Bramble Brae

Robert Bridges

Robert Bridges

Bramble Brae

To my Father

You called the old farm Bramble Brae,

And loved it till your hair was gray

And footsteps faltered while you trod

The sloping upland bright with sod.

It blossomed in your quiet life

With gowans from the Neuk of Fife;

And while you walked the waving wheat

You dreamed of heather and the peat.

You’ve gane awa! My spirit yearns

To hear you read the songs of Burns;

The melody I’ve faintly caught

Is just the lesson that you taught.

If any hear your gentle voice

In verse of mine, then I’ll rejoice

And sing along my stumbling way,

“He’s home again in Bramble Brae!”

BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

On the dark decline of the unillumined

verge between the two worlds.

В В В В George Meredith.

THE UNILLUMINED VERGE

TO A FRIEND DYING

They tell you that Death’s at the turn of the road,

That under the shade of a cypress you’ll find him,

And, struggling on wearily, lashed by the goad

Of pain, you will enter the black mist behind him.

I can walk with you up to the ridge of the hill,

And we’ll talk of the way we have come through the valley;

Down below there a bird breaks into a trill,

And a groaning slave bends to the oar of his galley.

You are up on the heights now, you pity the slave—

“Poor soul, how fate lashes him on at his rowing!

Yet it’s joyful to live, and it’s hard to be brave

When you watch the sun sink and the daylight is going.”

We are almost there—our last walk on this height—

I must bid you good-by at that cross on the mountain.

See the sun glowing red, and the pulsating light

Fill the valley, and rise like the flood in a fountain!

And it shines in your face and illumines your soul;

We are comrades as ever, right here at your going;

You may rest if you will within sight of the goal,

While I must return to my oar and the rowing.

We must part now? Well, here is the hand of a friend;

I will keep you in sight till the road makes its turning

Just over the ridge within reach of the end

Of your arduous toil—the beginning of learning.

You will call to me once from the mist, on the verge,

“Au revoir!” and “good night!” while the twilight is creeping

Up luminous peaks, and the pale stars emerge?

Yes, I hear your faint voice: “This is rest, and like sleeping!”

FROM ONE LONG DEAD

What! You here in the moonlight and thinking of me?

Is it you, O my comrade, who laughed at my jest?

But you wept when I told you I longed to be free,

And you mourned for a while when they laid me at rest.

I’ve been dead all these years! and to-night in your heart

There’s a stir of emotion, a vision that slips—

It’s my face in the moonlight that gives you a start,

It’s my name that in joy rushes up to your lips!

Yes, I’m young, oh, so young, and so little I know!

A mere child that is learning to walk and to run;

While I grasp at the shadows that wave to and fro

I am dazzled a bit by the light of the Sun.

I am learning the lesson, I try to grow wise,

But at night I am baffled and worn by the strife;

I am humbled, and then there’s an impulse to rise,

And a voice whispers, “Onward and win! This is Life!”

And the Force that is drawing me up to the Height,

That inspires me and thrills me,—each day a new birth,—

Is the Force that to Chaos said, “Let there be Light!”

And it gave us sweet glimpses of Heaven on Earth.

It is Love! and you know it and feel it, my Soul!

For you love me in spite of the grave and its bars.

And it moves the whole Universe on to its goal,

And it draws frail Humanity up to the stars!

FATHER TO MOTHER

This is our child, Dear—flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone;

Here is the end of our youth, and now we begin to atone.

Now we do feel what their love was—those who have reared us and taught;