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diff --git a/14906-8.txt b/14906-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b49db65 --- /dev/null +++ b/14906-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1173 @@ +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 ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/9/0/14906/ + +Produced by Steven Gibbs and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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