For the foemen thou must meet Are the phantoms in the street, And thine armour shall be foul'd in many a place, And the shameful mire and mud With a grosser stain than blood Shall be scatter'd 'mid the fray upon thy face; Shall shrink from thee, dismay'd, Till thou comèst to the knowledge of things base. Ah, mortal! with a brow Like the gleam of sunshine, thou Mayst wander from the pathway in thy turn ; In the noontide of thy strength Be stricken down at length, And cry to God for aid, and live, and learn: Thou arisest up again, The lightning of thy look will be less stern. Thou shalt see with humbler eye Nor shudder at the touch of her attire ; On the liar and the thief; Thou shalt meet the very murtherer in the mire : And to which wouldst thou accord, O thou Warrior of the Lord! The vengeance of the Sword and of the Fire? Nay! batter'd in the fray, Thou shalt quake in act to slay, And remember thy transgression and be meek! And the thief shall grasp thy hand, And the liar blushing stand, And the harlot if she list shall kiss thy cheek; Shall meet thee in the shade And pray thee for the doom thou wilt not wreak. Yet shalt thou help the frail From the phantoms that assail,— Yea! the strong man in his anger shalt thou dare; Thy voice shall be a song Against Wickedness and Wrong, But the wicked and the wronger thou wilt spare. The ungrateful hand of man Shall smite thee down and slay thee unaware. With an agonizèd cry Thou shalt shiver down, and die, With stained shirt of mail and broken brand; "He has fallen like us all, Though the weapon of the Lord was in his hand : " And thine epitaph shall be— "He was wretched even as we;" And thy tomb may be unhonour'd in the land. But the basest of the base Shall bless thy pale dead face; And the thief shall steal a bloody lock of hair : The adulteress shall weep Such tears as she can never shed elsewhere, In thy chill and nerveless hand, Shall kiss thy stained vesture, with a prayer. Then, while in that chill place Gather'd round thee in the silence of the dark, On the silence of the town And see thee lying dead, with those to mark; "Bear my Warrior lying there To his sleep upon my Breast!" and they shall hark. Lo! then those fallen things There shall grow a wondrous light, While they hide affrighted faces on the sod: They shall raise their eyes, and mark ROBERT BRIDGES. 1844 THE SEA-POPPY. A Poppy grows upon the shore Oft to her cousins turns her thought, Is fed with spray for dew, and caught She has no lovers like the Red EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE. 1849 THE SUPPLIANT. Beneath the poplars o'er the sacred pool Perchance the Goddess, at the twilight's breath, So when at moon-rise by the farm I go, THEOPHILE MARZIALS. 1850 RONDEL. To-day what is there in the air That makes December seem sweet May? To-day is here: come! crown to-day Down my glad gardens light winds play, PAKENHAM THOMAS BEATTY. 1855 IN MY DREAMS. Come to me in my dreams, and say And I will whisper all night through Rest with me, Love! until the day; ANDREW LANG. 1844 IN ITHACA, 'Tis thought Odysseus, when the strife was o'er With all the waves and wars, a weary while, Grew restless in his disenchanted isle, And still would watch the sunset, from the shore, The life that might have been is lost to thee. |