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- A Lover's Diary, Volume 1. - 6/6 -

As in a foreign land one threads his way 'Mid alien scenes, knowing no face he meets; And, hearing his name spoken, turns and greets With wondering joy a friend of other days;

As in the pause that comes between the sound And recognition, all the finer sense Is swathed in a melodious eloquence, Which makes his name seem in its sweetness drowned

So stood I, by an atmosphere beguiled Of glad surprise, when first thy lips let fall The name I lightly carried when a child,

That I shall rise to at the judgment call. The music of thy nature folded round Its barrenness a majesty of sound.


Since I rose out of child-oblivion I have walked in a world of many dreams, And noble souls beside the shining streams Of fancy have with beckonings led me on.

Their faces oft, mayhap, I could not see, Only their waving hands and noble forms. Sometimes there sprang between quick-gathered storms, But always they came back again to me.

Women with smiling eyes and star-spun hair Spake gentle things, bade me look back to view The deeds of the great souls who climbed the stair

Immortal, and for whom God's manna grew: Dante, Anacreon, Euripides, And all who set rich wine upon the lees.


Men of brave stature came and placed their hands Upon my head, and, lifting shining swords, Drew through the air signs mightier than words, And vanished in the sun upon the sands.

Glimpses I caught of faces that have come Through crowding ages; whisperings of songs; And prayers for the redress of human wrongs From voices that upon the earth are dumb.

They were but shadows, but they lent me joy; They gave me reverence for all who pace The world with hands raised, evil to destroy,

Who live but for the honour of their race. They taught me to strike at no idol raised, Worshipped a space, then left to be dispraised.


Stedfastness, shall we find it, then, at all? Is it that as the winds blow north and south, So must be praises from the loud world's mouth, Which on its heroes in their glory fall?

Because the voice grows stiller, or the arm No longer can beat evils back; because The shoulders sink beneath new-rising cause, And the fine thought has lost its moving charm;

Because of these shall puny sages shake Their heads, and haste to mock the failing one, Who in his strength could make the nations quake;

Prophet like Daniel, King like Solomon! In this full time we have seen mockers run About the throne of such as Tennyson.


Who saith thy hand is weak, King Tennyson? Who crieth, See, the monarch is grown old, His sceptre falls? Oh, carpers rude and bold, You who have fed upon the gracious benison

Scattered unstinted by him, do you now Dispraise the sweet-strung harp, grown tremulous 'Neath fingers overworn for all of us? You cannot tear the laurels from his brow.

He lives above your idle vaunts and fears, Enthroned where all master souls stand up In their high place, and fill the golden cup,

God-blest for kings, with wine of endless years, And greet him one with them. O brotherhood Of envious dullards, ye are wroth with good.

THE ANOINTED ONES Why, let them rail! God's full anointed ones Have heard the world exclaim, "We know you not." They who by their souls' travailing have brought Us nearer to the wonder of the suns.

Yet, who can stay the passage of the stars? Who can prevail against the thunder-sound? The wire that flashes lightning to the ground Diverts, but not its potency debars.

So, men may strike quick stabs at Caesar's worth,-- They only make his life an endless force, 'Scaped from its penthouse, flashing through the earth,

And 'whelming those who railed about his Gorse. Men's moods disturb not those born truly great: They know their end; they can afford to wait.


A Lover's Diary, Volume 1. - 6/6

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