Arthur Hugh Clough

I Here am I yet, another twelvemonth spent, One-third departed of the mortal span,

It fortifies my soul to know That, though I perish, Truth is so: That, howsoe'er I stray and range,

I have seen higher holier things than these, And therefore must to these refuse my heart, Yet am I panting for a little ease;

On the mountain, in the woodland, In the shaded secret dell, I have seen thee, I have met thee!

O thou whose image in the shrine Of human spirits dwells divine; Which from that precinct once conveyed,

If, when in cheerless wanderings, dull and cold, A sense of human kindliness hath found us, We seem to have around us

Go, foolish thoughts, and join the throng Of myriads gone before; To flutter and flap and flit along

On grass, on gravel, in the sun, Or now beneath the shade, They went, in pleasant Kensington,

Light words they were, and lightly, falsely said: She heard them, and she started, and she rose, As in the act to speak; the sudden thought

Sweet streamlet bason! at thy side Weary and faint within me cried My longing heart, In such pure deep

My wind is turned to bitter north, That was so soft a south before; My sky, that shone so sunny bright,

Across the sea, along the shore, In numbers more and ever more, From lonely hut and busy town,

Over a mountain slope with lentisk, and with abounding Arbutus, and the red oak overtufted, 'mid a noontide Now glowing fervidly, the Leto-born, the divine one,

"Old things need not be therefore true," O brother men, nor yet the new; Ah! still awhile the old thought retain,

'Old things need not be therefore true,' O brother men, nor yet the new; Ah! still awhile the old thought retain,

So spake the voice: and as with a single life Instinct, the whole mass, fierce, irretainable, Down on that unsuspecting host swept;

Whate'er you dream, with doubt possessed, Keep, keep it snug within your breast, And lay you down and take your rest;

Whate'er you dream with doubt possest, Keep, keep it snug within your breast, And lay you down and take your rest;

Or shall I say, Vain word, false thought, Since prudence hath her martyrs too, And Wisdom dictates not to do,

Am I with you, or you with me? Or in some blessed place above, Where neither lands divide nor sea,

Canto I. Over the great windy waters, and over the clear-crested summits, Unto the sun and the sky, and unto the perfecter earth,

CANTO II. Is it illusion? or does there a spirit from perfecter ages, Here, even yet, amid loss, change, and corruption, abide?

CANTO III. Yet to the wondrous St. Peter's, and yet to the solemn Rotonda, Mingling with heroes and gods, yet to the Vatican Walls,

CANTO IV. Eastward, or Northward, or West? I wander and ask as I wander, Weary, yet eager and sure, Where shall I come to my love?

CANTO V. There is a city, upbuilt on the quays of the turbulent Arno, Under Fiesole's heights, thither are we to return?

Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, And taste with a distempered appetite! SHAKSPEARE.

It was but some few nights ago I wandered down this quiet lane; I pray that I may never know

'Twas on a sunny summer day I trod a mighty city's street, And when I started on my way

O, richly soiled and richly sunned, Exuberant, fervid, and fecund! Is this the fixed condition

A Sequel I saw again the spirits on a day, Where on the earth in mournful case they lay;

O happy they whose hearts receive The implanted word with faith; believe Because their fathers did before,

Say, will it, when our hairs are grey, And wintry suns half light the day, Which cheering hope and strengthening trust

How in God's name did Columbus get over Is a pure wonder to me, I protest, Cabot, and Raleigh too, that well-read rover,

Come back, come back, behold with straining mast And swelling sail, behold her steaming fast; With one new sun to see her voyage o'er,

Come home, come home! and where is home for me, Whose ship is driving o'er the trackless sea? To the frail bark here plunging on its way,

Come, Poet, come! A thousand labourers ply their task, And what it tends to scarcely ask,

But that from slow dissolving pomps of dawn No verity of slowly strengthening light Early or late hath issued; that the day

SCENE I. The Piazza at Venice, 9 p.m. Dipsychus and the Spirit. Di. The scene is different, and the place, the air

Scene I. The interior Arcade of the Doge's Palace. Sp. Thunder and rain! O dear, O dear!

An interval of thirty years. SCENE I. In London. Dipsychus in his Study. Dipsychus. O God! O God! and must I still go on

Duty that's to say, complying, With whate'er's expected here; On your unknown cousin's dying,

Naples, 1849 Through the great sinful streets of Naples as I past, With fiercer heat than flamed above my head

So in the sinful streets, abstracted and alone, I with my secret self held communing of mine own. So in the southern city spake the tongue

I From thy far sources, 'mid mountains airily climbing, Pass to the rich lowland, thou busy sunny river;

Matthew and Mark and Luke and holy John Evanished all and gone! Yea, he that erst his dusky curtains quitting,

'I don't very well understand what it's all about,' said my uncle. 'I won't say I didn't drop into a doze while the young man was drivelling through his latter soliloquies. But there was a great deal that was unmeaning, vague, and involved; and what was most plain, was least decent and least moral.' 'Dear sir,' said I, 'says the proverb 'Needs must when the devil drives;' and if the devil is to speak ' 'Well,' said my uncle, 'why should he? Nobody asked him. Not that he didn't say much which, if only it hadn't been for the way he said it, and that it was he who said it, would have been sensible enough.'

Said the Poet, I wouldn't maintain, As the mystical German has done, That the land, inexistent till then,

Farewell, farewell! Her vans the vessel tries, His iron might the potent engine plies: Haste, winged words, and ere 'tis useless, tell,

SCENE I. Adam and Eve. Adam. Since that last evening we have fallen indeed!

Who is this man that walketh in the field, O Eleazar,

Green fields of England! wheresoe'er Across this watery waste we fare, Your image at our hearts we bear

The grasses green of sweet content That spring, no matter high or low, Where'er a living thing can grow,

Farewell, my Highland lassie! when the year returns around, Be it Greece, or be it Norway, where my vagrant feet are found, I shall call to mind the place, I shall call to mind the day,

Hope evermore and believe, O man, for e'en as thy thought So are the things that thou see'st; e'en as thy hope and belief. Cowardly art thou and timid? they rise to provoke thee against them,

How in all wonder Columbus got over, That is a marvel to me, I protest, Cabot, and Raleigh too, that well-read rover,

Away, haunt thou me not, Thou vain Philosophy! Little hast thou bestead,

Put forth thy leaf, thou lofty plane, East wind and frost are safely gone; With zephyr mild and balmy rain

Blessed are those who have not seen, And who have yet believed The witness, here that has not been,

It is not sweet content, be sure, That moves the nobler Muse to song, Yet when could truth come whole and pure

It is not sweet content, be sure, That moves the nobler Muse to song, Yet when could truth come whole and pure

Away, haunt thou me not, Thou vain Philosophy! Little hast thou bestead,

Put forth thy leaf, thou lofty plane, East wind and frost are safely gone; With zephyr mild and balmy rain

Each for himself is still the rule We learn it when we go to school The devil take the hindmost, O!

The skies have sunk, and hid the upper snow (Home, Rose, and home, Provence and La Palie), The rainy clouds are filing fast below,

He dwelt among “apartments let,” About five stories high; A man I thought that none would get,

These are the words of Jacob's wives, the words Which Leah spake and Rachel to his ears, When, in the shade at eventide, he sat

NAPOLEON. Is it this, then, O world-warrior, That, exulting, through the folds

To wear out heart, and nerves, and brain, And give oneself a world of pain; Be eager, angry, fierce, and hot,

When panting sighs the bosom fill, And hands by chance united thrill At once with one delicious pain

Thought may well be ever ranging, And opinion ever changing, Task-work be, though ill begun,

A youth was I. An elder friend with me, 'Twas in September o'er the autumnal sea We went; the wide Atlantic ocean o'er

Mari Magno or Tales on Board

Beside me, in the car, she sat, She spake not, no, nor looked to me From her to me, from me to her,

In controversial foul impureness The peace that is thy light to thee Quench not: in faith and inner sureness

In controversial foul impureness The peace that is thy light to thee Quench not: in faith and inner sureness

It may be true That while we walk the troublous tossing sea, That when we see the o'ertopping waves advance,

O ship, ship, ship, That travellest over the sea, What are the tidings, I pray thee,

O tell me, friends, while yet we part, And heart can yet be heard of heart, O tell me then, for what is it

To spend uncounted years of pain, Again, again, and yet again, In working out in heart and brain

To spend uncounted years of pain, Again, again, and yet again, In working out in heart and brain

What voice did on my spirit fall, Peschiera, when thy bridge I crost? ''Tis better to have fought and lost,

'I hope it is in good plain verse,' said my uncle, 'none of your hurry-scurry anap'sts, as you call them, in lines which sober people read for plain heroics. Nothing is more disagreeable than to say a line over two, or, it may be, three or four times, and at last not be sure that there are not three or four ways of reading, each as good and as much intended as another. Simplex duntaxat et unum. But you young people think Horace and your uncles old fools.' 'Certainly, my dear sir,' said I; 'that is, I mean, Horace and my uncle are perfectly right. Still, there is an instructed ear and an uninstructed. A rude taste for identical recurrences would exact sing-song from 'Paradise Lost,' and grumble because 'Il Penseroso' doesn't run like a nursery rhyme.' 'Well, well,' said my uncle, 'sunt certi denique fines, no doubt. So commence, my young Piso, while Aristarchus is tolerably wakeful, and do not waste by your logic the fund you will want for your poetry.'

As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay With canvas drooping, side by side, Two towers of sail at dawn of day

As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay With canvas drooping, side by side, Two towers of sail at dawn of day

O only Source of all our light and life, Whom as our truth, our strength, we see and feel, But whom the hours of mortal moral strife

O happy mother! while the man wayworn Sleeps by his ass and dreams of daily bread, Wakeful and heedful for thy infant care,

So I went wrong, Grievously wrong, but folly crushed itself, And vanity o'ertoppling fell, and time

Say not the struggle naught availeth, The labour and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth,

Say not the struggle nought availeth, The labour and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth,

Whence are ye, vague desires, Which carry men along, However proud and strong;

My beloved, is it nothing Though we meet not, neither can, That I see thee, and thou me,

I That children in their loveliness should die Before the dawning beauty, which we know

Cease, empty Faith, the Spectrum saith, I was, and lo, have been; I, God, am nought: a shade of thought,

As, at a railway junction, men Who came together, taking then One the train up, one down, again

Youth, that went, is come again, Youth, for which we all were fain; With soft pleasure and sweet pain

Some future day when what is now is not, When all old faults and follies are forgot, And thoughts of difference passed like dreams away,

Farewell, farewell! Her vans the vessel tries, His iron might the potent engine plies: Haste, winged words, and ere 'tis useless, tell,

That out of sight is out of mind Is true of most we leave behind; It is not sure, nor can be true,

A Long-Vacation Pastoral Nunc formosissimus annus Ite me' felix quondam pecus, ite camen'.

A Long-Vacation Pastoral II Et certamen erat, Corydon cum Thyrside, magnum.

A Long-Vacation Pastoral III Namque canebat uti

A Long-Vacation Pastoral IV Ut vidi, ut perii, ut me malus abstulit error

A Long-Vacation Pastoral IX Arva, beata Petamus arva!

A Long-Vacation Pastoral V Putavi

A Long-Vacation Pastoral VI Ducite ab urbe domum, mea carmina, ducite Daphnin.

A Long-Vacation Pastoral VII Vesper adest, juvenes, consurgite: Vesper Olympo

A Long-Vacation Pastoral VIII Jam veniet virgo, jam dicetur hymen'us.

Love is fellow-service. A youth and maid upon a summer night Upon the lawn, while yet the skies were light,

Edward and Jane a married couple were, And fonder she of him or he of her Was hard to say; their wedlock had begun

I To think that men of former days In naked truth deserved the praise

O let me love my love unto myself alone, And know my knowledge to the world unknown; No witness to my vision call,

Come back again, my olden heart! Ah, fickle spirit and untrue, I bade the only guide depart

Thou shalt have one God only; -who Would be at the expense of two? No graven images may be

Thou shalt have one God only; who Would be at the expense of two? No graven images may be

Christian. A highland inn among the western hills, A single parlour, single bed that fills

Primiti', or Third Cousins. I 'Dearest of boys, please come to-day,

Mari Magno or Tales on Board

I Why should I say I see the things I see not? Why be and be not?

Lo, here is God, and there is God! Believe it not, O Man; In such vain sort to this and that

The human spirits saw I on a day, Sitting and looking each a different way; And hardly tasking, subtly questioning,

I dreamed a dream: I dreamt that I espied, Upon a stone that was not rolled aside, A Shadow sit upon a grave, a Shade,

Whence comest thou? shady lane, and why and how? Thou, where with idle heart, ten years ago, I wandered, and with childhood's paces slow

The silver Wedding! on some pensive ear From towers remote as sound the silvery bells, To-day from one far unforgotten year

Hearken to me, ye mothers of my tent: Ye wives of Lamech, hearken to my speech: Adah, let Jubal hither lead his goats:

O stream descending to the sea, Thy mossy banks between, The flow'rets blow, the grasses grow,

Truth is a golden thread, seen here and there In small bright specks upon the visible side Of our strange being's parti-coloured web.

Truth is a golden thread, seen here and there In small bright specks upon the visible side Of our strange being's party-coloured web.

The mighty ocean rolls and raves, To part us with its angry waves; But arch on arch from shore to shore,

"There is no God," the wicked saith, "And truly it's a blessing, For what He might have done with us

'There is no God,' the wicked saith, 'And truly it's a blessing, For what He might have done with us

If that we thus are guilty doth appear, Ah, guilty tho' we are, grave judges, hear! Ah, yes; if ever you in your sweet youth

I watched them from the window, thy children at their play, And I thought of all my own dear friends, who were far, oh, far away, And childish loves, and childish cares, and a child's own buoyant gladness

What we, when face to face we see The Father of our souls, shall be, John tells us, doth not yet appear;

What we, when face to face we see The Father of our souls, shall be, John tells us, doth not yet appear;

Lips, lips, open! Up comes a little bird that lives inside Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.

(I. 1-32.) Goddess, the anger sing of the Pelean Achilles, Fatal beginning of griefs unnumbered to the Ach'ans;

I Over every hill All is still;

Ah, blame him not because he's gay! That he should smile, and jest, and play But shows how lightly he can bear,

When on the primal peaceful blank profound, Which in its still unknowing silence holds All knowledge, ever by withholding holds,

Is it true, ye gods, who treat us As the gambling fool is treated; O ye, who ever cheat us,

Were you with me, or I with you, There's nought, methinks, I might not do; Could venture here, and venture there,

Across the sea, along the shore, In numbers more and ever more, From lonely hut and busy town,

Where lies the land to which the ship would go? Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. And where the land she travels from? Away,

Where lies the land to which the ship would go? Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. And where the land she travels from? Away,

When the dews are earliest falling, When the evening glen is grey, Ere thou lookest, ere thou speakest,

It fortifies my soul to know That, though I perish, Truth is so: That, howsoe'er I stray and range,

When soft September brings again To yonder gorse its golden glow, And Snowdon sends its autumn rain

Ye flags of Piccadilly, Where I posted up and down, And wished myself so often

Dance on, dance on, we see, we see Youth goes, alack, and with it glee, A boy the old man ne'er can be;