"Here come the angels, here come saints,
Here comes the Spirit of God,
To comfort us in our restraints
Under the wicked's rod.
This gaol to us is as a hill,
From whence we plainly see
Beyond this world, and take our fill
Of things that lasting be.
We change our drossy dust for gold,
From death to life we fly:
We let go shadows, and take hold
Of immortality."
This whole poem has in it not merely the bright march of a very vigorous
mind, but also a great many of the elements which long before had built
up the ancient romances. In it, and in much else that he wrote, he finds
a congenial escape from the mere middle-class respectability of his
time, and ranges himself with the splendid chivalry both of the past and
of the present. There is an elfin element in him as there was in
Chaucer, which now and again twinkles forth in a quaint touch of humour,
or escapes from the merely spiritual into an extremely interesting human
region.
In _Grace Abounding_ he very pleasantly tells us that he could have
written in a much higher style if he had chosen to do so, but that for
our sakes he has refrained. He does, however, sometimes "step into" his
finer style. There is some exquisite pre-Raphaelite work that comes
unexpectedly upon the reader, in which he is not only a poet, but a
writer capable of seeing and of describing the most highly coloured and
minute detail: "Besides, on the banks of this river on either side were
green trees, that bore all manner of fruit...." "On either side of the
river was also a meadow, curiously beautified with lilies; and it was
green the year long." At other times he affrights us with a sudden
outburst of the most terrifying imagination, as in the close of the poem
of _The Fly at the Candle_--
"At last the Gospel doth become their snare,
Doth them with burning hands in pieces tear."
His imagination was sometimes as quaint and sweet as at other times it
could be lurid and powerful. _Upon a Snail_ is not a very promising
subject for a poem, but its first lines justify the experiment--
"She goes but softly, but she goeth sure;
She stumbles not, as stronger creatures do."
He can adopt the methods of the stately poets of nature, and break into
splendid descriptions of natural phenomena--
"Look, look, brave Sol doth peep up from beneath,
Shews us his golden face, doth on us breathe;
Yea, he doth compass us around with glories,
Whilst he ascends up to his highest stories,
Where he his banner over us displays,
And gives us light to see our works and ways."
Again in the art of childlike interest and simplicity he can write such
lines as these--