Poems by Walter Richard Cassels Part 5

There are full many sins confess'd, my Lord, In pain of body and in pain of soul; Some from the heart unearth'd by fire and sword, And stealing forth amid the spirit's dole, With fiery pain-sweat seething every word;

But none, my Lord, that riseth to the sky, Bears guilt of mine upon its blister'd tongue; Though torture's fire is quick to forge a lie, None from these woman's lips could ere be wrung; No! none, though on the rack-bed bound to die.

Poor youth! This poison from his writhing throat, Those h.e.l.lish instruments have haply drawn, And pain hath conn'd the aspish lies by rote; But to my heart no poison'd tooth hath gnawn, For in its pulses lies Truth's antidote.

These limbs, my Lord, can do their task no more; The rack hath crush'd them in its wild embrace, So that Truth's firm-set att.i.tude is o'er, Else had I met my judges face to face, And challenged justice, as in days of yore.

Yet is the spirit strong within me still, And bears me up though manhood's strength succ.u.mb, Unbent by any blighting blast of ill, Through fiery trials, to all false witness dumb; They cannot stain me, though perchance they kill!

I am a woman--weak to combat wrong, But innocent, my Lord, I live or die; And silent, though my G.o.d doth tarry long, He sees me throughly with His holy eye, And in my sore, sore need, doth make me strong.

This hapless youth! I do forgive him all; E'en now remorse must rankle in his breast, And no cool comfort cometh at his call, To set the tumult of his soul at rest: G.o.d's pity on his human weakness fall!

3.

Nay, falter not, good friend; thy news is sweet; Thanks, thanks! Ay, sweet as is the welcome wind That wafts the calm-lock'd seaman, smooth and fleet, O'er tropic seas unto his sigh'd-for Ind; Ay! Death will bring rest to my weary feet!

'Tis strange--but now the word falls on mine ear Soft as the singing of a little child, Heaven's music on light pinions floateth near, Through all the strife of Earth, so harsh and wild; Time's stream is rippling on its marges clear.

The end is nigh--the end of grief and pain, And Life's broad gates are opening to my soul; O'er my weak heart no more shall sorrow reign, Enfranchised soon 'twill spurn the harsh control, And never feel its empiry again.

No more, Filippo, shall my hapless life Stand betwixt thee and pleasure,--Duty's knot Shall soon be sever'd by the headsman's knife; And upon memory one crimson blot Shall be the record of a spotless wife.

'Tis well! I would not wander through a haunted mind, Ghost-like and fearful in the evening hours; Would G.o.d that I could leave my peace behind, To bless thee when the night of sorrow lours, And thou art rifted by Affliction's wind!

Shouldst thou awake when I have pa.s.s'd away, Shouldst thou see clear the error and the wrong, And Truth break on thee with its dazzling ray, As sure it will, for Innocence is strong, Then may my prayers thine every pang allay!

For thee, poor youth,--go not unto the grave With a red lie upon thy trembling tongue-- Not for myself, but for thy soul I crave,-- Death's champions should have sinews tightly strung, And thou wilt falter where I shall be brave.

In that dim world there flows no cooling stream, No Lethe for the guilty and the fever'd, There is no answer to their parching scream, From hope and mercy they are ever sever'd, There is no waking from their spectral dream.

Then pause or e'er thou stampest on thy soul Eternally such misery as thine, And writest on G.o.d's conscience-blasting scroll, A wife's dishonour, and a tarnish'd line, To weigh for thee thine everlasting dole...

Friend, let thine arm be strong, good sooth there's need, Thou cuttest through a weary depth of woe!-- Well! that will pa.s.s, and soon rest come indeed,-- Ay, ay! the robe's white now ... will't long be so?...

Yet better far the crimson tide should flow, Than the heart inly with its anguish bleed.

SERENADE.

The day is fading from the sky, And softly s.h.i.+nes the Star of Even, As watching with a lover's eye The rest of Earth the peace of Heaven; The dew is rising cool and sweet, And, zephyr-rock'd, the flowers are closing, The Night steals on with noiseless feet, Oh! gentle be my love's reposing.

The streamlet, as it flows along, Sounds like a voice 'mid childhood's slumbers; And from the brake the Queen of Song Pours forth her softest, clearest numbers; And ever through the stirless leaves The summer moon is brightly streaming, Light fancies on the sward it weaves,-- As radiant be my lady's dreaming.

The silent hours move swiftly on, With many a blessed vision laden, That all the night has softly shone Upon the hearts of youth and maiden; And now, in golden splendors drest, The new-born day is gladly breaking, Oh! blissful be my lady's rest, And sweet as Morn be her awaking.

THE EAGLE.

The winds sweep by him on his mountain throne, Hurling the clouds together at his feet, Till Earth is hidden, lost, and swallow'd up As in the flood of waters,--and he sits Eyeing the boundless firmament above, Proud and unruffled, till his heart exclaims,-- "I am a G.o.d, Heaven is my home,--the Earth Serveth me but for footstool."

The strong winds Sweep on, and wide his pinions spreadeth he,-- "Bear me afar!" and on the mighty storm He rides triumphant, spurning the dim Earth-- Whither, O whither goest thou? What star Shall raise its mountains for thee? What far orb Echo the fierceness of thy battle-cry?

What dost thou when the thunder is unloosed?

"I sit amongst the crags, and feel the Earth Tremble beneath me, whilst my heart is firm.

I gaze upon the lightning, and my lid Quivers not. Is their aught 'neath which my gaze Quaileth, or waxeth faint--I read the sun Undazzled where the stars grow dim and pale.

"Men gather them to battle--host meets host-- And I am borne aloft to marshal them,-- I, the great King of Battles, that go forth Conquering and to conquer. So do men Wors.h.i.+p me. Oh! the mighty crash ascends,-- The shoutings, and the glory, and the woe, One great full chaunt of homage to mine ears,-- And there I wait the while the sacrifice Is slain before me; then down with a swoop I get me from my skyey throne, and dye Deep in the ruddy stream my talons grey-- Hurrah! hurrah! blood red's the flag for me!"

The time will come, proud one, when thou shalt die!

"Die! Death I cast from me as these loose plumes That moult out from my pinions--let them go To Earth, and Death go with them, both I leave To mortals. What have I to do with Time?

Let him pat forth his speed--these wings of mine Shall match him stroke for stroke, until we reach The limits of his empire, and I shake him off Like dust upon the threshold of the world."

WHITHER?

Whither away, youth, whither away, With lightsome step, and with joyous heart, And eyes that Hope's gay glances dart?

Whither away--whither away?

Into the world, the glorious world, To gain the prize, of the brave and bold, To s.n.a.t.c.h the crown from the age of gold-- Into the world--into the world!

Whither away, girl, whither away?

Thy soft blue eyes are suffused with love, And thy smile is as bright as the suns.h.i.+ne above,-- Whither away, whither away?

Into the world, the beautiful world, To meet the heart that must mate with mine, And make the measure of life divine,-- Into the world, into the world.

Whither away, old man, whither away, With locks of white, and form bent low, And trembling hands, and steps so slow?

Whither away,--whither away?

Out of the world, Oh! the weary world, With its empty pleasures, and poison'd joys, Whose draught first gladdens, and then destroys-- Out of the world, out of the world, With shatter'd hopes, and with feeble frame, From Life's sharp struggle, and unsped aim,-- Out of the world, Oh! the weary world.

Whither away, poor one, whither away?

Hurrying swiftly, with weeping eyes, And hectic cheeks, and smother'd sighs, Whither away--whither away?

Out of the world, oh! the cold, cold world!

Oh! Father, my heart ... but there is rest For the sinking soul, and the bruised breast, Out of the world--out of the world!