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Procter Adelaide Anne
Legends and Lyrics. Part 1
VERSE: ECHOES
Still the angel stars are shining,
Still the rippling waters flow,
But the angel-voice is silent
That I heard so long ago.
Hark! the echoes murmur low,
Long ago!
Still the wood is dim and lonely,
Still the plashing fountains play,
But the past and all its beauty,
Whither has it fled away?
Hark! the mournful echoes say,
Fled away!
Still the bird of night complaineth,
(Now, indeed, her song is pain,)
Visions of my happy hours,
Do I call and call in vain?
Hark! the echoes cry again,
All in vain!
Cease, oh echoes, mournful echoes!
Once I loved your voices well;
Now my heart is sick and weary —
Days of old, a long farewell!
Hark! the echoes sad and dreary
Cry farewell, farewell!
VERSE: A FALSE GENIUS
I see a Spirit by thy side,
Purple-winged and eagle-eyed,
Looking like a Heavenly guide.
Though he seem so bright and fair,
Ere thou trust his proffered care,
Pause a little, and beware!
If he bid thee dwell apart,
Tending some ideal smart
In a sick and coward heart;
In self-worship wrapped alone,
Dreaming thy poor griefs are grown
More than other men have known;
Dwelling in some cloudy sphere,
Though God’s work is waiting here,
And God deigneth to be near;
If his torch’s crimson glare
Show thee evil everywhere,
Tainting all the wholesome air;
While with strange distorted choice,
Still disdaining to rejoice,
Thou wilt hear a wailing voice;
If a simple, humble heart,
Seem to thee a meaner part,
Than thy noblest aim and art;
If he bid thee bow before
Crownèd Mind and nothing more,
The great idol men adore;
And with starry veil enfold
Sin, the trailing serpent old,
Till his scales shine out like gold;
Though his words seem true and wise,
Soul, I say to thee – Arise.
He is a Demon in disguise!
VERSE: MY PICTURE
Stand this way – more near the window —
By my desk – you see the light
Falling on my picture better —
Thus I see it while I write!
Who the head may be I know not,
But it has a student air;
With a look half sad, half stately,
Grave sweet eyes and flowing hair.
Little care I who the painter,
How obscure a name he bore;
Nor, when some have named Velasquez,
Did I value it the more.
As it is, I would not give it
For the rarest piece of art;
It has dwelt with me, and listened
To the secrets of my heart.
Many a time, when to my garret,
Weary, I returned at night,
It has seemed to look a welcome
That has made my poor room bright.
Many a time, when ill and sleepless,
I have watched the quivering gleam
Of my lamp upon that picture,
Till it faded in my dream.
When dark days have come, and friendship
Worthless seemed, and life in vain,
That bright friendly smile has sent me
Boldly to my task again.
Sometimes when hard need has pressed me
To bow down where I despise,
I have read stern words of counsel
In those sad reproachful eyes.
Nothing that my brain imagined,
Or my weary hand has wrought,
But it watched the dim Idea
Spring forth into armèd Thought.
It has smiled on my successes,
Raised me when my hopes were low,
And by turns has looked upon me
With all the loving eyes I know.
Do you wonder that my picture
Has become so like a friend? —
It has seen my life’s beginnings,
It shall stay and cheer the end!
VERSE: JUDGE NOT
Judge not; the workings of his brain
And of his heart thou canst not see;
What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,
In God’s pure light may only be
A scar, brought from some well-won field,
Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.
The look, the air, that frets thy sight,
May be a token, that below
The soul has closed in deadly fight
With some infernal fiery foe,
Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace,
And cast thee shuddering on thy face!
The fall thou darest to despise —
May be the angel’s slackened hand
Has suffered it, that he may rise
And take a firmer, surer stand;
Or, trusting less to earthly things,
May henceforth learn to use his wings.
And judge none lost; but wait, and see,
With hopeful pity, not disdain;
The depth of the abyss may be
The measure of the height of pain
And love and glory that may raise
This soul to God in after days!
VERSE: FRIEND SORROW
Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her,
“Grief will pass away,
Hope for fairer times in future,
And forget to-day.” —
Tell her, if you will, that sorrow
Need not come in vain;
Tell her that the lesson taught her
Far outweighs the pain.
Cheat her not with the old comfort,
“Soon she will forget” —
Bitter truth, alas – but matter
Rather for regret;
Bid her not “Seek other pleasures,
Turn to other things:” —
Rather nurse her cagèd sorrow
’Till the captive sings.
Rather bid her go forth bravely.
And the stranger greet;
Not as foe, with spear and buckler,
But as dear friends meet;
Bid her with a strong clasp hold her,
By her dusky wings —
Listening for the murmured blessing
Sorrow always brings.
VERSE: ONE BY ONE
One by one the sands are flowing,
One by one the moments fall;
Some are coming, some are going;
Do not strive to grasp them all.
One by one thy duties wait thee,
Let thy whole strength go to each,
Let no future dreams elate thee,
Learn thou first what these can teach.
One by one (bright gifts from Heaven)
Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given,
Ready too to let them go.
One by one thy griefs shall meet thee,
Do not fear an armèd band;
One will fade as others greet thee;
Shadows passing through the land.
Do not look at life’s long sorrow;
See how small each moment’s pain;
God will help thee for to-morrow,
So each day begin again.
Every hour that fleets so slowly
Has its task to do or bear;
Luminous the crown, and holy,
When each gem is set with care.
Do not linger with regretting,
Or for passing hours despond;
Nor, the daily toil forgetting,
Look too eagerly beyond.
Hours are golden links, God’s token,
Reaching Heaven; but one by one
Take them, lest the chain be broken
Ere the pilgrimage be done.
VERSE: TRUE HONOURS
Is my darling tired already,
Tired of her day of play?
Draw your little stool beside me,
Smooth this tangled hair away.
Can she put the logs together,
Till they make a cheerful blaze?
Shall her blind old Uncle tell her
Something of his youthful days?
Hark! The wind among the cedars
Waves their white arms to and fro;
I remember how I watched them
Sixty Christmas Days ago:
Then I dreamt a glorious vision
Of great deeds to crown each year —
Sixty Christmas Days have found me
Useless, helpless, blind – and here!
Yes, I feel my darling stealing
Warm soft fingers into mine —
Shall I tell her what I fancied
In that strange old dream of mine?
I was kneeling by the window,
Reading how a noble band,
With the red cross on their breast-plates,
Went to gain the Holy Land.
While with eager eyes of wonder
Over the dark page I bent,
Slowly twilight shadows gathered
Till the letters came and went;
Slowly, till the night was round me;
Then my heart beat loud and fast,
For I felt before I saw it
That a spirit near me passed.
Then I raised my eyes, and shining
Where the moon’s first ray was bright
Stood a wingèd Angel-warrior
Clothed and panoplied in light:
So, with Heaven’s love upon him,
Stern in calm and resolute will,
Looked St. Michael – does the picture
Hang in the old cloister still?
Threefold were the dreams of honour
That absorbed my heart and brain;
Threefold crowns the Angel promised,
Each one to be bought by pain:
While he spoke, a threefold blessing
Fell upon my soul like rain.
HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING;
VICTOR IN A GLORIOUS STRIFE;
SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM:
Such the honours of my life.
Ah, that dream! Long years that gave me
Joy and grief as real things
Never touched the tender memory
Sweet and solemn that it brings —
Never quite effaced the feeling
Of those white and shadowing wings.
Do those blue eyes open wider?
Does my faith too foolish seem?
Yes, my darling, years have taught me
It was nothing but a dream.
Soon, too soon, the bitter knowledge
Of a fearful trial rose,
Rose to crush my heart, and sternly
Bade my young ambition close.
More and more my eyes were clouded,
Till at last God’s glorious light
Passed away from me for ever,
And I lived and live in night.
Dear, I will not dim your pleasure,
Christmas should be only gay —
In my night the stars have risen,
And I wait the dawn of day.
Spite of all I could be happy;
For my brothers’ tender care
In their boyish pastimes ever
Made me take, or feel a share.
Philip, even then so thoughtful,
Max so noble, brave and tall,
And your father, little Godfrey,
The most loving of them all.
Philip reasoned down my sorrow,
Max would laugh my gloom away,
Godfrey’s little arms put round me,
Helped me through my dreariest day;
While the promise of my Angel,
Like a star, now bright, now pale,
Hung in blackest night above me,
And I felt it could not fail.
Years passed on, my brothers left me,
Each went out to take his share
In the struggle of life; my portion
Was a humble one – to bear.
Here I dwelt, and learnt to wander
Through the woods and fields alone,
Every cottage in the village
Had a corner called my own.
Old and young, all brought their troubles,
Great or small, for me to hear;
I have often blessed my sorrow
That drew others’ grief so near.
Ah, the people needed helping —
Needed love – (for Love and Heaven
Are the only gifts not bartered,
They alone are freely given) —
And I gave it. Philip’s bounty,
(We were orphans, dear,) made toil
Prosper, and want never fastened
On the tenants of the soil.
Philip’s name (Oh, how I gloried,
He so young, to see it rise!)
Soon grew noted among statesmen
As a patriot true and wise.
And his people all felt honoured
To be ruled by such a name;
I was proud too that they loved me;
Through their pride in him it came.
He had gained what I had longed for,
I meanwhile grew glad and gay,
’Mid his people, to be serving
Him and them, in some poor way.
How his noble earnest speeches,
With untiring fervour came;
HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING;
Truly he deserved the name!
Had my Angel’s promise failed me?
Had that word of hope grown dim?
Why, my Philip had fulfilled it,
And I loved it best in him!
Max meanwhile – ah, you, my darling,
Can his loving words recall —
’Mid the bravest and the noblest,
Braver, nobler, than them all.
How I loved him! how my heart thrilled
When his sword clanked by his side.
When I touched his gold embroidery,
Almost saw him in his pride!
So we parted; he all eager
To uphold the name he bore,
Leaving in my charge – he loved me —
Some one whom he loved still more:
I must tend this gentle flower,
I must speak to her of him,
For he feared – Love still is fearful —
That his memory might grow dim.
I must guard her from all sorrow,
I must play a brother’s part,
Shield all grief and trial from her,
If it need be, with my heart.
Years passed, and his name grew famous;
We were proud, both she and I;
And we lived upon his letters,
While the slow days fleeted by.
Then at last – you know the story,
How a fearful rumour spread,
Till all hope had slowly faded,
And we heard that he was dead.
Dead! Oh, those were bitter hours;
Yet within my soul there dwelt
A warning, and while others mourned him,
Something like a hope I felt.
His was no weak life as mine was,
But a life, so full and strong —
No, I could not think he perished
Nameless, ’mid a conquered throng.
How she drooped! Years passed; no tidings
Came, and yet that little flame
Of strange hope within my spirit
Still burnt on, and lived the same.
Ah! my child, our hearts will fail us,
When to us they strongest seem;
I can look back on those hours
As a fearful, evil dream.
She had long despaired; what wonder
That her heart had turned to mine?
Earthly loves are deep and tender,
Not eternal and divine!
Can I say how bright a future
Rose before my soul that day?
Oh, so strange, so sweet, so tender —
And I had to turn away.
Hard and terrible the struggle,
For the pain not mine alone;
I called back my Brother’s spirit,
And I bade him claim his own.
Told her – now I dared to do it —
That I felt the day would rise
When he would return to gladden
My weak heart and her bright eyes.
And I pleaded – pleaded sternly —
In his name, and for his sake:
Now, I can speak calmly of it,
Then, I thought my heart would break.
Soon – ah, Love had not deceived me,
(Love’s true instincts never err,)
Wounded, weak, escaped from prison,
He returned to me; to her.
I could thank God that bright morning,
When I felt my Brother’s gaze,
That my heart was true and loyal,
As in our old boyish days.
Bought by wounds and deeds of daring,
Honours he had brought away;
Glory crowned his name – my Brother’s;
Mine too! – we were one that day.
Since the crown on him had fallen,
“VICTOR IN A NOBLE STRIFE,”
I could live and die contented
With my poor ignoble life.
Well, my darling, almost weary
Of my story? Wait awhile;
For the rest is only joyful;
I can tell it with a smile.
One bright promise still was left me,
Wound so close about my soul,
That, as one by one had failed me,
This dream now absorbed the whole.
“SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM,” —
Ah, my darling, few and rare
Burn the glorious names of Poets,
Like stars in the purple air.
That too, and I glory in it,
That great gift my Godfrey won;
I have my dear share of honour,
Gained by that belovèd one.
One day shall my darling read it;
Now she cannot understand
All the noble thoughts, that lighten
Through the genius of the land.
I am proud to be his brother,
Proud to think that hope was true;
Though I longed and strove so vainly,
What I failed in, he could do.
I was long before I knew it,
Longer ere I felt it so;
Then I strung my rhymes together
Only for the poor and low.
And, it pleases me to know it,
(For I love them well indeed,)
They care for my humble verses,
Fitted for their humble need.
And, it cheers my heart to bear it,
Where the far-off settlers roam,
My poor words are sung and cherished,
Just because they speak of Home.
And the little children sing them,
(That, I think, has pleased me best,)
Often, too, the dying love them,
For they tell of Heaven and rest.
So my last vain dream has faded;
(Such as I to think of fame!)
Yet I will not say it failed me,
For it crowned my Godfrey’s name.
No; my Angel did not cheat me,
For my long life has been blest;
He did give me Love and Sorrow,
He will bring me Light and Rest.
VERSE: A WOMAN’S QUESTION
Before I trust my Fate to thee,
Or place my hand in thine,
Before I let thy Future give
Colour and form to mine,
Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for me.
I break all slighter bonds, nor feel
A shadow of regret:
Is there one link within the Past,
That holds thy spirit yet?
Or is thy Faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge to thee?
Does there within thy dimmest dreams
A possible future shine,
Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,
Untouched, unshared by mine?
If so, at any pain or cost, oh, tell me before all is lost.
Look deeper still. If thou canst feel
Within thy inmost soul,
That thou hast kept a portion back,
While I have staked the whole;
Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so.
Is there within thy heart a need
That mine cannot fulfil?
One chord that any other hand
Could better wake or still?
Speak now – lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay.
Lives there within thy nature bid
The demon-spirit Change,
Shedding a passing glory still
On all things new and strange? —
It may not be thy fault alone – but shield my heart against thy own.
Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day
And answer to my claim,
That Fate, and that to-day’s mistake,
Not thou – had been to blame?
Some soothe their conscience thus: but thou, wilt surely warn and save me now.
Nay, answer not– I dare not hear,
The words would come too late;
Yet I would spare thee all remorse,
So, comfort thee, my Fate —
Whatever on my heart may fall – remember I would risk it all!
VERSE: THE THREE RULERS
I saw a Ruler take his stand
And trample on a mighty land;
The People crouched before his beck,
His iron heel was on their neck,
His name shone bright through blood and pain,
His sword flashed back their praise again.
I saw another Ruler rise —
His words were noble, good, and wise;
With the calm sceptre of his pen
He ruled the minds and thoughts of men;
Some scoffed, some praised – while many heard,
Only a few obeyed his word.
Another Ruler then I saw —
Love and sweet Pity were his law:
The greatest and the least had part
(Yet most the unhappy) in his heart —
The People, in a mighty band,
Rose up, and drove him from the land!
VERSE: A DEAD PAST
Spare her at least: look, you have taken from me
The Present, and I murmur not, nor moan;
The Future too, with all her glorious promise;
But do not leave me utterly alone.
Spare me the Past – for, see, she cannot harm you,
She lies so white and cold, wrapped in her shroud;
All, all my own! and, trust me, I will hide her
Within my soul, nor speak to her aloud.
I folded her soft hands upon her bosom,
And strewed my flowers upon her —they still live —
Sometimes I like to kiss her closed white eye-lids,
And think of all the joy she used to give.
Cruel indeed it were to take her from me;
She sleeps, she will not wake – no fear – again:
And so I laid her, such a gentle burthen,
Quietly on my heart to still its pain.
I do not think that any smiling Present,
Any vague Future, spite of all her charms,
Could ever rival her. You know you laid her,
Long years ago, then living, in my arms.
Leave her at least – while my tears fall upon her,
I dream she smiles, just as she did of yore;
As dear as ever to me – nay, it may be,
Even dearer still – since I have nothing more.
VERSE: A DOUBTING HEART
Where are the swallows fled?
Frozen and dead,
Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore.
Oh doubting heart!
Far over purple seas,
They wait, in sunny ease,
The balmy southern breeze,
To bring them to their northern homes once more.
Why must the flowers die?
Prisoned they lie
In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.
Oh doubting heart!
They only sleep below
The soft white ermine snow,
While winter winds shall blow,
To breathe and smile upon you soon again.
The sun has hid its rays
These many days;
Will dreary hours never leave the earth?
Oh doubting heart!
The stormy clouds on high
Veil the same sunny sky,
That soon (for spring is nigh)
Shall wake the summer into golden mirth.
Fair hope is dead, and light
Is quenched in night.
What sound can break the silence of despair?
Oh doubting heart!
Thy sky is overcast,
Yet stars shall rise at last,
Brighter for darkness past,
And angels’ silver voices stir the air.
VERSE: A STUDENT
Over an ancient scroll I bent,
Steeping my soul in wise content,
Nor paused a moment, save to chide
A low voice whispering at my side.
I wove beneath the stars’ pale shine
A dream, half human, half divine;
And shook off (not to break the charm)
A little hand laid on my arm.
I read; until my heart would glow
With the great deeds of long ago;
Nor heard, while with those mighty dead,
Pass to and fro a faltering tread.
On the old theme I pondered long —
The struggle between right and wrong;
I could not check such visions high,
To soothe a little quivering sigh.
I tried to solve the problem – Life;
Dreaming of that mysterious strife,
How could I leave such reasonings wise,
To answer two blue pleading eyes?
I strove how best to give, and when,
My blood to save my fellow-men —
How could I turn aside, to look
At snowdrops laid upon my book?
Now Time has fled – the world is strange,
Something there is of pain and change;
My books lie closed upon the shelf;
I miss the old heart in myself.
I miss the sunbeams in my room —
It was not always wrapped in gloom:
I miss my dreams – they fade so fast,
Or flit into some trivial past.
The great stream of the world goes by;
None care, or heed, or question, why
I, the lone student, cannot raise
My voice or hand as in old days.
No echo seems to wake again
My heart to anything but pain,
Save when a dream of twilight brings
The fluttering of an angel’s wings!
VERSE: A KNIGHT ERRANT
Though he lived and died among us,
Yet his name may be enrolled
With the knights whose deeds of daring
Ancient chronicles have told.
Still a stripling, he encountered
Poverty, and struggled long,
Gathering force from every effort,
Till he knew his arm was strong.
Then his heart and life he offered
To his radiant mistress – Truth;
Never thought, or dream, or faltering,
Marred the promise of his youth.
So he rode forth to defend her,
And her peerless worth proclaim;
Challenging each recreant doubter
Who aspersed her spotless name.
First upon his path stood Ignorance,
Hideous in his brutal might;
Hard the blows and long the battle
Ere the monster took to flight.
Then, with light and fearless spirit,
Prejudice he dared to brave;
Hunting back the lying craven
To her black sulphureous cave.
Followed by his servile minions,
Custom, the old Giant, rose;
Yet he, too, at last was conquered
By the good Knight’s weighty blows.
Then he turned, and, flushed with victory
Struck upon the brazen shield
Of the world’s great king, Opinion
And defied him to the field.
Once again he rose a conqueror,
And, though wounded in the fight,
With a dying smile of triumph
Saw that Truth had gained her right.
On his failing ear re-echoing
Came the shouting round her throne;
Little cared he that no future
With her name would link his own.
Spent with many a hard-fought battle,
Slowly ebbed his life away,
And the crowd that flocked to greet her
Trampled on him where he lay.
Gathering all his strength, he saw her
Crowned and reigning in her pride!
Looked his last upon her beauty,
Raised his eyes to God, and died.
