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And if I pray, the only prayer
That moves my lips for me
And give me liberty!”
Yes, as my swift days near their goal,
'Tis all that I implore; In life and death, a chainless soul,
With courage to endure.
ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.
1819–1861. (BORN at Liverpool, Jan. 1, 1819; passed some years of his childhood at Charlestown, in Virginia; was at school at Rugby from 1829 to 1837; was Scholar of Balliol and afterwards Fellow and Tutor of Oriel; resigned his offices in Oxford in 1848; was Principal of University Hall, London, for a short time afterwards; again went to America; returned 1853 to take a post in the Education Office. He died at Florence, Nov. 13, 1861. His poems were chiefly written between 1840 and 1850, The Bothie being published in 1848, and many of the shorter poems appearing in a volume called Ambarvalia in the next year.] QUA CURSUM VENTUS. One port, methought, alike they sought,
One purpose hold where'er they fare, As ships, becalined at eve, that lay
O bounding breeze, O rushing seas! With canvas drooping, side by side,
At last, at last, unite them there! Two towers of sail at dawn of day
Arescarce longleagues apart descried; When fell the night, upsprung the breeze,
QUI LABORAT, ORAT. And all the darkling hours they plied, O ONLY Source of all our light and life, Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas Whom as our truth, our strength, we By each was cleaving, side by side :
see and feel,
But whom the hours of mortal moral E'en so— - but why the tale reveal
strife Of those, whom year by year un
Alone aright reveal ! changed, Brief absence joined anew to feel, Mine inmost soul, before Thee inly Astounded, soul from soul estranged? brought,
Thy presence owns ineffable, divine; At dead of night their sails were filled, Chastised each rebel self-encentered And onward each rejoicing steered
thought, Ah, neither blame, for neither willed, My will adoreth Thine.
Or wist, what first with dawn appeared! | With eye down-dropt, if then this To veer, how vain! On, onward strain,
earthly mind Brave barks! In light, in darkness
Speechless remain, or speechless e’en
Nor seek to see — for what of earthly Through winds and tides one compass
Can see Thee as Thou art? To that, and your own selves, be true.
If well-assured 'tis but profanely bold But O blithe breeze! and O great seas, In thought's abstractest forms to seem Though ne'er, that earliest parting past,
It dare not dare the dread communion On your wide plain they join again,
hold Together lead them home at last. In ways unworthy Thce,
O not unowned, thou shalt unnamed for- WHERE LIES THE LAND,
give, , In wordly walks the prayerless heart
WHERE lies the land to which the ship
would go? prepare; And if in work its life it seem to live, Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. Shalt make that work be prayer.
And where the land she travels from? Nor times shall lack, when while the Far, far behind, is all that they can say.
work it plies, Unsummoned powers the blinding On sunny noons upon the deck's smooth film shall part,
face, And scarce by happy tears made dim,
Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here In recognition start,
Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch below
The foaming wake far widening as we But, as thou willest, give or e'en forbear
go. The beatific supersensual sight, So, with Thy blessing blest, that humbler
On stormy nights when wild northprayer
westers rave, Approach Thee morn and night.
How proud a thing to fight with wind
The dripping sailor on the reeling mast "WITH WHOM IS NO VARIABLE- Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it NESS, NEITHER SHADOW OF
past. TURNING." Ir fortifies my soul to know
Where lies the land to which the ship That, though I perish, Truth is so :
would go? That, howsoe'er I stray and range, Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. Whate'er I do, Thou dost not change. And where the land she travels from? I steadier step when I recall
Away, That, if I slip, Thou dost not fall. Far, far behind, is all that they can say.
1819-1875. (BORN at Holne Vicarage, Devonshire, in 1819, and educated, partly at Helston Grammar School, and partly at King's College, London, and at Magdalene College, Cambridge. He was Rector of Eversley in Hampshire; Professor of Modern History at his old university from 1860 to 1869; and Canon of Westminster in 1872. Chief amor.g his thirty-five publications are The Saint's Tragedy (1848), Alton Locke and Yeast (1849), Hypatia (1853), The Heroes (1856), Andromeda (1858), The Water-Babies (1863), and Prose-Idylls (1873). He died in 1875.) THE SANDS OF DEE.
The western wind was wild and dark
The western tide crept up along the
sand, Across the sands of Dee."
And o'er and o'er the sand,
And round and round the sand, They looked at the squall, and they As far as eye could see.
looked at the shower, The rolling mist came down and hid the And the night-rack came rolling up land:
ragged and brown; And never home came she.
But men must work, and women must
weep, “Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating Though storms be sudden, and waters hair
And the harbor-bar be moaning.
Three corpses lie out in the shining Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
sands, Among the stakes of Dee.
In the morning gleam, as the tide
goes down, They rowed her in across the rolling And the women are weeping and wringfoam,
ing their hands, The cruel crawling foam,
For those who will never come home The cruel hungry foam,
to the town. To her grave beside the sea.
For men must work, and women must But still the boatmen hear her call the
weep, cattle home,
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to Across the sands of Dee.
sleep. And good-bye to the bar and its
THE "OLD, OLD SONG." Three fishers went sailing out into the west,
WHEN all the world is young, lad, Out into the west, as the sun went And all the trees are green; down,
And every goose a swan, lad, Each thought of the woman who loved And every lass a queen; him best,
Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And the children stood watching them And round the world away; out of the town;
Young blood must have its course, lad, For men must work, and women must
And every dog his day. weep, And there's little to earn, and many to When all the world is old, lad, keep,
And all the trees are brown; Though the harbor-bar be moaning.
And all the sport is stale, lad,
And all the wheels run down: Three wives sat up in the lighthouse Creep home, and take your place there, tower,
The spent and maimed among: And they trimmed the lamps as the God grant you find one face there sun went down;
You loved when all was young.
(BORN at South Farm, Colton, Warwickshire, Nov. 22, 1819. Was the daughter of a pool curate, but was adopted by a wealthy clergyman, who gave her a careful education. She became a pupil of Herbert Spencer, and under his training acquired great breadth of mental development, learning Greek, French, and Italian, studying music and art as well as metaphysics and logic. In 1851, she went to London to join the staff of the Westminster Review. One of the chief writers for this quarterly was George H. Lewes, whose wife she subsequently became, and after his death (1878) she married Mr. J. N. Cross, May 6, 1880. Her death took place Dec. 22, 1880, and her biography, prepared by Mr. Cross, will, it is anticipated, be published during the year (1884): Her first novel was Scenes of Clerical Life (1858), and was rapidly followed by others which proved marvellously successful, and gave her an enduring position among the writers of fiction. Her poems, The Spanish Gipsy (1868), and Fubal and other Poems (1870), though consaining many beautiful passages, do not, in popular estimation, rank with her prose works.] FROM "BROTHER AND SISTER." Like scents from varying roses that re
main His sorrow was my sorrow, and his joy Sent little leaps and laughs through all
One sweetness, nor can evermore be my frame;
singled. My doll seemed lifeless and no girlish toy
Yet the twin habit of that early time Had any reason when my brother came. Lingered for long about the heart and
We had been natives of one happy I knelt with him at marbles, marked
clime, his fing
And its dear accent to our utterance Cut the ringed stem and make the
clung apple drop, Or watched him winding close the spiral Till the dire years whose awful name is string
Change That looped the orbits of the humming Had grasped our souls still yearning in top.
And pitiless shaped them in two forms Grasped by such fellowship my vagrant thought
Two elements which sever their life's Ceased with dream-fruit dream-wishes
to fulfil; My aëry-picturing fantasy was taught But were another childhood-world Subjection to the harder, truer skill,
I would be born a little sister there. That seeks with deeds to grave a
thought-tracked line, And by “What is,” “What will be " to define.
LISA'S MESSAGE TO THE KING.
[From How Lisa Loved the King.) School parted us;
Love, thou didst see me, light as mornagain
ing's breath, That childish world where our two Roaming a garden in a joyous error, spirits mingled
Laughing at chases vain, a happy child,
Till of thy countenance the alluring | My lowly love, that soaring seeks to terror
climb In majesty from out the blossoms smiled, Within his thought, and make a gentle From out their life seeming a beauteous
More blissful than if mine, in being his:
So shall I live in him and rest in Death. O Love, who so didst choose me for
Taking this little isle to thy great sway, See now, it is the honor of thy throne That what thou gavest perish not away, Nor leave some sweet remembrance to
atone By life that will be for the brief life
gone : Hear, ere the shroud o'er these frail
limbs be thrown Since every king is vassal unto thee, My heart's lord needs must listen
loyally O tell him I am waiting for my Death!
TWO LOVERS. Two lovers by a moss-grown spring: They leaned soft cheeks together
there, Mingled the dark and sunny hair, And heard the wooing thrushes sing.
O budding time!
O love's blest prime! Two wedded from the portal stept:
The bells made happy carollings,
The air was soft as fanning wings,
O pure-eyed bride!
Tell him, for that he hath such royal
power 'Twere hard for him to think how small
a thing, How slight a sign, would make a wealthy
dower For one like me, the bride of that pale
king Whose bed is mine at some swift-near
ing hour. Go to my lord, and to his memory bring That happy birthday of my sorrowing When his large glance made meaner
gazers glad, Entering the bannered lists: 'twas then
I had The wound that laid me in the arms of
Two faces o'er a cradle bent :
locked; These pressed each other while they
rocked, Those watched a life that love had sent.
O solemn hour!
Two parents by the evening fire:
The red light fell about their knees
On heads that rose by slow degrees Like buds upon the lily spire.
O patient life!
The two still sat together there,
The red light shone about their knees;
But all the heads by slow degrees Had gone and left that lonely pair.
Tell him, O Love, I am a lowly maid, No more than any little knot of thyme That he with careless foot may often
tread; Yet lowest fragrance oft will mount sub
lime And cleave to things most high and hal
lowed, As doth the fragrance of my life's
O voyage fast!
O vanished past!
The red light shone upon the floor