An effigy of bra.s.s Trodden by careless feet Of worshippers that pa.s.s, Beautiful and complete,

Lieth in the sombre aisle Of this old church unwreckt, And still from modern style Shielded by kind neglect.

It shows a warrior arm'd: Across his iron breast His hands by death are charm'd To leave his sword at rest,

Wherewith he led his men O'ersea, and smote to h.e.l.l The astonisht Saracen, Nor doubted he did well.

Would we could teach our sons His trust in face of doom, Or give our bravest ones A comparable tomb:

Such as to look on shrives The heart of half its care; So in each line survives The spirit that made it fair;

So fair the characters, With which the dusty scroll, That tells his t.i.tle, stirs A requiem for his soul.

Yet dearer far to me, And brave as he are they, Who fight by land and sea For England at this day;

Whose vile memorials, In mournful marbles gilt, Deface the beauteous walls By growing glory built:

Heirs of our antique shrines, Sires of our future fame, Whose starry honour shines In many a n.o.ble name

Across the deathful days, Link'd in the brotherhood That loves our country's praise, And lives for heavenly good.

22

THE DUTEOUS HEART

Spirit of grace and beauty, Whom men so much miscall: Maidenly, modest duty, I cry thee fair befall!

Pity for them that shun thee, Sorrow for them that hate, Glory, hath any won thee To dwell in high estate!

But rather thou delightest To walk in humble ways, Keeping thy favour brightest Uncrown'd by foolish praise; In such retirement dwelling, Where, hath the worldling been, He straight returneth telling Of sights that he hath seen,

Of simple men and truest Faces of girl and boy; The souls whom thou enduest With gentle peace and joy.

Fair from my song befall thee, Spirit of beauty and grace!

Men that so much miscall thee Have never seen thy face.

23

THE IDLE FLOWERS

I have sown upon the fields Eyebright and Pimpernel, And Pansy and Poppy-seed Ripen'd and scatter'd well,

And silver Lady-smock The meads with light to fill, Cowslip and b.u.t.tercup, Daisy and Daffodil;

King-cup and Fleur-de-lys Upon the marsh to meet With Comfrey, Watermint, Loose-strife and Meadowsweet;

And all along the stream My care hath not forgot Crowfoot's white galaxy And love's Forget-me-not:

And where high gra.s.ses wave Shall great Moon-daisies blink, With Rattle and Sorrel sharp And Robin's ragged pink.

Thick on the woodland floor Gay company shall be, Primrose and Hyacinth And frail Anemone,

Perennial Strawberry-bloom, Woodsorrel's pencilled veil, Dishevel'd Willow-weed And Orchis purple and pale,

Bugle, that blushes blue, And Woodruff's snowy gem, Proud Foxglove's finger-bells And Spurge with milky stem.

High on the downs so bare, Where thou dost love to climb, Pink Thrift and Milkwort are, Lotus and scented Thyme;

And in the shady lanes Bold Arum's hood of green, Herb Robert, Violet, Starwort and Celandine;

And by the dusty road Bedstraw and Mullein tall, With red Valerian And Toadflax on the wall,

Yarrow and Chicory, That hath for hue no like, Silene and Mallow mild And Agrimony's spike, Blue-eyed Veronicas And grey-faced Scabious And downy Silverweed And striped Convolvulus:

Harebell shall haunt the banks, And thro' the hedgerow peer Withwind and Snapdragon And Nightshade's flower of fear.

And where men never sow, Have I my Thistles set, Ragwort and stiff Wormwood And straggling Mignonette,

Bugloss and Burdock rank And p.r.i.c.kly Teasel high, With Umbels yellow and white, That come to kexes dry.

Pale Chlora shalt thou find, Sun-loving Centaury, Cranesbill and Sinjunwort, Cinquefoil and Betony:

Shock-headed Dandelion, That drank the fire of the sun: Hawkweed and Marigold, Cornflower and Campion.

Let Oak and Ash grow strong, Let Beech her branches spread; Let Gra.s.s and Barley throng And waving Wheat for bread;

Be share and sickle bright To labour at all hours; For thee and thy delight I have made the idle flowers.

But now 'tis Winter, child, And bitter northwinds blow, The ways are wet and wild, The land is laid in snow.

24

DUNSTONE HILL

A cottage built of native stone Stands on the mountain-moor alone, High from man's dwelling on the wide And solitary mountain-side,

The purple mountain-side, where all The dewy night the meteors fall, And the pale stars musically set To the watery bells of the rivulet,

And all day long, purple and dun, The vast moors stretch beneath the sun, The wide wind pa.s.seth fresh and hale, And whirring grouse and blackc.o.c.k sail.

Ah, heavenly Peace, where dost thou dwell?

Surely 'twas here thou hadst a cell, Till flaming Love, wandering astray With fury and blood, drove thee away.--

Far down across the valley deep The town is hid in smoky sleep, At moonless nightfall wakening slow Upon the dark with lurid glow: