Away, and all her little trembling doubts,
Until hope won her heart to happy dreams,
And all the future smiled with happy love.
Nor, till the still moon, in the purpling east
Gleam'd through the twilight, did we stay our talk,
Or part, with kisses, looks, and whisper'd words
Remember'd for a lifetime. Home I went,
And in my College rooms what blissful hopes
Were mine!-what thoughts, that still'd to happy dreams
Where Kate, the fadeless summer of my life,
Made my years Eden, and lit up my home,
(The ivied rectory my sleep made mine),
With little faces, and the gleams of curls,
And baby crows, and voices twin to hers.
O happy night! O more than happy dreams!
But with the earliest twitter from the eaves,
I rose, and, in an hour, at Clifford's yard,
As if but boating were the crown of life,
Forgetting Tennyson, and books, and rhymes,
Even my new tragedy upon the stocks,
I throng'd my brain with talks of lines and curves,
And all that makes a wherry sure to win,
And furbish'd up the knowledge that I had,
Ere study put my boyhood's feats away,
And made me book-worm; all that day, my hand
Grew more and more familiar with the oar,
And won by slow degrees, as reach by reach
Of the green river lengthen'd on my sight,
Its by-laid cunning back: so, day by day,
From when dawn touch'd our elm-tops, till the moon
Gleam'd through the slumbrous leafage of our lawns,
I flash'd the flowing Isis from my oars
And dream'd of triumph and the prize to come,
And breathed myself, in sport, one after one,
Against the men with whom I was to row,
Until I fear'd but Chester-him alone.
So June stole on to July, sun by sun,
And the day came; how well I mind that day!
Glorious with summer, not a cloud abroad
To dim the golden greenness of the fields,
And all a happy hush about the earth,
And not a hum to stir the drowsing noon,
Save where along the peopled towing-paths,
Banking the river, swarm'd the city out,
Loud of the contest, bright as humming-birds,
Two winding rainbows by the river's brinks,
That flush'd with boats and barges, silken-awn'd,
Shading the fluttering beauties of our balls,
Our College toasts, and gay with jest and laugh,
Bright as their champagne. One, among them all,
My eye saw only; one, that morning, left
With smiles that hid the terrors of my heart,
And spoke of certain hope, and mock'd at fears-
One, that upon my neck had parting hung
Arms white as daisies-on my bosom hid
A tearful face that sobb'd against my heart,
Fill'd with what fondness! yearning with what love!
O hope, and would the glad day make her mine!
O hope, was hope a prophet, truth alone?
There was a murmur in my heart of 'Yes,'
That sung to slumber every wakening fear
That still would stir and shake me with its dread.
And now a hush was on the wavering crowd
That sway'd along the river, reach by reach,
A grassy mile, to where we were to turn
A barge moor'd mid-stream, flush'd with fluttering flags
And we were ranged, and, at the gun, we went,
As in a horse-race, all, at first, a crowd;
Then, thinning slowly, one by one dropt off,
Till, rounding the moor'd mark, Chester and I
Left the last lingerer with us lengths astern,
The victory hopeless. Then I knew the strife
Was come, and hoped 'gainst fear, and, oar to oar,
Strained to the work before me. Head to head
Through the wild-cheering river-banks we clove
The swarming waters, raining streams of toil;
But Chester gain'd, so much his tutor'd strength
Held on, enduring,-mine still waning more,
And parting with the victory, inch by inch,
Yet straining on, as if I strove with death,
Until I groan'd with anguish. Chester heard,
And turn'd a wondering face upon me quick,
And toss'd a laugh across, with jesting words:
'What, Ned, my boy, and do you take it so ?
'The cup's not worth the moaning of a man,
'No, nor the triumph. Tush! boy, I must win.'
Then from the anguish of my heart a cry
Burst: Kate, O dearest Kate-O love-we lose!' 'Ah! I've a Kate too, here to see me win,'
He answered: Faith! my boy, I pity you.'
Oh, if you lose,' I answered, you but lose
'A week's wild triumph, and its praise and pride;
'I, losing, lose what priceless years of joy!
'Perchance a life's whole sum of happiness-
'What years with her that I might call my wife!
'Winning, I win her!' O thrice noble heart!
I saw the mocking laugh fade from his face;
I saw a nobler light light up his eyes;
I saw the flush of pride die into one
Of manly tenderness and sharp resolve :
No word he spoke; only one look he threw,
That told me all; and, ere my heart could leap
In prayers and blessings rain'd upon his name,
I was before him, through the tracking eyes
Of following thousands, heading to the goal,
The shouting goal, that hurl'd my conquering name
Miles wide in triumph, 'Chester foil'd at last!'
O how I turn'd to him! with what a heart!
Unheard the shouts-unseen the crowding gaze
That ring'd us. How I wrung his answering hand
With grasps that bless'd him, and with flush that told
I shamed to hear my name more loud than his,
And spurn'd its triumph. So I won my wife,
My own dear wife, and so I won a friend,
Chester, more dear than all but only she
And these, the small ones of my College dreams.
BEFORE WILKIE'S COLUMBUS.'
So look'd the great world-seeker, in neglect,
In poverty and the world's scorn, erect
On the broad stand of the earth-changing thought Which the dumb West from out the Past's night caught
To light and life. Yet, friend, how nearly wreck'd Seem'd that great thought which God will'd should connect
The far, dim vast, which then his clear sight sought, And the old world, first wed in his clear thought. What at that moment was in that broad brow!
The gleam of the white multitudinous sails, The ocean-shuttles ever crossing now!
The march of man towards where the sunset pales, Of rules to which the coming times shall bow! Friend, lo, a God-sent purpose never fails.
THOU myriad-billow'd, restless Sea,
Thou awe and terror of the lands
That match not thy immensity,
Blue trampler of their thousand strands,
With endless life-eternal power
Thou mock'st us mortal things of breath;
Ages to thee but as an hour,
Thou know'st not time, or change, or death!
Thy fellows are the eternal air,
The might of storms-the stars—the night,
The winds thy wastes of waves, that tear,
The sun, and the great joy of light.
These share thy life; these, but the nod
Of Him thou tremblest at, obey;
These tell with thee the power of God;
His ministers, with thee, are they.
Awful art thou when thou dost lie,
Sun-tawny, crouch'd upon thy sands,
Breathing the stillness of the sky,
Fawning upon the trembling lands;
Then, from thy couchant vastness, man
Such dumb and wondering terror drinks,
As through Thebes, hush'd and ashen, ran,
Gazing upon the breathing Sphinx.
But when, beneath the awful skies,
Storm-darken'd, in thy chainless might,
White with wild wrath, thou dost arise,
How are men scatter'd in thy sight!
Then woe to those, the things of breath,
Mortals by whom thy depths are trod;
Thou giv'st them and their vaunts to death;
They know thee for the scourge of God.
Dust of the dust, we come—we pass,
But fleeting shadows, of time born,
By time devour'd, shades thou dost glass
In thy eternity-thy scorn.
Earth changes; ages are not; thou
Wert, art, and still shalt be the same, Vast, boundless, changeless, endless now As when light first upon thee came.
And still, as when through brooding night
The first grey sunrise heard thee raise
Thy thunderous hymn, through gloom, through light,
On high goes up thy voice of praise.
Thou symbol of thy Maker's power,
Thou giv'st to man's eyes, faint and dim,
His might His majesty; each hour,
In calm, in storm, thou speak'st of Him.
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