SONNETS

IN the light, in the shade,This is Time and Life’s measure;With a heart unafraid,In the light, in the shade,Hope is born and not made,And the heart finds its treasureIn the light, in the shade—This is Time and Life’s measure.

IN the light, in the shade,

This is Time and Life’s measure;

With a heart unafraid,

In the light, in the shade,

Hope is born and not made,

And the heart finds its treasure

In the light, in the shade—

This is Time and Life’s measure.

SONNETS

TREAD softly! Here the heart of Shelley lies:His grave a garden ’neath the cypress wood,Stirred with the tongues his spirit understood,And spake in deathless song that vivifiesMen’s souls made heavy with the sad world’s cries,Still where the darkness hides the dragon broodOf evil, and while yet innocent bloodIs shed, and truth and falsehood change their dyes.Thy voice is heard above the silent tomb,And shall be heard until the end of days,While Freedom lives, and whatsoever thingsAre good and lovely—still thy spirit sings,And by thy grave to-day fresh violets bloom,But on thy head imperishable bays.

TREAD softly! Here the heart of Shelley lies:

His grave a garden ’neath the cypress wood,

Stirred with the tongues his spirit understood,

And spake in deathless song that vivifies

Men’s souls made heavy with the sad world’s cries,

Still where the darkness hides the dragon brood

Of evil, and while yet innocent blood

Is shed, and truth and falsehood change their dyes.

Thy voice is heard above the silent tomb,And shall be heard until the end of days,While Freedom lives, and whatsoever thingsAre good and lovely—still thy spirit sings,And by thy grave to-day fresh violets bloom,But on thy head imperishable bays.

Thy voice is heard above the silent tomb,

And shall be heard until the end of days,

While Freedom lives, and whatsoever things

Are good and lovely—still thy spirit sings,

And by thy grave to-day fresh violets bloom,

But on thy head imperishable bays.

IHEARD the voice of Spring—I saw her lookOut of the naked wood, and, on the green,Traced the frail pattern of her steps unseen,Toward Winter’s house which he this day forsook:There she hath turned the leaves of Time’s sad book,Seeking the songs, well-nigh forgotten cleanBy faltering birds in Winter’s dark demesne,O’erborne by bitter winds that none may brook.Art thou so near! And we still all unmeetTo give thee welcome? Due with service clearFrom dull world’s slavery, and sordid taint,The soil and rust of cities, spirits faint—O fill us with new life, and give us cheer,Whom life’s best gifts—Art, Love, and Freedom greet.

IHEARD the voice of Spring—I saw her look

Out of the naked wood, and, on the green,

Traced the frail pattern of her steps unseen,

Toward Winter’s house which he this day forsook:

There she hath turned the leaves of Time’s sad book,

Seeking the songs, well-nigh forgotten clean

By faltering birds in Winter’s dark demesne,

O’erborne by bitter winds that none may brook.

Art thou so near! And we still all unmeetTo give thee welcome? Due with service clearFrom dull world’s slavery, and sordid taint,The soil and rust of cities, spirits faint—O fill us with new life, and give us cheer,Whom life’s best gifts—Art, Love, and Freedom greet.

Art thou so near! And we still all unmeet

To give thee welcome? Due with service clear

From dull world’s slavery, and sordid taint,

The soil and rust of cities, spirits faint—

O fill us with new life, and give us cheer,

Whom life’s best gifts—Art, Love, and Freedom greet.

THOU art the bride of Light, most glorious morn!Issuing to meet thy lord—thy crystal gateFlung wide by flame-winged hours—where he doth waitTill from thy face the æthereal veil be torn:Clothed in white splendour and thy train upborneBy silken handed airs in fluttering state,With piping minstrels, joyful in thy fate,And still, before thee heard, Spring’s herald horn.Thy silver feet have touched the sparkling grass,Where flowers are stars of light from heaven’s blue domeDropt in the noiseless night to pave thy floor:So, like a splendid vision, thou dost passBetween the pillars of the sun’s bright home,Drawn in Time’s pageant to return no more.

THOU art the bride of Light, most glorious morn!

Issuing to meet thy lord—thy crystal gate

Flung wide by flame-winged hours—where he doth wait

Till from thy face the æthereal veil be torn:

Clothed in white splendour and thy train upborne

By silken handed airs in fluttering state,

With piping minstrels, joyful in thy fate,

And still, before thee heard, Spring’s herald horn.

Thy silver feet have touched the sparkling grass,Where flowers are stars of light from heaven’s blue domeDropt in the noiseless night to pave thy floor:So, like a splendid vision, thou dost passBetween the pillars of the sun’s bright home,Drawn in Time’s pageant to return no more.

Thy silver feet have touched the sparkling grass,

Where flowers are stars of light from heaven’s blue dome

Dropt in the noiseless night to pave thy floor:

So, like a splendid vision, thou dost pass

Between the pillars of the sun’s bright home,

Drawn in Time’s pageant to return no more.

FROM eve’s lit casement turns reluctant day,A lingering lover—dreaming of delightsUnseen, unknown, with summer scents and sightsScarce whispered through the modest green of May—Who yet beneath the dusk would kiss and play,With mingled softness of mysterious lights,With hidden sweets the silent hour requites,Ere from the west he sinks to night away.But on the still grey eve what glory breaks!A glowing sphere between the trembling trees,As though the wondering world returning seesA silvern sun a softer day that makes,Ere this departs and his last song doth ceaseWith his last breath that night’s enchantment takes.

FROM eve’s lit casement turns reluctant day,

A lingering lover—dreaming of delights

Unseen, unknown, with summer scents and sights

Scarce whispered through the modest green of May—

Who yet beneath the dusk would kiss and play,

With mingled softness of mysterious lights,

With hidden sweets the silent hour requites,

Ere from the west he sinks to night away.

But on the still grey eve what glory breaks!A glowing sphere between the trembling trees,As though the wondering world returning seesA silvern sun a softer day that makes,Ere this departs and his last song doth ceaseWith his last breath that night’s enchantment takes.

But on the still grey eve what glory breaks!

A glowing sphere between the trembling trees,

As though the wondering world returning sees

A silvern sun a softer day that makes,

Ere this departs and his last song doth cease

With his last breath that night’s enchantment takes.

ISTOOPED to drink of Life’s enchanted stream,From fair green meads and flowery marge of youth,Athirst for love, for fame, and sight of truth,And, dreaming as I drank, all life did seemFair as the pageant of a lover’s dream,That hides the grim and sordid world uncouth;Till Time and change came by that know not ruth,And grief was left to watch Hope’s flickering beam.So from the bitter world I turned again,To work, to sleep; but as in sleep I lay,Truth touched me, and Hope said to me, “Arise!”Whom, waking, I beheld as visions vainAs dream-beguiled one looks with clouded eyesUpon the breaking morn, nor knows it is the day.

ISTOOPED to drink of Life’s enchanted stream,

From fair green meads and flowery marge of youth,

Athirst for love, for fame, and sight of truth,

And, dreaming as I drank, all life did seem

Fair as the pageant of a lover’s dream,

That hides the grim and sordid world uncouth;

Till Time and change came by that know not ruth,

And grief was left to watch Hope’s flickering beam.

So from the bitter world I turned again,To work, to sleep; but as in sleep I lay,Truth touched me, and Hope said to me, “Arise!”Whom, waking, I beheld as visions vainAs dream-beguiled one looks with clouded eyesUpon the breaking morn, nor knows it is the day.

So from the bitter world I turned again,

To work, to sleep; but as in sleep I lay,

Truth touched me, and Hope said to me, “Arise!”

Whom, waking, I beheld as visions vain

As dream-beguiled one looks with clouded eyes

Upon the breaking morn, nor knows it is the day.

WITH stifled voice who crieth from the West,Where sinks the ensanguined sun of Freedom, erstThat spread her stainless wings, and sheltering nurst,From out all lands, the hunted and opprest?America! shrink not from thy new guest;For liberty was thine for best and worst:How should her seed upon thy land be curstTill her false friends as traitors stand confest?Doth Freedom dwell where ruthless Kings of gain,Like stealthy vampires, still on Labour feed,Still free—to toil or starve on plenty’s plain?Then what of Labour’s hope—the will to beEqual, fraternal, knowing want nor greed,Shrined in a peoples’ heart when states are free?

WITH stifled voice who crieth from the West,

Where sinks the ensanguined sun of Freedom, erst

That spread her stainless wings, and sheltering nurst,

From out all lands, the hunted and opprest?

America! shrink not from thy new guest;

For liberty was thine for best and worst:

How should her seed upon thy land be curst

Till her false friends as traitors stand confest?

Doth Freedom dwell where ruthless Kings of gain,Like stealthy vampires, still on Labour feed,Still free—to toil or starve on plenty’s plain?Then what of Labour’s hope—the will to beEqual, fraternal, knowing want nor greed,Shrined in a peoples’ heart when states are free?

Doth Freedom dwell where ruthless Kings of gain,

Like stealthy vampires, still on Labour feed,

Still free—to toil or starve on plenty’s plain?

Then what of Labour’s hope—the will to be

Equal, fraternal, knowing want nor greed,

Shrined in a peoples’ heart when states are free?

June, 1886.

WHERE is thy home, O Freedom? Have they setThine image up upon a rock to greetAll comers, shaking from their wandering feetThe dust of old world bondage, to forgetThe tyrannies of fraud and force, nor fret,Where men are equal, slavish chain unmeet,Nor bitter bread of discontent to eat,Here, where all races of the earth are met?America, beneath thy banded flagOf old it was thy boast that men were freeTo think, to speak, to meet, to come and go.What meaneth then the gibbet and the gagHeld up to Labour’s sons who would not seeFair Freedom but a mask—a hollow show?

WHERE is thy home, O Freedom? Have they set

Thine image up upon a rock to greet

All comers, shaking from their wandering feet

The dust of old world bondage, to forget

The tyrannies of fraud and force, nor fret,

Where men are equal, slavish chain unmeet,

Nor bitter bread of discontent to eat,

Here, where all races of the earth are met?

America, beneath thy banded flagOf old it was thy boast that men were freeTo think, to speak, to meet, to come and go.What meaneth then the gibbet and the gagHeld up to Labour’s sons who would not seeFair Freedom but a mask—a hollow show?

America, beneath thy banded flag

Of old it was thy boast that men were free

To think, to speak, to meet, to come and go.

What meaneth then the gibbet and the gag

Held up to Labour’s sons who would not see

Fair Freedom but a mask—a hollow show?

Oct. 7, 1887.

JOHN BURNS AND R. B. CUNNINGHAM GRAHAM, WHO SUFFERED FOR A BRAVE ATTEMPT TO MAINTAIN THE RIGHT OF FREE SPEECH AND PUBLIC MEETING IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE.

WHAT robe of honour doth the prison hide,What glory lines its stony cell and bare,That, erst its tenants, forth in triumph fare?Bondsmen for Freedom, and the right deniedBy fraud and force, in legal mask that bide,Alike on Irish ground, or London’s square,With violent hands on those, henceforth to bearThe crest of battle on the people’s side.What! must ye learn the lesson still so lateThat they who suffer for the common goodStone walls confine not, and no chain doth hold,Blind Tyranny? Whom these, like men, withstood:Whose tenfold force flings back the iron gate,Whose names upon the reddening morn are scrolled.

WHAT robe of honour doth the prison hide,

What glory lines its stony cell and bare,

That, erst its tenants, forth in triumph fare?

Bondsmen for Freedom, and the right denied

By fraud and force, in legal mask that bide,

Alike on Irish ground, or London’s square,

With violent hands on those, henceforth to bear

The crest of battle on the people’s side.

What! must ye learn the lesson still so lateThat they who suffer for the common goodStone walls confine not, and no chain doth hold,Blind Tyranny? Whom these, like men, withstood:Whose tenfold force flings back the iron gate,Whose names upon the reddening morn are scrolled.

What! must ye learn the lesson still so late

That they who suffer for the common good

Stone walls confine not, and no chain doth hold,

Blind Tyranny? Whom these, like men, withstood:

Whose tenfold force flings back the iron gate,

Whose names upon the reddening morn are scrolled.

February 22, 1888.

THROUGH seas of light above the opal blueAcross the Adriatic sped our ship,Her long wake trailing towards the ocean’s lip,Far from the isles of Greece; in our fond viewA vision bright that all our thoughts embue;Which from the Book of Days may never slipBut in the golden haze of memory dip,And its fresh youth continually renew.It was my fortune late to tread uponThe marble stairs of Athens’ sacred steep,To see its columned gate in moonlight sleepBeneath the shadow of the Parthenon,Fair still in ruin, though well Time might weepFor Pallas fallen and her glory gone.

THROUGH seas of light above the opal blue

Across the Adriatic sped our ship,

Her long wake trailing towards the ocean’s lip,

Far from the isles of Greece; in our fond view

A vision bright that all our thoughts embue;

Which from the Book of Days may never slip

But in the golden haze of memory dip,

And its fresh youth continually renew.

It was my fortune late to tread uponThe marble stairs of Athens’ sacred steep,To see its columned gate in moonlight sleepBeneath the shadow of the Parthenon,Fair still in ruin, though well Time might weepFor Pallas fallen and her glory gone.

It was my fortune late to tread upon

The marble stairs of Athens’ sacred steep,

To see its columned gate in moonlight sleep

Beneath the shadow of the Parthenon,

Fair still in ruin, though well Time might weep

For Pallas fallen and her glory gone.

MID wrecks of Hellas dead in marble state,Whose relics whiten still Ægean’s shore,Gold treasuries of kings, Art’s precious ore,Cast up by Time’s slow waves to us so late:It reached me then these things to meditate—How fell such pillared state, how lost its lore?What palsy touched the hand, what ate the coreOf ancient life—why Hellas met such fate?And so methought of nations now that sailUpon the wings of commerce and of gold,With new-found force electric, iron and steam,To yoke fierce Nature’s neck; shall these availTo save us, or our toil-wrung wealth redeem,If Freedom fair, and justice loose their hold?

MID wrecks of Hellas dead in marble state,

Whose relics whiten still Ægean’s shore,

Gold treasuries of kings, Art’s precious ore,

Cast up by Time’s slow waves to us so late:

It reached me then these things to meditate—

How fell such pillared state, how lost its lore?

What palsy touched the hand, what ate the core

Of ancient life—why Hellas met such fate?

And so methought of nations now that sailUpon the wings of commerce and of gold,With new-found force electric, iron and steam,To yoke fierce Nature’s neck; shall these availTo save us, or our toil-wrung wealth redeem,If Freedom fair, and justice loose their hold?

And so methought of nations now that sail

Upon the wings of commerce and of gold,

With new-found force electric, iron and steam,

To yoke fierce Nature’s neck; shall these avail

To save us, or our toil-wrung wealth redeem,

If Freedom fair, and justice loose their hold?

SWEET voices broke my sleep on Christmas morn;Clear through the moonlit air their anthem rung,Of human hope and fellowship that sung,A mass for souls not dead but yet new born,A herald blast on Freedom’s silver horn,At dayspring on the brooding darkness flung,With tidings of new joy in tuneful tongue,The marching song of workers travel-worn.As one in dreams I heard, and wondering rose;E’en as the shepherds’ marvelling of oldTo hear the angels quiring, and my bloodQuickened to catch at last their stirring close,And so my heart took hope and courage goodIn thought of days to be in time untold.

SWEET voices broke my sleep on Christmas morn;

Clear through the moonlit air their anthem rung,

Of human hope and fellowship that sung,

A mass for souls not dead but yet new born,

A herald blast on Freedom’s silver horn,

At dayspring on the brooding darkness flung,

With tidings of new joy in tuneful tongue,

The marching song of workers travel-worn.

As one in dreams I heard, and wondering rose;E’en as the shepherds’ marvelling of oldTo hear the angels quiring, and my bloodQuickened to catch at last their stirring close,And so my heart took hope and courage goodIn thought of days to be in time untold.

As one in dreams I heard, and wondering rose;

E’en as the shepherds’ marvelling of old

To hear the angels quiring, and my blood

Quickened to catch at last their stirring close,

And so my heart took hope and courage good

In thought of days to be in time untold.

Xmas, 1888.

ART, once an outcast in a wintry land,Far from the sun-built house where she was born,Did wander desolate and laughed to scornBy eyeless men who counted gold like sand:Nor any soul her speech would understand—A friendless stranger in the city lorn,Toil-grimed and blackened with the smoke upborneOf human sacrifice of brain and hand.Then Art, aweary, laid her down and sleptBeneath an ancient gate, and dreaming, smiled,For Hope, like spring, came full of tidings good;And Labour, huge and free, and BrotherhoodLed her between them like a little childIn time new born, to glad new life that leapt.

ART, once an outcast in a wintry land,

Far from the sun-built house where she was born,

Did wander desolate and laughed to scorn

By eyeless men who counted gold like sand:

Nor any soul her speech would understand—

A friendless stranger in the city lorn,

Toil-grimed and blackened with the smoke upborne

Of human sacrifice of brain and hand.

Then Art, aweary, laid her down and sleptBeneath an ancient gate, and dreaming, smiled,For Hope, like spring, came full of tidings good;And Labour, huge and free, and BrotherhoodLed her between them like a little childIn time new born, to glad new life that leapt.

Then Art, aweary, laid her down and slept

Beneath an ancient gate, and dreaming, smiled,

For Hope, like spring, came full of tidings good;

And Labour, huge and free, and Brotherhood

Led her between them like a little child

In time new born, to glad new life that leapt.

colophon

CHISWICK PRESS:—C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.

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