The Poems Of Henry Kendall Part 3

Footfalls

The embers were blinking and clinking away, The cas.e.m.e.nt half open was thrown; There was nothing but cloud on the skirts of the Day, And I sat on the threshold alone!

And said to the river which flowed by my door With its beautiful face to the hill, "I have waited and waited, all wearied and sore, But my love is a wanderer still!"

And said to the wind, as it paused in its flight To look through the shivering pane, "There are memories moaning and homeless to-night That can never be tranquil again!"

And said to the woods, as their burdens were borne With a flutter and sigh to the eaves, "They are wrinkled and wasted, and tattered and torn, And we too have our withering leaves."

Did I hear a low echo of footfalls about, Whilst watching those forest trees stark?

Or was it a dream that I hurried without To clutch at and grapple the dark?

In the shadow I stood for a moment and spake-- "Bright thing that was loved in the past, Oh! am I asleep--or abroad and awake?

And are you so near me at last?

"Oh, roamer from lands where the vanished years go, Oh, waif from those mystical zones, Come here where I long for you, broken and low, On the mosses and watery stones!

"Come out of your silence and tell me if Life Is so fair in that world as they say; Was it worth all this yearning, and weeping, and strife When you left it behind you to-day?

"Will it end all this watching, and doubting, and dread?

Do these sorrows die out with our breath?

Will they pa.s.s from our souls like a nightmare," I said, "While we glide through the mazes of Death?

"Come out of that darkness and teach me the lore You have learned since I looked on your face; By the summers that blossomed and faded of yore-- By the lights which have fled to that place!

"You answer me not when I know that you could-- When I know that you could and you should; Though the storms be abroad on the wave; Though the rain droppeth down with a wail to the wood, And my heart is as cold as your grave!"

G.o.d Help Our Men at Sea

The wild night comes like an owl to its lair, The black clouds follow fast, And the sun-gleams die, and the lightnings glare, And the ships go heaving past, past, past-- The ships go heaving past!

Bar the doors, and higher, higher Pile the f.a.ggots on the fire: Now abroad, by many a light, Empty seats there are to-night-- Empty seats that none may fill, For the storm grows louder still: How it surges and swells through the gorges and dells, Under the ledges and over the lea, Where a watery sound goeth moaning around-- G.o.d help our men at sea!

Oh! never a tempest blew on the sh.o.r.e But that some heart did moan For a darling voice it would hear no more And a face that had left it lone, lone, lone-- A face that had left it lone!

I am watching by a pane Darkened with the gusty rain, Watching, through a mist of tears, Sad with thoughts of other years, For a brother I did miss In a stormy time like this.

Ah! the torrent howls past, like a fiend on the blast, Under the ledges and over the lea; And the pent waters gleam, and the wild surges scream-- G.o.d help our men at sea!

Ah, Lord! they may grope through the dark to find Thy hand within the gale; And cries may rise on the wings of the wind From mariners weary and pale, pale, pale-- From mariners weary and pale!

'Tis a fearful thing to know, While the storm-winds loudly blow, That a man can sometimes come Too near to his father's home; So that he shall kneel and say, "Lord, I would be far away!"

Ho! the hurricanes roar round a dangerous sh.o.r.e, Under the ledges and over the lea; And there twinkles a light on the billows so white-- G.o.d help our men at sea!

Sitting by the Fire

Barren Age and withered World!

Oh! the dying leaves, Like a drizzling rain, Falling round the roof-- Pattering on the pane!

Frosty Age and cold, cold World!

Ghosts of other days, Trooping past the faded fire, Flit before the gaze.

Now the wind goes soughing wild O'er the whistling Earth; And we front a feeble flame, Sitting round the hearth!

Sitting by the fire, Watching in its glow, Ghosts of other days Trooping to and fro.

Oh, the nights--the nights we've spent, Sitting by the fire, Cheerful in its glow; Twenty summers back-- Twenty years ago!

If the days were days of toil Wherefore should we mourn; There were shadows near the shine, Flowers with the thorn?

And we still can recollect Evenings spent in mirth-- Fragments of a broken life, Sitting round the hearth: Sitting by the fire, Cheerful in its glow, Twenty summers back-- Twenty years ago.

Beauty stooped to bless us once, Sitting by the fire, Happy in its glow; Forty summers back-- Forty years ago.

Words of love were interchanged, Maiden hearts we stole; And the light affection throws Slept on every soul.

Oh, the hours went flying past-- Hours of priceless worth; But we took no note of Time, Sitting round the hearth: Sitting by the fire, Happy in its glow, Forty summers back-- Forty years ago.

Gleesome children were we not?

Sitting by the fire, Ruddy in its glow, Sixty summers back-- Sixty years ago.

Laughing voices filled the room; Oh, the songs we sung, When the evenings hurried by-- When our hearts were young!

Pleasant faces watched the flame-- Eyes illumed with mirth-- And we told some merry tales, Sitting round the hearth: Sitting by the fire, Ruddy in its glow, Sixty summers back-- Sixty years ago.

Barren Age and withered World!

Oh, the dying leaves, Like a drizzling rain, Falling round the roof-- Pattering on the pane!

Frosty Age and cold, cold World!

Ghosts of other days, Trooping past the faded fire, Flit before the gaze.

Now the wind goes soughing wild O'er the whistling Earth; And we front a feeble flame, Sitting round the hearth: Sitting by the fire, Watching, in its glow, Ghosts of other days Trooping to and fro!

Bellambi's Maid

Amongst the thunder-splintered caves On Ocean's long and windy sh.o.r.e, I catch the voice of dying waves Below the ridges old and h.o.a.r; The spray descends in silver showers, And lovely whispers come and go, Like echoes from the happy hours I never more may hope to know!

The low mimosa droops with locks Of yellow hair, in dewy glade, While far above the caverned rocks I hear the dark Bellambi's Maid!

The moonlight dreams upon the sail That drives the restless ship to sea; The clouds troop past the mountain vale, And sink like spirits down the lee; The foggy peak of Corrimal, Uplifted, bears the pallid glow That streams from yonder airy hall And robes the sleeping hills below; The wandering meteors of the sky Beneath the distant waters wade, While mystic music hurries by-- The songs of dark Bellambi's Maid!