Underwoods Part 3

XIX-KATHARINE

WE see you as we see a face That trembles in a forest place Upon the mirror of a pool Forever quiet, clear and cool; And in the wayward gla.s.s, appears To hover between smiles and tears, Elfin and human, airy and true, And backed by the reflected blue.

XX-TO F. J. S.

I READ, dear friend, in your dear face Your life's tale told with perfect grace; The river of your life, I trace Up the sun-chequered, devious bed To the far-distant fountain-head.

Not one quick beat of your warm heart, Nor thought that came to you apart, Pleasure nor pity, love nor pain Nor sorrow, has gone by in vain;

But as some lone, wood-wandering child Brings home with him at evening mild The thorns and flowers of all the wild, From your whole life, O fair and true Your flowers and thorns you bring with you!

XXI-REQUIEM

UNDER the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie.

Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me: _Here he lies where he longed to be_; _Home is the sailor_, _home from sea_, _And the hunter home from the hill_.

XXII-THE CELESTIAL SURGEON

IF I have faltered more or less In my great task of happiness; If I have moved among my race And shown no glorious morning face; If beams from happy human eyes Have moved me not; if morning skies, Books, and my food, and summer rain Knocked on my sullen heart in vain:- Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take And stab my spirit broad awake; Or, Lord, if too obdurate I, Choose thou, before that spirit die, A piercing pain, a killing sin, And to my dead heart run them in!

XXIII-OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS

OUT of the sun, out of the blast, Out of the world, alone I pa.s.sed Across the moor and through the wood To where the monastery stood.

There neither lute nor breathing fife, Nor rumour of the world of life, Nor confidences low and dear, Shall strike the meditative ear.

Aloof, unhelpful, and unkind, The prisoners of the iron mind, Where nothing speaks except the h.e.l.l The unfraternal brothers dwell.

Poor pa.s.sionate men, still clothed afresh With agonising folds of flesh; Whom the clear eyes solicit still To some bold output of the will, While fairy Fancy far before And musing Memory-Hold-the-door Now to heroic death invite And now uncurtain fresh delight: O, little boots it thus to dwell On the remote unneighboured hill!

O to be up and doing, O Unfearing and unshamed to go In all the uproar and the press About my human business!

My undissuaded heart I hear Whisper courage in my ear.

With voiceless calls, the ancient earth Summons me to a daily birth.

Thou, O my love, ye, O my friends- The gist of life, the end of ends- To laugh, to love, to live, to die, Ye call me by the ear and eye!

Forth from the casemate, on the plain Where honour has the world to gain, Pour forth and bravely do your part, O knights of the uns.h.i.+elded heart!

Forth and forever forward!-out From prudent turret and redoubt, And in the mellay charge amain, To fall but yet to rise again!

Captive? ah, still, to honour bright, A captive soldier of the right!

Or free and fighting, good with ill?

Unconquering but unconquered still!

And ye, O brethren, what if G.o.d, When from Heav'n's top he spies abroad, And sees on this tormented stage The n.o.ble war of mankind rage: What if his vivifying eye, O monks, should pa.s.s your corner by?

For still the Lord is Lord of might; In deeds, in deeds, he takes delight; The plough, the spear, the laden barks, The field, the founded city, marks; He marks the smiler of the streets, The singer upon garden seats; He sees the climber in the rocks: To him, the shepherd folds his flocks.

For those he loves that underprop With daily virtues Heaven's top, And bear the falling sky with ease, Unfrowning caryatides.

Those he approves that ply the trade, That rock the child, that wed the maid, That with weak virtues, weaker hands, Sow gladness on the peopled lands, And still with laughter, song and shout, Spin the great wheel of earth about.

But ye?-O ye who linger still Here in your fortress on the hill, With placid face, with tranquil breath, The unsought volunteers of death, Our cheerful General on high With careless looks may pa.s.s you by.

XXIV

NOT yet, my soul, these friendly fields desert, Where thou with gra.s.s, and rivers, and the breeze, And the bright face of day, thy dalliance hadst; Where to thine ear first sang the enraptured birds; Where love and thou that lasting bargain made.

The s.h.i.+p rides trimmed, and from the eternal sh.o.r.e Thou hearest airy voices; but not yet Depart, my soul, not yet awhile depart.

Freedom is far, rest far. Thou art with life Too closely woven, nerve with nerve intwined; Service still craving service, love for love, Love for dear love, still suppliant with tears.

Alas, not yet thy human task is done!

A bond at birth is forged; a debt doth lie Immortal on mortality. It grows- By vast rebound it grows, unceasing growth; Gift upon gift, alms upon alms, upreared, From man, from G.o.d, from nature, till the soul At that so huge indulgence stands amazed.

Leave not, my soul, the unfoughten field, nor leave Thy debts dishonoured, nor thy place desert Without due service rendered. For thy life, Up, spirit, and defend that fort of clay, Thy body, now beleaguered; whether soon Or late she fall; whether to-day thy friends Bewail thee dead, or, after years, a man Grown old in honour and the friend of peace.

Contend, my soul, for moments and for hours; Each is with service pregnant; each reclaimed Is as a kingdom conquered, where to reign.

As when a captain rallies to the fight His scattered legions, and beats ruin back, He, on the field, encamps, well pleased in mind.

Yet surely him shall fortune overtake, Him smite in turn, headlong his ensigns drive; And that dear land, now safe, to-morrow fall.

But he, unthinking, in the present good Solely delights, and all the camps rejoice.

XXV

IT is not yours, O mother, to complain, Not, mother, yours to weep, Though nevermore your son again Shall to your bosom creep, Though nevermore again you watch your baby sleep.

Though in the greener paths of earth, Mother and child, no more We wander; and no more the birth Of me whom once you bore, Seems still the brave reward that once it seemed of yore;

Though as all pa.s.ses, day and night, The seasons and the years, From you, O mother, this delight, This also disappears- Some profit yet survives of all your pangs and tears.

The child, the seed, the grain of corn, The acorn on the hill, Each for some separate end is born In season fit, and still Each must in strength arise to work the almighty will.

So from the hearth the children flee, By that almighty hand Austerely led; so one by sea Goes forth, and one by land; Nor aught of all man's sons escapes from that command

So from the sally each obeys The unseen almighty nod; So till the ending all their ways Blindfolded loth have trod: Nor knew their task at all, but were the tools of G.o.d.