And Thee! ah what of thee, thou lover of men? if truly A painter had stell'd thee there, with thy lips ready to speak, In all-fathering pa.s.sion to souls enchanted newly, --Tenderer call than of sire to son, or of lover to maiden,-- Ever ready to speak to us, if we will hearken duly, 'Come, O come unto me, ye weary and heavy-laden!'

[1880.]

16

AN INVITATION TO THE OXFORD PAGEANT, JULY 1907

Fair lady of learning, playfellow of spring, Who to thy towery hospice in the vale Invitest all, with queenly claim to bring Scholars from every land within thy pale; If aught our pageantry may now avail To paint thine antique story to the eye, Inspire the scene, and bid thy herald cry Welcome to all, and to all comers hail!

Come hither, then he crieth, and hail to all.

Bow each his heart a pilgrim at her shrine, Whatever chance hath led you to my call, Ye that love pomp, and ye that seek a sign, Or on the low earth look for things divine; Nor ye, whom reverend Camus near-allied, Writes in the roll of his enn.o.bled pride, Refrain your praise and love to mix with mine.

Praise her, the mother of celestial moods, Who o'er the saints' inviolate array Hath starr'd her robe of fair beat.i.tudes With jewels worn by h.e.l.las, on the day She grew from girlhood into wisdom gay; And hath laid by her crozier, evermore With both hands gathering to enrich her store, And make her courts with music ring alway.

Love her, for that the world is in her heart, Man's rude antiquity and doubtful goal, The heaven-enthralling luxury of art, The burden'd pleading of his clay-bound soul, The mutual office of delight and dole, The merry laugh of youth, the joy of life Older than thought, and the unamending strife 'Twixt liberty and politic control.

There is none holier, not the lilied town By Arno, whither the spirit of Athens fled, Escap't from Hades to a less renown, Yet joyful to be risen from the dead; Nor she whose wide imperious arms were spread To spoil mankind, until the avenger came In darkening storm, and left a ruin'd name, A triple crown, upon a vanquish't head.

What love in myriad hearts in every clime The vision of her beauty calls to pray'r: Where at his feet Himalaya sublime Holds up aslope the Arabian floods, or where Patriarchal Nile rears at his watery stair; In the broad islands of the Antipodes, By Esperanza, or in the coral seas Where Buddha's vain paG.o.das throng the air;

Or where the chivalry of Nipon smote The wily Muscovite, intent to creep Around the world with half his pride afloat, And sent his battle to the soundless deep; Or with our pilgrim-kin, and them that reap The prairie-corn beyond cold Labrador To California and the Alaskan sh.o.r.e, Her exiled sons their pious memory keep:

Bright memories of young poetic pleasure In free companionship, the loving stress Of all life-beauty lull'd in studious leisure, When every Muse was jocund with excess Of fine delight and tremulous happiness; The breath of an indolent unbridled June, When delicate thought fell from the dreamy moon: But now strange care, sorrow, and grief oppress.

'_Ah! fewer tears shall be_,--'tis thus they dream,-- _Ah, fewer, softer tears, when we lie low: On younger brows shall brighter laurel gleam: Lovelier and earlier shall the rosebuds blow_.'

For in this hope she nurs'd them, and to know That Truth, while men regard a tetter'd page, Leaps on the mountains, and from age to age Reveals the dayspring's inexhausted glow.

Yet all their joy is mingled with regret: As the lone scholar on a neighbouring height, Brooding disconsolate with eyelids wet Ere o'er the unkind world he took his flight, Look'd down upon her festal lamps at night, And while the far call of her warning bell Reach't to his heart, sang us his fond farewell, Beneath the stars thinking of lost delight;

'Farewell! for whether we be young or old, Thou dost remain, but we shall pa.s.s away: Time shall against himself thy house uphold, And build thy sanctuary from decay; Children unborn shall be thy pride and stay.

May Earth protect thee, and thy sons be true; And G.o.d with heavenly food thy life renew, Thy pleasure and thy grace from day to day.'

17

IN MEMORY OF THE OLD-ETONIANS

WHOSE LIVES WERE LOST IN THE S. AFRICAN WAR

_An ode set to music by Sir Hubert Parry and performed when K. Edward VII inaugurated the Memorial Hall at Eton College_

I

Resound! Resound! To jubilant music ring!

Your birthday trumpets sound the alarm of strenuous days.

Ye new-built walls, awake! and welcome England's King With a high GLORY-TO-G.o.d, and holy cheer of praise.

Awake to fairest hope of fames unknown, unseen, When ye-too silver and solemn with age shall be: For all that is fair upon earth is reared with tend'rest teen, As the burden'd years to memory flee.

II

Lament, O Muse of the Thames, in pride lament again, With low melodious grief remember them in this hour!-- Beyond your dauntless joy, my brother, was our pain.

Above all gold, my country, the lavish price of thy power-- The ancient groves have mourn'd our sons, for whom no more The sisterly kisses of life, the loved embraces.

Remember the love of them who came not home from the war, The fatherly tears and the veil'd faces.

III

Now henceforth their shrine is builded, high and vast, Alway drawing n.o.ble hearts to n.o.ble deeds; In the toil of glory to be, and the tale of glory past: While ever the laughing waves of youth pa.s.s over the meads, And the tongue of h.e.l.las is heard, and old Time slumbereth light In the cradle of Peace. O let thy dancing feet Roam in our land and abide, dear Peace, thou child of Right, Giver of happiness, gentle and sweet.

18

ODE TO MUSIC

WRITTEN FOR THE BICENTENARY COMMEMORATION OF

HENRY PURCELL

_Music composed by Sir Hubert Parry, and performed at the Leeds Festival and Commemoration Festival in London, 1895_

I

Myriad-voiced Queen, Enchantress of the air, Bride of the life of man! With tuneful reed, With string and horn and high-adoring quire Thy welcome we prepare.

In silver-speaking mirrors of desire, In joyous ravishment of mystery draw thou near, With heavenly echo of thoughts, that dreaming lie Chain'd in unborn oblivion drear, Thy many-hearted grace restore Unto our isle our own to be, And make again our Graces three.

II

Turn, O return! In merry England Foster'd thou wert with infant Liberty.

Her gloried oaks, that stand With trembling leaves and giant heart Drinking in beauty from the summer moon, Her wild-wood once was dear to thee.

There the birds with tiny art Earth's immemorial cradle-tune Warble at dawn to fern and fawn, In the budding thickets making merry; And for their love the primrose faint Floods the green shade with youthful scent.

Come, thy jocund spring renew By hyacinthine lakes of blue: Thy beauty shall enchant the buxom May; And all the summer months shall strew thy way, And rose and honeysuckle rear Their flowery screens, till under fruit and berry The tall brake groweth golden with the year.

III

Thee fair Poetry oft hath sought, Wandering lone in wayward thought, On level meads by gliding streams, When summer noon is full of dreams: And thy loved airs her soul invade, Haunting retired the willow shade.

Or in some walled orchard nook She communes with her ancient book, Beneath the branches laden low; While the high sun o'er bosom'd snow Smiteth all day the long hill-side With ripening cornfields waving wide.

There if thou linger all the year, No jar of man can reach thine ear, Or sweetly comes, as when the sound From hidden villages around, Threading the woody knolls, is borne Of bells that dong the Sabbath morn.

IV

1

The sea with melancholy war Moateth about our castled sh.o.r.e; His world-wide elemental moan Girdeth our lives with tragic zone.