Poems by Walter Richard Cassels Part 17

And so he bore the tidings to the town-- And when the people heard the Beast was dead, They gather'd round with tears and cries of joy, And scarce found words to thank and honour him.

And one brought forth her babe, and held him up, And cried, "Look, child upon him, that your soul May know the fashion of a n.o.ble man!"

But still he told no man that he was Guy.

And all desired to lead him to the King, But he would not, and turn'd another way-- "Nay! friends," said he, "I need no recompense.

For in the doing of a worthy deed Lies all the honour that a man should seek."

And thus he turn'd away unto the sea, And would not tarry, or for prayers, or tears; And when he came unto the quiet port, He said no word unto his waiting men, But gazed out seaward; and the waves were down, The clouds fast breaking, and the West wind blew; And many a sail sped swiftly o'er the main, White in the sunshine as a sea-gull's wing-- And so he went on ship-board cheerily, And they hove anchor with a right good-will, And spreading canvas to the welcome breeze, Bore swiftly out into the open sea; And Guy stood silent in the dipping bows, Gazing out seaward with a strange still smile.

AT EVENTIDE.

The day fades fast; And backward ebbs the tide of light From the far hills in billows bright, Scattering foam, as they sweep past, O'er the low clouds that bank the sky, And barrier day off solemnly.

Above the land Grey shadows stretch out, still and cold, Flinging o'er water, wood, and wold, Mysterious shapes, whose ghastly hand Presses down sorrow on the heart, And silence on the lips that part.

The dew-mist broods Heavy and low o'er field and fen, Like gloom above the souls of men; And through the forest solitudes The fitful night-wind rustles by, Breathing many a wailing sigh--

O Day! O Life!

Ending in gloom together here-- Though not one star of Hope appear, Still through the cold bleak Future gaze, That mocks thee with its murky haze; Soon morn shall end the doubt, the strife, And give unto thy weeping eyes The far night-guarded Paradise!

A DIRGE.

Winds are sighing round the drooping eaves; Sadly float the midnight hours away; Dun and grey athwart the ivy-leaves, Fall the first pale chilly tints of day, Ah me! the weary, weary tints of day.

Soon the darkness will be past and gone; Soon the silence spread its noiseless wing; Sleep will strike its tent and hurry on; Life commence its weary wandering, Ah me! its weary, weary wandering.

Not the sighing of my lonely heart, Not the heavy grief-clouds hanging o'er, Not its silence can with night depart: Gloom hangs o'er it ever, evermore, Ah me! darkness ever, evermore.

TO MY DREAM-LOVE.

Where art thou, oh! my Beautiful? Afar I seek thee sadly, till the day is done, And o'er the splendour of the setting sun, Cold, calm, and silvery, floats the evening star; Where art thou? Ah! where art thou, hid in light That haunts me, yet still wraps thee from my sight?

Not wholly--ah! not wholly--still Love's eyes Trace thy dim beauty through the mystic veil, Like the young moon that glimmers faint and pale, At noontide through the sun-web of the skies; But ah! I ope mine arms, and thou art gone, And only Memory knows where thou hast shone.

Night--Night the tender, the compa.s.sionate, Binds thee, gem-like, amid her raven hair; I dream--I see--I feel that thou art there-- And stand all weeping at Sleep's golden gate, Till the leaves open, and the glory streams Down through my tranced soul in radiant dreams.

Too short--too short--soon comes the chilly morn, To shake from love's boughs all their sleep-born bloom, And wake my heart back to its bitter doom, Sending me through the land down-cast, forlorn, Whilst thou, my Beautiful, art far away, Bearing the brightness from my joyless day.

I stand and gaze across Earth's fairest sea, And still the plashing of the restless main, Sounds like the clashing of a prisoner's chain, That binds me, oh! my Beautiful, from thee.

Oh! sea-bird, flashing past on snow-white wing, Bear my soul to her in thy wandering.

My heart is weary gazing o'er the sea; O'er the long dreary lines that close the sky; Through solemn sun-sets ever mournfully, Gazing in vain, my Beautiful, for thee; Hearing the sullen waves for evermore Dashing around me on the lonely sh.o.r.e.

But tides creep lazily about the sands, Washing frail landmarks, Lethe-like, away, And though their records perish day by day, Still stand I ever, with close clasped hands, Gazing far westward o'er the heaving sea, Gazing in vain, my Beautiful, for thee.

A NIGHT SCENE.

The lights have faded from the little cas.e.m.e.nt, As though her closing eyes had brought on night; And now she dreams--Ah! dreams supremely bright, While silence reigns around from roof to bas.e.m.e.nt.

And slow the moon is mounting up the sky, Drawing Heaven's myriads in her queenly train, Flinging rich largesse, as she pa.s.ses by, Of beauty freely over hill and plain.

Around the lattice creep the pure white roses, And one light bough rests gently on the pane, The diamond pane, through which the angel train Gaze on the sister saint who there reposes; The moonlight silvers softly o'er it now; And round the eaves the south wind whispers lowly, Waving the leaves like curls on maiden's brow; The peace and stillness make the place seem holy.

The little garden where she daily strays, Sleeps like the precinct of a place enchanted; And many a flower by her own dear hands planted, Waves mystically 'neath the starry rays.

There is such strange still beauty in the spot, That in the misty moonshine oft it seems A vision that the waking eye sees not, But some fair plesaunce blooming up in dreams.

The dew distilled perfumes richly rise, And float unseen about the silent air, Breathing a balmy sweetness everywhere, Like some blest secret fresh from Paradise; Upon the soul dim thoughts of Eden press, Within the stillness of this inner shrine, Where Nature has unveil'd her loveliness, And to the angels bared her soul divine.

There is no sound upon the ear of Night; The distant watch-dog's bay hath sunk to rest; The thrush is brooding o'er his quiet nest; And the light clouds sweep on with noiseless flight.

O heart, why beat so wildly--she will hear, And start from slumber in serene surprise-- Away! away! why longer linger here To mar the silence with thy swelling sighs!

SONNET.

O Cloud so golden, stealing o'er the sky, Like pensive thought across a virgin mind, Scarce sadder than the sunshine left behind; Would that o'er heaven with thee my soul could fly, Scanning Earth's beauty with a lover's eye, Tracing the waving waters and the woods, Their sleepy shades and silent solitudes, Where all the summer through I long to lie.

O Cloud so golden stealing o'er the sky, Sail'd I within thy bosom o'er heaven's main, Methinks that, gazing downward on the glory, The liquid loveliness of sea and plain, Of mountain, isle, and leafy promontory, My soul would melt and fall again in rain.

FLOATING DOWN THE RIVER.

My little bark glides steadily along, Still and unshaken as a summer dream; And never falls the oar into the stream, For 'tis but morning, and the current strong; So let the ripples bear me as they will; Sweet, sweet is Life, and every sound is song; Sorrow lies sleeping, and Joy sends me still Swift floating down the River.

Bright shines the sun athwart the linden-trees; One little cloud alone steals o'er the sky, As o'er the widening stream below steal I, Fann'd by the same faint perfume-laden breeze; Bird-music answers sweetly through the air, The unheard warbling of heart melodies; Thus go I dreaming, free from faintest care, Swift floating down the River.