I SAW the Angel of Earth from strife aloof Mounting the heavenly stair with Time on high, Growing ever younger in the brightening air Of the everlasting dawn: It was not terror in his eyes nor wonder, That glance of the intimate exaltation Which lieth as Power under all Being, And broodeth in Thought above, As a bird wingeth over the ocean, Whether indolently the heavy water sleepeth Or is dash’d in a million waves, chafing or lightly laughing. I hear his voice in the music of lamentation, In echoing chant and cadenced litany, In country song and pastoral piping And silvery dances of mirth: And oft, as the eyes of a lion in the brake, His presence hath startled me, In austere shapes of beauty lurking, Beautiful for Beauty’s sake; As a lonely blade of life Ariseth to flower whensoever the unseen Will Stirreth with kindling aim the dark fecundity of Being. Man knoweth but as in a dream of his own desire The thing that is good for man, and he dreameth well: But the lot of the gentle heart is hard That is cast in an epoch of life, When evil is knotted and demons fight, Who know not, they, that the lowest lot Is treachery hate and trust in sin And perseverance in ill, Doom’d to oblivious Hell, To pass with the shames unspoken of men away, Wash’d out with their tombs by the grey unpitying tears of Heaven. But ye, dear Youth, who lightly in the day of fury Put on England’s glory as a common coat, And in your stature of masking grace Stood forth warriors complete, No praise o’ershadoweth yours to-day, Walking out of the home of love To match the deeds of all the dead.-- Alas! alas! fair Peace, These were thy blossoming roses. Look on thy shame, fair Peace, thy tearful shame! Turn to thine isle, fair Peace; return thou and guard it well! THE CHIVALRY OF THE SEA. DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF CHARLES FISHER, LATE STUDENT OF CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD, LOST IN THE “INVINCIBLE.” Over the warring waters, beneath the wandering skies, The heart of Britain roameth, the Chivalry of the sea, Where Spring never bringeth a flower, nor bird singeth in a tree; Far, afar, O beloved, beyond the sight of our eyes, Over the warring waters, beneath the stormy skies. Staunch and valiant-hearted, to whom our toil were play, Ye man with armour’d patience the bulwarks night and day, Or on your iron coursers plough shuddering through the Bay, Or neath the deluge drive the skirmishing sharks of war: Venturous boys who leapt on the pinnace and row’d from shore, A mother’s tear in the eye, a swift farewell to say, And a great glory at heart that none can take away.