, and death, and shame, and the slander of conscience-- Free in the suns.h.i.+ne of G.o.dhead--and fearlessly smile on his Father.

Down to the mothers I go--yet with thee still!--be with me, thou purest!

Lead me, thy hand in my hand; and the dayspring of G.o.d go before us.

Eversley, 1852.

TO MISS MITFORD: AUTh.o.r.eSS OF 'OUR VILLAGE'

The single eye, the daughter of the light; Well pleased to recognise in lowliest shade Some glimmer of its parent beam, and made By daily draughts of brightness, inly bright.

The taste severe, yet graceful, trained aright In cla.s.sic depth and clearness, and repaid By thanks and honour from the wise and staid-- By pleasant skill to blame, and yet delight, And high communion with the eloquent throng Of those who purified our speech and song-- All these are yours. The same examples lure, You in each woodland, me on breezy moor-- With kindred aim the same sweet path along, To knit in loving knowledge rich and poor.

Eversley, 1853.

BALLAD OF EARL HALDAN'S DAUGHTER

It was Earl Haldan's daughter, She looked across the sea; She looked across the water; And long and loud laughed she: 'The locks of six princesses Must be my marriage fee, So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!

Who comes a wooing me?'

It was Earl Haldan's daughter, She walked along the sand; When she was aware of a knight so fair, Came sailing to the land.

His sails were all of velvet, His mast of beaten gold, And 'Hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!

Who saileth here so bold?'

'The locks of five princesses I won beyond the sea; I clipt their golden tresses, To fringe a cloak for thee.

One handful yet is wanting, But one of all the tale; So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!

Furl up thy velvet sail!'

He leapt into the water, That rover young and bold; He gript Earl Haldan's daughter, He clipt her locks of gold: 'Go weep, go weep, proud maiden, The tale is full to-day.

Now hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!

Sail Westward ho! away!'

Devons.h.i.+re, 1854 From Westward Ho!

FRANK LEIGH'S SONG. A.D. 1586

Ah tyrant Love, Megaera's serpents bearing, Why thus requite my sighs with venom'd smart?

Ah ruthless dove, the vulture's talons wearing, Why flesh them, traitress, in this faithful heart?

Is this my meed? Must dragons' teeth alone In Venus' lawns by lovers' hands be sown?

Nay, gentlest Cupid; 'twas my pride undid me; Nay, guiltless dove; by mine own wound I fell.

To wors.h.i.+p, not to wed, Celestials bid me: I dreamt to mate in heaven, and wake in h.e.l.l; For ever doom'd, Ixion-like, to reel On mine own pa.s.sions' ever-burning wheel.

Devons.h.i.+re, 1854.

From Westward Ho!

ODE TO THE NORTH-EAST WIND

Welcome, wild North-easter.

Shame it is to see Odes to every zephyr; Ne'er a verse to thee.

Welcome, black North-easter!

O'er the German foam; O'er the Danish moorlands, From thy frozen home.

Tired we are of summer, Tired of gaudy glare, Showers soft and steaming, Hot and breathless air.

Tired of listless dreaming, Through the lazy day: Jovial wind of winter Turns us out to play!

Sweep the golden reed-beds; Crisp the lazy d.y.k.e; Hunger into madness Every plunging pike.

Fill the lake with wild-fowl; Fill the marsh with snipe; While on dreary moorlands Lonely curlew pipe.

Through the black fir-forest Thunder harsh and dry, Shattering down the snow-flakes Off the curdled sky.

Hark! The brave North-easter!

Breast-high lies the scent, On by holt and headland, Over heath and bent.

Chime, ye dappled darlings, Through the sleet and snow.

Who can over-ride you?

Let the horses go!

Chime, ye dappled darlings, Down the roaring blast; You shall see a fox die Ere an hour be past.