ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN (1841 - 1901)

Lays of the Sanctuary, and Other Poems

Lays of the Sanctuary, and Other Poems, compiled and edited by G. Stevenson de M. Rutherford (London: Hamilton, Adams, and Co., 1859) is an anthology of poetry compiled for the benefit of Mrs. Elizabeth Good, as is explained in the Preface. The book is available at the Internet Archive but is relevant to this site because it includes two poems by Robert Buchanan which I have not found elsewhere. Given the date of publication, before Buchanan’s move to London, and the fact that he is credited as ‘Author of “Mary: and other Poems.”’, I do wonder if the two poems are from his second book of poetry, which, at time of writing (June, 2023) I have not managed to track down.

‘Trial’ from Lays of the Sanctuary, and Other Poems, p.239:

TRIAL.

BY ROBERT W. BUCHANAN, ESQ.

Author of “Mary: and other Poems.”

WHEN folding up my sorrow I have hidden it
         Beyond the reach of eyes,
I think of that strange time when first, unbidden, it
Leapt from the memory in which it lies,
And breathed its strong soul on my destinies.

Acting my part upon the stage of this
         Mortality, I think
That there is less of beautiful in bliss,
Than in such tearful peace as on the brink
Of trial we may fashion, link by link.

One touch of natural woe, and I collect
         The awful calm that must
Lie even in despair, and stand erect;
So, sprinkling pious tears upon her dust,
I grasp my solemn agony, and trust.

The feeble calm that I have filch’d from pride,—
         All unction I have dared
To flatter misery with, are cast aside;
And by the phantom of my wrongs unscared,
I stand erect with brow and bosom bared.

’Yearning’ from Lays of the Sanctuary, and Other Poems, pp.291-292:

YEARNING.

BY ROBERT W. BUCHANAN, ESQ.

Author of “Mary, and other Poems.”

     HOPE, whose silent eyes
Seek my image in Thy breast,
Singeth me to rest
         Oft with her tears;
     But she turns her silent eyes,
While I slumber, to the spheres,
     And she lends her secret sighs
               To the skies.

     Oftentimes she brings
From the bosom of the night,
Feelings and fancies, white
         As her desire:
     The cherubim she brings
Will listen to her lyre,
     Making morning with their wings
               As she sings.

     And the angels seem to own
That Hope, the angel mild,
And Faith, her little child,
         Though placed apart,
     Are dear, all angels own,
To the most Immortal’s heart,
     As the singers that are sown
               Round the Throne.

     So Hope, whose azure eyes
Seek my image in Thy breast,
Fans my fear to rest
         With angel-wings;
     And the dreams are in her eyes,
And the fancies, while she sings,
     That Faith, the seraph wife,
               Makes me prize.

     Singing she grows more fair,
Till the mists of sleep uproll—
When looking through Thy soul,
         Hid in my breast,
     I see those visions fair,—
Hope and the people blest,
     Of the earth and of the air,
               Singing there!

[I thought I should add that Lays of the Sanctuary, and Other Poems is printed in the old style where some ‘s’es are printed as ‘f’s. Whoever thought that was a good idea?]

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