Legends and Lyrics Volume I Part 3

Hark! The wind among the cedars Waves their white arms to and fro; I remember how I watched them Sixty Christmas Days ago: Then I dreamt a glorious vision Of great deeds to crown each year-- Sixty Christmas Days have found me Useless, helpless, blind--and here!

Yes, I feel my darling stealing Warm soft fingers into mine-- Shall I tell her what I fancied In that strange old dream of mine?

I was kneeling by the window, Reading how a n.o.ble band, With the red cross on their breast-plates, Went to gain the Holy Land.

While with eager eyes of wonder Over the dark page I bent, Slowly twilight shadows gathered Till the letters came and went; Slowly, till the night was round me; Then my heart beat loud and fast, For I felt before I saw it That a spirit near me pa.s.sed.

Then I raised my eyes, and s.h.i.+ning Where the moon's first ray was bright Stood a winged Angel-warrior Clothed and panoplied in light: So, with Heaven's love upon him, Stern in calm and resolute will, Looked St. Michael--does the picture Hang in the old cloister still?

Threefold were the dreams of honour That absorbed my heart and brain; Threefold crowns the Angel promised, Each one to be bought by pain: While he spoke, a threefold blessing Fell upon my soul like rain.

HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING; VICTOR IN A GLORIOUS STRIFE; SINGER OF A n.o.bLE POEM: Such the honours of my life.

Ah, that dream! Long years that gave me Joy and grief as real things Never touched the tender memory Sweet and solemn that it brings-- Never quite effaced the feeling Of those white and shadowing wings.

Do those blue eyes open wider?

Does my faith too foolish seem?

Yes, my darling, years have taught me It was nothing but a dream.

Soon, too soon, the bitter knowledge Of a fearful trial rose, Rose to crush my heart, and sternly Bade my young ambition close.

More and more my eyes were clouded, Till at last G.o.d's glorious light Pa.s.sed away from me for ever, And I lived and live in night.

Dear, I will not dim your pleasure, Christmas should be only gay-- In my night the stars have risen, And I wait the dawn of day.

Spite of all I could be happy; For my brothers' tender care In their boyish pastimes ever Made me take, or feel a share.

Philip, even then so thoughtful, Max so n.o.ble, brave and tall, And your father, little G.o.dfrey, The most loving of them all.

Philip reasoned down my sorrow, Max would laugh my gloom away, G.o.dfrey's little arms put round me, Helped me through my dreariest day; While the promise of my Angel, Like a star, now bright, now pale, Hung in blackest night above me, And I felt it could not fail.

Years pa.s.sed on, my brothers left me, Each went out to take his share In the struggle of life; my portion Was a humble one--to bear.

Here I dwelt, and learnt to wander Through the woods and fields alone, Every cottage in the village Had a corner called my own.

Old and young, all brought their troubles, Great or small, for me to hear; I have often blessed my sorrow That drew others' grief so near.

Ah, the people needed helping-- Needed love--(for Love and Heaven Are the only gifts not bartered, They alone are freely given)--

And I gave it. Philip's bounty, (We were orphans, dear,) made toil Prosper, and want never fastened On the tenants of the soil.

Philip's name (Oh, how I gloried, He so young, to see it rise!) Soon grew noted among statesmen As a patriot true and wise.

And his people all felt honoured To be ruled by such a name; I was proud too that they loved me; Through their pride in him it came.

He had gained what I had longed for, I meanwhile grew glad and gay, 'Mid his people, to be serving Him and them, in some poor way.

How his n.o.ble earnest speeches, With untiring fervour came; HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING; Truly he deserved the name!

Had my Angel's promise failed me?

Had that word of hope grown dim?

Why, my Philip had fulfilled it, And I loved it best in him!

Max meanwhile--ah, you, my darling, Can his loving words recall-- 'Mid the bravest and the n.o.blest, Braver, n.o.bler, than them all.

How I loved him! how my heart thrilled When his sword clanked by his side.

When I touched his gold embroidery, Almost saw him in his pride!

So we parted; he all eager To uphold the name he bore, Leaving in my charge--he loved me-- Some one whom he loved still more: I must tend this gentle flower, I must speak to her of him, For he feared--Love still is fearful-- That his memory might grow dim.

I must guard her from all sorrow, I must play a brother's part, s.h.i.+eld all grief and trial from her, If it need be, with my heart.

Years pa.s.sed, and his name grew famous; We were proud, both she and I; And we lived upon his letters, While the slow days fleeted by.

Then at last--you know the story, How a fearful rumour spread, Till all hope had slowly faded, And we heard that he was dead.

Dead! Oh, those were bitter hours; Yet within my soul there dwelt A warning, and while others mourned him, Something like a hope I felt.

His was no weak life as mine was, But a life, so full and strong-- No, I could not think he perished Nameless, 'mid a conquered throng.

How she drooped! Years pa.s.sed; no tidings Came, and yet that little flame Of strange hope within my spirit Still burnt on, and lived the same.

Ah! my child, our hearts will fail us, When to us they strongest seem; I can look back on those hours As a fearful, evil dream.

She had long despaired; what wonder That her heart had turned to mine?

Earthly loves are deep and tender, Not eternal and divine!

Can I say how bright a future Rose before my soul that day?

Oh, so strange, so sweet, so tender-- And I had to turn away.

Hard and terrible the struggle, For the pain not mine alone; I called back my Brother's spirit, And I bade him claim his own.

Told her--now I dared to do it-- That I felt the day would rise When he would return to gladden My weak heart and her bright eyes.

And I pleaded--pleaded sternly-- In his name, and for his sake: Now, I can speak calmly of it, Then, I thought my heart would break.

Soon--ah, Love had not deceived me, (Love's true instincts never err,) Wounded, weak, escaped from prison, He returned to me; to her.

I could thank G.o.d that bright morning, When I felt my Brother's gaze, That my heart was true and loyal, As in our old boyish days.

Bought by wounds and deeds of daring, Honours he had brought away; Glory crowned his name--my Brother's; Mine too!--we were one that day.

Since the crown on him had fallen, "VICTOR IN A n.o.bLE STRIFE,"

I could live and die contented With my poor ign.o.ble life.

Well, my darling, almost weary Of my story? Wait awhile; For the rest is only joyful; I can tell it with a smile.

One bright promise still was left me, Wound so close about my soul, That, as one by one had failed me, This dream now absorbed the whole.

"SINGER OF A n.o.bLE POEM,"-- Ah, my darling, few and rare Burn the glorious names of Poets, Like stars in the purple air.

That too, and I glory in it, That great gift my G.o.dfrey won; I have my dear share of honour, Gained by that beloved one.

One day shall my darling read it; Now she cannot understand All the n.o.ble thoughts, that lighten Through the genius of the land.

I am proud to be his brother, Proud to think that hope was true; Though I longed and strove so vainly, What I failed in, he could do.

I was long before I knew it, Longer ere I felt it so; Then I strung my rhymes together Only for the poor and low.

And, it pleases me to know it, (For I love them well indeed,) They care for my humble verses, Fitted for their humble need.

And, it cheers my heart to bear it, Where the far-off settlers roam, My poor words are sung and cherished, Just because they speak of Home.

And the little children sing them, (That, I think, has pleased me best,) Often, too, the dying love them, For they tell of Heaven and rest.

So my last vain dream has faded; (Such as I to think of fame!) Yet I will not say it failed me, For it crowned my G.o.dfrey's name.

No; my Angel did not cheat me, For my long life has been blest; He did give me Love and Sorrow, He will bring me Light and Rest.

VERSE: A WOMAN'S QUESTION