A Hidden Life and Other Poems

MY HEART

I heard, in darkness, on my bed,  The beating of my heartTo servant feet and regnant head  A common life impart,By the liquid cords, in every thread  Unbroken as they start.Night, with its power to silence day,  Filled up my lonely room;All motion quenching, save what lay  Beyond its passing doom,Where in his shed the workman gay  Went on despite the gloom.I listened, and I knew the sound,  And the trade that he was plying;For backwards, forwards, bound and bound,  'Twas a shuttle, flying, flying;Weaving ever life's garment round,  Till the weft go out with sighing.I said, O mystic thing, thou goest  On working in the dark;In space's shoreless sea thou rowest,  Concealed within thy bark;All wondrous things thou, wonder, showest,  Yet dost not any mark.For all the world is woven by thee,  Besides this fleshly dress;With earth and sky thou clothest me,  Form, distance, loftiness;A globe of glory spouting free  Around the visionless.For when thy busy efforts fail,  And thy shuttle moveless lies,They will fall from me, like a veil  From before a lady's eyes;As a night-perused, just-finished tale  In the new daylight dies.But not alone dost thou unroll  The mountains, fields, and seas,A mighty, wonder-painted scroll,  Like the Patmos mysteries;Thou mediator 'twixt my soul  And higher things than these.In holy ephod clothing me  Thou makest me a seer;In all the lovely things I see,  The inner truths appear;And the deaf spirit without thee  No spirit-word could hear.Yet though so high thy mission is,  And thought to spirit brings,Thy web is but the chrysalis,  Where lie the future wings,Now growing into perfectness  By thy inwoven things.Then thou, God's pulse, wilt cease to beat;  But His heart will still beat on,Weaving another garment meet,  If needful for his son;And sights more glorious, to complete  The web thou hast begun.

O DO NOT LEAVE ME

O do not leave me, mother, till I sleep;Be near me until I forget; sit there.And the child having prayed lest she should weep,Sleeps in the strength of prayer.O do not leave me, lover, brother, friends,Till I am dead, and resting in my place.And the girl, having prayed, in silence bendsDown to the earth's embrace.Leave me not, God, until—nay, until when?Not till I have with thee one heart, one mind;Not till the Life is Light in me, and thenLeaving is left behind.

THE HOLY SNOWDROPS

Of old, with goodwill from the skies,  The holy angels came;They walked the earth with human eyes,  And passed away in flame.But now the angels are withdrawn,  Because the flowers can speak;With Christ, we see the dayspring dawn  In every snowdrop meek.God sends them forth; to God they tend;  Not less with love they burn,That to the earth they lowly bend,  And unto dust return.No miracle in them hath place,  For this world is their home;An utterance of essential grace  The angel-snowdrops come.

TO MY SISTER

O sister, God is very good—  Thou art a woman now:O sister, be thy womanhood  A baptism on thy brow!For what?—Do ancient stories lie  Of Titans long ago,The children of the lofty sky  And mother earth below?Nay, walk not now upon the ground  Some sons of heavenly mould?Some daughters of the Holy, found  In earthly garments' fold?He said, who did and spoke the truth:  "Gods are the sons of God."And so the world's Titanic youth  Strives homeward by one road.Then live thou, sister, day and night,  An earth-child of the sky,For ever climbing up the height  Of thy divinity.Still in thy mother's heart-embrace,  Waiting thy hour of birth,Thou growest by the genial grace  Of the child-bearing earth.Through griefs and joys, each sad and sweet,  Thou shalt attain the end;Till then a goddess incomplete—  O evermore my friend!Nor is it pride that striveth so:  The height of the DivineIs to be lowly 'mid the low;  No towering cloud—a mine;A mine of wealth and warmth and song,  An ever-open door;For when divinely born ere long,  A woman thou the more.For at the heart of womanhood  The child's great heart doth lie;At childhood's heart, the germ of good,  Lies God's simplicity.So, sister, be thy womanhood  A baptism on thy browFor something dimly understood,  And which thou art not now;But which within thee, all the time,  Maketh thee what thou art;Maketh thee long and strive and climb—  The God-life at thy heart.

OH THOU OF LITTLE FAITH!

Sad-hearted, be at peace: the snowdrop lies  Under the cold, sad earth-clods and the snow;But spring is floating up the southern skies,  And the pale snowdrop silent waits below.O loved if known! in dull December's day  One scarce believes there is a month of June;But up the stairs of April and of May  The dear sun climbeth to the summer's noon.Dear mourner! I love God, and so I rest;  O better! God loves thee, and so rest thou:He is our spring-time, our dim-visioned Best,  And He will help thee—do not fear the How.

LONGING

My heart is full of inarticulate pain,  And beats laboriously. Ungenial looksInvade my sanctuary. Men of gain,  Wise in success, well-read in feeble books,Do not come near me now, your air is drear;'Tis winter and low skies when ye appear.Beloved, who love beauty and love truth!  Come round me; for too near ye cannot come;Make me an atmosphere with your sweet youth;  Give me your souls to breathe in, a large room;Speak not a word, for see, my spirit liesHelpless and dumb; shine on me with your eyes.O all wide places, far from feverous towns!  Great shining seas! pine forests! mountains wild!Rock-bosomed shores! rough heaths! and sheep-cropt downs!  Vast pallid clouds! blue spaces undefiled!Room! give me room! give loneliness and air!  Free things and plenteous in your regions fair.White dove of David, flying overhead,  Golden with sunlight on thy snowy wings,Outspeeding thee my longing thoughts have fled  To find a home afar from men and things;Where in his temple, earth o'erarched with sky,God's heart to mine may speak, my heart reply.O God of mountains, stars, and boundless spaces!  O God of freedom and of joyous hearts!When thy face looketh forth from all men's faces,  There will be room enough in crowded marts;Brood thou around me, and the noise is o'er;Thy universe my closet with shut door.Heart, heart, awake! the love that loveth all  Maketh a deeper calm than Horeb's cave.God in thee, can his children's folly gall?  Love may be hurt, but shall not love be brave?—Thy holy silence sinks in dews of balm;Thou art my solitude, my mountain-calm.

A BOY'S GRIEF

Ah me! in ages far away,  The good, the heavenly land,Though unbeheld, quite near them lay,  And men could understand.The dead yet find it, who, when here,  Did love it more than this;They enter in, are filled with cheer,  And pain expires in bliss.Oh, fairly shines the blessed land!  Ah, God! I weep and pray—The heart thou holdest in thy hand  Loves more this sunny day.I see the hundred thousand wait  Around the radiant throne:To me it is a dreary state,  A crowd of beings lone.I do not care for singing psalms;  I tire of good men's talk;To me there is no joy in palms,  Or white-robed solemn walk.I love to hear the wild winds meet,  The wild old winds at night;To watch the starlight throb and beat,  To wait the thunder-light.I love all tales of valiant men,  Of women good and fair;If I were rich and strong, ah then,  I would do something rare.I see thy temple in the skies  On pillars strong and white;I cannot love it, though I rise  And try with all my might.Sometimes a joy lays hold on me,  And I am speechless then;Almost a martyr I could be,  And join the holy men.But soon my heart is like a clod,  My spirit wrapt in doubt—"A pillar in the house of God,  And never more go out!"No more the sunny, breezy morn;  No more the speechless moon;No more the ancient hills, forlorn,  A vision, and a boon.Ah, God! my love will never burn,  Nor shall I taste thy joy;And Jesus' face is calm and stern—  I am a hapless boy.

THE CHILD-MOTHER

Heavily lay the warm sunlightUpon the green blades shining bright,  An outspread grassy sea:She through the burnished yellow flowersWent walking in the golden hours  That slept upon the lea.The bee went past her with a hum;The merry gnats did go and come  In complicated dance;Like a blue angel, to and fro,The splendid dragon-fly did go,  Shot like a seeking glance.She never followed them, but stillWent forward with a quiet will,  That got, but did not miss;With gentle step she passed along,And once a low, half-murmured song  Uttered her share of bliss.It was a little maiden-child;You see, not frolicsome and wild,  As such a child should be;For though she was just nine, no more,Another little child she bore,  Almost as big as she.With tender care of straining arms,She kept it circled from all harms,  With face turned from the sun;For in that perfect tiny heart,The mother, sister, nurse, had part,  Her womanhood begun.At length they reach an ugly ditch,The slippery sloping bank of which  Flowers and long grasses line;Some ragged-robins baby spied,And spread his little arms out wide,  As he had found a mine.What baby wants, that baby has:A law unalterable as—  The poor shall serve the rich;She kneeleth down with eager eyes,And, reaching far out for the prize,  Topples into the ditch.And slanting down the bank she rolled,But in her little bosom's fold  She clasps the baby tight;And in the ditch's muddy flow,No safety sought by letting go,  At length she stands upright.Alas! her little feet are wet;Her new shoes! how can she forget?  And yet she does not cry.Her scanty frock of dingy blue,Her petticoat wet through and through!  But baby is quite dry.And baby laughs, and baby crows;And baby being right, she knows  That nothing can be wrong;And so with troubled heart, yet stout,She plans how ever to get out,  With meditations long.The bank is higher than her head,And slippery too, as I have said;  And what to do with baby?For even the monkey, when he goes,Needs both his fingers and his toes.—  She is perplexed as may be.But all her puzzling was no good,Though staring up the bank she stood,  Which, as she sunk, grew higher;Until, invaded with dismay,Lest baby's patience should give way,  She frees her from the mire.And up and down the ditch, not glad,But patient, she did promenade;  Splash! splash! went her poor feet.And baby thought it rare good fun,And did not want it to be done;  And the ditch flowers were sweet.But, oh! the world that she had left,The meads from her so lately reft,  An infant Proserpine,Lay like a fabled land above,A paradise of sunny love,  In warmth and light divine.While, with the hot sun overhead,She her low watery way did tread,  'Mid slimy weeds and frogs;While now and then from distant fieldThe sound of laughter faintly pealed,  Or bark of village dogs.And once the ground began to shake,And her poor little heart to quake  For fear of added woes;Till, looking up, at last, perforce,She saw the head of a huge horse  Go past upon its nose.And with a sound of tearing grass,And puffing breath that awful was,  And horns of frightful size,A cow looked through the broken hedge,And gazed down on her from the edge,  With great big Juno eyes.And so the sun went on and on,And horse and cow and horns were gone,  And still no help came near;Till at the last she heard the soundOf human footsteps on the ground,  And then she cried: "I'm here!"It was a man, much to her joy,Who looked amazed at girl and boy,  And reached his hand so strong."Give me the child," he said; but no,She would not let the baby go,  She had endured too long.So, with a smile at her alarms,He stretched down both his lusty arms,  And lifted them together;And, having thanked her helper, sheDid hasten homeward painfully,  Wet in the sunny weather.At home at length, lo! scarce a speckWas on the child from heel to neck,  Though she was sorely mired;Nor gave she sign of grief's unrest,Till, hid upon her mother's breast,  She wept till she was tired.And intermixed with sobbing wail,She told her mother all the tale,—  "But"—here her wet cheeks glow—"Mother, I did not, through it all,I did not once let baby fall—  I never let him go."Ah me! if on this star-world's faceWe men and women had like grace  To bear and shield each other;Our race would soon be young again,Its heart as free of ache and pain  As that of this child-mother.

LOVE'S ORDEAL;

A recollection and attempted completion of a prose fragment read in childhood.

"Know'st thou that sound upon the window pane?"Said the youth quietly, as outstretched he lay,Where for an hour outstretched he had lain,Pillowed upon her knees. To him did sayThe thoughtful maiden: "It is but the rainThat hath been gathering in the West all day;Be still, my dearest, let my eyes yet restAwhile upon thy face so calm and blest.""Know'st thou that sound, from silence slowly wrought?"Said the youth, and his eyelids softly rose,Revealing to her eyes the depths of thoughtThat lay beneath her in a still repose."I know it," said the maiden; "it is noughtBut the loud wintry wind that ever blows,Swinging the great arms of the dreary pines,Which each with others in its pain entwines.""Hear'st thou the baying of my hounds?" said he;"Draw back the lattice-bar and let them in."Through a cloud-rift the light fell noiselesslyUpon the cottage floor; and, gaunt and thin,Leaped in the stag-hounds, bounding as in glee,Shaking the rain-drops from their shaggy skin;And as the maiden closed the spattered glass,A shadow faint over the floor did pass.The youth, half-raised, was leaning on his hand;And when again beside him sat the maid,His eyes for a slow minute moving scannedHer calm peace-lighted face; and then he said,Monotonous, like solemn-read command:"For love is of the earth, earthy, and laidDown lifeless in its mother's womb at last."The strange sound through the great pine-branches passed.Again a shadow as it were of glass,Over the moonbeams on the cottage floor,Shapeless and dim, almost unseen, doth pass;A mingled sound of rain-drops at the door,But not a sound upon the window was.A look of sorrowing doubt the youth's face wore;And the two hounds half-rose, and gazed at him,Eyeing his countenance by the taper dim.Now nothing of these things the maiden noted,But turned her face with half-reproachful look,As doubting whether he the words had quotedOut of some evil, earth-begotten book;Or upward from his spirit's depths had floatedThose words like bubbles in a low dead brook;But his eyes seemed to question,—Yea or No;And so the maiden answered: "'Tis not so;"Love is of heaven, and heavenly." A faint smileParted his lips, as a thought unexpressedWere speaking in his heart; and for a whileHe gently laid his head upon her breast;His thought, a bark that by a sunny isleAt length hath found the haven of its rest,Yet must not long remain, but forward go:He lifted up his head, and answered: "No—"Maiden, I have loved other maidens." PaleHer red lips grew. "I loved them; yes, but they,One after one, in trial's hour did fail;For after sunset, clouds again are grey."A sudden light flashed through the silken veilThat drooping hid her eyes; and then there layA stillness on her face, waiting; and thenThe little clock rung out the hour of ten.Moaning again the great pine-branches bow,As if they tried in vain the wind to stem.Still looking in her eyes, the youth said—"ThouArt not more beautiful than some of them;But more of earnestness is on thy brow;Thine eyes are beaming like some dark-bright gemThat pours from hidden heart upon the nightThe rays it gathered from the noon-day light."Look on this hand, beloved; thou didst seeThe horse that broke from many, it did hold:Two hours shall pass away, and it will beAll withered up and dry, wrinkled and old,Big-veined, and skinny to extremity."Calmly upon him looked the maiden bold;The stag-hounds rose, and gazed on him, and then,With a low whine, laid themselves down again.A minute's silence, and the youth spake on:"Dearest, I have a fearful thing to bear"(A pain-cloud crossed his face, and then was gone)"At midnight, when the moon sets; wilt thou dareTo go with me, or must I go aloneTo meet an agony that will not spare?"She spoke not, rose, and towards her mantle went;His eyes did thank her—she was well content."Not yet, not yet; it is not time; for seeThe hands have far to travel to the hour;Yet time is scarcely left for telling theeThe past and present, and the coming powerOf the great darkness that will fall on me:Roses and jasmine twine the bridal bower—If ever bower and bridal joy be mine,Horror and darkness must that bower entwine."Under his head the maiden put her arm,And knelt beside, half leaning on his breast;As, soul and body, she would shield all harmFrom him whose love had made her being blest;And well the healing of her eyes might charmHis doubting thoughts again to trusting rest.He drew and hid her face his heart upon,Then spoke with low voice sounding changeless on.Strange words they were, and fearful, that he spake;The maiden moved not once, nor once replied;And ever as he spoke, the wind did makeA feebler moan until away it died;Then the rain ceased, and not a movement brakeThe silence, save the clock that did divideThe hours into quick moments, sparks of timeScorching the soul that watcheth for the chime.He spoke of sins that pride had caused in him;Of sufferings merciful, and wanderings wild;Of fainting noontides, and of oceans dim;Of earthly beauty that had oft beguiled;And then the sudden storm and contest grim;From each emerging new-born, more a child;Wandering again throughout the teaching earth,No rest attaining, only a new birth."But when I find a heart that's like to mine,With love to live through the unloving hour,Folded in faith, like violets that have lienFolded in warm earth, till the sunny showerCalleth them forth; thoughts with my thoughts to twine,Weaving around us both a fragrant bower,Where we within may sleep, together drawn,Folded in love until the morning dawn;"Then shall I rest, my weary day's work o'er,A deep sleep bathing, steeping all my soul,Dissolving out the earth-stains evermore.Thou too shalt sleep with me, and be made whole.All, all time's billows over us shall pour,Then ebb away, and far beneath us roll:We shall behold them like a stormy lake,'Neath the clear height of peace where we awake."Her face on his, her lips on his lips pressed,Was the sole answer that the maiden made.With both his arms he held her to his breast;'Twas but a moment; yet, before he saidOne other word, of power to strengthen, lestShe should give way amid the trial dread,The clock gave out the warning to the hour,And on the thatch fell sounds as of a shower.One long kiss, and the maiden rose. A fearFell like a shadow dim upon her heart,A trembling as at something ghostly near;But she was bold, for they were not to part.Then the youth rose, his cheek pale, his eyes clear;And helped the maid, whose trembling hands did thwartHer haste to tie her gathered mantle's fold;Then forth they went into the midnight cold.The moon was sunken low in the dim west,Curled upwards on the steep horizon's brink,A leaf of glory falling to its rest.The maiden's hand, still trembling, scarce could linkHer to his side; but his arm round her waistStole gently; so she walked, and did not sink;Her hand on his right side soon held him fast,And so together wound, they onward passed.And, clinging to his side, she felt full wellThe strong and measured beating of his heart;But as the floating moon aye lower fell,Slowly she felt its bounding force depart,Till like a throbbing bird; nor can she tellWhether it beats, at length; and with a startShe felt the arm relax around her flung,And on her circling arm he leaned and hung.But as his steps more and more feeble grow,She feels her strength and courage rise amain.He lifted up his head; the moon was low,Almost on the world's edge. A smile of painWas on his lips, as his large eyes turned slowSeeking for hers; which, like a heavy rain,Poured love on him in many a love-lit gleam.So they walked like two souls, linked by one dream.2Hanging his head, behind each came a hound,With slow and noiseless paws upon the road.What is that shining on the weedy ground?Nought but the bright eyes of the dingy toad.The silent pines range every way around;A deep stream on the left side hardly flowed.Their path is towards the moon, dying alone—It touches the horizon, dips, is gone.Its last gleam fell upon dim glazed eyes;An old man tottered feebly in her hold,Stooping with bended knees that could not rise;Nor longer could his arm her waist infold.The maiden trembled; but through this disguiseHer love beheld what never could grow old;And so the aged man, she, young and warm,Clasped closer yet with her supporting arm.Till with short, dragging steps, he turned asideInto a closer thicket of tall firs,Whose bare, straight, slender stems behind them hideA smooth grey rock. Not a pine-needle stirsTill they go in. Then a low wind blows wideO'er their cone-tops. It swells until it whirrsThrough the long stems, as if aeolian chordsFor moulding mystic sounds in lack of words.But as they entered by a narrow cleftInto the rock's heart, suddenly it ceased;And the tall pines stood still as if bereftOf a strong passion, or from pain released;Once more they wove their strange, dark, moveless weftO'er the dull midnight sky; and in the EastA mist arose and clomb the skyey stairs;And like sad thoughts the bats came unawares.'Tis a dark chamber for the bridal night,O poor, pale, saviour bride! A faint rush-lampHe kindled with his shaking hands; its lightPainted a tiny halo on the dampThat filled the cavern to its unseen height,Like a death-candle on the midnight swamp.Within, each side the entrance, lies a hound,With liquid light his green eyes gleaming round.A couch just raised above the rocky floor,Of withered oak and beech-leaves, that the windHad tossed about till weary, covered o'erWith skins of bears which feathery mosses lined,And last of lambs, with wool long, soft, and hoar,Received the old man's bended limbs reclined.Gently the maiden did herself unclothe,And lay beside him, trusting, and not loath.Again the storm among the trees o'erhead;The hounds pricked up their ears, their eyes flashed fire;Seemed to the trembling maiden that a treadLight, and yet clear, amid the wind's loud ire,As dripping feet o'er smooth slabs hither sped,Came often up, as with a fierce desire,To enter, but as oft made quick retreat;And looking forth the hounds stood on their feet.Then came, half querulous, a whisper old,Feeble and hollow as from out a chest:"Take my face on your bosom, I am cold."Straightway she bared her bosom's white soft nest;And then his head, her gentle hands, love-bold,With its grey withered face against her pressed.Ah, maiden! it was very old and chill,But thy warm heart beneath it grew not still.Again the wind falls, and the rain-clouds pour,Rushing to earth; and soon she heard the soundOf a fierce torrent through the thick night roar;The lamp went out as by the darkness drowned;No more the morn will dawn, oh, never more!Like centuries the feeble hours went round;Dead night lay o'er her, clasping, as she lay,Within her holy place, unburied clay.The hours stood still; her life sunk down so low,That, but for wretchedness, no life she knew.A charnel wind sung on a moaning—No;Earth's centre was the grave from which it blew;Earth's loves and beauties all passed sighing slow,Roses and lilies, children, friends, the few;But so transparent blanched in every part,She saw the pale worm lying in each heart.And worst of all, O death of gladsome life!A voice within awoke and cried: In sooth,There is no need of sorrow, care, and strife;For all that women beauty call, and truth,Is but a glow from hearts with fancy rife,Passing away with slowly fading youth.Gaze on them narrowly, they waver, blot;Look at them fixedly, and they are not.And all the answer the poor child could makeLay in the tightened grasp of her two hands;She felt as if she lay mouldering awakeWithin the sepulchre's fast stony bands,And cared not though she died, but for his sake.And the dark horror grew like drifting sands,Till nought seemed beautiful, not God, nor light;And yet she braved the false, denying night.But after hope was dead, a faint, light streakCrept through a crevice in the rocky wall;It fell upon her bosom and his cheek.From God's own eye that light-glance seemed to fall.Backward he drew his head, and did not speak,But gazed with large deep eyes angelicalUpon her face. Old age had fled away—Youth everlasting in her bosom lay.With a low cry of joy closer she crept,And on his bosom hid a face that glowed,Seeking amends for terror while he slept.She had been faithful: the beloved owedLove, youth, and gladness unto her who weptGushingly on his heart. Her warm tears flowedA baptism for the life that would not cease;And when the sun arose, they slept in peace.