Kind, wise, and true as truth's own heart, A soul that here Chose and held fast the better part And cast out fear,

Has left us ere we dreamed of death For life so strong, Clear as the sundawn's light and breath, And sweet as song.

We see no more what here awhile Shed light on men: Has Landor seen that brave bright smile Alive again?

If death and life and love be one And hope no lie And night no stronger than the sun, These cannot die.

The father-spirit whence her soul Took strength, and gave Back love, is perfect yet and whole, As hope might crave.

His word is living light and fire: And hers shall live By grace of all good gifts the sire Gave power to give.

The sire and daughter, twain and one In quest and goal, Stand face to face beyond the sun, And soul to soul.

Not we, who loved them well, may dream What joy sublime Is theirs, if dawn through darkness gleam, And life through time.

Time seems but here the mask of death, That falls and shows A void where hope may draw not breath: Night only knows.

Love knows not: all that love may keep Glad memory gives: The spirit of the days that sleep Still wakes and lives.

But not the spirit's self, though song Would lend it speech, May touch the goal that hope might long In vain to reach.

How dear that high true heart, how sweet Those keen kind eyes, Love knows, who knows how fiery fleet Is life that flies.

If life there be that flies not, fair The life must be That thrills her sovereign spirit there And sets it free.

IN MEMORY OF AURELIO SAFFI

Beloved above all nations, land adored, Sovereign in spirit and charm, by song and sword, Sovereign whose life is love, whose name is light, Italia, queen that hast the sun for lord,

Bride that hast heaven for bridegroom, how should night Veil or withhold from faith's and memory's sight A man beloved and crowned of thee and fame, Hide for an hour his name's memorial might?

Thy sons may never speak or hear the name Saffi, and feel not love's regenerate flame Thrill all the quickening heart with faith and pride In one whose life makes death and life the same.

They die indeed whose souls before them died: Not he, for whom death flung life's portal wide, Who stands where Dante's soul in vision came, In Dante's presence, by Mazzini's side.

_March 26, 1896._

CARNOT

Death, winged with fire of hate from deathless h.e.l.l Wherein the souls of anarchs hiss and die, With stroke as dire has cloven a heart as high As twice beyond the wide sea's westward swell The living l.u.s.t of death had power to quell Through ministry of murderous hands whereby Dark fate bade Lincoln's head and Garfield's lie Low even as his who bids his France farewell.

France, now no heart that would not weep with thee Loved ever faith or freedom. From thy hand The staff of state is broken: hope, unmanned With anguish, doubts if freedom's self be free.

The snake-souled anarch's fang strikes all the land Cold, and all hearts unsundered by the sea.

_June 25, 1894._

AFTER THE VERDICT

France, cloven in twain by fire of h.e.l.l and hate, Shamed with the shame of men her meanest born, Soldier and judge whose names, inscribed for scorn, Stand vilest on the record writ of fate, Lies yet not wholly vile who stood so great, Sees yet not all her praise of old outworn.

Not yet is all her scroll of glory torn, Or left for utter shame to desecrate.

High souls and constant hearts of faithful men Sustain her perfect praise with tongue and pen Indomitable as honour. Storms may toss And soil her standard ere her bark win home: But shame falls full upon the Christless cross Whose brandmark signs the holy hounds of Rome.

_September 1899._

THE TRANSVAAL

Patience, long sick to death, is dead. Too long Have sloth and doubt and treason bidden us be What Cromwell's England was not, when the sea To him bore witness given of Blake how strong She stood, a commonweal that brooked no wrong From foes less vile than men like wolves set free Whose war is waged where none may fight or flee-- With women and with weanlings. Speech and song Lack utterance now for loathing. Scarce we hear Foul tongues that blacken G.o.d's dishonoured name With prayers turned curses and with praise found shame Defy the truth whose witness now draws near To scourge these dogs, agape with jaws afoam, Down out of life. Strike, England, and strike home.

_October 9, 1899._

REVERSE

The wave that breaks against a forward stroke Beats not the swimmer back, but thrills him through With joyous trust to win his way anew Through stronger seas than first upon him broke And triumphed. England's iron-tempered oak Shrank not when Europe's might against her grew Full, and her sun drank up her foes like dew, And lion-like from sleep her strength awoke.

As bold in fight as bold in breach of trust We find our foes, and wonder not to find, Nor grudge them praise whom honour may not bind; But loathing more intense than speaks disgust Heaves England's heart, when scorn is bound to greet Hunters and hounds whose tongues would lick their feet.

_November 1, 1899._

THE TURNING OF THE TIDE

Storm, strong with all the bitter heart of hate, Smote England, now nineteen dark years ago, As when the tide's full wrath in seaward flow Smites and bears back the swimmer. Fraud and fate Were leagued against her: fear was fain to prate Of honour in dishonour, pride brought low, And humbleness whence holiness must grow, And greatness born of shame to be so great.

The winter day that withered hope and pride Shines now triumphal on the turning tide That sets once more our trust in freedom free, That leaves a ruthless and a truthless foe And all base hopes that hailed his cause laid low, And England's name a light on land and sea.

_February 27, 1900._