A Dirge.



A Dirge.


I.

    Art thou lonely in thy tomb?
    Art thou cold in such a gloom?
    Rouse thee, then, and make me room, -
                        Miserere Domine!


II.

    Phantoms vex thy virgin sleep,
    Nameless things around thee creep,
    Yet be patient, do not weep, -
                        Miserere Domine!


III.

    O be faithful! O be brave!
    Naught shall harm thee in thy grave;
    Let the restless spirits rave, -
                        Miserere Domine!


IV.

    When my pilgrimage is done,
    When the grace of God is won,
    I will come to thee, my nun, -
                        Miserere Domine!


V.

    Like a priest in flowing vest,
    Like a pale, unbidden guest,
    I will come to thee and rest, -
                        Miserere Domine!

Eric Mackay

Eric Mackay, born on June 1, 1851, was a noted English poet whose work gained recognition in the late 19th century. He is best known for his sonnets and lyrical poetry, which were celebrated for their emotional depth and technical mastery. His most famous work, 'Love Letters of a Violinist,' was well-received during his lifetime. Mackay's contributions to English literature have been acknowledged for their artistic merit. He passed away on June 8, 1898.

Eric Mackay

In Tuscany.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

Ex Tenebra.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

A Choral Ode To Liberty.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

Mirage.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

English

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Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter III. Regrets.



Letter III. Regrets.


I.

    When I did wake, to-day, a bird of Heaven,
    A wanton, woeless thing, a wandering sprite,
    Did seem to sing a song for my delight;
    And, far away, did make its holy steven
    Sweeter to hear than lute-strings that are seven;
    And I did weep thereat in my despite.


II.

    O glorious sun! I thought, O gracious king,
    Of all this splendour that we call the earth!
    For thee the lark distils his morning mirth,
    But who will hear the matins that I sing?
    Who will be glad to greet ...

Eric Mackay

Death.




Death.


    It is the joy, it is the zest of life,
    To know that Death, ungainly to the vile,
    Is not a traitor with a reckless knife,
    And not a serpent with a look of guile,
    But one who greets us with a seraph's smile, -
    An angel - guest to tend us after strife,
    And keep us true to God when fears are rife,
    And sceptic thought would daunt us or defile.
    He walks the world as one empower'd to fill
    The fields of space for Father and for Son.
    He is our friend, though morbidly we shun
    His tender touch, - a cure fo...

Eric Mackay

Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter VI. Despair.



Letter VI. Despair.


I.

    I am undone. My hopes have beggar'd me,
    For I have lov'd where loving was denied.
    To-day is dark, and Yesterday has died,
    And when To-morrow comes, erect and free,
    Like some great king, whose tyrant will he be,
    And whose defender in the days of pride?


II.

    I am not cold, and yet November bands
    Compress my heart. I know the month is May,
    And that the sun will warm me if I stay.
    But who is this? Oh, who is this that stands
    Straight in my path, and with his bony ha...

Eric Mackay

Ex Tenebra.



Ex Tenebra.


    The winds have shower'd their rains upon the sod,
    And flowers and trees have murmur'd as with lips.
    The very silence has appeal'd to God.
    In man's behalf, though smitten by His rod,
    'Twould seem as if the blight of some eclipse
    Had dull'd the skies, - as if, on mountain tips,
    The winds of Heaven had spurn'd the life terrene,
    And clouds were foundering like benighted ships.
    But what is this, exultant, unforseen,
    Which cleaves the dark? A fearful, burning thing!
    Is it the moon? Or Saturn's scarlet ring

Eric Mackay

Anteros.



Anteros.


I.

    This is the feast-day of my soul and me,
    For I am half a god and half a man.
    These are the hours in which are heard by sea,
    By land and wave, and in the realms of space,
    The lute-like sounds which sanctify my span,
    And give me power to sway the human race.


II.

    I am the king whom men call Lucifer,
    I am the genius of the nether spheres.
    Give me my Christian name, and I demur.
    Call me a Greek, and straightway I rejoice.
    Yea, I am Anteros, and with my tears
    I salt the earth tha...

Eric Mackay

The Statue.



The Statue.


I.

    See where my lady stands,
    Lifting her lustrous hands, -
    Here let me bow.
    Image of truth and grace!
    Maid with the angel-face!
    Earth was no dwelling-place
    For such as thou.


II.

    Ah, thou unhappy stone,
    Make now thy sorrows known;
    Make known thy longing.
    Thou art the form of one
    Whom I, with hopes undone,
    Buried at set of sun, -
 ...

Eric Mackay