How the voyage pa.s.sed, I know not; Strange it was once more to stand With my countrymen around me, And to clasp an English hand.

But, through all, my heart was dreaming Of the first words I should hear, In the gentle voice that echoed, Fresh as ever, on my ear.

Should I see her start of wonder, And the sudden truth arise, Flushing all her face and lightening The dimmed splendour of her eyes?

Oh! to watch the fear and doubting Stir the silent depths of pain, And the rush of joy--then melting Into perfect peace again.

And the child!--but why remember Foolish fancies that I thought?

Every tree and every hedge-row From the well-known past I brought: I would picture my dear cottage, See the crackling wood-fire burn, And the two beside it seated, Watching, waiting, my return.

So, at last we reached the harbour.

I remember nothing more Till I stood, my sick heart throbbing, With my hand upon the door.

There I paused--I heard her speaking; Low, soft, murmuring words she said; Then I first knew the dumb terror I had had, lest she were dead.

It was evening in late autumn, And the gusty wind blew chill; Autumn leaves were falling round me, And the red sun lit the hill.

Six-and-twenty years are vanished Since then--I am old and grey, But I never told to mortal What I saw, until this day.

She was seated by the fire, In her arms she held a child, Whispering baby-words caressing, And then, looking up, she smiled: Smiled on him who stood beside her-- Oh! the bitter truth was told, In her look of trusting fondness-- I had seen the look of old!

But she rose and turned towards me (Cold and dumb I waited there) With a shriek of fear and terror, And a white face of despair.

He had been an ancient comrade-- Not a single word we said, While we gazed upon each other, He the living: I the dead!

I drew nearer, nearer to her, And I took her trembling hand, Looking on her white face, looking That her heart might understand All the love and all the pity That my lips refused to say-- I thank G.o.d no thought save sorrow Rose in our crushed hearts that day.

Bitter tears that desolate moment, Bitter, bitter tears we wept, We three broken hearts together, While the baby smiled and slept.

Tears alone--no words were spoken, Till he--till her husband said That my boy, (I had forgotten The poor child,) that he was dead.

Then at last I rose, and, turning, Wrung his hand, but made no sign; And I stooped and kissed her forehead Once more, as if she were mine.

Nothing of farewell I uttered, Save in broken words to pray That G.o.d would ever guard and bless her-- Then in silence pa.s.sed away.

Over the great restless ocean Six-and-twenty years I roam; All my comrades, old and weary, Have gone back to die at home.-- Home! yes, I shall reach a haven, I, too, shall reach home and rest; I shall find her waiting for me With our baby on her breast.

VERSE: LIFE AND DEATH

"What is Life, Father?"

"A Battle, my child, Where the strongest lance may fail, Where the wariest eyes may be beguiled, And the stoutest heart may quail.

Where the foes are gathered on every hand, And rest not day or night, And the feeble little ones must stand In the thickest of the fight."

"What is Death, Father?"

"The rest, my child, When the strife and the toil are o'er; The Angel of G.o.d, who, calm and mild, Says we need fight no more; Who, driving away the demon band, Bids the din of the battle cease; Takes banner and spear from our failing hand, And proclaims an eternal Peace."

"Let me die, Father! I tremble and fear To yield in that terrible strife!"

"The crown must be won for Heaven, dear, In the battle-field of life: My child, though thy foes are strong and tried, He loveth the weak and small; The Angels of Heaven are on thy side, And G.o.d is over all!"

VERSE: NOW

Rise! for the day is pa.s.sing, And you lie dreaming on; The others have buckled their armour, And forth to the fight are gone: A place in the ranks awaits you, Each man has some part to play; The Past and the Future are nothing, In the face of the stern To-day.

Rise from your dreams of the Future-- Of gaining some hard-fought field; Of storming some airy fortress, Or bidding some giant yield; Your Future has deeds of glory, Of honour (G.o.d grant it may!) But your arm will never be stronger, Or the need so great as To-day.

Rise! if the Past detains you, Her sunshine and storms forget; No chains so unworthy to hold you As those of a vain regret: Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever, Cast her phantom arms away, Nor look back, save to learn the lesson Of a n.o.bler strife To-day.

Rise! for the day is pa.s.sing: The sound that you scarcely hear Is the enemy marching to battle-- Arise! for the foe is here!

Stay not to sharpen your weapons, Or the hour will strike at last, When, from dreams of a coming battle, You may wake to find it past!

VERSE: CLEANSING FIRES

Let thy gold be cast in the furnace, Thy red gold, precious and bright, Do not fear the hungry fire, With its caverns of burning light: And thy gold shall return more precious, Free from every spot and stain; For gold must be tried by fire, As a heart must be tried by pain!

In the cruel fire of Sorrow Cast thy heart, do not faint or wail; Let thy hand be firm and steady, Do not let thy spirit quail: But wait till the trial is over, And take thy heart again; For as gold is tried by fire, So a heart must be tried by pain!

I shall know by the gleam and glitter Of the golden chain you wear, By your heart's calm strength in loving, Of the fire they have had to bear.

Beat on, true heart, for ever; Shine bright, strong golden chain; And bless the cleansing fire, And the furnace of living pain!

VERSE: THE VOICE OF THE WIND

Let us throw more logs on the fire!

We have need of a cheerful light, And close round the hearth to gather, For the wind has risen to-night.

With the mournful sound of its wailing It has checked the children's glee, And it calls with a louder clamour Than the clamour of the sea.

Hark to the voice of the wind!

Let us listen to what it is saying, Let us hearken to where it has been; For it tells, in its terrible crying, The fearful sights it has seen.

It clatters loud at the cas.e.m.e.nts, Round the house it hurries on, And shrieks with redoubled fury, When we say "The blast is gone!"

Hark to the voice of the wind!

It has been on the field of battle, Where the dying and wounded lie; And it brings the last groan they uttered, And the ravenous vulture's cry.

It has been where the icebergs were meeting, And closed with a fearful crash; On sh.o.r.es where no foot has wandered, It has heard the waters dash.

Hark to the voice of the wind!

It has been on the desolate ocean, When the lightning struck the mast; It has heard the cry of the drowning, Who sank as it hurried past; The words of despair and anguish, That were heard by no living ear; The gun that no signal answered: It brings them all to us here.

Hark to the voice of the wind!

It has been on the lonely moorland, Where the treacherous snow-drift lies, Where the traveller, spent and weary, Gasped fainter and fainter cries; It has heard the bay of the bloodhounds, On the track of the hunted slave, The lash and the curse of the master, And the groan that the captive gave.