Jean Ingelow

(WRITTEN FOR A FRIEND'S BIRTHDAY.) "The days of our life are threescore years and ten." A birthday: - and a day that rose

We reached the place by night, And heard the waves breaking: They came to meet us with candles alight

"Master," quoth the auld hound "Where will ye go?" "Over moss, over muir,

I took a year out of my life and story - A dead year, and said, "I will hew thee a tomb! 'All the kings of the nations lie in glory;'

"Whither away, thou little eyeless rover? (Kind Roger's true) Whither away across yon bents and clover,

(Song of the uncommunicated Ideal.) I. I opened the eyes of my soul.

"There was darkness." A Morn of guilt, an hour of doom - Shocks and tremblings dread;

(F.M.L.) Living child or pictured cherub, Ne'er o'ermatched its baby grace;

They said "Too late, too late, the work is done; Great Homer sang of glory and strong men And that fair Greek whose fault all these long years

When I do sit apart And commune with my heart, She brings me forth the treasures once my own;

Old Albion sat on a crag of late. And sang out - "Ahoy! ahoy! Long, life to the captain, good luck to the mate.

Can I make white enough my thought for thee, Or wash my words in light? Thou hast no mate To sit aloft in the silence silently

BOOK I. Niloiya said to Noah, "What aileth thee, My master, unto whom is my desire,

I. Laura, my Laura! 'Yes, mother!' 'I want you, Laura; come down.' 'What is it, mother - what, dearest? O your loved face how it pales!

Come up the broad river, the Thames, my Dane, My Dane with the beautiful eyes! Thousands and thousands await thee full fain,

Came the dread Archer up yonder lawn - Night is the time for the old to die - But woe for an arrow that smote the fawn,

My fair lady's a dear, dear lady - I walked by her side to woo. In a garden alley, so sweet and shady,

And can this be my own world? 'Tis all gold and snow, Save where scarlet waves are hurled

(THE PARSON'S BROTHER, SISTER, AND TWO CHILDREN) Preface. What wonder man should fail to stay

Haply some Rajah first in the ages gone Amid his languid ladies fingered thee, While a black nightingale, sun-swart as he,

I clomb full high the belfry tower Up to yon arrow-slit, up and away, I said 'let me look on my heart's fair flower

And what will ye hear, my daughters dear? - Oh, what will ye hear this night? Shall I sing you a song of the yuletide cheer,

I. NOONDAY. Two angry men - in heat they sever, And one goes home by a harvest field: -

The dove laid some little sticks, Then began to coo; The gnat took his trumpet up

Hark! a lover binding sheaves To his maiden sings, Flutter, flutter go the leaves,

It was a village built in a green rent, Between two cliffs that skirt the dangerous bay A reef of level rock runs out to sea,

Cold, my dear, - cold and quiet. In their cups on yonder lea, Cowslips fold the brown bee's diet;

She thought by heaven's high wall that she did stray Till she beheld the everlasting gate: And she climbed up to it to long, and wait,

One launched a ship, but she was wrecked at sea; He built a bridge, but floods have borne it down; He meant much good, none came: strange destiny,

"I have loved thee with an everlasting love." Dear is the lost wife to a lone man's heart, When in a dream he meets her at his door,

I held my way through Defton Wood, And on to Wandor Hall; The dancing leaf let down the light,

I. An empty sky, a world of heather, Purple of foxglove, yellow of broom;

When found the rose delight in her fair hue? Color is nothing to this world; 'tis I That see it. Farther, I have found, my soul,

A waxing moon that, crescent yet, In all its silver beauty set, And rose no more in the lonesome night

Ay, Oliver! I was but seven, and he was eleven; He looked at me pouting and rosy. I blushed where I stood. They had told us to play in the orchard (and I only seven!

We are much bound to them that do succeed; But, in a more pathetic sense, are bound To such as fail. They all our loss expound;

O fancy, if thou flyest, come back anon, Thy fluttering wings are soft as love's first word, And fragrant as the feathers of that bird,

The marten flew to the finch's nest, Feathers, and moss, and a wisp of hay: "The arrow it sped to thy brown mate's breast;

ON A SUN-PORTRAIT OF HER HUSBAND, SENT BY HIS WIFE TO THEIR FRIEND. Beautiful eyes, - and shall I see no more The living thought when it would leap from them,

One morning, oh! so early, my beloved, my beloved, All the birds were singing blithely, as if never they would cease; 'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, "Hear the story, hear the story!"

(On the Advantages of the Poetical Temperament.) AN IMPERFECT FABLE WITH A DOUBTFUL MORAL. O happy Gladys! I rejoice with her,

Yellow leaves, how fast they flutter - woodland hollows thickly strewing, Where the wan October sunbeams scantly in the mid-day win, While the dim gray clouds are drifting, and in saddened hues imbuing

(A Scholar is musing on his want of success.) To strive - and fail. Yes, I did strive and fail; I set mine eyes upon a certain night

(The Answer.) As one who, journeying, checks the rein in haste Because a chasm doth yawn across his way

Out of the melancholy that is made Of ebbing sorrow that too slowly ebbs, Comes back a sighing whisper of the reed,

Where do you go, Bob, when you 're fast asleep?' 'Where? O well, once I went into a deep Mine, father told of, and a cross man said

"Art Thou He that should come?" Jesus, the Lamb of God, gone forth to heal and bless. Calm lie the desert pools in a fair wilderness;

(ASLEEP IN THE DAYTIME.) All rough winds are hushed and silent, golden light the meadow steepeth, And the last October roses daily wax more pale and fair;

Into the rock the road is cut full deep, At its low ledges village children play, From its high rifts fountains of leafage weep,

I read upon that book, Which down the golden gulf doth let us look On the sweet days of pastoral majesty;

I. He knew she did not love him; but so long As rivals were unknown to him, he dwelt

It's we two, it's we two, it's we two for aye, All the world and we two, and Heaven be our stay. Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny bride!

Mountains of sorrow, I have heard your moans, And the moving of your pines; but we sit high On your green shoulders, nearer stoops the sky,

Up to far Osteroe and Suderoe The deep sea-floor lies strewn with Spanish wrecks, O'er minted gold the fair-haired fishers go,

In the night she told a story, In the night and all night through, While the moon was in her glory,

Who veileth love should first have vanquished fate. She folded up the dream in her deep heart, Her fair full lips were silent on that smart,

I. 'And you brought him home.' 'I did, ay Ronald, it rested with me.' 'Love!' 'Yes.' 'I would fain you were not so calm.' 'I cannot weep. No.'

Lying imbedded in the green champaign That gives no shadow to thy silvery face, Open to all the heavens, and all their train,

["Concerning this man (Robert Delacour), little further is known than that he served in the king's army, and was wounded in the battle of Marston Moor, being then about twenty-seven years of age. After the battle of Nazeby, finding himself a marked man, he quitted the country, taking with him the child whom he had adopted; and he made many voyages between the different ports of the Mediterranean and Levant."] Resting within his tent at turn of day, A wailing voice his scanty sleep beset:

Come away, the clouds are high, Put the flashing needles by. Many days are not to spare,

"While it was yet dark." Mary of Magdala, when the moon had set, Forth to the garden that was with night dews wet,

Midsummer night, not dark, not light, Dusk all the scented air, I'll e'en go forth to one I love,

White as white butterflies that each one dons Her face their wide white wings to shade withal, Many moon-daisies throng the water-spring.

She was but a child, a child, And I a man grown; Sweet she was, and fresh, and wild,

"Thy gentleness hath made me great." Now winter past, the white-thorn bower Breaks forth and buds down all the glen;

"Let us now go even unto Bethlehem." O Night of nights! O night Desired of man so long!

As a forlorn soul waiting by the Styx Dimly expectant of lands yet more dim, Might peer afraid where shadows change and mix

A cottager leaned whispering by her hives, Telling the bees some news, as they lit down, And entered one by one their waxen town.

On the rocks by Aberdeen, Where the whislin' wave had been, As I wandered and at e'en

I go beyond the commandment.' So be it. Then mine be the blame, The loss, the lack, the yearning, till life's last sand be run, - I go beyond the commandment, yet honour stands fast with her claim,

(Written for THE PORTFOLIO SOCIETY, January, 1862. Subject given - "Light and Shade.") She stepped upon Sicilian grass,

A Schoolroom. SCHOOLMASTER (not certificated), VICAR, and CHILD. VICAR. Why did you send for me? I hope all's right?

(A MAN SPEAKS.) Once, a new world, the sunswart marinere, Columbus, promised, and was sore withstood,

Looking Over A Gate At A Pool In A Field. What change has made the pastures sweet And reached the daisies at my feet,

O that word REGRET! There have been nights and morns when we have sighed, "Let us alone, Regret! We are content

Daughters of Eve! your mother did not well: She laid the apple in your father's hand, And we have read, O wonder! what befell, -

My heart is sick awishing and awaiting: The lad took up his knapsack, he went, he went his way; And I looked on for his coming, as a prisoner through the grating

His blew His winds, and they were scattered. 'One soweth and another reapeth.' Ay,

(Old Style.) Methought the stars were blinking bright, And the old brig's sails unfurled;

They have left you, little Henry, but they have not left you lonely - Brothers' hearts so knit together could not, might not separate dwell. Fain to seek you in the mansions far away - One lingered only

While ripening corn grew thick and deep, And here and there men stood to reap, One morn I put my heart to sleep,

I sleep and rest, my heart makes moan Before I am well awake; "Let me bleed! O let me alone,

Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups, Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall! When the wind wakes how they rock in the grasses,

There's no dew left on the daisies and clover, There's no rain left in heaven: I've said my "seven times" over and over,

I. A song of a boat: - There was once a boat on a billow:

To bear, to nurse, to rear, To watch, and then to lose: To see my bright ones disappear,

I leaned out of window, I smelt the white clover, Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate; "Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover -

You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes, How many soever they be, And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges

The logs burn red; she lifts her head, For sledge-bells tinkle and tinkle, O lightly swung. "Youth was a pleasant morning, but ah! to think 'tis fled,

"Wake, baillie, wake! the crafts are out; Wake!" said the knight, "be quick! For high street, bye street, over the town

(A WOMAN SPEAKS.) O sleep, we are beholden to thee, sleep, Thou bearest angels to us in the night,

Little babe, while burns the west, Warm thee, warm thee in my breast; While the moon doth shine her best,

(A Humble Imitation.) "And birds of calm sit brooding on the charm'd wave." It is the noon of night,

I. The white broom flatt'ring her flowers in calm June weather, 'O most sweet wear;

Ay, I saw her, we have met, - Married eyes how sweet they be, - Are you happier, Margaret,

"Old man, upon the green hillside, With yellow flowers besprinkled o'er, How long in silence wilt thou bide

SEVEN TIMES ONE. EXULTATION. There's no dew left on the daisies and clover, There's no rain left in heaven:

(Old English Manner.) A MORN OF MAY. All the clouds about the sun lay up in golden creases,

(Old English Manner.) APPRENTICED. Come out and hear the waters shoot, the owlet hoot, the owlet hoot;

TIRED. I. O, I would tell you more, but I am tired;

I. I woke in the night, and the darkness was heavy and deep: I had known it was dark in my sleep,

THE COMING IN OF THE "MERMAIDEN." The moon is bleached as white as wool, And just dropping under;

Once upon a time, I lay Fast asleep at dawn of day; Windows open to the south,

I saw when I looked up, on either hand, A pale high chalk-cliff, reared aloft in white; A narrowing rent soon closed toward the land, -

"Martin, I wonder who makes all the songs." "You do, sir?" "Yes, I wonder how they come."

I passed an inland-cliff precipitate; From tiny caves peeped many a soot-black poll; In each a mother-martin sat elate,

I walked beside a dark gray sea. And said, "O world, how cold thou art! Thou poor white world, I pity thee,

When in a May-day hush Chanteth the Missel-thrush The harp o' the heart makes answer with murmurous stirs;

When I hear the waters fretting, When I see the chestnut letting All her lovely blossom falter down, I think, "Alas the day!"

Her younger sister, that Speranza hight. England puts on her purple, and pale, pale With too much light, the primrose doth but wait

(Written for THE PORTFOLIO SOCIETY, October 1861.) The yellow poplar-leaves came down And like a carpet lay,

"Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house." Such as have not gold to bring Thee, They bring thanks - Thy grateful sons;

Mother. Well, Frances. Frances.

"Though I take the wings of the morning." Sweet are His ways who rules above, He gives from wrath a sheltering place;

Toll - Toll.' 'The bell-bird sounding far away, Hid in a myall grove.' He raised his head,

They tell strange things of the primeval earth, But things that be are never strange to those Among them. And we know what it was like,

Fairest fair, best of good, Too high for hope that stood; White star of womanhood shining apart

When I sit on market-days amid the comers and the goers, Oh! full oft I have a vision of the days without alloy, And a ship comes up the river with a jolly gang of towers,

I saw in a vision once, our mother-sphere The world, her fixed foredoom'd oval tracing, Rolling and rolling on and resting never,

The fairy woman maketh moan, "Well-a-day, and well-a-day, Forsooth I brought thee one rose, one,

I love this gray old church, the low, long nave, The ivied chancel and the slender spire; No less its shadow on each heaving grave,

My good man - he's an old, old man - And my good man got a fall, To buy me a bargain so fast he ran

(1571.) The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The ringers ran by two, by three;

Drop, drop from the leaves of lign aloes, O honey-dew! drop from the tree. Float up through your clear river shallows,

ABSENT. We sat on grassy slopes that meet With sudden dip the level strand;

As I came round the harbor buoy, The lights began to gleam, No wave the land-locked water stirred,

I. When I had guineas many a one Nought else I lack'd 'neath the sun,

Only you'd have me speak. Whether to speak Or whether to be silent is all one;

Once on a time there walked a mariner, That had been shipwrecked; - on a lonely shore, And the green water made a restless stir,

"In Him we live, and move, and have our being." The measureless gulfs of air are full of Thee: Thou Art, and therefore hang the stars; they wait,

There are who give themselves to work for men, - To raise the lost, to gather orphaned babes And teach them, pitying of their mean estate,

I. Who pipes upon the long green hill, Where meadow grass is deep?

The doom'd king pacing all night through the windy fallow. 'Let me alone, mine enemy, let me alone,' Never a Christian bell that dire thick gloom to hallow,

Marvels of sleep, grown cold! Who hath not longed to fold With pitying ruth, forgetful of their bliss,

In The Concluding Part Of A Discourse On Fame. (He thinks.) If there be memory in the world to come,

The white moon wasteth, And cold morn hasteth Athwart the snow,

"The time of the singing of birds is come." Thick orchards, all in white, Stand 'neath blue voids of light,

"He doeth all things well." Thou hast been alway good to me and mine Since our first father by transgression fell.

"Awake, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light." Thou that sleepest not afraid, Men and angels thee upbraid;

"And fell on his neck, and kissed him." Thou wert far off, and in the sight of heaven Dead. And thy Father would not this should be;

Though all great deeds were proved but fables fine, Though earth's old story could be told anew, Though the sweet fashions loved of them that sue

Strange was the doom of Heracles, whose shade Had dwelling in dim Hades the unblest, While yet his form and presence sat a guest

The sun was streaming in: I woke, and said, "Where is my wife, - that has been made my wife Only this year?" The casement stood ajar:

"Blessed are ye that weep now." Weeping and wailing needs must be When Love His name shall disavow,

Uplifted and lone, set apart with our love On the crest of a soft swelling down Cloud shadows that meet on the grass at our feet

THE APOLOGY. Quoth the cedar to the reeds and rushes, "Water-grass, you know not what I do;

When I reflect how little I have done, And add to that how little I have seen, Then furthermore how little I have won

While Time a grim old lion gnawing lay, And mumbled with his teeth yon regal tomb, Like some immortal tear undimmed for aye,

Like coral insects multitudinous The minutes are whereof our life is made. They build it up as in the deep's blue shade

"Thou thoughtest that I was altogether such an one as thyself." Would I, to save my dear child dutiful, Dare the white breakers on a storm-rent shore?