My life has crept so long on a broken wing Over Orion's grave low down in the west, That like a silent lightning under the stars She seem'd to divide in a dream from a band of the blest, And spoke of a hope for the world in the coming wars- Knowing I tarry for thee,' and pointed to Mars II. And it was but a dream, yet it yielded a dear delight The glory of manhood stand on his ancient height, III. And as months ran on and rumour of battle grew, 'It is time, it is time, O passionate heart,' said I That old hysterical mock-disease should die.' With a loyal people shouting a battle cry, Till I saw the dreary phantom arise and fly Far into the North, and battle, and seas of death. IV. Let it go or stay, so I wake to the higher aims Of a land that has lost for a little her lust of gold, And hail once more to the banner of battle unroll'd! And noble thought be freër under the sun, And the heart of a people beat with one desire; For the peace, that I deem'd no peace, is over and done, And now by the side of the Black and the Baltic deep, V. Let it flame or fade, and the war roll down like a wind, And myself have awaked, as it seems, to the better mind; It is better to fight for the good than to rail at the ill; A A IDYLLS OF THE KING. DEDICATION. THESE to His Memory-since he held them dear, Perchance as finding there unconsciously I dedicate, I consecrate with tears- And indeed He seems to me Scarce other than my own ideal knight, 'Who reverenced his conscience as his king; Whose glory was, redressing human wrong; Who spake no slander, no, nor listen'd to it; Who loved one only and who clave to her-' Her-over all whose realms to their last isle, Commingled with the gloom of imminent war, The shadow of His loss drew like eclipse, Darkening the world. We have lost him he is gone : We know him now: all narrow jealousies Are silent; and we see him as he moved, How modest, kindly, all-accomplish'd, wise, With what sublime repression of himself, And in what limits, and how tenderly ; Not swaying to this faction or to that; Not making his high place the lawless perch Of wing'd ambitions, nor a vantage ground For pleasure; but thro' all this tract of years Wearing the white flower of a blameless life, Before a thousand peering littlenesses, In that fierce light which beats upon a throne, And blackens every blot : for where is he, Who dares foreshadow for an only son A lovelier life, a more unstain'd, than his? Or how should England dreaming of his sons Hope more for these than some inheritance Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine, Thou noble Father of her Kings to be, Laborious for her people and her poorVoice in the rich dawn of an ampler day— Far-sighted summoner of War and Waste To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peaceSweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art, Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed, Beyond all titles, and a household name, Hereafter, thro' all times, Albert the Good. Break not, O woman's-heart, but still endure ; Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure, Remembering all the beauty of that star Which shone so close beside Thee, that ye made One light together, but has past and leaves The Crown a lonely splendour. May all love, His love, unseen but felt, o'ershadow Thee, The love of all Thy sons encompass Thee, The love of all Thy daughters cherish Thee, The love of all Thy people comfort Thee, Till God's love set Thee at his side again ! Came night and day, and rooted in the fields, And wallow'd in the gardens of the King. And ever and anon the wolf would steal The children and devour, but now and then, Her own brood lost or dead, lent her fierce teat To human sucklings; and the children, housed In her foul den, there at their meat would growl, And mock their foster-mother on four feet, Till, straighten'd, they grew up to wolflike men, Worse than the wolves. And King Leodogran Groan'd for the Roman legions here again, And Cæsar's eagle : then his brother king, Urien, assail'd him : last a heathen horde, Reddening the sun with smoke and earth with blood, And on the spike that split the mother's heart Spitting the child, brake on him, till, amazed, He knew not whither he should turn for aid. But for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd, Tho' not without an uproar made by those Who cried, He is not Uther's son'-the King Sent to him, saying, 'Arise, and help us thou! For here between the man and beast we die.' And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms, |