The Dales of Arcady Part 7

He should be strong--as strong as Thor of old; And faults of strength 'twere better he possessed Than quavering mind or any lack of zest When the time needs a right arm coolly bold.

Truth should to him be what the unpent song Is to the soaring lark; with kindly thought For everything that cold Misfortune's sought; With earnest faith to fight a cause proved wrong.

A heart that finds the best in every man; Impatient he should be at all delay Or if not giv'n at once his own sweet way-- (But then a fault or two is Nature's plan), Yet I would wish his chiefest fault should be A wilfulness to see no fault in me!

SEMER WATER.

TO THE COMING SPRING

Hope and Spring! You are sisters!

In my woodlands The primroses are peeping With pale, sweet golden eyes, In spite of Winter's weeping.

In my woodlands A thrush has just swung, dipping, In search of his spring voice; The trees stand dripping, dripping.

In my woodlands Harsh Winter coldly s.h.i.+vers; The windflower, white adventurer, With hope of springtime quivers.

Soon my woodlands, Bearing bannerets of Spring, Will be every moment musical With birds that, mating, sing.

Hope and Spring! You are sisters!

Oh, Spring! Spring!

Since the Autumn died in glory, How I have yearned for your coming Thro' the cloistral fog-bound days, Your beauty seemed a story That would never be told again.

Spring! of the pearly cloud-skies Soft-curled as a baby's hand, Turquoise as children's eyes, Of rainbow-tinctured days And twittering song of the eaves!

Spring! You desired vision, The wind in your primrose hair, Your eyes, too, weepingly ready, Your face, an anemone fair; Your train, a burgeoning pattern Be-sprent with woodland flowers, Blackthorn, daffies, bluebells, Marking the flight of our hours.

Spring! Tho' it still is Winter, In your mystic sleep you smile, Yet the primroses and the thrush on wing Know that even in sleep you sing; You wondrous, enva.s.saling, longed-for Maid!

Oh! If Death came now I should be afraid: I have longed for you so the dark months thro', That I must see the pulsing glory of you; And your little hand-maidens in their turn-- For each at their 'pointed times I yearn.

Virginal snowdrop, Firstling of Spring!

Crocus, herald of purple and gold, Wistful windflowers, Celandined stars, Every one to my heart I fold.

Snow-soft blackthorn, You wild, fair sweet, The scent of you brings A flutter of wings; And, almond blossom, You stole at dawn The pale dream vest Of the infant morn.

Of a pool of blue I dream-- Hyacinths, waving in ripples of blue.

There is nothing so fair the whole world thro'

As when quivering sun and quivering wind Jocundly, joyously, leapingly find A young green wood in a lazuli dream.

O Spring, if I lay on my dying bed I should wait to die, till your glory had fled, I could not go ere the cuckoo had cried His impudent call to the countryside: Not till the swallows had loyally come To their nesting place, in my liefest home, And then I should wait for the blackbird's note To leap from his melody-stirring throat.

Ah! And to feel the April rain Pattering on my face again.

G.o.d grant that I do not die in the Spring, When my whole soul rebels to live and sing; As we all must die, so let me die When the grey November fogs are nigh; Not for a longer s.p.a.ce of heaven Would I forfeit one day, nay, one single hour, One sweet bird-cry, or one haunting flower, Of my beautiful, longed-for, fleeting Spring.

Hope and Spring! You are sisters!

'Tis Winter still, But you stir in sleep Tho' the cold gusts blow And the bare trees weep.

But the early primrose And flitting thrush Have watched you smile And have seen you blush.

And tho' it is long Ere yet you rise, And the blue of your glance Reflect in the skies;

My heart is awake And ready to sing The moment you beckon, Sweet, glorious Spring!

Hope and Spring! You are sisters!

PATELEY BRIDGE, NIDDERDALE,

QUESTION

O Seats of ancient learning, Philosophers and Sages!

A child has put a question, which I cannot find in pages Of any tome in any land: and so the answer's missed.

"_Where do all the kisses go, after they are kissed?_"

THE DALES OF ARCADY

FIRST DAY

Hearken! The South Wind's voice.

My lover returns, and the valleys rejoice.

The bees fly upward to watch his flight, The b.u.t.terflies quiver with glad delight, As he teasingly touches their jewelled wings.

O! at his bidding the whitethroat swings In thrillant blue. A thrush's call Blends with a blackbird's madrigal.

I steadily gazed at my silent pen, Attempting to keep from my straying ken An Eden of woods, of bosoming hills, Of verdant hedges, of wandering rills.

How can one work When a Lover amid the flowers will lurk?

He tip-toes in thro' the window-door, And whisks my papers on to the floor; With flower-steeped hands he caresses my hair, And whispers alluringly,

"_Fair, most Fair, Slip your slender hand in mine, my Sweeting, Hear! the skylarks cleave the blue with greeting, Hear the blackcap on the thorn at even Trill truths that echo to the highest heaven, Leave your world of carking care, time-haunted, For a country ever spring-enchaunted._"

He leads me on to the dewy gra.s.s, Where maiden primroses troop and pa.s.s; With a gleesome kiss in his arms he swings Me up 'twixt his eagle-wide rainbow wings: Over a willowy coppice he goes Flicking the hedges of milk-white sloes, Over the blazon of heralding gorse, Deftly he steers his ethereal course Over anemone hillocks, o'er leas, Hyacinth-dimpled, o'er b.u.t.tercupped leas, Over the ings where forget-me-not eyes Borrow the blue of azureal skies; Over the meadow-flats, higher and higher, Sweeping the strings of the cloud-strung lyre.

The lilt of the planets is in mine ear, Crystal dropping on crystal clear: "O Wind, my Lover, My mortal eyes must you surely cover: Such beauty will make me beauty-blind, Protect mine eyes, O my Lover Wind."

Then, as I lost my indrawn breath, He swirled me down to the earth beneath, Down thro' the depths of a forest of pine, On to a carpet of celandine.

The goldcrests twittered, the squirrels chased, While the lofty pines, brown arms enlaced, Lisped a dryad-taught melody, sung by the sea.

Known in the valleys of Arcady.

For a little s.p.a.ce did my Lover sleep, While the gold-mailed sun with me did keep A radiant watch; but when Eventide In saffron-rose wrapped the woodland side, He started up, and he kissed my neck, Then, bidding me rise at his instant beck, We pa.s.sed where the sovran oak-trees nod, Where never a human foot has trod, Where birches sway in slenderest grace, That never have seen a mortal's face; Where rivulets hasten in sweet surprise, A wonder beneath my wond'ring eyes; A lakelet trembled beneath my glance, The lily-white elfins ceased their dance; A cherry-tree flung confetti down, And framed for my head a loving crown.

Soft-toned bells Called to each other across the fells.

While music played on a reeded flute Stilled the air, and the birds were mute.

"O leaf-loving Zephyr, whence cometh the mirth Of this melody? Owns my mothering Earth A piper who pipes so alluringly Of beauty that is, of beauty to be?

Onward! o'er thousands of blushet-shy daisies, To find this piper of beautiful phrases."