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+Project Gutenberg's Songs, Sonnets & Miscellaneous Poems, by Thomas Runciman
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Songs, Sonnets & Miscellaneous Poems
+
+Author: Thomas Runciman
+
+Release Date: February 4, 2005 [EBook #14906]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS, SONNETS & MISCELLANEOUS POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Steven Gibbs and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+SONGS, SONNETS & MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
+
+BY
+
+THOMAS RUNCIMAN
+
+PRIVATELY PRINTED
+
+MCMXXII
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTORY NOTE
+
+
+Thomas Runciman was born in Northumberland in 1841, and died in London
+in 1909. He was the second son of Walter Runciman of Dunbar and Jean
+Finlay, his wife. In his youth he left the beautiful coast where his
+father was stationed to go to school and work in Newcastle. Artists of
+his name had been men of mark in Scotland, and as he had their strong
+feeling for colour he was allowed for a time to become a pupil of
+William Bell Scott, who was on the fringe of the Pre-Raphaelite
+Movement. Throughout his life he painted portraits and landscapes, but
+the latter were what he loved. His work was not widely known, for he had
+a nervous contempt for Exhibitions, and the first collection of his
+landscapes in water-colour and oil was opened to the public at a
+posthumous exhibition in Newcastle in 1911. He travelled from time to
+time, and enjoyed living on the banks of the Seine, and in other
+beautiful regions abroad.
+
+His poems were never offered for publication, although critical essays
+of his appeared from time to time, as for instance in the "London" of
+Henley and Stevenson. The Songs and Sonnets were written for his own
+satisfaction, and were sent to a few faithful friends and to members of
+his own family, who have allowed me to collect and print them. The
+miscellaneous verses were in many instances found in letters, and others
+written in high spirits were rescued after his death from sketch books
+and scraps of paper by his daughter, Kate Runciman Sellers, and by his
+friend, Edward Nisbet.
+
+W.R.
+
+
+
+
+SONGS
+
+
+
+
+I.
+
+
+    Though here fair blooms the rose and the woodbine waves on high,
+    And oak and elm and bracken frond enrich the rolling lea,
+    And winds as if from Arcady breathe joy as they go by,
+    Yet I yearn and I pine for my North Countrie.
+
+    I leave the drowsing south and in dreams I northward fly,
+    And walk the stretching moors that fringe the ever-calling sea;
+    And am gladdened as the gales that are so bitter-sweet go by,
+    While grey clouds sweetly darken o'er my North Countrie.
+
+    For there's music in the storms, and there's colour in the shades,
+    And there's joy e'en in the sorrow widely brooding o'er the sea;
+    And larger thoughts have birth among the moors and lowly glades
+    And reedy mounds and sands of my North Countrie.
+
+
+
+
+II.
+
+
+    You who know what easeful arms
+    Silence winds about the dead,
+    Or what far-swept music charms
+    Hearts that were earth-wearied;
+
+    You who know--if aught be known
+    In that everlasting Hush
+    Where the life-born years are strewn,
+    Where the eyeless ages rush,--
+
+    Tell me, is it conscious rest
+    Heals the whilom hurt of life?
+    Or is Nirvana undistressed
+    E'en by memory of strife?
+
+
+
+
+
+III.
+
+    _Metempsychosis._
+
+
+    When Grief comes this way by
+    With her wan lip and drooping eye,
+    Bid her welcome, woo her boldly;
+    Soon she'll look on thee less coldly.
+
+    Her tears soon cease to flow.
+    'Tis now not Grief but Joy we know;
+    From her smiling face the roses
+    Tell the glad metempsychosis.
+
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+
+        Life with the sun in it--
+            Shaded by gloom!
+        Life with the fun in it--
+            Shadowed by Doom!
+
+    Life with its Love ever haunted by Hate!
+    Life's laughing morrows frowned over by Fate!
+    Young Life's wild gladness still waylaid by Age!
+    All its sweet badness still mocking the sage!
+    What can e'er measure the joy of its strife?
+
+        What boundless leisure
+        Count the heaped treasure
+        Of woe, that's the pleasure
+        And beauty of Life?
+
+
+
+
+V.
+
+
+            Once as the aureole
+            Day left the earth,
+            Faded, a twilight soul,
+            Memory, had birth:
+    Young were her sister souls, Sorrow and Mirth.
+
+            Dark mirrors are her eyes:
+            Wherein who gaze
+            See wan effulgencies
+            Flicker and blaze--
+    Lorn fleeting shadows of beautiful days.
+
+            Scan those deep mirrors well
+            After long years:
+            Lo! what aforetime fell
+            In rain of tears,
+    In radiant glamour-mist now reappears.
+
+            See old wild gladness
+            Tamed now and coy;
+            Grief that was madness
+            Turned into joy.
+    Fate cannot harry them now, nor annoy.
+
+            Down from yon throbbing blue,
+            Passionless, fair,
+            Still faces look on you,
+            Sunlit their hair,
+    With a slow smile at your pleasure and care.
+
+            Life and death murmurings
+            From their lips go
+            In vaster music-rings;
+            Outward they flow,
+    Tenderer, wilder, than songs that we know.
+
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+
+    My love's unchanged--though time, alas!
+    Turns silver-gilt the golden mass
+    Of flowing hair, and pales, I wis,
+    The rose that deepened with that kiss--
+    The first--before our marriage was.
+
+    And though the fields of corn and grass,
+    So radiant then, as summers pass
+    Lose something of their look of bliss,
+         My love's unchanged.
+
+    Our tiny girl's a sturdy lass;
+    Our boy's shrill pipe descends to bass;
+    New friends appear, the old we miss;
+    My _Love_ grows old ... in spite of this
+         My love's unchanged.
+
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+
+    _A Gurly Breeze in Scotland._
+
+
+    A gurly breeze swept from the pool
+    The Autumn peace so blue and cool,
+    Which all day long had dreamed thereon
+    Of men and things aforetime gone,
+    Their vanished joy, their ended dule:
+    So glooms the sea, so sounds her brool,
+    As from the East at eve comes on
+        A gurly breeze.
+
+    Sense yields to Fancy 'neath whose rule
+    This inland scene is quickly full
+    Of ocean moods wherein I con
+    As in a picture; quickly gone.
+    To what sweet use the mind may school
+        A gurly breeze!
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+
+
+
+I.
+
+    _A Hamadryad Dies._
+
+
+    Low mourned the Oread round the Arcadian hills;
+    The Naiad murmured and the Dryad moaned;
+    The meadow-maiden left her daffodils
+    To join the Hamadryades who groaned
+    Over a sister newly fallen dead.
+    That Life might perish out of Arcady
+    From immemorial times was never said;
+    Yet here one lay dead by her dead oak-tree.
+    "Who made our Hamadryad cold and mute?"
+    The others cried in sorrow and in wonder.
+    "I," answered Death, close by in ashen suit;
+    "Yet fear not me for this, nor start asunder;
+    Arcadian life shall keep its ancient zest
+    Though I be here. My name?--is it not Rest?"
+
+
+
+
+II.
+
+
+    _"Et in Arcadia ego ..."_
+
+
+    "What traveller soever wander here
+    In quest of peace and what is best of pleasure,
+    Let not his hope be overcast and drear
+    Because I, Death, am here to fix the measure
+    Of life, even in blameless Arcady.
+    Bay, laurel, myrtle, ivy never sere,
+    And fields flower-decorated all the year,
+    And streams that carry secrets to the sea,
+    And hills that hold back something evermore
+    Though wild their speech with clouds in thunder-roar,--
+    Yea, every sylvan sight and peaceful tone
+    Are thine to give thy days their purer zest.
+    Let not the legend grieve thee on this stone.
+    I Death am here. What then? My name is Rest."
+
+
+
+
+III.
+
+
+    Despairless! Hopeless! Quietly I wait
+    On these unpeopled tracks the happy close
+    Of Day, whose advent rang with noise elate,
+    Whose later stage was quick with mirthful shows
+    And clasping loves, with hate and hearty blows,
+    And dreams of coming gifts withheld by Fate
+    From morrow unto morrow, till her great
+    Dread eyes 'gan tell of other gifts than those,
+    And her advancing wings gloomed like a pall;
+    Her speech foretelling joy became a dirge
+    As piteous as pitiless; and all
+    My company had passed beyond the verge
+    And lost me ere Fate raised her blinding wings....
+    Hark! through the dusk a bird "at heaven's gate sings."
+
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+
+    "Despairless? Hopeless? Join the cheerful hunt
+    Whose hounds are Science, high Desires the steeds,
+    And Misery the quarry. Use and Wont
+    No help to human anguish bring, that bleeds
+    For all two thousand years of Christian deeds.
+    Let Use and Wont in styes still feed and grunt,
+    Or, bovine, graze knee-deep in flowering meads.
+    Mount! follow! Onward urge Life's dragon-hunt!"
+    --So cries the sportsman brisk at break of day.
+    "The sound of hound and horn is well for thee,"
+    Thus I reply, "but I have other prey;
+    And friendly is my quest as you may see.
+    Though slow my pace, full surely in the dark
+    I'll chance on it at last, though none may mark."
+
+
+
+
+V.
+
+
+    Hopeless! Despairless! like that Indian wise
+    Free of desire, save no desire to know.
+    To gain that sweet Nirvana each one tries,
+    Thinks to assuage soul-wearing passion so.
+    From the white rest, the ante-natal bliss,
+    Not loth, the wondrous wondering soul awakes;
+    Now drawn to that illusion, now to this,
+    With gathering strength each devious pathway takes;
+    Till at the noon of life his aims decline;
+    Evermore earthward bend the tiring eyes,
+    Evermore earthward, till with no surprise
+    They see Nirvana from Earth's bosom shine.
+    The still kind mother holds her child again
+    In blank desirelessness without a stain.
+
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+
+    He comes to me like air on parching grass;
+    His eyes are wells where truth lives, found at last;
+    Summer is fragrant should he this way pass;
+    His calm love is a chain that binds me fast....
+    Yet often melancholy will forecast
+    That time when I shall have grown old--when he--
+    Still rapturous in his struggle with life's blast--
+    Shall give a pitying side glance to me,
+    Who skirt the fog-fringe of eternity,
+    Straining mine eyes to catch what shadowy sign
+    Of good or evil omen there may be,
+    Yet no sure good nor evil can divine:
+    Only some hints of doubtful sound and light,
+    That lonelier leave the uncompanioned night.
+
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+
+    She scanned the record of Beethoven's thought,
+    And made the dumb chords speak both clear and low,
+    And spread the dead man's voice till I was caught
+    Away, and now seemed long and long ago.
+    Methought in Tellus' bosom still I lay,
+    While centuries like steeds tramped overhead,
+    To the wild rhythms that, by night and day,
+    From nature and man's passions still are made.
+    The music of their motion as they pranced
+    Lulled me to flawless ease as of a God;
+    Never upon me pain or pleasure chanced;
+    Unknown the dew of bliss, or fate's hard rod.
+    Thus dreamed I ... But I know our mother Earth
+    Waits to give back the peace she reft at birth.
+
+
+
+
+
+VIII.
+
+
+    By mead and marsh and sandhill clad with bent,
+    Soothed by the wistful musings of the wind
+    That in scarce listening ears are mildly dinned,
+    On plods the traveller till the day be spent,
+    And day-dreams end in dreamless night at last.
+    He hears, beyond the grey bent's silken waves,
+    The foam-embroidered waters ever cast
+    On sighing sands and into echoing caves.
+    And from the west, where the last sunset glow
+    Still lingers on the border hills afar,
+    Come pastoral sounds, attenuate and low,
+    Thence where the night shall bring, 'neath cloud and star,
+    Silence to yearn o'er folk worn with day's strife,
+    Lost in blank sleep to hope, regret, death, life.
+
+    [_An alternative ending_:
+
+    While from the West comes murmuring earthly noise,
+    Sweet, slumberous, attenuate and afar;
+    Sad sunglows in the border mountains poise,
+    There where he knows to-night, mid cloud and star,
+    Silence shall yearn o'er folk worn out with strife,
+    Lost in blank sleep to hope, regret, death, life.]
+
+
+
+
+MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
+
+
+
+
+I.
+
+
+    What though my voice cease like a moan o' the wind?
+    Not the less shall I
+    Cast on this life a kindly eye,
+    Glad if through its mystery
+    Faint gleams of love and truth glance o'er my mind.
+
+    What though I end like a spring leaf shed on the wind?
+    Restrained by pure-eyed Sorrow's hand,
+    Lithe Joy through this wondrous land
+    Leads me; nothing have I scanned
+    Unmixed with good. Fate's sharpest stroke is kind.
+
+    To me, thoughts lived of old anew are born
+    From glances at the unsullied sea,
+    Or breath of morning purity,
+    From cloud or blown grass tossing free,
+    Or frail dew quivering on leaf, rose or thorn.
+
+    What though behind me all is mist and shade,
+    Yet warmth of afterglow bathes all.
+    Hallowed spirits move and call
+    Each to me, a willing thrall,
+    With kindly speech of mountain, plain or glade.
+
+    Before me, through the veil that covers all,
+    Rays of a vasty Dawn strike high
+    To the zenith of the sky.
+    Intense, yet low as true love's sigh,
+    Prophetic voices to my spirit call.
+
+    So, though my voice cease like a moan o' the wind,
+    Not the less shall I
+    Cast on life a kindly eye,
+    Glad if through its mystery
+    Stray gleams of love and truth illume my mind.
+
+
+
+
+
+II.
+
+    _An Afternoon Soliloquy._
+
+
+    How good some years of life may be!
+    Ah, once it was not guessed by me,
+    Past years would shine, like some bright sea,
+    In golden dusks of memory.
+
+    Ere then the music of the dawn
+    From me had long since surged away;
+    And in the disillusioned day
+    Of chill mid-life I plodded on.
+
+    Anon a fuller music thrilled
+    My world with meaning undertones,
+    That elegized our vanished ones,
+    And told how Lethe's banks are filled
+
+    With wordless calm, and wistful rest,
+    And sweet large silence, solemn sleep,
+    And brooding shadows cool and deep,
+    And grand oblivions, undistressed.
+
+    No more 'twas "Lethe rolling doom,"
+    But Lethe calling, "Come to me,
+    And wash away all memory
+    And taint of what precedes the tomb;
+
+    And know the changeless afterthought,
+    Half guessed, half named from age to age,
+    Wherein I quench the flame and rage
+    And sorrow with which life is fraught."
+
+
+
+
+
+III.
+
+
+    The Love that speaks in word and kiss,
+    That dyes the cheek and fires the eye,
+    Through surface signs of shallow bliss
+    That, quickly born, may quickly die;
+    Sweet, sweet are these to man and woman;
+    Who thinks them poor is less than human.
+
+    But I do know a quavering tone,
+    And I do know lack-lustre eyes,
+    Behind the which, dumb and alone,
+    A stronger Love his labour plies:
+    He cannot sing or dance or toy--
+    He works and sighs for other's joy.
+
+    In gloom he tends the growth of food,
+    While others joy in sun and flowers:
+    None knows the passion of his mood
+    Save they who know what bitter hours
+    Are his whose heart, alive to beauty,
+    Yet dies to it and lives for duty.
+
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+    _Revoke Not._
+
+
+    Long is it since they ceased to look on light,
+    To thrill with hope in our fond human way.
+    Why grudge them rest in their sweet ancient night,
+          Ungrieved, if never gay,
+          Eased from Life's sorry day?
+
+    Is it because at times when storms subside
+    Through which thou oarest Life's ill-fitted bark,
+    Dreams rise, from sounds of lapping of the tide,
+          To veil the daylight stark,
+          Its anguish and its cark?
+
+    What was their joy here? Absence of great pain?
+    Some music in lamentings of the wind?
+    The mystic whispers of the dripping rain?
+          Sad yearnings toward their kind?
+          Ruth for old loves that pined?
+
+    For these would'st thou revoke their flawless rest?
+    Restore hope unfulfilled which they knew here?
+    Oh! well they fare, safe sheltered in that nest
+          Of silence, far from fear,
+          Their memory not yet sere.
+
+    Take thou no joy in any passing dream
+    Of revocation from their stainless state!
+    Love them: haste on, till thou to others seem
+          As these to thee--their mate,
+          A waning name, a date!
+
+    Till then, the low keen sound of Life's "Alas!"
+    Change as thou canst to themes in every key,
+    That so for thee and others time may pass
+    Full of presagings of content to be
+          Age-long in that far bourne,
+          Till thought end, quite outworn.
+
+
+
+
+V.
+
+    _"And there shall be no night there and they
+    need no candle, and neither light of the sun;
+    for the Lord God giveth them Light."_
+
+
+    Your place is Heaven, a stormless nightless home?
+    Then we twain never more shall live together
+    Such days of gladdest thought as here, whilom,
+    We spent amid the change of earthly weather.
+
+    No white young day like hope smiles in yon east,
+    Or, westering, cleaves wild-omened scarlet glooms;
+    No frosty breezes wreathe your woods in mist;
+    No breaker o'er Heaven's glassy ocean booms.
+
+    No scents of delvéd dewy soil arise;
+    No storm-blue pall in state hangs hill or lea;
+    No nightly seas swirl in grey agonies;
+    Nor old Earth's sweet decays dye herb or tree.
+
+    Do wan gold tints shot on the midnight air
+    Herald the moon that loiters far away?
+    Or moony sea-gleams peep and beckon there
+    From sapphire dark or mystic silver grey?
+
+    No, not the olden pleasure shall be there
+    We knew, before the grass sprang o'er your breast;
+    Yet that is yours which here hearts cannot share--
+    Heaven's summer peace eterne and noonday rest.
+
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+    _Northumbria.--A Dirge._
+
+
+    Dirge the sorrows by time made dim:
+      _Seas are sullen in rain and mist._
+    Regret the woes that behind us swim:
+      _Sullen's the north and grey the east._
+
+    Black boats speck the horizon's rim:
+      _The north is heavy and grey the east._
+    They plash to shore in unison grim:
+      _The breakers roar through rain and mist._
+
+    Ah! the ravening Dane of old!
+      _Joys are born of time and sorrow._
+    He was beautiful, cruel and bold:
+      _Death yesterday is life to-morrow._
+
+    The slain lie stark on bented mounds:
+      _Winds are calling in rain and mist._
+    There's blood and smoke and wide red wounds,
+      And black boats make to north and east.
+
+    Through murky weltering seas they row:
+      _Dirge the eyes their deeds made dim._
+    Wives at their conning smile and glow,
+      And hail them on the horizon's rim.
+
+    There's peace on low mounds and shallow dells,
+      Yellow rag-wort and sea-reed grey,
+    And thrumming and booming of village bells:
+      _Dirge the lives of that faded day._
+
+
+
+
+VII.
+
+    _Merely Suburban._
+
+
+    Dry light reverberates, colour withdrawing
+    Into a sky so white, sight cannot follow it.
+    While in the shadows cast, rich hues, intenser
+    Far than in light spaces, offer me gladness.
+    Sun reigns triumphantly, thinning all vapour
+    Into translucency, through which the foliage
+    Bears out in sparkles of full golden greenery.
+    O'er this, short dashes of keen grey-green masses lie;
+    Even the cooler tints, pitched in this higher key--
+    Purpling and greening greys--are fierce as fires.
+    All the vast universe lives in one beautiful
+    Summer--made lambent light, offering gladness.
+    Who can accept of it? Hearts where no echo rings
+    Wildly recalling deeds done by old Destiny--
+    Deeds of finality, darkening the spirit--
+    Rousing the echoes of thought to reverberate
+    Ever and ever "Alas!" evermore.
+
+    Once in a burning day's brightness like this,
+    Sad I awaited the quenching forever of
+    Light that had mantled and flickered and ebbed out
+    Unto some twilight of hope and of reason.
+    Out of his own unto future time's darkness
+    Wistfully gazed he, as one who unhelped floats,
+
+    Swept by a current past land out to sea.
+    He started alertly with laughter and mockery,
+    Loud at its height with the rapture of contest.
+    For him the light focusses now to one vision,
+    Shot through its beautiful heart with black terror,
+    Terror from weakness, remorse and leave-taking.
+    To his scared eye the day's bitter brightness
+    Circles about the dark doorway set open
+    Awaiting his entrance ere shut to for ever.
+    Ever he harkens to voices behind him
+    Dolefully hinting defect and omission;
+    Cruelly shouting: "This, this was the true path;
+    Here greatness lay, by humility guarded,
+    She whom thou soughtest through mountains of pride!
+    What avails tenderness now so belated?
+    What gaining love with no deed as its child?"
+    Whitening intenselier ever to setting
+    Down sank the last sun save one he should gaze on.
+    In the next dawning, with dull apprehensiveness,
+    Groped he mid recent and older remembrance,
+    Mingled with mad vain desires for a helping hand;
+    Then off reeled his soul from my speechless adieus.
+    Once more the whole blaze triumphed through the welkin,
+    Bitter in brightness in memory for ever.
+
+
+
+
+VIII.
+
+    _Whistler versus Ruskin Trial._
+
+
+    Critic John cam here to view
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+    Lindsay's picture shop bran new,
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+    John, he cast his head fu' high,
+    Looked asklent and unco' skeigh,
+    Vowed he'd gar James stand abeigh:
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+
+    John he nayther ramps nor roars,
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+    Soft gans hame and writes in "Fors"--
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+    Writes, and wi' ae critic-puff
+    Blaws James oot, like can'le snuff:
+    Sweers in Art he's just a muff!
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+
+    Englan' heurs and rubs her ee,
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+    "Just as I had guessed," quo' she:
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+    No so James. He to the Judge
+    Cries, "John he ca's my noketurns 'fudge':
+    That's a lee--spoke in a grudge."
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+
+    Ca' up Michael! Ca' up Moore!
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+    Bring up Wills--he's kenned before!
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+    Midmay Michael's ta'en his stan',
+    Moore and Wills say Whistler' gran',
+    Nae better work done in this lan':
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+
+    Now bring Jones--let's hear his min':
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+    Out spake he: "Jim's work's rale fine,"
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+    "An' were't like Titian's here or mine,
+    A' this or that, I'd no decline
+    To say they're rather like muneshine."
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+
+    Run in Frith. Says he: "Dear me!"
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+    "For my pairt here's nowt like me:"
+            Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+    "Nothing is like nature here.
+    Where's the detail roun' an' clear,
+    Such as in my work appear?"
+           Ha, ha, the viewin' o't!
+
+    How it cam let lawyers tell:
+            Ha, ha, the provin' o't!
+    Jury bodies luik fu' swell:
+            Ha, ha, the provin' o't!
+    "John's no right, yet Jim's no wrang!
+    Art's made of nocht but peut an' slang!
+    Half a bawbee! Hame let's gang!"
+            Ha, ha, the provin' o't!
+
+
+    ONE HUNDRED & FIFTY COPIES OF THIS
+      BOOK HAVE BEEN PRINTED BY HAND
+         FOR THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
+            WALTER RUNCIMAN AT
+             THE TEMPLE SHEEN
+               PRESS  MARCH
+                 MCMXXII
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs, Sonnets & Miscellaneous Poems
+by Thomas Runciman
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS, SONNETS & MISCELLANEOUS POEMS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 14906-8.txt or 14906-8.zip *****
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