Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861) QUA CURSUM VENTUS As ships, becalmed at eve, that lay Are scarce long leagues apart descried; E'en so- but why the tale reveal Brief absence joined anew to feel, At dead of night their sails were filled, un 10 15 Or wist, what first with dawn appeared! To veer, how vain! On, onward strain, Brave barks! In light, in darkness too, Through winds and tides one compass guides To that, and your own selves, be true. 20 But O blithe breeze; and O great seas, Though ne'er, that earliest parting past, On your wide plain they join again, Together lead them home at last. One port, methought, alike they sought, 25 O bounding breeze, O rushing seas! The rolling mist came down and hid the land: And never home came shę. 'Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair A tress of golden hair, A drowned maiden's hair Was never salmon yet that shone so fair They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea: 15 20 But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home 1843 Across the sands of Dee. 1849 SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE NOUGHT SAY not the struggle nought availeth, If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; 5 THE THREE FISHERS THREE fishers went sailing away to the West, Away to the West as the sun went down; Each thought on the woman who loved him the best, And the children stood watching them out of the town; Sink down like silence, or a-sudden stream As wind-blown on the wind, as streams a wedding-chime. But you are wheeling me while I dream, Through the green of the sappy meadow; And the bank will be bare wherever they go, 160 165 Blare the trumpet, and boom the gun, Looking before me here in the sun, In golden glimmers that rise and rise, 170 175 180 But when the din is over and gone, Like an eye that opens after pain, Springs to be, and springs for me Of distant dim primroses. I shall see my pale flower shining again; 135 And it will blow here again next year, o'er I shall always find it here. 140 Two worlds are whispering over me, Ere a water-fly wimple the silent pond, Or the first green weed appear. From the shore before to the backward shore, And like two clouds that meet and pour Each through each, till core in core 195 Shining across from the bank above, Shining up from the pond below, |