Severer Muses, linger yet;
   Speak out for us one pure and rich regret. 
   Thou, Clio, who, with awful pen,
   Gravest great names upon the hearts of men,
   Speak of a fate beyond our ken;
   A gem late found and lost too soon; {306}
   A sun gone down at highest noon;
   A tree from Odin’s ancient root,
   Which bore for men the ancient fruit,
   Counsel, and faith and scorn of wrong,
   And cunning lore, and soothing song,
   Snapt in mid-growth, and leaving unaware
   The flock unsheltered and the pasture bare
   Nay, let us take what God shall send,
   Trusting bounty without end. 
   God ever lives; and Nature,
   Beneath His high dictature,
   Hale and teeming, can replace
   Strength by strength, and grace by grace,
   Hope by hope, and friend by friend: 
   Trust; and take what God shall send. 
   So shall Alma Mater see
      Daughters fair and wise
   Train new lands of liberty
      Under stranger skies;
   Spreading round the teeming earth
   English science, manhood, worth.

1862.

SONGS FROM ‘THE WATER-BABIES’

THE TIDE RIVER

   Clear and cool, clear and cool,
By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool;
   Cool and clear, cool and clear,
By shining shingle, and foaming wear;
Under the crag where the ouzel sings,
And the ivied wall where the church-bell rings,
      Undefiled, for the undefiled;
   Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.

      Dank and foul, dank and foul,
   By the smoky town in its murky cowl;
      Foul and dank, foul and dank,
   By wharf and sewer and slimy bank;
Darker and darker the farther I go,
Baser and baser the richer I grow;
      Who dare sport with the sin-defiled? 
   Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child.

      Strong and free, strong and free,
   The floodgates are open, away to the sea. 
      Free and strong, free and strong,
   Cleansing my streams as I hurry along
To the golden sands, and the leaping bar,
And the taintless tide that awaits me afar,
As I lose myself in the infinite main,
Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again. 
      Undefiled, for the undefiled;
   Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child.

From The Water-Babies. 
Eversley, 1862.

YOUNG AND OLD

When all the world is young, lad,
   And all the trees are green;
And every goose a swan, lad,
   And every lass a queen;
Then hey for boot and horse, lad,
   And round the world away;
Young blood must have its course, lad,
   And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,
   And all the trees are brown;
And all the sport is stale, lad,
   And all the wheels run down;
Creep home, and take your place there,
   The spent and maimed among: 
God grant you find one face there,
   You loved when all was young.