On Richmond Hill

Among fresh, innocent, leafy bowers we gaze,
With moveless fountains of white bloom embossed,
Infinite bowers blending in blue haze
Afar, to slumbrous woodland waves untossed.
These in one region yonder shine with rays
Of some uncertain lustre warm, that may
Be the sweet river's ; opalescent beams
Faintly athwart the tender turtle-grey
Of heaven slant ; the violet shy gleams
Forth from sere fern ; earth lies this April day
Waking from winter sleep to fair day dreams
Of summer happiness and early love.
Such as were hers in Eden when a bride.
With cuckoo-call and tender crooning dove
She murmurs joy ; until in her soft side
The wound where man a keen, cold anguish drove,
Reopens — man her offspring and her pride !
Ah ! for that morning when the youthful Sun
First saw the face of his beloved one.
Arose from sleep to find her by his side.
To woo her and to win her for a bride !

For lo ! a knell all unexpectedly
Breaks from the leafy lowland slow and deep.
Wailing to heaven a long heart-broken sigh.
One moment Earth forgot that she must weep.
And gazed abroad with visionary eye.
Was young once more — yet pitilessly creep
Into their wonted lair within her heart
The loathsome, venomous old memories :
Now unavailing long-drawn wails impart
Her grief to careless unresponding skies :
They knell like drops of blood from forth the heart,
Slow falling to suffuse with taint of blood
All opening summer's fair felicities
Of sunny air, of song-resounding wood.
It fills and loads with umbrage of fell blight
All burdened space ; a cancer merciless.
It heaves and throbs through all the summer light ;
And on my soul the heavy tollings press.
I may not see the mournful human sight
Beneath the hill, concealed among the trees.
Where rests a homely village in the plain ;
But the knell says a balmy summer breeze
Blows idly there upon a human pain !
One leaves there some loved life beneath the sod,
Half longing with the lifeless to remain,
And meekly bleeds, or idly curses God !

O Earth, our mother ! was it well or ill.
To chafe so restless in thy natal home
Of sweet imconscious innocence, until
There dawned in thee the glory and the gloom
Of human vision and of human will ?
Then was revealed to thee that thou art fair ;
Afloat in some sublime immensity :
Then in thy heart immeasurable despair
Awful arose : to love, and yet to die !
Thirsting for God to faint upon void air !
To fall with throes of infinite desire
On phantom bosoms with a baffled cry —
Feed with illusions ever-ravening fire !

But Earth made answer. Surely it is well !
Divine Desire creative moves in all ;
And in man's soul heaves with an ocean-swell,
Restless, impetuous, imperial,
That forms a glory and gloom wherein to dwell.
A man grows god who may be loved and love;
Yet fades and faints, thronged round with shadowy ghosts,
Menacing from the night, who till he move
Wait for their life — to bloom among their hosts,
Luxuriant from broken hearts of Love.
Yet will their dust inflate a meaner crew !
Therefore, ye fair and wise, forbear your boasts —
Misgrowth and pain inevitable as you.

My weary heart responded, It may be
Some ardent spirits in the stars may deem
Our weal and woe harmonious pageantry
Of light and shadow on a stately stream !
When I rejoice, it seemeth so to me.
But some crushed lives can only feel the pain
Absorbing all, or fellow-worm's unrest.
And there arrives an hour when we are fain
To leave the alluring visionary quest
For a friend to fill our need, endure the strain
Of our so wayward leaning feebleness —
(Truth, cruel feigning she may be possest.
Cajoles but amorous boys with her caress !) —
To slip the neck from under yokes of toil,
Where like dumb beasts unwondering we tread ;
Weighed upon with a languor of recoil
Toward that abysmal Peace wherein the dead
Dissolve to purify them from the moil.
Then would we be the children chosen of
Earth,
Unto the holy Silence whence she came
To bear her tribute — she in solemn mirth
Moves ever with immortal eyes aflame —
To freshen life with morning dews of birth,
Lose it ii. deep oblivion of death I
Here might I quiet pass to whence I came,
Here to the songflil summer yield my breath !

Here on the pleasant growing grass to lie ;
Here on the innocent heart of spring to fail !
Over a life's confusion draw the veil
Of turf and daisies and the summer sky!
Repenting of the clamorous hot fever.
And blindly inharmonious endeavour,
Wherewith my clashing life presumes assail
Our mother Nature's pure serenity.
With shamefast eyes, behold ! I meekly bring
My life's confusion, a slain offering,
Saying to Nature — Lo ! thine own again ;
Take for remoulding in a happier vein !
Woe for the lambs who trusted them to me.
Lambs whom I love, yet doom to misery !
Woe for the lovely lands were mine to bless,
For they are left a desolate wilderness.
Behold ! I cower at thy sacred feet,
There let my turbulent being dissolving fleet,
A tremulous foam blown inward from the wave :
All lives receive thy blessing on their grave ! . . .

. . . Nay, let me rest here all alone awhile,
Feeling the balmy summer softly blow.
As on a cloud, upon my mood of woe.
Until it vanish in the clear sun-smile.
Von singing bird avails to reconcile
Me with sweet life : take me not at my word,
Offended Love ! for thou hast many a bird !
Such song the dark self-slayer might beguile.
With ecstasy of life made eloquent
In the green twilight ; only an open ear
And a brown bird have made this ravishment !
Still may I love, and still one holds me dear ;
Still may I joy to march with hosts of light,
Conquering kingdoms from the formless night ;
Still may I pour some wine of sympathy
For brothers lying in a sorer strait than L
There is work to do— arise ! let the bedridden die !