diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:17:30 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:17:30 -0700 |
| commit | a824b8b35e6c0146168c448f0ce5c2b3c3b06ca6 (patch) | |
| tree | 3407fd616a115f1bf94ebd5605cfc2479fba7907 | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1645-0.txt | 2900 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1645-0.zip | bin | 0 -> 40476 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1645-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 725127 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1645-h/1645-h.htm | 3355 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1645-h/images/coverb.jpg | bin | 0 -> 232134 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1645-h/images/covers.jpg | bin | 0 -> 31644 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1645-h/images/fpb.jpg | bin | 0 -> 225799 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1645-h/images/fps.jpg | bin | 0 -> 38891 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1645-h/images/tpb.jpg | bin | 0 -> 140689 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1645-h/images/tps.jpg | bin | 0 -> 11950 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/rmalm10.txt | 2667 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/rmalm10.zip | bin | 0 -> 34733 bytes |
15 files changed, 8938 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1645-0.txt b/1645-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c3c1c30 --- /dev/null +++ b/1645-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2900 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Rhymes a la Mode, by Andrew Lang + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Rhymes a la Mode + + +Author: Andrew Lang + + + +Release Date: September 16, 2014 [eBook #1645] +[This file was first posted on 21 September 1998] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES A LA MODE*** + + +Transcribed from the 1885 Kegan Paul, Trench & Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + [Picture: Man at harpsichord] + + + + + + RHYMES A LA MODE + + + BY A. LANG + + _Hom_, _c’est une ballade_! + VADIUS + + [Picture: Decorative graphic: Arbor Scientiæ, Arbor Vitæ] + + LONDON + _KEGAN PAUL_, _TRENCH & CO_ + MDCCCLXXXV + + * * * * * + +Many of these verses have appeared in periodicals, English or American, +and some were published in an American collection called _Ballades and +Verses Vain_. None of them have previously been put forth in book form +in England. The _Rondeaux of the Galleries_ were published in the +_Magazine of Art_, and are reprinted by permission of Messrs. Cassell and +Co. (Limited). + + + + +CONTENTS. + + PAGE +BALLADE DEDICATORY vii +THE FORTUNATE ISLANDS 3 +THE NEW MILLENIUM 13 +ALMAE MATRES 23 +DESIDERIUM 27 +RHYMES A LA MODE 29 + Ballade of Middle Age 31 + The Last Cast 33 + Twilight 37 + Ballade of Summer 39 + Ballade of Christmas Ghosts 41 + Love’s Easter 42 + Ballade of the Girton Girl 43 + Ronsard’s Grave 45 + San Terenzo 48 + Romance 50 + Ballade of his own Country 52 + Villanelle 55 + Triolets after Moschus 57 + Ballade of Cricket 59 + The Last Maying 61 + Homeric Unity 65 + In Tintagel 66 + Pisidicê 68 + From the East to the West 71 + Love the Vampire 72 + Ballade of the Book-man’s Paradise 74 + Ballade of a Friar 76 + Ballade of Neglected Merit 78 + Ballade of Railway Novels 80 + The Cloud Chorus 82 + Ballade of Literary Fame 85 + Νήνεμος Αἰών 87 +ART 89 + A very woful Ballade of the Art Critic 91 + Art’s Martyr 94 + The Palace of Bric-à-brac 97 + Rondeaux of the Galleries 100 +SCIENCE 103 + The Barbarous Bird-Gods 105 + Man and the Ascidian 110 + Ballade of the Primitive Jest 113 +CAMEOS 115 + Cameos 117 + Helen on the walls 118 + The Isles of the Blessed 119 + Death 121 + Nysa 122 + Colonus (I.) 123 + ,, (II.) 124 + The Passing of Œdipous 125 + The Taming of Tyro 126 + To Artemis 127 + Criticism of Life 128 + Amaryllis 129 + The Cannibal Zeus 130 + Invocation of Isis 132 + The Coming of Isis 133 +THE SPINET 134 +NOTES 135 + + + + +_BALLADE DEDICATORY_. + + + _TO_ + _MRS. ELTON_ + _OF WHITE STAUNTON_. + + _THE painted Briton built his mound_, + _And left his celts and clay_, + _On yon fair slope of sunlit ground_ + _That fronts your garden gay_; + _The Roman came_, _he bore the sway_, + _He bullied_, _bought_, _and sold_, + _Your fountain sweeps his works away_ + _Beside your manor old_! + + _But still his crumbling urns are found_ + _Within the window-bay_, + _Where once he listened to the sound_ + _That lulls you day by day_;— + _The sound of summer winds at play_, + _The noise of waters cold_ + _To Yarty wandering on their way_, + _Beside your manor old_! + + _The Roman fell_: _his firm-set bound_ + _Became the Saxon’s stay_; + _The bells made music all around_ + _For monks in cloisters grey_, + _Till fled the monks in disarray_ + _From their warm chantry’s fold_, + _Old Abbots slumber as they may_, + _Beside your manor old_! + + _ENVOY_. + + _Creeds_, _empires_, _peoples_, _all decay_, + _Down into darkness_, _rolled_; + _May life that’s fleet be sweet_, _I pray_, + _Beside your manor old_. + + + + +THE FORTUNATE ISLANDS. + + +A DREAM IN JUNE. + + + IN twilight of the longest day + I lingered over Lucian, + Till ere the dawn a dreamy way + My spirit found, untrod of man, + Between the green sky and the grey. + + Amid the soft dusk suddenly + More light than air I seemed to sail, + Afloat upon the ocean sky, + While through the faint blue, clear and pale, + I saw the mountain clouds go by: + My barque had thought for helm and sail, + And one mist wreath for canopy. + + Like torches on a marble floor + Reflected, so the wild stars shone, + Within the abysmal hyaline, + Till the day widened more and more, + And sank to sunset, and was gone, + And then, as burning beacons shine + On summits of a mountain isle, + A light to folk on sea that fare, + So the sky’s beacons for a while + Burned in these islands of the air. + + Then from a starry island set + Where one swift tide of wind there flows, + Came scent of lily and violet, + Narcissus, hyacinth, and rose, + Laurel, and myrtle buds, and vine, + So delicate is the air and fine: + And forests of all fragrant trees + Sloped seaward from the central hill, + And ever clamorous were these + + With singing of glad birds; and still + Such music came as in the woods + Most lonely, consecrate to Pan, + The Wind makes, in his many moods, + Upon the pipes some shepherd Man, + Hangs up, in thanks for victory! + On these shall mortals play no more, + But the Wind doth touch them, over and o’er, + And the Wind’s breath in the reeds will sigh. + + Between the daylight and the dark + That island lies in silver air, + And suddenly my magic barque + Wheeled, and ran in, and grounded there; + And by me stood the sentinel + Of them who in the island dwell; + All smiling did he bind my hands, + With rushes green and rosy bands, + They have no harsher bonds than these + The people of the pleasant lands + Within the wash of the airy seas! + + Then was I to their city led: + Now all of ivory and gold + The great walls were that garlanded + The temples in their shining fold, + (Each fane of beryl built, and each + Girt with its grove of shadowy beech,) + And all about the town, and through, + There flowed a River fed with dew, + As sweet as roses, and as clear + As mountain crystals pure and cold, + And with his waves that water kissed + The gleaming altars of amethyst + That smoke with victims all the year, + And sacred are to the Gods of old. + + There sat three Judges by the Gate, + And I was led before the Three, + And they but looked on me, and straight + The rosy bonds fell down from me + Who, being innocent, was free; + And I might wander at my will + About that City on the hill, + Among the happy people clad + In purple weeds of woven air + Hued like the webs that Twilight weaves + At shut of languid summer eves + So light their raiment seemed; and glad + Was every face I looked on there! + + There was no heavy heat, no cold, + The dwellers there wax never old, + Nor wither with the waning time, + But each man keeps that age he had + When first he won the fairy clime. + The Night falls never from on high, + Nor ever burns the heat of noon. + But such soft light eternally + Shines, as in silver dawns of June + Before the Sun hath climbed the sky! + + Within these pleasant streets and wide, + The souls of Heroes go and come, + Even they that fell on either side + Beneath the walls of Ilium; + And sunlike in that shadowy isle + The face of Helen and her smile + Makes glad the souls of them that knew + Grief for her sake a little while! + And all true Greeks and wise are there; + And with his hand upon the hair + Of Phaedo, saw I Socrates, + About him many youths and fair, + Hylas, Narcissus, and with these + Him whom the quoit of Phoebus slew + By fleet Eurotas, unaware! + + All these their mirth and pleasure made + Within the plain Elysian, + The fairest meadow that may be, + With all green fragrant trees for shade + And every scented wind to fan, + And sweetest flowers to strew the lea; + The soft Winds are their servants fleet + To fetch them every fruit at will + And water from the river chill; + And every bird that singeth sweet + Throstle, and merle, and nightingale + Brings blossoms from the dewy vale,— + Lily, and rose, and asphodel— + With these doth each guest twine his crown + And wreathe his cup, and lay him down + Beside some friend he loveth well. + + There with the shining Souls I lay + When, lo, a Voice that seemed to say, + In far-off haunts of Memory, + _Whoso death taste the Dead Men’s bread_, + _Shall dwell for ever with these Dead_, + _Nor ever shall his body lie_ + _Beside his friends_, _on the grey hill_ + _Where rains weep_, _and the curlews shrill_ + _And the brown water wanders by_! + + Then did a new soul in me wake, + The dead men’s bread I feared to break, + Their fruit I would not taste indeed + Were it but a pomegranate seed. + Nay, not with these I made my choice + To dwell for ever and rejoice, + For otherwhere the River rolls + That girds the home of Christian souls, + And these my whole heart seeks are found + On otherwise enchanted ground. + + Even so I put the cup away, + The vision wavered, dimmed, and broke, + And, nowise sorrowing, I woke + While, grey among the ruins grey + Chill through the dwellings of the dead, + The Dawn crept o’er the Northern sea, + Then, in a moment, flushed to red, + Flushed all the broken minster old, + And turned the shattered stones to gold, + And wakened half the world with me! + + +L’Envoi. + + + To E. W. G. + + (Who also had rhymed on the Fortune Islands of Lucian). + + _Each in the self-same field we glean_ + _The field of the Samosatene_, + _Each something takes and something leaves_ + _And this must choose_, _and that forego_ + _In Lucian’s visionary sheaves_, + _To twine a modern posy so_; + _But all any gleanings_, _truth to tell_, + _Are mixed with mournful asphodel_, + _While yours are wreathed with poppies red_, + _With flowers that Helen’s feet have kissed_, + _With leaves of vine that garlanded_ + _The Syrian Pantagruelist_, + _The sage who laughed the world away_, + _Who mocked at Gods_, _and men_, _and care_, + _More sweet of voice than Rabelais_, + _And lighter-hearted than Voltaire_. + + + +THE NEW MILLENIUM. + + + (_THE UNFORTUNATE ISLANDS_.) + + + +A VISION IN THE STRAND. + + + THE jaded light of late July + Shone yellow down the dusty Strand, + The anxious people bustled by, + Policeman, Pressman, you and I, + And thieves, and judges of the land. + + So swift they strode they had not time + To mark the humours of the Town, + But I, that mused an idle rhyme, + Looked here and there, and up and down, + And many a rapid cart I spied + That drew, as fast as ponies can, + The Newspapers of either side, + These joys of every Englishman! + + The _Standard_ here, the _Echo_ there, + And cultured ev’ning papers fair, + With din and fuss and shout and blare + Through all the eager land they bare, + The rumours of our little span. + + ’Midst these, but ah, more slow of speed, + A biggish box of sanguine hue + Was tugged on a velocipede, + And in and out the crowd, and through, + An earnest stripling urged it well + Perched on a cranky tricycle! + + A seedy tricycle he rode, + Perchance some three miles in the hour, + But, on the big red box that glowed + Behind him, was a name of Power, + _JUSTICE_, (I read it e’er I wist,) + _The Organ of the Socialist_! + + The paper carts fled fleetly by + And vanished up the roaring Strand, + And eager purchasers drew nigh + Each with his penny in his hand, + But _Justice_, scarce more fleet than I, + Began to permeate the land, + And dark, methinks, the twilight fell, + Or ever _Justice_ reached Pall Mall. + + Oh Man, (I stopped to moralize,) + How eager thou to fight with Fate, + To bring Astraea from the skies; + Yet ah, how too inadequate + The means by which thou fain wouldst cope + With Laws and Morals, King and Pope! + “_Justice_!”—how prompt the witling’s sneer,— + “Justice! Thou wouldst have Justice here! + And each poor man should be a squire, + Each with his competence a year, + Each with sufficient beef and beer, + And all things matched to his desire, + While all the Middle Classes should + With every vile Capitalist + Be clean reformed away for good, + And vanish like a morning mist! + + “Ah splendid Vision, golden time, + An end of hunger, cold, and crime. + An end of Rent, an end of Rank, + An end of balance at the Bank, + An end of everything that’s meant + To bring Investors five per cent!” + + How fair doth Justice seem, I cried, + Yet oh, how strong the embattled powers + That war against on every side + Justice, and this great dream of ours, + And what have we to plead our cause + ’Gainst Masters, Capital, and laws, + What but a big red box indeed, + With copies of a weekly screed, + That’s slowly jolted, up and down, + Behind an old velocipede + To clamour _Justice_ through the town: + How touchingly inadequate + These arms wherewith we’d vanquish Fate! + + Nay, the old Order shall endure + And little change the years shall know, + And still the Many shall be poor, + And still the Poor shall dwell in woe; + Firm in the iron Law of things + The strong shall be the wealthy still, + And (called Capitalists or Kings) + Shall seize and hoard the fruits of skill. + Leaving the weaker for their gain, + Leaving the gentler for their prize + Such dens and husks as beasts disdain,— + Till slowly from the wrinkled skies + The fireless frozen Sun shall wane, + Nor Summer come with golden grain; + Till men be glad, mid frost and snow + To live such equal lives of pain + As now the hutted Eskimo! + Then none shall plough nor garner seed, + Then, on some last sad human shore, + Equality shall reign indeed, + The Rich shall be with us no more, + Thus, and not otherwise, shall come + The new, the true Millennium! + + + + +ALMAE MATRES. + + + (ST. ANDREWS, 1862. OXFORD, 1865) + + _St. Andrews by the Northern sea_, + _A haunted town it is to me_! + A little city, worn and grey, + The grey North Ocean girds it round. + And o’er the rocks, and up the bay, + The long sea-rollers surge and sound. + And still the thin and biting spray + Drives down the melancholy street, + And still endure, and still decay, + Towers that the salt winds vainly beat. + Ghost-like and shadowy they stand + Dim mirrored in the wet sea-sand. + + St. Leonard’s chapel, long ago + We loitered idly where the tall + Fresh budded mountain ashes blow + Within thy desecrated wall: + The tough roots rent the tomb below, + The April birds sang clamorous, + We did not dream, we could not know + How hardly Fate would deal with us! + + O, broken minster, looking forth + Beyond the bay, above the town, + O, winter of the kindly North, + O, college of the scarlet gown, + And shining sands beside the sea, + And stretch of links beyond the sand, + Once more I watch you, and to me + It is as if I touched his hand! + + And therefore art thou yet more dear, + O, little city, grey and sere, + Though shrunken from thine ancient pride + And lonely by thy lonely sea, + Than these fair halls on Isis’ side, + Where Youth an hour came back to me! + + A land of waters green and clear, + Of willows and of poplars tall, + And, in the spring time of the year, + The white may breaking over all, + And Pleasure quick to come at call. + And summer rides by marsh and wold, + And Autumn with her crimson pall + About the towers of Magdalen rolled; + And strange enchantments from the past, + And memories of the friends of old, + And strong Tradition, binding fast + The “flying terms” with bands of gold,— + + All these hath Oxford: all are dear, + But dearer far the little town, + The drifting surf, the wintry year, + The college of the scarlet gown, + _St. Andrews by the Northern sea_, + _That is a haunted town to me_! + + + + +DESIDERIUM. + + + IN MEMORIAM S. F. A. + + THE call of homing rooks, the shrill + Song of some bird that watches late, + The cries of children break the still + Sad twilight by the churchyard gate. + + And o’er your far-off tomb the grey + Sad twilight broods, and from the trees + The rooks call on their homeward way, + And are you heedless quite of these? + + The clustered rowan berries red + And Autumn’s may, the clematis, + They droop above your dreaming head, + And these, and all things must you miss? + + Ah, you that loved the twilight air, + The dim lit hour of quiet best, + At last, at last you have your share + Of what life gave so seldom, rest! + + Yes, rest beyond all dreaming deep, + Or labour, nearer the Divine, + And pure from fret, and smooth as sleep, + And gentle as thy soul, is thine! + + So let it be! But could I know + That thou in this soft autumn eve, + This hush of earth that pleased thee so, + Hadst pleasure still, I might not grieve. + + + + +RHYMES A LA MODE. + + +BALLADE OF MIDDLE AGE. + + + OUR youth began with tears and sighs, + With seeking what we could not find; + Our verses all were threnodies, + In elegiacs still we whined; + Our ears were deaf, our eyes were blind, + We sought and knew not what we sought. + We marvel, now we look behind: + Life’s more amusing than we thought! + + Oh, foolish youth, untimely wise! + Oh, phantoms of the sickly mind! + What? not content with seas and skies, + With rainy clouds and southern wind, + With common cares and faces kind, + With pains and joys each morning brought? + Ah, old, and worn, and tired we find + Life’s more amusing than we thought! + + Though youth “turns spectre-thin and dies,” + To mourn for youth we’re not inclined; + We set our souls on salmon flies, + We whistle where we once repined. + Confound the woes of human-kind! + By Heaven we’re “well deceived,” I wot; + Who hum, contented or resigned, + “Life’s more amusing than we thought!” + + ENVOY. + + _O nate mecum_, worn and lined + Our faces show, but _that_ is naught; + Our hearts are young ’neath wrinkled rind: + Life’s more amusing than we thought! + + + +THE LAST CAST. + + + THE ANGLER’S APOLOGY. + + JUST one cast more! how many a year + Beside how many a pool and stream, + Beneath the falling leaves and sere, + I’ve sighed, reeled up, and dreamed my dream! + + Dreamed of the sport since April first + Her hands fulfilled of flowers and snow, + Adown the pastoral valleys burst + Where Ettrick and where Teviot flow. + + Dreamed of the singing showers that break, + And sting the lochs, or near or far, + And rouse the trout, and stir “the take” + From Urigil to Lochinvar. + + Dreamed of the kind propitious sky + O’er Ari Innes brooding grey; + The sea trout, rushing at the fly, + Breaks the black wave with sudden spray! + + * * * * * + + Brief are man’s days at best; perchance + I waste my own, who have not seen + The castled palaces of France + Shine on the Loire in summer green. + + And clear and fleet Eurotas still, + You tell me, laves his reedy shore, + And flows beneath his fabled hill + Where Dian drave the chase of yore. + + And “like a horse unbroken” yet + The yellow stream with rush and foam, + ’Neath tower, and bridge, and parapet, + Girdles his ancient mistress, Rome! + + I may not see them, but I doubt + If seen I’d find them half so fair + As ripples of the rising trout + That feed beneath the elms of Yair. + + Nay, Spring I’d meet by Tweed or Ail, + And Summer by Loch Assynt’s deep, + And Autumn in that lonely vale + Where wedded Avons westward sweep, + + Or where, amid the empty fields, + Among the bracken of the glen, + Her yellow wreath October yields, + To crown the crystal brows of Ken. + + Unseen, Eurotas, southward steal, + Unknown, Alpheus, westward glide, + You never heard the ringing reel, + The music of the water side! + + Though Gods have walked your woods among, + Though nymphs have fled your banks along; + You speak not that familiar tongue + Tweed murmurs like my cradle song. + + My cradle song,—nor other hymn + I’d choose, nor gentler requiem dear + Than Tweed’s, that through death’s twilight dim, + Mourned in the latest Minstrel’s ear! + + + +TWILIGHT. + + + SONNET. + + (AFTER RICHEPIN.) + + LIGHT has flown! + Through the grey + The wind’s way + The sea’s moan + Sound alone! + For the day + These repay + And atone! + + Scarce I know, + Listening so + To the streams + Of the sea, + If old dreams + Sing to me! + + + +BALLADE OF SUMMER. + + + TO C. H. ARKCOLL + + WHEN strawberry pottles are common and cheap, + Ere elms be black, or limes be sere, + When midnight dances are murdering sleep, + Then comes in the sweet o’ the year! + And far from Fleet Street, far from here, + The Summer is Queen in the length of the land, + And moonlit nights they are soft and clear, + When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand! + + When clamour that doves in the lindens keep + Mingles with musical plash of the weir, + Where drowned green tresses of crowsfoot creep, + Then comes in the sweet o’ the year! + And better a crust and a beaker of beer, + With rose-hung hedges on either hand, + Than a palace in town and a prince’s cheer, + When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand! + + When big trout late in the twilight leap, + When cuckoo clamoureth far and near, + When glittering scythes in the hayfield reap, + Then comes in the sweet o’ the year! + And it’s oh to sail, with the wind to steer, + Where kine knee deep in the water stand, + On a Highland loch, on a Lowland mere, + When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand! + + ENVOY. + + Friend, with the fops while we dawdle here, + Then comes in the sweet o’ the year! + And the Summer runs out, like grains of sand, + When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand! + + + +BALLADE OF CHRISTMAS GHOSTS. + + + BETWEEN the moonlight and the fire + In winter twilights long ago, + What ghosts we raised for your desire + To make your merry blood run slow! + How old, how grave, how wise we grow! + No Christmas ghost can make us chill, + Save _those_ that troop in mournful row, + The ghosts we all can raise at will! + + The beasts can talk in barn and byre + On Christmas Eve, old legends know, + As year by year the years retire, + We men fall silent then I trow, + Such sights hath Memory to show, + Such voices from the silence thrill, + Such shapes return with Christmas snow,— + The ghosts we all can raise at will. + + Oh, children of the village choir, + Your carols on the midnight throw, + Oh bright across the mist and mire + Ye ruddy hearths of Christmas glow! + Beat back the dread, beat down the woe, + Let’s cheerily descend the hill; + Be welcome all, to come or go, + The ghosts we all can raise at will! + + ENVOY. + + Friend, _sursum corda_, soon or slow + We part, like guests who’ve joyed their fill; + Forget them not, nor mourn them so, + The ghosts we all can raise at will! + + + +LOVE’S EASTER. + + + SONNET + + LOVE died here + Long ago;— + O’er his bier, + Lying low, + Poppies throw; + Shed no tear; + Year by year, + Roses blow! + + Year by year, + Adon—dear + To Love’s Queen— + Does not die! + Wakes when green + May is nigh! + + + +BALLADE OF THE GIRTON GIRL. + + + SHE has just “put her gown on” at Girton, + She is learned in Latin and Greek, + But lawn tennis she plays with a skirt on + That the prudish remark with a shriek. + In her accents, perhaps, she is weak + (Ladies _are_, one observes with a sigh), + But in Algebra—_there_ she’s unique, + But her forte’s to evaluate π. + + She can talk about putting a “spirt on” + (I admit, an unmaidenly freak), + And she dearly delighteth to flirt on + A punt in some shadowy creek; + Should her bark, by mischance, spring a leak, + She can swim as a swallow can fly; + She can fence, she can put with a cleek, + But her forte’s to evaluate π. + + She has lectured on Scopas and Myrton, + Coins, vases, mosaics, the antique, + Old tiles with the secular dirt on, + Old marbles with noses to seek. + And her Cobet she quotes by the week, + And she’s written on κεν and on καὶ, + And her service is swift and oblique, + But her forte’s to evaluate π. + + ENVOY. + + Princess, like a rose is her cheek, + And her eyes are as blue as the sky, + And I’d speak, had I courage to speak, + But—her forte’s to evaluate pi. + + + +RONSARD’S GRAVE. + + + YE wells, ye founts that fall + From the steep mountain wall, + That fall, and flash, and fleet + With silver feet, + + Ye woods, ye streams that lave + The meadows with your wave, + Ye hills, and valley fair, + Attend my prayer! + + When Heaven and Fate decree + My latest hour for me, + When I must pass away + From pleasant day, + + I ask that none my break + The marble for my sake, + Wishful to make more fair + My sepulchre. + + Only a laurel tree + Shall shade the grave of me, + Only Apollo’s bough + Shall guard me now! + + Now shall I be at rest + Among the spirits blest, + The happy dead that dwell— + Where,—who may tell? + + The snow and wind and hail + May never there prevail, + Nor ever thunder fall + Nor storm at all. + + But always fadeless there + The woods are green and fair, + And faithful ever more + Spring to that shore! + + There shall I ever hear + Alcaeus’ music clear, + And sweetest of all things + There SAPPHO sings. + + + +SAN TERENZO. + + + (The village in the bay of Spezia, near which Shelley was living before + the wreck of the Don Juan.) + + MID April seemed like some November day, + When through the glassy waters, dull as lead, + Our boat, like shadowy barques that bear the dead, + Slipped down the long shores of the Spezian bay, + Rounded a point,—and San Terenzo lay + Before us, that gay village, yellow and red, + The roof that covered Shelley’s homeless head,— + His house, a place deserted, bleak and grey. + + The waves broke on the door-step; fishermen + Cast their long nets, and drew, and cast again. + Deep in the ilex woods we wandered free, + When suddenly the forest glades were stirred + With waving pinions, and a great sea bird + Flew forth, like Shelley’s spirit, to the sea! + + 1880. + + + +ROMANCE. + + + MY Love dwelt in a Northern land. + A grey tower in a forest green + Was hers, and far on either hand + The long wash of the waves was seen, + And leagues on leagues of yellow sand, + The woven forest boughs between! + + And through the silver Northern night + The sunset slowly died away, + And herds of strange deer, lily-white, + Stole forth among the branches grey; + About the coming of the light, + They fled like ghosts before the day! + + I know not if the forest green + Still girdles round that castle grey; + I know not if the boughs between + The white deer vanish ere the day; + Above my Love the grass is green, + My heart is colder than the clay! + + + +BALLADE OF HIS OWN COUNTRY. + + + I SCRIBBLED on a fly-book’s leaves + Among the shining salmon-flies; + A song for summer-time that grieves + I scribbled on a fly-book’s leaves. + Between grey sea and golden sheaves, + Beneath the soft wet Morvern skies, + I scribbled on a fly-book’s leaves + Among the shining salmon-flies. + + TO C. H. ARKCOLL + + Let them boast of Arabia, oppressed + By the odour of myrrh on the breeze; + In the isles of the East and the West + That are sweet with the cinnamon trees + Let the sandal-wood perfume the seas; + Give the roses to Rhodes and to Crete, + We are more than content, if you please, + With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat! + + Though Dan Virgil enjoyed himself best + With the scent of the limes, when the bees + Hummed low ’round the doves in their nest, + While the vintagers lay at their ease, + Had he sung in our northern degrees, + He’d have sought a securer retreat, + He’d have dwelt, where the heart of us flees, + With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat! + + Oh, the broom has a chivalrous crest + And the daffodil’s fair on the leas, + And the soul of the Southron might rest, + And be perfectly happy with these; + But _we_, that were nursed on the knees + Of the hills of the North, we would fleet + Where our hearts might their longing appease + With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat! + + ENVOY. + + Ah Constance, the land of our quest + It is far from the sounds of the street, + Where the Kingdom of Galloway’s blest + With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat! + + + +VILLANELLE + + + (TO M. JOSEPH BOULMIER, AUTHOR OF “LES VILLANELLES.”) + + VILLANELLE, why art thou mute? + Hath the singer ceased to sing? + Hath the Master lost his lute? + + Many a pipe and scrannel flute + On the breeze their discords fling; + Villanelle, why art _thou_ mute? + + Sound of tumult and dispute, + Noise of war the echoes bring; + Hath the Master lost his lute? + + Once he sang of bud and shoot + In the season of the Spring; + Villanelle, why art thou mute? + + Fading leaf and falling fruit + Say, “The year is on the wing, + Hath the Master lost his lute?” + + Ere the axe lie at the root, + Ere the winter come as king, + Villanelle, why art thou mute? + Hath the Master lost his lute? + + + +TRIOLETS AFTER MOSCHUS. + + + Αίαῖ ταὶ μαλάχαι μέν ἐπὰν κατὰ κᾱπον ὄλωνται + ὕστερον άυ ζώοντι καὶ εἰς ἔτος ἄλλο φύοντι + άμμες δ’ οι μεγάλοι καὶ χαρτερί οι σοφοὶ ἄνδρες + ὁππότε πρᾱτα θάνωμες άνάχοοι ἔν χθονὶ χοίλα + ‘εύδομες ἔυ μάλα μαχρὸν ἀπέμονα νήγρετον ‘ύπνον. + + ALAS, for us no second spring, + Like mallows in the garden-bed, + For these the grave has lost his sting, + Alas, for _us_ no second spring, + Who sleep without awakening, + And, dead, for ever more are dead, + Alas, for us no second spring, + Like mallows in the garden-bed! + + Alas, the strong, the wise, the brave + That boast themselves the sons of men! + Once they go down into the grave— + Alas, the strong, the wise, the brave,— + They perish and have none to save, + They are sown, and are not raised again; + Alas, the strong, the wise, the brave, + That boast themselves the sons of men! + + + +BALLADE OF CRICKET. + + + TO T. W. LANG. + + THE burden of hard hitting: slog away! + Here shalt thou make a “five” and there a “four,” + And then upon thy bat shalt lean, and say, + That thou art in for an uncommon score. + Yea, the loud ring applauding thee shall roar, + And thou to rival THORNTON shalt aspire, + When lo, the Umpire gives thee “leg before,”— + “This is the end of every man’s desire!” + + The burden of much bowling, when the stay + Of all thy team is “collared,” swift or slower, + When “bailers” break not in their wonted way, + And “yorkers” come not off as here-to-fore, + When length balls shoot no more, ah never more, + When all deliveries lose their former fire, + When bats seem broader than the broad barn-door,— + “This is the end of every man’s desire!” + + The burden of long fielding, when the clay + Clings to thy shoon in sudden shower’s downpour, + And running still thou stumblest, or the ray + Of blazing suns doth bite and burn thee sore, + And blind thee till, forgetful of thy lore, + Thou dost most mournfully misjudge a “skyer,” + And lose a match the Fates cannot restore,— + “This is the end of every man’s desire!” + + ENVOY. + + Alas, yet liefer on Youth’s hither shore + Would I be some poor Player on scant hire, + Than King among the old, who play no more,— + “_This_ is the end of every man’s desire!” + + + +THE LAST MAYING. + + + “It is told of the last Lovers which watched May-night in the forest, + before men brought the tidings of the Gospel to this land, that they + beheld no Fairies, nor Dwarfs, nor no such Thing, but the very Venus + herself, who bade them ‘make such cheer as they might, for’ said she, + ‘I shall live no more in these Woods, nor shall ye endure to see + another May time.’”—EDMUND GORLIOT, “Of Phantasies and Omens,” p. + 149. (1573.) + + “WHENCE do ye come, with the dew on your hair? + From what far land are the boughs ye bear, + The blossoms and buds upon breasts and tresses, + The light burned white in your faces fair?” + + “In a falling fane have we built our house, + With the dying Gods we have held carouse, + And our lips are wan from their wild caresses, + Our hands are filled with their holy boughs. + + As we crossed the lawn in the dying day + No fairy led us to meet the May, + But the very Goddess loved by lovers, + In mourning raiment of green and grey. + + She was not decked as for glee and game, + She was not veiled with the veil of flame, + The saffron veil of the Bride that covers + The face that is flushed with her joy and shame. + + On the laden branches the scent and dew + Mingled and met, and as snow to strew + The woodland rides and the fragrant grasses, + White flowers fell as the night wind blew. + + Tears and kisses on lips and eyes + Mingled and met amid laughter and sighs + For grief that abides, and joy that passes, + For pain that tarries and mirth that flies. + + It chanced as the dawning grew to grey + Pale and sad on our homeward way, + With weary lips, and palled with pleasure + The Goddess met us, farewell to say. + + “Ye have made your choice, and the better part, + Ye chose” she said, “and the wiser art; + In the wild May night drank all the measure, + The perfect pleasure of heart and heart. + + “Ye shall walk no more with the May,” she said, + “Shall your love endure though the Gods be dead? + Shall the flitting flocks, mine own, my chosen, + Sing as of old, and be happy and wed? + + “Yea, they are glad as of old; but you, + Fair and fleet as the dawn or the dew, + Abide no more, for the springs are frozen, + And fled the Gods that ye loved and knew. + + Ye shall never know Summer again like this; + Ye shall play no more with the Fauns, I wis, + No more in the nymphs’ and dryads’ playtime + Shall echo and answer kiss and kiss. + + “Though the flowers in your golden hair be bright, + Your golden hair shall be waste and white + On faded brows ere another May time + Bring the spring, but no more delight.” + + + +HOMERIC UNITY. + + + THE sacred keep of Ilion is rent + By shaft and pit; foiled waters wander slow + Through plains where Simois and Scamander went + To war with Gods and heroes long ago. + Not yet to tired Cassandra, lying low + In rich Mycenæ, do the Fates relent: + The bones of Agamemnon are a show, + And ruined is his royal monument. + + The dust and awful treasures of the Dead, + Hath Learning scattered wide, but vainly thee, + Homer, she meteth with her tool of lead, + And strives to rend thy songs; too blind to see + The crown that burns on thine immortal head + Of indivisible supremacy! + + + +IN TINTAGEL. + + + LUI. + + AH lady, lady, leave the creeping mist, + And leave the iron castle by the sea! + + ELLE. + + Nay, from the sea there came a ghost that kissed + My lips, and so I cannot come to thee! + + LUI. + + Ah lady, leave the cruel landward wind + That crusts the blighted flowers with bitter foam! + + ELLE. + + Nay, for his arms are cold and strong to bind, + And I must dwell with him and make my home! + + LUI. + + Come, for the Spring is fair in Joyous Guard + And down deep alleys sweet birds sing again. + + ELLE. + + But I must tarry with the winter hard, + And with the bitter memory of pain, + Although the Spring be fair in Joyous Guard, + And in the gardens glad birds sing again! + + + +PISIDICÊ. + + +The incident is from the Love Stories of Parthenius, who preserved +fragments of a lost epic on the expedition of Achilles against Lesbos, an +island allied with Troy. + + THE daughter of the Lesbian king + Within her bower she watched the war, + Far off she heard the arrows ring, + The smitten harness ring afar; + And, fighting from the foremost car, + Saw one that smote where all must flee; + More fair than the Immortals are + He seemed to fair Pisidicê! + + She saw, she loved him, and her heart + Before Achilles, Peleus’ son, + Threw all its guarded gates apart, + A maiden fortress lightly won! + And, ere that day of fight was done, + No more of land or faith recked she, + But joyed in her new life begun,— + Her life of love, Pisidicê! + + She took a gift into her hand, + As one that had a boon to crave; + She stole across the ruined land + Where lay the dead without a grave, + And to Achilles’ hand she gave + Her gift, the secret postern’s key. + “To-morrow let me be thy slave!” + Moaned to her love Pisidicê. + + Ere dawn the Argives’ clarion call + Rang down Methymna’s burning street; + They slew the sleeping warriors all, + They drove the women to the fleet, + Save one, that to Achilles’ feet + Clung, but, in sudden wrath, cried he: + “For her no doom but death is meet,” + And there men stoned Pisidicê. + + In havens of that haunted coast, + Amid the myrtles of the shore, + The moon sees many a maiden ghost + Love’s outcast now and evermore. + The silence hears the shades deplore + Their hour of dear-bought love; but _thee_ + The waves lull, ’neath thine olives hoar, + To dreamless rest, Pisidicê! + + + +FROM THE EAST TO THE WEST. + + + RETURNING from what other seas + Dost thou renew thy murmuring, + Weak Tide, and hast thou aught of these + To tell, the shores where float and cling + My love, my hope, my memories? + + Say does my lady wake to note + The gold light into silver die? + Or do thy waves make lullaby, + While dreams of hers, like angels, float + Through star-sown spaces of the sky? + + Ah, would such angels came to me + That dreams of mine might speak with hers, + Nor wake the slumber of the sea + With words as low as winds that be + Awake among the gossamers! + + + +LOVE THE VAMPIRE. + + + Ο ΕΡΩΤΑΣ ’Σ ΤΟΝ ΤΑΦΟ. + + THE level sands and grey, + Stretch leagues and leagues away, + Down to the border line of sky and foam, + A spark of sunset burns, + The grey tide-water turns, + Back, like a ghost from her forbidden home! + + Here, without pyre or bier, + Light Love was buried here, + Alas, his grave was wide and deep enough, + Thrice, with averted head, + We cast dust on the dead, + And left him to his rest. An end of Love. + + “No stone to roll away, + No seal of snow or clay, + Only soft dust above his wearied eyes, + But though the sudden sound + Of Doom should shake the ground, + And graves give up their ghosts, he will not rise!” + + So each to each we said! + Ah, but to either bed + Set far apart in lands of North and South, + Love as a Vampire came + With haggard eyes aflame, + And kissed us with the kisses of his mouth! + + Thenceforth in dreams must we + Each other’s shadow see + Wand’ring unsatisfied in empty lands, + Still the desirèd face + Fleets from the vain embrace, + And still the shape evades the longing hands. + + + +BALLADE OF THE BOOK-MAN’S PARADISE. + + + THERE _is_ a Heaven, or here, or there,— + A Heaven there is, for me and you, + Where bargains meet for purses spare, + Like ours, are not so far and few. + Thuanus’ bees go humming through + The learned groves, ’neath rainless skies, + O’er volumes old and volumes new, + Within that Book-man’s Paradise! + + There treasures bound for Longepierre + Keep brilliant their morocco blue, + There Hookes’ _Amanda_ is not rare, + Nor early tracts upon Peru! + Racine is common as Rotrou, + No Shakespeare Quarto search defies, + And Caxtons grow as blossoms grew, + Within that Book-man’s Paradise! + + There’s Eve,—not our first mother fair,— + But Clovis Eve, a binder true; + Thither does Bauzonnet repair, + Derome, Le Gascon, Padeloup! + But never come the cropping crew + That dock a volume’s honest size, + Nor they that “letter” backs askew, + Within that Book-man’s Paradise! + + ENVOY. + + Friend, do not Heber and De Thou, + And Scott, and Southey, kind and wise, + _La chasse au bouquin_ still pursue + Within that Book-man’s Paradise? + + + +BALLADE OF A FRIAR. + + +(Clement Marot’s _Frère Lubin_, though translated by Longfellow and +others, has not hitherto been rendered into the original measure, of +_ballade à double refrain_.) + + SOME ten or twenty times a day, + To bustle to the town with speed, + To dabble in what dirt he may,— + Le Frère Lubin’s the man you need! + But any sober life to lead + Upon an exemplary plan, + Requires a Christian indeed,— + Le Frère Lubin is _not_ the man! + + Another’s wealth on his to lay, + With all the craft of guile and greed, + To leave you bare of pence or pay,— + Le Frère Lubin’s the man you need! + But watch him with the closest heed, + And dun him with what force you can,— + He’ll not refund, howe’er you plead,— + Le Frère Lubin is _not_ the man! + + An honest girl to lead astray, + With subtle saw and promised meed, + Requires no cunning crone and grey,— + Le Frère Lubin’s the man you need! + He preaches an ascetic creed, + But,—try him with the water can— + A dog will drink, whate’er his breed,— + Le Frère Lubin is _not_ the man! + + ENVOY. + + In good to fail, in ill succeed, + Le Frère Lubin’s the man you need! + In honest works to lead the van, + Le Frère Lubin is _not_ the man! + + + +BALLADE OF NEGLECTED MERIT. {78} + + + I HAVE scribbled in verse and in prose, + I have painted “arrangements in greens,” + And my name is familiar to those + Who take in the high class magazines; + I compose; I’ve invented machines; + I have written an “Essay on Rhyme”; + For my county I played, in my teens, + But—I am not in “Men of the Time!” + + I have lived, as a chief, with the Crows; + I have “interviewed” Princes and Queens; + I have climbed the Caucasian snows; + I abstain, like the ancients, from beans,— + I’ve a guess what Pythagoras means, + When he says that to eat them’s a crime,— + I have lectured upon the Essenes, + But—I am not in “Men of the Time!” + + I’ve a fancy as morbid as Poe’s, + I can tell what is meant by “Shebeens,” + I have breasted the river that flows + Through the land of the wild Gadarenes; + I can gossip with Burton on _skenes_, + I can imitate Irving (the Mime), + And my sketches are quainter than Keene’s, + But—I am not in “Men of the Time!” + + ENVOY. + + So the tower of mine eminence leans + Like the Pisan, and mud is its lime; + I’m acquainted with Dukes and with Deans, + But—I am not in “Men of the Time!” + + + +BALLADE OF RAILWAY NOVELS. + + + LET others praise analysis + And revel in a “cultured” style, + And follow the subjective Miss {80} + From Boston to the banks of Nile, + Rejoice in anti-British bile, + And weep for fickle hero’s woe, + These twain have shortened many a mile, + Miss Braddon and Gaboriau. + + These damsels of “Democracy’s,” + How long they stop at every stile! + They smile, and we are told, I wis, + Ten subtle reasons _why_ they smile. + Give _me_ your villains deeply vile, + Give me Lecoq, Jottrat, and Co., + Great artists of the ruse and wile, + Miss Braddon and Gaboriau! + + Oh, novel readers, tell me this, + Can prose that’s polished by the file, + Like great Boisgobey’s mysteries, + Wet days and weary ways beguile, + And man to living reconcile, + Like these whose every trick we know? + The agony how high they pile, + Miss Braddon and Gaboriau! + + ENVOY. + + Ah, friend, how many and many a while + They’ve made the slow time fleetly flow, + And solaced pain and charmed exile, + Miss Braddon and Gaboriau. + + + +THE CLOUD CHORUS. + + + (FROM ARISTOPHANES.) + + _Socrates speaks_. + + Hither, come hither, ye Clouds renowned, and unveil yourselves here; + Come, though ye dwell on the sacred crests of Olympian snow, + Or whether ye dance with the Nereid choir in the gardens clear, + Or whether your golden urns are dipped in Nile’s overflow, + Or whether you dwell by Mæotis mere + Or the snows of Mimas, arise! appear! + And hearken to us, and accept our gifts ere ye rise and go. + + _The Clouds sing_. + + Immortal Clouds from the echoing shore + Of the father of streams, from the sounding sea, + Dewy and fleet, let us rise and soar. + Dewy and gleaming, and fleet are we! + Let us look on the tree-clad mountain crest, + On the sacred earth where the fruits rejoice, + On the waters that murmur east and west + On the tumbling sea with his moaning voice, + For unwearied glitters the Eye of the Air, + And the bright rays gleam; + Then cast we our shadows of mist, and fare + In our deathless shapes to glance everywhere + From the height of the heaven, on the land and air, + And the Ocean stream. + + Let us on, ye Maidens that bring the Rain, + Let us gaze on Pallas’ citadel, + In the country of Cecrops, fair and dear + The mystic land of the holy cell, + Where the Rites unspoken securely dwell, + And the gifts of the Gods that know not stain + And a people of mortals that know not fear. + For the temples tall, and the statues fair, + And the feasts of the Gods are holiest there, + The feasts of Immortals, the chaplets of flowers + And the Bromian mirth at the coming of spring, + And the musical voices that fill the hours, + And the dancing feet of the Maids that sing! + + + +BALLADE OF LITERARY FAME. + + + “All these for Fourpence.” + + OH, where are the endless Romances + Our grandmothers used to adore? + The Knights with their helms and their lances, + Their shields and the favours they wore? + And the Monks with their magical lore? + They have passed to Oblivion and _Nox_, + They have fled to the shadowy shore,— + They are all in the Fourpenny Box! + + And where the poetical fancies + Our fathers rejoiced in, of yore? + The lyric’s melodious expanses, + The Epics in cantos a score? + They have been and are not: no more + Shall the shepherds drive silvery flocks, + Nor the ladies their languors deplore,— + They are all in the Fourpenny Box! + + And the Music! The songs and the dances? + The tunes that Time may not restore? + And the tomes where Divinity prances? + And the pamphlets where Heretics roar? + They have ceased to be even a bore,— + The Divine, and the Sceptic who mocks,— + They are “cropped,” they are “foxed” to the core,— + They are all in the Fourpenny Box! + + ENVOY. + + Suns beat on them; tempests downpour, + On the chest without cover or locks, + Where they lie by the Bookseller’s door,— + They are _all_ in the Fourpenny Box! + + + +Νήνεμος ’Αἰών + + + I WOULD my days had been in other times, + A moment in the long unnumbered years + That knew the sway of Horus and of hawk, + In peaceful lands that border on the Nile. + + I would my days had been in other times, + Lulled by the sacrifice and mumbled hymn + Between the Five great Rivers, or in shade + And shelter of the cool Himâlayan hills. + + I would my days had been in other times, + That I in some old abbey of Touraine + Had watched the rounding grapes, and lived my life, + Ere ever Luther came or Rabelais! + + I would my days had been in other times, + When quiet life to death not terrible + Drifted, as ashes of the Santhal dead + Drift down the sacred Rivers to the Sea! + + + + +ART. + + +A VERY WOFUL BALLADE OF THE ART CRITIC. + + + (TO E. A. ABBEY.) + + A SPIRIT came to my sad bed, + And weary sad that night was I, + Who’d tottered, since the dawn was red, + Through miles of Grosvenor Gallery, + Yea, leagues of long Academy + Awaited me when morn grew white, + ’Twas then the Spirit whispered nigh, + “Take up the pen, my friend, and write! + + “Of many a portrait grey as lead, + Of many a mustard-coloured sky, + Say much, where little should be said, + Lay on thy censure dexterously, + With microscopic glances pry + At textures, Tadema’s delight, + Praise foreign swells they always sky, + Take up the pen, my friend, and write!” + + I answered, “’Tis for daily bread, + A sorry crust, I ween, and dry, + That still, with aching feet and head, + I push this lawful industry, + ’Mid pictures hung or low, or high, + But, touching that which I indite, + Do artists hold me lovingly? + Take up the pen, my friend, and write.” + + _The Spirit writeth in form of_ + + ENVOY. + + “They fain would black thy dexter eye, + They hate thee with a bitter spite, + But scribble since thou must, or die, + Take tip the pen, my friend, and write!” + + + +ART’S MARTYR. + + +Telleth of a young man that fain would be fairly tattooed on his flesh, +after the heathen manner, in devices of blue, and that, falling among the +Dyacks, a folk of Borneo, was by them tattooed in modern fashion and +device, and of his misery that fell upon him, and his outlawry. + + _HE said_, The China on the shelf + Is very fair to view, + And wherefore should mine outer self, + Not correspond thereto? + In blue + My frame I must tattoo. + + Where may tattooing men abound, + And ah, where might they be? + Nay, well I wot they are not found + In lands of Christentie, + (_Quoth he_) + But I must cross the sea! + + So forth he sailed to Borneo, + (A land that culture lacks,) + And there his money did bestow + To purchase pricks and hacks, + (Dyacks + Are famed tattooing blacks.) + + But European commerce had + Debased the savage kind, + And they this most unhappy lad + Before (and eke behind) + Designed + In colours to their mind! + + Such awful colours as are blent + On terrible placards + Where flames the fierce advertisement + Yea, or on Christmas cards + (Not Ward’s, + But common Christmas cards!) + + Thus never more to Chelsea might + The luckless boy return, + He knew himself too dreadful, quite, + A thing his friends would spurn, + And turn + To praise some Grecian urn! + + But still he dwells in Borneo, + A land that culture lacks, + And there they all admire him so, + They bring him heads in sacks, + Dyacks + Are _not_ æsthetic blacks! + + + +THE PALACE OF BRIC-À-BRAC. + + + HERE, where old Nankin glitters, + Here, where men’s tumult seems + As faint as feeble twitters + Of sparrows heard in dreams, + We watch Limoges enamel, + An old chased silver camel, + A shawl, the gift of Schamyl, + And manuscripts in reams. + + Here, where the hawthorn pattern + On flawless cup and plate + Need fear no housemaid slattern, + Fell minister of fate, + ’Mid webs divinely woven, + And helms and hauberks cloven, + On music of Beethoven + We dream and meditate. + + We know not, and we need not + To know how mortals fare, + Of Bills that pass, or speed not, + Time finds us unaware, + Yea, creeds and codes may crumble, + And Dilke and Gladstone stumble, + And eat the pie that’s humble, + We neither know nor care! + + Can kings or clergies alter + The crackle on one plate? + Can creeds or systems palter + With what is truly great? + With Corots and with Millets, + With April daffodillies, + Or make the maiden lilies + Bloom early or bloom late? + + Nay, here ’midst Rhodian roses, + ’Midst tissues of Cashmere, + The Soul sublime reposes, + And knows not hope nor fear; + Here all she sees her own is, + And musical her moan is, + O’er Caxtons and Bodonis, + Aldine and Elzevir! + + + +RONDEAUX OF THE GALLERIES. + + + _Camelot_. + + IN Camelot how grey and green + The Damsels dwell, how sad their teen, + In Camelot how green and grey + The melancholy poplars sway. + I wis I wot not what they mean + Or wherefore, passionate and lean, + The maidens mope their loves between, + Not seeming to have much to say, + In Camelot. + Yet there hath armour goodly sheen + The blossoms in the apple treen, + (To spell the Camelotian way) + Show fragrant through the doubtful day, + And Master’s work is often seen + In Camelot! + + _Philistia_. + + Philistia! Maids in muslin white + With flannelled oarsmen oft delight + To drift upon thy streams, and float + In Salter’s most luxurious boat; + In buff and boots the cheery knight + Returns (quite safe) from Naseby fight; + Thy humblest folk are clean and bright, + Thou still must win the public vote, + Philistia! + Observe the High Church curate’s coat, + The realistic hansom note! + Ah, happy land untouched of blight, + Smirks, Bishops, Babies, left and right, + We know thine every charm by rote, + Philistia! + + + + +SCIENCE. + + +THE BARBAROUS BIRD-GODS: A SAVAGE PARABASIS. + + +In the _Aves_ of Aristophanes, the Bird Chorus declare that they are +older than the Gods, and greater benefactors of men. This idea recurs in +almost all savage mythologies, and I have made the savage Bird-gods state +their own case. + + _The Birds sing_: + + WE would have you to wit, that on eggs though we sit, and are spiked + on the spit, and are baked in the pan, + Birds are older by far than your ancestors are, and made love and made + war ere the making of Man! + For when all things were dark, not a glimmer nor spark, and the world + like a barque without rudder or sail + Floated on through the night, ’twas a Bird struck a light, ’twas a + flash from the bright feather’d Tonatiu’s {105} tail! + Then the Hawk {106a} with some dry wood flew up in the sky, and afar, + safe and high, the Hawk lit Sun and Moon, + And the Birds of the air they rejoiced everywhere, and they recked not + of care that should come on them soon. + For the Hawk, so they tell, was then known as Pundjel, {106b} and + a-musing he fell at the close of the day; + Then he went on the quest, as we thought, of a nest, with some bark of + the best, and a clawful of clay. {106c} + And with these did he frame two birds lacking a name, without feathers + (his game was a puzzle to all); + Next around them he fluttered a-dancing, and muttered; and, lastly, he + uttered a magical call: + Then the figures of clay, as they featherless lay, they leaped up, who + but they, and embracing they fell, + And _this_ was the baking of Man, and his making; but now he’s + forsaking his Father, Pundjel! + Now these creatures of mire, they kept whining for fire, and to crown + their desire who was found but the Wren? + To the high heaven he came, from the Sun stole he flame, and for this + has a name in the memory of men! {107a} + And in India who for the Soma juice flew, and to men brought it + through without falter or fail? + Why the Hawk ’twas again, and great Indra to men would appear, now and + then, in the shape of a Quail, + While the Thlinkeet’s delight is the Bird of the Night, the beak and + the bright ebon plumage of Yehl.{107b} + And who for man’s need brought the famed Suttung’s mead? why ’tis told + in the creed of the Sagamen strong, + ’Twas the Eagle god who brought the drink from the blue, and gave + mortals the brew that’s the fountain of song. {108a} + Next, who gave men their laws? and what reason or cause the young + brave overawes when in need of a squaw, + Till he thinks it a shame to wed one of his name, and his conduct you + blame if he thus breaks the law? + For you still hold it wrong if a _lubra_ {108b} belong to the + self-same _kobong_ {108c} that is Father of you, + To take _her_ as a bride to your ebony side; nay, you give her a wide + berth; quite right of you, too. + For her father, you know, is _your_ father, the Crow, and no blessing + but woe from the wedding would spring. + Well, these rules they were made in the wattle-gum shade, and were + strictly obeyed, when the Crow was the King. {108d} + Thus on Earth’s little ball to the Birds you owe all, yet your + gratitude’s small for the favours they’ve done, + And their feathers you pill, and you eat them at will, yes, you + plunder and kill the bright birds one by one; + There’s a price on their head, and the Dodo is dead, and the Moa has + fled from the sight of the sun! + + + +MAN AND THE ASCIDIAN. + + + A MORALITY. + + “THE Ancestor remote of Man,” + Says Darwin, “is th’ Ascidian,” + A scanty sort of water-beast + That, ninety million years at least + Before Gorillas came to be, + Went swimming up and down the sea. + + Their ancestors the pious praise, + And like to imitate their ways; + How, then, does our first parent live, + What lesson has his life to give? + + Th’ Ascidian tadpole, young and gay, + Doth Life with one bright eye survey, + His consciousness has easy play. + He’s sensitive to grief and pain, + Has tail, and spine, and bears a brain, + And everything that fits the state + Of creatures we call vertebrate. + But age comes on; with sudden shock + He sticks his head against a rock! + His tail drops off, his eye drops in, + His brain’s absorbed into his skin; + He does not move, nor feel, nor know + The tidal water’s ebb and flow, + But still abides, unstirred, alone, + A sucker sticking to a stone. + + And we, his children, truly we + In youth are, like the Tadpole, free. + And where we would we blithely go, + Have brains and hearts, and feel and know. + Then Age comes on! To Habit we + Affix ourselves and are not free; + Th’ Ascidian’s rooted to a rock, + And we are bond-slaves of the clock; + Our rocks are Medicine—Letters—Law, + From these our heads we cannot draw: + Our loves drop off, our hearts drop in, + And daily thicker grows our skin. + + Ah, scarce we live, we scarcely know + The wide world’s moving ebb and flow, + The clanging currents ring and shock, + But we are rooted to the rock. + And thus at ending of his span, + Blind, deaf, and indolent, does Man + Revert to the Ascidian. + + + +BALLADE OF THE PRIMITIVE JEST. + + + “What did the dark-haired Iberian laugh at before the tall blonde + Aryan drove him into the corners of Europe?”—_Brander Matthews_. + + I AM an ancient Jest! + Palæolithic man + In his arboreal nest + The sparks of fun would fan; + My outline did he plan, + And laughed like one possessed, + ’Twas thus my course began, + I am a Merry Jest! + + I am an early Jest! + Man delved, and built, and span; + Then wandered South and West + The peoples Aryan, + _I_ journeyed in their van; + The Semites, too, confessed,— + From Beersheba to Dan,— + I am a Merry Jest! + + I am an ancient Jest, + Through all the human clan, + Red, black, white, free, oppressed, + Hilarious I ran! + I’m found in Lucian, + In Poggio, and the rest, + I’m dear to Moll and Nan! + I am a Merry Jest! + + ENVOY. + + Prince, you may storm and ban— + Joe Millers _are_ a pest, + Suppress me if you can! + I am a Merry Jest! + + + + +CAMEOS. + + + _SONNETS FROM THE ANTIQUE_. + +These versions from classical passages are pretty close to the original, +except where compression was needed, as in the sonnets from Pausanias and +Apuleius, or where, as in the case of fragments of Æschylus and +Sophocles, a little expansion was required. + + + +CAMEOS. + + + _THE graver by Apollo’s shrine_, + _Before the Gods had fled_, _would stand_, + _A shell or onyx in his hand_, + _To copy there the face divine_, + _Till earnest touches_, _line by line_, + _Had wrought the wonder of the land_ + _Within a beryl’s golden band_, + _Or on some fiery opal fine_. + _Ah_! _would that as some ancient ring_ + _To us_, _on shell or stone_, _doth bring_, + _Art’s marvels perished long ago_, + _So I_, _within the sonnet’s space_, + _The large Hellenic lines might trace_, + _The statue in the cameo_! + + + +HELEN ON THE WALLS. + + + (_Iliad_, iii. 146.) + + FAIR Helen to the Scæan portals came, + Where sat the elders, peers of Priamus, + Thymoetas, Hiketaon, Panthöus, + And many another of a noble name, + Famed warriors, now in council more of fame. + Always above the gates, in converse thus + They chattered like cicalas garrulous; + Who marking Helen, swore “it is no shame + That armed Achæan knights, and Ilian men + For such a woman’s sake should suffer long. + Fair as a deathless goddess seemeth she. + Nay, but aboard the red-prowed ships again + Home let her pass in peace, not working wrong + To us, and children’s children yet to be.” + + + +THE ISLES OF THE BLESSED. + + + _Pindar_, _Fr._, 106, 107 (95): B. 4, 129–130, 109 (97): B. 4, 132. + + NOW the light of the sun, in the night of the Earth, on the souls of + the True + Shines, and their city is girt with the meadow where reigneth the + rose; + And deep is the shade of the woods, and the wind that flits o’er them + and through + Sings of the sea, and is sweet from the isles where the + frankincense blows: + Green is their garden and orchard, with rare fruits golden it glows, + And the souls of the Blessed are glad in the pleasures on Earth + that they knew, + And in chariots these have delight, and in dice and in minstrelsy + those, + And the savour of sacrifice clings to the altars and rises anew. + + But the Souls that Persephone cleanses from ancient pollution and + stain, + These at the end of the age be they prince, be they singer, or + seer; + These to the world, shall be born as of old, shall be sages again; + These of their hands shall be hardy, shall live, and shall die, and + shall hear + Thanks of the people, and songs of the minstrels that praise them + amain, + And their glory shall dwell in the land where they dwelt, while + year calls unto year! + + + +DEATH. + + + (_Æsch._, _Fr._, 156.) + + OF all Gods Death alone + Disdaineth sacrifice: + No man hath found or shown + The gift that Death would prize. + In vain are songs or sighs, + Pæan, or praise, or moan, + Alone beneath the skies + Hath Death no altar-stone! + + There is no head so dear + That men would grudge to Death; + Let Death but ask, we give + All gifts that we may live; + But though Death dwells so near, + We know not what he saith. + + + +NYSA. + + + (_Soph._, _Fr._, 235; _Æsch._, _Fr._, 56.) + + ON these Nysæan shores divine + The clusters ripen in a day. + At dawn the blossom shreds away; + The berried grapes are green and fine + And full by noon; in day’s decline + They’re purple with a bloom of grey, + And e’er the twilight plucked are they, + And crushed, by nightfall, into wine. + + But through the night with torch in hand + Down the dusk hills the Mænads fare; + The bull-voiced mummers roar and blare, + The muffled timbrels swell and sound, + And drown the clamour of the band + Like thunder moaning underground. + + + +COLONUS. + + + (_Œd. Col._, 667–705.) + + I. + + HERE be the fairest homes the land can show, + The silvery-cliffed Colonus; always here + The nightingale doth haunt and singeth clear, + For well the deep green gardens doth she know. + Groves of the God, where winds may never blow, + Nor men may tread, nor noontide sun may peer + Among the myriad-berried ivy dear, + Where Dionysus wanders to and fro. + + For here he loves to dwell, and here resort + These Nymphs that are his nurses and his court, + And golden eyed beneath the dewy boughs + The crocus burns, and the narcissus fair + Clusters his blooms to crown thy clustered hair, + Demeter, and to wreathe the Maiden’s brows! + + II. + + YEA, here the dew of Heaven upon the grain + Fails never, nor the ceaseless water-spring, + Near neighbour of Cephisus wandering, + That day by day revisiteth the plain. + Nor do the Goddesses the grove disdain, + But chiefly here the Muses quire and sing, + And here they love to weave their dancing ring, + With Aphrodite of the golden rein. + + And here there springs a plant that knoweth not + The Asian mead, nor that great Dorian isle, + Unsown, untilled, within our garden plot + It dwells, the grey-leaved olive; ne’er shall guile + Nor force of foemen root it from the spot: + Zeus and Athene guarding it the while! + + + +THE PASSING OF ŒDIPOUS. + + + (_Œd. Col._, 1655–1666.) + + HOW Œdipous departed, who may tell + Save Theseus only? for there neither came + The burning bolt of thunder, and the flame + To blast him into nothing, nor the swell + Of sea-tide spurred by tempest on him fell. + But some diviner herald none may name + Called him, or inmost Earth’s abyss became + The painless place where such a soul might dwell. + + Howe’er it chanced, untouched of malady, + Unharmed by fear, unfollowed by lament, + With comfort on the twilight way he went, + Passing, if ever man did, wondrously; + From this world’s death to life divinely rent, + Unschooled in Time’s last lesson, how we die. + + + +THE TAMING OF TYRO. + + + (_Soph._, _Fr._, 587.) + +(Sidero, the stepmother of Tyro, daughter of Salmoneus, cruelly entreated +her in all things, and chiefly in this, that she let sheer her beautiful +hair.) + + AT fierce Sidero’s word the thralls drew near, + And shore the locks of Tyro,—like ripe corn + They fell in golden harvest,—but forlorn + The maiden shuddered in her pain and fear, + Like some wild mare that cruel grooms in scorn + Hunt in the meadows, and her mane they sheer, + And drive her where, within the waters clear, + She spies her shadow, and her shame doth mourn. + + Ah! hard were he and pitiless of heart + Who marking that wild thing made weak and tame, + Broken, and grieving for her glory gone, + Could mock her grief; but scornfully apart + Sidero stood, and watched a wind that came + And tossed the curls like fire that flew and shone! + + + +TO ARTEMIS. + + + (_Hippol._, _Eurip._, 73–87.) + + FOR thee soft crowns in thine untrampled mead + I wove, my lady, and to thee I bear; + Thither no shepherd drives his flocks to feed, + Nor scythe of steel has ever laboured there; + Nay, through the spring among the blossoms fair + The brown bee comes and goes, and with good heed + Thy maiden, Reverence, sweet streams doth lead + About the grassy close that is her care! + + Souls only that are gracious and serene + By gift of God, in human lore unread, + May pluck these holy blooms and grasses green + That now I wreathe for thine immortal head, + I that may walk with thee, thyself unseen, + And by thy whispered voice am comforted. + + + +CRITICISM OF LIFE. + + + (_Hippol._, _Eurip._, 252–266.) + + LONG life hath taught me many things, and shown + That lukewarm loves for men who die are best, + Weak wine of liking let them mix alone, + Not Love, that stings the soul within the breast; + Happy, who wears his love-bonds lightliest, + Now cherished, now away at random thrown! + Grievous it is for other’s grief to moan, + Hard that my soul for thine should lose her rest! + + Wise ruling this of life: but yet again + Perchance too rigid diet is not well; + He lives not best who dreads the coming pain + And shunneth each delight desirable: + _Flee thou extremes_, this word alone is plain, + Of all that God hath given to Man to spell! + + + +AMARYLLIS. + + + (_Theocritus_, _Idyll_, iii.) + + FAIR Amaryllis, wilt thou never peep + From forth the cave, and call me, and be mine? + Lo, apples ten I bear thee from the steep, + These didst thou long for, and all these are thine. + Ah, would I were a honey-bee to sweep + Through ivy, and the bracken, and woodbine; + To watch thee waken, Love, and watch thee sleep, + Within thy grot below the shadowy pine. + Now know I Love, a cruel god is he, + The wild beast bare him in the wild wood drear; + And truly to the bone he burneth me. + But, black-browed Amaryllis, ne’er a tear, + Nor sigh, nor blush, nor aught have I from thee; + Nay, nor a kiss, a little gift and dear. + + + +THE CANNIBAL ZEUS. + + + A.D. 160 + + Καὶ ἔθυσε τὸ βρέφος, καὶ ἔσπεισεν ἐπὶ τοῦ βωμοῦ τὸ ‘αῖμχ—έπὶ τούτου + βωμοῦ τῷ Δὺ θύουσιν ἐν ἀποῤῥήτῳ.—_Paus._ viii. 38 + + NONE elder city doth the Sun behold + Than ancient Lycosura; ’twas begun + Ere Zeus the meat of mortals learned to shun, + And here hath he a grove whose haunted fold + The driven deer seek and huntsmen dread: ’tis told + That whoso fares within that forest dun + Thenceforth shall cast no shadow in the Sun, + Ay, and within the year his life is cold! + + Hard by dwelt he {130} who, while the Gods deigned eat + At good men’s tables, gave them dreadful meat, + A child he slew:—his mountain altar green + Here still hath Zeus, with rites untold of me, + Piteous, but as they are let these things be, + And as from the beginning they have been! + + + +INVOCATION OF ISIS. + + + (_Apuleius_, _Metamorph. XI_.) + + THOU that art sandalled on immortal feet + With leaves of palm, the prize of Victory; + Thou that art crowned with snakes and blossoms sweet, + Queen of the silver dews and shadowy sky, + I pray thee by all names men name thee by! + Demeter, come, and leave the yellow wheat! + Or Aphrodite, let thy lovers sigh! + Or Dian, from thine Asian temple fleet! + + Or, yet more dread, divine Persephone + From worlds of wailing spectres, ah, draw near; + Approach, Selene, from thy subject sea; + Come, Artemis, and this night spare the deer: + By all thy names and rites I summon thee; + By all thy rites and names, Our Lady, hear! + + + +THE COMING OF ISIS. + + + SO Lucius prayed, and sudden, from afar, + Floated the locks of Isis, shone the bright + Crown that is tressed with berry, snake, and star; + She came in deep blue raiment of the night, + Above her robes that now were snowy white, + Now golden as the moons of harvest are, + Now red, now flecked with many a cloudy bay, + Now stained with all the lustre of the light. + + Then he who saw her knew her, and he knew + The awful symbols borne in either hand; + The golden urn that laves Demeter’s dew, + The handles wreathed with asps, the mystic wand; + The shaken seistron’s music, tinkling through + The temples of that old Osirian land. + + + + +_THE SPINET_. + + + _MY heart an old Spinet with strings_ + _To laughter chiefly turned_, _but some_ + _That Fate has practised hard on_, _dumb_, + _They answer not whoever sings_. + _The ghosts of half-forgotten things_ + _Will touch the keys with fingers numb_, + _The little mocking spirits come_ + _And thrill it with their fairy wings_. + + _A jingling harmony it makes_ + _My heart_, _my lyre_, _my old Spinet_, + _And now a memory it wakes_, + _And now the music means_ “_forget_,” + _And little heed the player takes_ + _Howe’er the thoughtful critic fret_. + + + + +NOTES. + + +Page 3. _The Fortunate Islands_. This piece is a rhymed loose version +of a passage in the _Vera Historia_ of Lucian. The humorist was unable +to resist the temptation to introduce passages of mockery, which are here +omitted. Part of his description of the Isles of the Blest has a close +and singular resemblance to the New Jerusalem of the Apocalypse. The +clear River of Life and the prodigality of gold and of precious stones +may especially be noticed. + +_Whoso doth taste the Dead Men’s bread_, &.c. This belief that the +living may visit, on occasion, the dwellings of the dead, but can never +return to earth if they taste the food of the departed, is expressed in +myths of worldwide distribution. Because she ate the pomegranate seed, +Persephone became subject to the spell of Hades. In Apuleius, Psyche, +when she visits the place of souls, is advised to abstain from food. +Kohl found the myth among the Ojibbeways, Mr. Codrington among the +Solomon Islanders; it occurs in Samoa, in the Finnish Kalewala (where +Wainamoinen, in Pohjola, refrains from touching meat or drink), and the +belief has left its mark on the mediæval ballad of Thomas of Ercildoune. +When he is in Fairy Land, the Fairy Queen supplies him with the bread and +wine of earth, and will not suffer him to touch the fruits which grow “in +this countrie.” See also “Wandering Willie” in Redgauntlet. + +Page 20. _As now the hutted Eskimo_. The Eskimo and the miserable +Fuegians are almost the only Socialists who practise what European +Anarchists preach. The Fuegians go so far as to tear up any piece of +cloth which one of the tribe may receive, so that each member may have a +rag. The Eskimo are scarcely such consistent walkers, and canoes show a +tendency to accumulate in the hands of proprietors. Formerly no Eskimo +was allowed to possess more than one canoe. Such was the wild justice of +the Polar philosophers. + +Page 36. _The latest minstrel_. “The sound of all others dearest to his +ear, the gentle ripple of Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly audible +as we knelt around the bed and his eldest son kissed and closed his +eyes.”—Lockhart’s Life of Scott, vii., 394. + +Page 45. _Ronsard’s Grave_. This version ventures to condense the +original which, like most of the works of the Pleiad, is unnecessarily +long. + +Page 46. _The snow_, _and wind_, _and hail_. Ronsard’s rendering of the +famous passage in Odyssey, vi., about the dwellings of the Olympians. +The vision of a Paradise of learned lovers and poets constantly recurs in +the poetry of Joachim du Bellay, and of Ronsard. + +Page 50. _Romance_. Suggested by a passage in La Faustin, by M. E. de +Goncourt, a curious moment of poetry in a repulsive piece of +_naturalisme_. + +Page 55. _M. Boulmier_, author of _Les Villanelles_, died shortly after +this villanelle was written; he had not published a larger collection on +which he had been at work. + +Page 61. _Edmund Gorliot_. The bibliophile will not easily procure +Gorliot’s book, which is not in the catalogues. Throughout _The Last +Maying_ there is reference to the _Pervigilium Veneris_. + +Page 105. _Bird-Gods_. Apparently Aristophanes preserved, in a +burlesque form, the remnants of a genuine myth. Almost all savage +religions have their bird-gods, and it is probable that Aristophanes did +not invent, but only used a surviving myth of which there are scarcely +any other traces in Greek literature. + +Page 134. _Spinet_. The accent is on the last foot, even when the word +is written _spinnet_. Compare the remarkable Liberty which Pamela took +with the 137th Psalm. + + _My Joys and Hopes all overthrown_, + _My Heartstrings almost broke_, + _Unfit my Mind for Melody_, + _Much more to bear a Joke_. + _But yet_, _if from my Innocence_ + _I_, _even in Thought_, _should slide_, + _Then_, _let my fingers quite forget_ + _The sweet Spinnet to guide_! + + _Pamela_, _or Virtue Rewarded_, vol. i., + p. 184., 1785. + + + + +FOOTNOTES. + + +{78} N.B. There is only one veracious statement in this ballade, which +must not be accepted as autobiographical. + +{80} These lines do _not_ apply to Miss Annie P. (or Daisy) Miller, and +her delightful sisters, _Gades adituræ mecum_, in the pocket edition of +Mr. James’s novels, if ever I go to Gades. + +{105} Tonatiu, the Thunder Bird; well known to the Dacotahs and Zulus. + +{106a} The Hawk, in the myth of the Galinameros of Central California, +lit up the Sun. + +{106b} Pundjel, the Eagle Hawk, is the demiurge and “culture-hero” of +several Australian tribes. + +{106c} The Creation of Man is thus described by the Australians. + +{107a} In Andaman, Thlinkeet, Melanesian, and other myths, a Bird is the +Prometheus Purphoros; in Normandy this part is played by the Wren. + +{107b} Yehl: the Raven God of the Thlinkeets. + +{108a} Indra stole Soma as a Hawk and as a Quail. For Odin’s feat as a +Bird, see _Bragi’s Telling_ in the Younger Edda. + +{108b} Pundjel, the Eagle Hawk, gave Australians their marriage laws. + +{108c} _Lubra_, a woman; _kobong_, “totem;” or, to please Mr. Max +Müller, “otem.” + +{108d} The Crow was the Hawk’s rival. + +{130} Lycaon, the first werewolf. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES A LA MODE*** + + +******* This file should be named 1645-0.txt or 1645-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/4/1645 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this +eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook +for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, +performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given +away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks +not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the +trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country outside the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and + most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the + United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you + are located before using this ebook. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The +Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the +mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its +volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous +locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt +Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to +date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and +official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/1645-0.zip b/1645-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..505d02b --- /dev/null +++ b/1645-0.zip diff --git a/1645-h.zip b/1645-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d267c9b --- /dev/null +++ b/1645-h.zip diff --git a/1645-h/1645-h.htm b/1645-h/1645-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8db3a0b --- /dev/null +++ b/1645-h/1645-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3355 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Rhymes a la Mode, by Andrew Lang</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Rhymes a la Mode, by Andrew Lang + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Rhymes a la Mode + + +Author: Andrew Lang + + + +Release Date: September 16, 2014 [eBook #1645] +[This file was first posted on 21 September 1998] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES A LA MODE*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1885 Kegan Paul, Trench & Co. edition +by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Man at harpsichord" +title= +"Man at harpsichord" + src="images/fps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>RHYMES A LA MODE</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">BY A. LANG</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: right"><i>Hom</i>, +<i>c’est une ballade</i>!<br /> +<span class="smcap">Vadius</span></p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic: Arbor Scientiæ, Arbor Vitæ" +title= +"Decorative graphic: Arbor Scientiæ, Arbor Vitæ" + src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">LONDON</span><br /> +<i>KEGAN PAUL</i>, <i>TRENCH & CO</i><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">MDCCCLXXXV</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p><a name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. iv</span>Many of +these verses have appeared in periodicals, English or American, +and some were published in an American collection called +<i>Ballades and Verses Vain</i>. None of them have +previously been put forth in book form in England. The +<i>Rondeaux of the Galleries</i> were published in the +<i>Magazine of Art</i>, and are reprinted by permission of +Messrs. Cassell and Co. (Limited).</p> +<h2><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +v</span>CONTENTS.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Ballade +Dedicatory</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pagevii">vii</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">The Fortunate +Islands</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">The New +Millenium</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Almae Matres</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Desiderium</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Rhymes a la +Mode</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballade of Middle Age</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Last Cast</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Twilight</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballade of Summer</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballade of Christmas Ghosts</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Love’s Easter</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballade of the Girton Girl</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page43">43</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ronsard’s Grave</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>San Terenzo</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page48">48</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Romance</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballade of his own Country</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><a name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vi</span>Villanelle</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Triolets after Moschus</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page57">57</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballade of Cricket</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page59">59</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Last Maying</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page61">61</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Homeric Unity</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page65">65</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>In Tintagel</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page66">66</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Pisidicê</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>From the East to the West</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Love the Vampire</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page72">72</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballade of the Book-man’s Paradise</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballade of a Friar</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page76">76</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballade of Neglected Merit</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page78">78</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballade of Railway Novels</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page80">80</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Cloud Chorus</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballade of Literary Fame</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Νήνεμος +Αἰών</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page87">87</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Art</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>A very woful Ballade of the Art Critic</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Art’s Martyr</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Palace of Bric-à-brac</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Rondeaux of the Galleries</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Science</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page103">103</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Barbarous Bird-Gods</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page105">105</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Man and the Ascidian</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Ballade of the Primitive Jest</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page113">113</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Cameos</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page115">115</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Cameos</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Helen on the walls</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>The Isles of the Blessed</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Death</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Nysa</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page122">122</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Colonus (I.)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>,, (II.)</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Passing of Œdipous</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page125">125</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Taming of Tyro</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page126">126</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>To Artemis</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Criticism of Life</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Amaryllis</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page129">129</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Cannibal Zeus</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page130">130</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>Invocation of Isis</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p>The Coming of Isis</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page133">133</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">The Spinet</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page134">134</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><span class="smcap">Notes</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page135">135</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +ix</span><i>BALLADE DEDICATORY</i>.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall"><i>TO</i></span><br /> +<i>MRS. ELTON</i><br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><i>OF WHITE STAUNTON</i></span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap"><i>The</i></span><i> +painted Briton built his mound</i>,<br /> +<i>And left his celts and clay</i>,<br /> +<i>On yon fair slope of sunlit ground</i><br /> +<i>That fronts your garden gay</i>;<br /> +<i>The Roman came</i>, <i>he bore the sway</i>,<br /> +<i>He bullied</i>, <i>bought</i>, <i>and sold</i>,<br /> +<i>Your fountain sweeps his works away</i><br /> +<i>Beside your manor old</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>But still his crumbling urns are +found</i><br /> +<i>Within the window-bay</i>,<br /> +<i>Where once he listened to the sound</i><br /> +<i>That lulls you day by day</i>;—<br /> +<a name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p. x</span><i>The sound +of summer winds at play</i>,<br /> +<i>The noise of waters cold</i><br /> +<i>To Yarty wandering on their way</i>,<br /> +<i>Beside your manor old</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>The Roman fell</i>: <i>his firm-set +bound</i><br /> +<i>Became the Saxon’s stay</i>;<br /> +<i>The bells made music all around</i><br /> +<i>For monks in cloisters grey</i>,<br /> +<i>Till fled the monks in disarray</i><br /> +<i>From their warm chantry’s fold</i>,<br /> +<i>Old Abbots slumber as they may</i>,<br /> +<i>Beside your manor old</i>!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap"><i>Envoy</i></span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Creeds</i>, <i>empires</i>, <i>peoples</i>, +<i>all decay</i>,<br /> +<i>Down into darkness</i>, <i>rolled</i>;<br /> +<i>May life that’s fleet be sweet</i>, <i>I pray</i>,<br /> +<i>Beside your manor old</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>THE +FORTUNATE ISLANDS.</h2> +<h3><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>A DREAM +IN JUNE.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> twilight of the +longest day<br /> + I lingered over Lucian,<br /> +Till ere the dawn a dreamy way<br /> + My spirit found, untrod of man,<br /> +Between the green sky and the grey.</p> +<p class="poetry">Amid the soft dusk suddenly<br /> + More light than air I seemed to sail,<br /> +Afloat upon the ocean sky,<br /> + While through the faint blue, clear and pale,<br /> +I saw the mountain clouds go by:<br /> + My barque had thought for helm and sail,<br /> +And one mist wreath for canopy.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span>Like torches on a marble floor<br /> + Reflected, so the wild stars shone,<br /> +Within the abysmal hyaline,<br /> + Till the day widened more and more,<br /> +And sank to sunset, and was gone,<br /> +And then, as burning beacons shine<br /> + On summits of a mountain isle,<br /> + A light to folk on sea that +fare,<br /> + So the sky’s beacons for a while<br /> + Burned in these islands of the +air.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then from a starry island set<br /> + Where one swift tide of wind there flows,<br /> +Came scent of lily and violet,<br /> + Narcissus, hyacinth, and rose,<br /> +Laurel, and myrtle buds, and vine,<br /> +So delicate is the air and fine:<br /> +And forests of all fragrant trees<br /> + Sloped seaward from the central hill,<br /> +And ever clamorous were these</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>With singing of glad birds; and still<br /> + Such music came as in the woods<br /> +Most lonely, consecrate to Pan,<br /> + The Wind makes, in his many moods,<br /> +Upon the pipes some shepherd Man,<br /> + Hangs up, in thanks for victory!<br /> +On these shall mortals play no more,<br /> + But the Wind doth touch them, over and +o’er,<br /> +And the Wind’s breath in the reeds will sigh.</p> +<p class="poetry">Between the daylight and the dark<br /> + That island lies in silver air,<br /> +And suddenly my magic barque<br /> + Wheeled, and ran in, and grounded there;<br /> +And by me stood the sentinel<br /> + Of them who in the island dwell;<br /> + All smiling did he bind my +hands,<br /> + With rushes green and rosy +bands,<br /> +They have no harsher bonds than these<br /> + The people of the pleasant lands<br /> +Within the wash of the airy seas!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>Then was I to their city led:<br /> + Now all of ivory and gold<br /> +The great walls were that garlanded<br /> +The temples in their shining fold,<br /> + (Each fane of beryl built, and each<br /> + Girt with its grove of shadowy beech,)<br /> +And all about the town, and through,<br /> +There flowed a River fed with dew,<br /> + As sweet as roses, and as clear<br /> + As mountain crystals pure and +cold,<br /> +And with his waves that water kissed<br /> +The gleaming altars of amethyst<br /> + That smoke with victims all the year,<br /> +And sacred are to the Gods of old.</p> +<p class="poetry">There sat three Judges by the Gate,<br /> + And I was led before the Three,<br /> +And they but looked on me, and straight<br /> + The rosy bonds fell down from me<br /> + Who, being innocent, was free;<br /> +<a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>And I might +wander at my will<br /> +About that City on the hill,<br /> + Among the happy people clad<br /> + In purple weeds of woven air<br /> +Hued like the webs that Twilight weaves<br /> +At shut of languid summer eves<br /> + So light their raiment seemed; and glad<br /> +Was every face I looked on there!</p> +<p class="poetry">There was no heavy heat, no cold,<br /> + The dwellers there wax never old,<br /> + Nor wither with the waning +time,<br /> +But each man keeps that age he had<br /> + When first he won the fairy +clime.<br /> +The Night falls never from on high,<br /> + Nor ever burns the heat of noon.<br /> +But such soft light eternally<br /> + Shines, as in silver dawns of June<br /> +Before the Sun hath climbed the sky!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>Within these pleasant streets and wide,<br /> + The souls of Heroes go and come,<br /> +Even they that fell on either side<br /> + Beneath the walls of Ilium;<br /> +And sunlike in that shadowy isle<br /> +The face of Helen and her smile<br /> + Makes glad the souls of them that knew<br /> +Grief for her sake a little while!<br /> +And all true Greeks and wise are there;<br /> +And with his hand upon the hair<br /> + Of Phaedo, saw I Socrates,<br /> +About him many youths and fair,<br /> + Hylas, Narcissus, and with these<br /> +Him whom the quoit of Phoebus slew<br /> + By fleet Eurotas, unaware!</p> +<p class="poetry">All these their mirth and pleasure made<br /> + Within the plain Elysian,<br /> + The fairest meadow that may be,<br +/> +<a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>With all +green fragrant trees for shade<br /> + And every scented wind to fan,<br /> + And sweetest flowers to strew the +lea;<br /> +The soft Winds are their servants fleet<br /> + To fetch them every fruit at will<br /> + And water from the river chill;<br /> +And every bird that singeth sweet<br /> + Throstle, and merle, and nightingale<br /> + Brings blossoms from the dewy vale,—<br /> +Lily, and rose, and asphodel—<br /> + With these doth each guest twine his crown<br /> + And wreathe his cup, and lay him down<br /> + Beside some friend he loveth +well.</p> +<p class="poetry">There with the shining Souls I lay<br /> +When, lo, a Voice that seemed to say,<br /> + In far-off haunts of Memory,<br /> +<i>Whoso death taste the Dead Men’s bread</i>,<br /> +<i>Shall dwell for ever with these Dead</i>,<br /> + <i>Nor ever shall his body lie</i><br /> +<a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 10</span><i>Beside +his friends</i>, <i>on the grey hill</i><br /> +<i>Where rains weep</i>, <i>and the curlews shrill</i><br /> + <i>And the brown water wanders by</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry">Then did a new soul in me wake,<br /> +The dead men’s bread I feared to break,<br /> +Their fruit I would not taste indeed<br /> +Were it but a pomegranate seed.<br /> +Nay, not with these I made my choice<br /> +To dwell for ever and rejoice,<br /> +For otherwhere the River rolls<br /> +That girds the home of Christian souls,<br /> +And these my whole heart seeks are found<br /> +On otherwise enchanted ground.</p> +<p class="poetry">Even so I put the cup away,<br /> + The vision wavered, dimmed, and broke,<br /> + And, nowise sorrowing, I woke<br /> +While, grey among the ruins grey<br /> +Chill through the dwellings of the dead,<br /> + The Dawn crept o’er the Northern sea,<br /> +<a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>Then, in a +moment, flushed to red,<br /> + Flushed all the broken minster old,<br /> + And turned the shattered stones to gold,<br /> +And wakened half the world with me!</p> +<h4>L’Envoi.</h4> +<p style="text-align: center">To E. W. G.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">(Who also had rhymed on the Fortune +Islands of Lucian).</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>Each in the self-same field we glean</i><br +/> +<i>The field of the Samosatene</i>,<br /> +<i>Each something takes and something leaves</i><br /> + <i>And this must choose</i>, <i>and that +forego</i><br /> +<i>In Lucian’s visionary sheaves</i>,<br /> + <i>To twine a modern posy so</i>;<br /> +<i>But all any gleanings</i>, <i>truth to tell</i>,<br /> +<i>Are mixed with mournful asphodel</i>,<br /> +<i>While yours are wreathed with poppies red</i>,<br /> + <i>With flowers that Helen’s feet have +kissed</i>,<br /> +<a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span><i>With +leaves of vine that garlanded</i><br /> + <i>The Syrian Pantagruelist</i>,<br /> +<i>The sage who laughed the world away</i>,<br /> + <i>Who mocked at Gods</i>, <i>and men</i>, <i>and +care</i>,<br /> +<i>More sweet of voice than Rabelais</i>,<br /> + <i>And lighter-hearted than Voltaire</i>.</p> +<h3><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>THE +NEW MILLENIUM.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>THE UNFORTUNATE +ISLANDS</i>.)</p> +<h3><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>A +VISION IN THE STRAND.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> jaded light of +late July<br /> + Shone yellow down the dusty Strand,<br /> +The anxious people bustled by,<br /> +Policeman, Pressman, you and I,<br /> + And thieves, and judges of the land.</p> +<p class="poetry">So swift they strode they had not time<br /> + To mark the humours of the Town,<br /> +But I, that mused an idle rhyme,<br /> + Looked here and there, and up and down,<br /> +And many a rapid cart I spied<br /> + That drew, as fast as ponies can,<br /> +The Newspapers of either side,<br /> + These joys of every Englishman!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>The <i>Standard</i> here, the <i>Echo</i> there,<br /> +And cultured ev’ning papers fair,<br /> +With din and fuss and shout and blare<br /> +Through all the eager land they bare,<br /> + The rumours of our little span.</p> +<p class="poetry">’Midst these, but ah, more slow of +speed,<br /> + A biggish box of sanguine hue<br /> +Was tugged on a velocipede,<br /> + And in and out the crowd, and through,<br /> +An earnest stripling urged it well<br /> +Perched on a cranky tricycle!</p> +<p class="poetry">A seedy tricycle he rode,<br /> + Perchance some three miles in the hour,<br /> +But, on the big red box that glowed<br /> + Behind him, was a name of Power,<br /> +<span class="smcap"><i>Justice</i></span>, (I read it e’er +I wist,)<br /> +<i>The Organ of the Socialist</i>!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>The paper carts fled fleetly by<br /> + And vanished up the roaring Strand,<br /> +And eager purchasers drew nigh<br /> + Each with his penny in his hand,<br /> +But <i>Justice</i>, scarce more fleet than I,<br /> + Began to permeate the land,<br /> +And dark, methinks, the twilight fell,<br /> + Or ever <i>Justice</i> reached Pall Mall.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh Man, (I stopped to moralize,)<br /> + How eager thou to fight with Fate,<br /> +To bring Astraea from the skies;<br /> + Yet ah, how too inadequate<br /> +The means by which thou fain wouldst cope<br /> +With Laws and Morals, King and Pope!<br /> +“<i>Justice</i>!”—how prompt the +witling’s sneer,—<br /> +“Justice! Thou wouldst have Justice here!<br /> +And each poor man should be a squire,<br /> +Each with his competence a year,<br /> +Each with sufficient beef and beer,<br /> + <a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>And all things matched to his desire,<br /> +While all the Middle Classes should<br /> + With every vile Capitalist<br /> +Be clean reformed away for good,<br /> + And vanish like a morning mist!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ah splendid Vision, golden time,<br /> +An end of hunger, cold, and crime.<br /> +An end of Rent, an end of Rank,<br /> +An end of balance at the Bank,<br /> +An end of everything that’s meant<br /> +To bring Investors five per cent!”</p> +<p class="poetry">How fair doth Justice seem, I cried,<br /> + Yet oh, how strong the embattled powers<br /> +That war against on every side<br /> + Justice, and this great dream of ours,<br /> +And what have we to plead our cause<br /> +’Gainst Masters, Capital, and laws,<br /> +What but a big red box indeed,<br /> +<a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>With +copies of a weekly screed,<br /> + That’s slowly jolted, up and down,<br /> +Behind an old velocipede<br /> + To clamour <i>Justice</i> through the town:<br /> +How touchingly inadequate<br /> +These arms wherewith we’d vanquish Fate!</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, the old Order shall endure<br /> + And little change the years shall know,<br /> +And still the Many shall be poor,<br /> + And still the Poor shall dwell in woe;<br /> +Firm in the iron Law of things<br /> + The strong shall be the wealthy still,<br /> +And (called Capitalists or Kings)<br /> + Shall seize and hoard the fruits of skill.<br /> +Leaving the weaker for their gain,<br /> + Leaving the gentler for their prize<br /> +Such dens and husks as beasts disdain,—<br /> + Till slowly from the wrinkled skies<br /> +The fireless frozen Sun shall wane,<br /> +<a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>Nor Summer +come with golden grain;<br /> + Till men be glad, mid frost and snow<br /> +To live such equal lives of pain<br /> + As now the hutted Eskimo!<br /> +Then none shall plough nor garner seed,<br /> + Then, on some last sad human shore,<br /> +Equality shall reign indeed,<br /> + The Rich shall be with us no more,<br /> +Thus, and not otherwise, shall come<br /> +The new, the true Millennium!</p> +<h2><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>ALMAE +MATRES.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page23"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 23</span>(ST. ANDREWS, 1862. OXFORD, +1865)</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>St. Andrews by the Northern sea</i>,<br /> + <i>A haunted town it is to me</i>!<br /> +A little city, worn and grey,<br /> + The grey North Ocean girds it round.<br /> +And o’er the rocks, and up the bay,<br /> + The long sea-rollers surge and sound.<br /> +And still the thin and biting spray<br /> + Drives down the melancholy street,<br /> +And still endure, and still decay,<br /> + Towers that the salt winds vainly beat.<br /> +Ghost-like and shadowy they stand<br /> +Dim mirrored in the wet sea-sand.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>St. Leonard’s chapel, long ago<br /> + We loitered idly where the tall<br /> +Fresh budded mountain ashes blow<br /> + Within thy desecrated wall:<br /> +The tough roots rent the tomb below,<br /> + The April birds sang clamorous,<br /> +We did not dream, we could not know<br /> + How hardly Fate would deal with us!</p> +<p class="poetry">O, broken minster, looking forth<br /> + Beyond the bay, above the town,<br /> +O, winter of the kindly North,<br /> + O, college of the scarlet gown,<br /> +And shining sands beside the sea,<br /> + And stretch of links beyond the sand,<br /> +Once more I watch you, and to me<br /> + It is as if I touched his hand!</p> +<p class="poetry">And therefore art thou yet more dear,<br /> + O, little city, grey and sere,<br /> +<a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>Though +shrunken from thine ancient pride<br /> + And lonely by thy lonely sea,<br /> +Than these fair halls on Isis’ side,<br /> + Where Youth an hour came back to me!</p> +<p class="poetry">A land of waters green and clear,<br /> + Of willows and of poplars tall,<br /> +And, in the spring time of the year,<br /> + The white may breaking over all,<br /> +And Pleasure quick to come at call.<br /> + And summer rides by marsh and wold,<br /> +And Autumn with her crimson pall<br /> + About the towers of Magdalen rolled;<br /> +And strange enchantments from the past,<br /> + And memories of the friends of old,<br /> +And strong Tradition, binding fast<br /> + The “flying terms” with bands of +gold,—</p> +<p class="poetry">All these hath Oxford: all are dear,<br /> + But dearer far the little town,<br /> +<a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>The +drifting surf, the wintry year,<br /> + The college of the scarlet gown,<br /> + <i>St. Andrews by the Northern +sea</i>,<br /> + <i>That is a haunted town to +me</i>!</p> +<h2><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>DESIDERIUM.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">IN MEMORIAM S. F. A.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> call of homing +rooks, the shrill<br /> + Song of some bird that watches late,<br /> +The cries of children break the still<br /> + Sad twilight by the churchyard gate.</p> +<p class="poetry">And o’er your far-off tomb the grey<br /> + Sad twilight broods, and from the trees<br /> +The rooks call on their homeward way,<br /> + And are you heedless quite of these?</p> +<p class="poetry">The clustered rowan berries red<br /> + And Autumn’s may, the clematis,<br /> +They droop above your dreaming head,<br /> + And these, and all things must you miss?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>Ah, you that loved the twilight air,<br /> + The dim lit hour of quiet best,<br /> +At last, at last you have your share<br /> + Of what life gave so seldom, rest!</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, rest beyond all dreaming deep,<br /> + Or labour, nearer the Divine,<br /> +And pure from fret, and smooth as sleep,<br /> + And gentle as thy soul, is thine!</p> +<p class="poetry">So let it be! But could I know<br /> + That thou in this soft autumn eve,<br /> +This hush of earth that pleased thee so,<br /> + Hadst pleasure still, I might not grieve.</p> +<h2><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>RHYMES +A LA MODE.</h2> +<h3><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>BALLADE OF MIDDLE AGE.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Our</span> youth began with +tears and sighs,<br /> +With seeking what we could not find;<br /> +Our verses all were threnodies,<br /> +In elegiacs still we whined;<br /> +Our ears were deaf, our eyes were blind,<br /> +We sought and knew not what we sought.<br /> +We marvel, now we look behind:<br /> +Life’s more amusing than we thought!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, foolish youth, untimely wise!<br /> +Oh, phantoms of the sickly mind!<br /> +What? not content with seas and skies,<br /> +With rainy clouds and southern wind,<br /> +<a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>With +common cares and faces kind,<br /> +With pains and joys each morning brought?<br /> +Ah, old, and worn, and tired we find<br /> +Life’s more amusing than we thought!</p> +<p class="poetry">Though youth “turns spectre-thin and +dies,”<br /> +To mourn for youth we’re not inclined;<br /> +We set our souls on salmon flies,<br /> +We whistle where we once repined.<br /> +Confound the woes of human-kind!<br /> +By Heaven we’re “well deceived,” I wot;<br /> +Who hum, contented or resigned,<br /> +“Life’s more amusing than we thought!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>O nate mecum</i>, worn and lined<br /> +Our faces show, but <i>that</i> is naught;<br /> +Our hearts are young ’neath wrinkled rind:<br /> +Life’s more amusing than we thought!</p> +<h3><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>THE +LAST CAST.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">THE ANGLER’S APOLOGY.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Just</span> one cast more! +how many a year<br /> + Beside how many a pool and stream,<br /> +Beneath the falling leaves and sere,<br /> + I’ve sighed, reeled up, and dreamed my +dream!</p> +<p class="poetry">Dreamed of the sport since April first<br /> + Her hands fulfilled of flowers and snow,<br /> +Adown the pastoral valleys burst<br /> + Where Ettrick and where Teviot flow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dreamed of the singing showers that break,<br +/> + And sting the lochs, or near or far,<br /> +And rouse the trout, and stir “the take”<br /> + From Urigil to Lochinvar.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>Dreamed of the kind propitious sky<br /> + O’er Ari Innes brooding grey;<br /> +The sea trout, rushing at the fly,<br /> + Breaks the black wave with sudden spray!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Brief are man’s days at best; +perchance<br /> + I waste my own, who have not seen<br /> +The castled palaces of France<br /> + Shine on the Loire in summer green.</p> +<p class="poetry">And clear and fleet Eurotas still,<br /> + You tell me, laves his reedy shore,<br /> +And flows beneath his fabled hill<br /> + Where Dian drave the chase of yore.</p> +<p class="poetry">And “like a horse unbroken” yet<br +/> + The yellow stream with rush and foam,<br /> +’Neath tower, and bridge, and parapet,<br /> + Girdles his ancient mistress, Rome!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>I may not see them, but I doubt<br /> + If seen I’d find them half so fair<br /> +As ripples of the rising trout<br /> + That feed beneath the elms of Yair.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, Spring I’d meet by Tweed or Ail,<br +/> + And Summer by Loch Assynt’s deep,<br /> +And Autumn in that lonely vale<br /> + Where wedded Avons westward sweep,</p> +<p class="poetry">Or where, amid the empty fields,<br /> + Among the bracken of the glen,<br /> +Her yellow wreath October yields,<br /> + To crown the crystal brows of Ken.</p> +<p class="poetry">Unseen, Eurotas, southward steal,<br /> + Unknown, Alpheus, westward glide,<br /> +You never heard the ringing reel,<br /> + The music of the water side!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>Though Gods have walked your woods among,<br /> + Though nymphs have fled your banks along;<br /> +You speak not that familiar tongue<br /> + Tweed murmurs like my cradle song.</p> +<p class="poetry">My cradle song,—nor other hymn<br /> + I’d choose, nor gentler requiem dear<br /> +Than Tweed’s, that through death’s twilight dim,<br +/> + Mourned in the latest Minstrel’s ear!</p> +<h3><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span>TWILIGHT.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">SONNET.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">(AFTER RICHEPIN.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Light</span> has flown!<br +/> +Through the grey<br /> +The wind’s way<br /> +The sea’s moan<br /> +Sound alone!<br /> + For the day<br /> + These repay<br /> +And atone!</p> +<p class="poetry">Scarce I know,<br /> +Listening so<br /> + To the streams<br /> + Of the sea,<br /> + If old dreams<br /> + Sing to me!</p> +<h3><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>BALLADE OF SUMMER.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">TO C. H. ARKCOLL</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> strawberry +pottles are common and cheap,<br /> +Ere elms be black, or limes be sere,<br /> +When midnight dances are murdering sleep,<br /> +Then comes in the sweet o’ the year!<br /> +And far from Fleet Street, far from here,<br /> +The Summer is Queen in the length of the land,<br /> +And moonlit nights they are soft and clear,<br /> +When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand!</p> +<p class="poetry">When clamour that doves in the lindens keep<br +/> +Mingles with musical plash of the weir,<br /> +Where drowned green tresses of crowsfoot creep,<br /> +Then comes in the sweet o’ the year!<br /> +And better a crust and a beaker of beer,<br /> +With rose-hung hedges on either hand,<br /> +<a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>Than a +palace in town and a prince’s cheer,<br /> +When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand!</p> +<p class="poetry">When big trout late in the twilight leap,<br /> +When cuckoo clamoureth far and near,<br /> +When glittering scythes in the hayfield reap,<br /> +Then comes in the sweet o’ the year!<br /> +And it’s oh to sail, with the wind to steer,<br /> +Where kine knee deep in the water stand,<br /> +On a Highland loch, on a Lowland mere,<br /> +When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Friend, with the fops while we dawdle here,<br +/> +Then comes in the sweet o’ the year!<br /> +And the Summer runs out, like grains of sand,<br /> +When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand!</p> +<h3><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>BALLADE OF CHRISTMAS GHOSTS.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Between</span> the +moonlight and the fire<br /> +In winter twilights long ago,<br /> +What ghosts we raised for your desire<br /> +To make your merry blood run slow!<br /> +How old, how grave, how wise we grow!<br /> +No Christmas ghost can make us chill,<br /> +Save <i>those</i> that troop in mournful row,<br /> +The ghosts we all can raise at will!</p> +<p class="poetry">The beasts can talk in barn and byre<br /> +On Christmas Eve, old legends know,<br /> +As year by year the years retire,<br /> +We men fall silent then I trow,<br /> +Such sights hath Memory to show,<br /> +Such voices from the silence thrill,<br /> +<a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>Such +shapes return with Christmas snow,—<br /> +The ghosts we all can raise at will.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, children of the village choir,<br /> +Your carols on the midnight throw,<br /> +Oh bright across the mist and mire<br /> +Ye ruddy hearths of Christmas glow!<br /> +Beat back the dread, beat down the woe,<br /> +Let’s cheerily descend the hill;<br /> +Be welcome all, to come or go,<br /> +The ghosts we all can raise at will!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Friend, <i>sursum corda</i>, soon or slow<br /> +We part, like guests who’ve joyed their fill;<br /> +Forget them not, nor mourn them so,<br /> +The ghosts we all can raise at will!</p> +<h3><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>LOVE’S EASTER.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">SONNET</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Love</span> died here<br /> +Long ago;—<br /> +O’er his bier,<br /> + Lying low,<br /> + Poppies throw;<br /> + Shed no tear;<br /> + Year by year,<br /> + Roses blow!</p> +<p class="poetry">Year by year,<br /> +Adon—dear<br /> + To Love’s Queen—<br /> + Does not die!<br /> + Wakes when green<br /> + May is nigh!</p> +<h3><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>BALLADE OF THE GIRTON GIRL.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">She</span> has just +“put her gown on” at Girton,<br /> + She is learned in Latin and Greek,<br /> +But lawn tennis she plays with a skirt on<br /> + That the prudish remark with a shriek.<br /> +In her accents, perhaps, she is weak<br /> + (Ladies <i>are</i>, one observes with a sigh),<br /> +But in Algebra—<i>there</i> she’s unique,<br /> + But her forte’s to evaluate π.</p> +<p class="poetry">She can talk about putting a “spirt +on”<br /> + (I admit, an unmaidenly freak),<br /> +And she dearly delighteth to flirt on<br /> + A punt in some shadowy creek;<br /> +Should her bark, by mischance, spring a leak,<br /> + She can swim as a swallow can fly;<br /> +<a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>She can +fence, she can put with a cleek,<br /> + But her forte’s to evaluate π.</p> +<p class="poetry">She has lectured on Scopas and Myrton,<br /> + Coins, vases, mosaics, the antique,<br /> +Old tiles with the secular dirt on,<br /> + Old marbles with noses to seek.<br /> +And her Cobet she quotes by the week,<br /> + And she’s written on κεν and +on καὶ,<br /> +And her service is swift and oblique,<br /> + But her forte’s to evaluate π.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Princess, like a rose is her cheek,<br /> + And her eyes are as blue as the sky,<br /> +And I’d speak, had I courage to speak,<br /> + But—her forte’s to evaluate pi.</p> +<h3><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>RONSARD’S GRAVE.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ye</span> wells, ye founts +that fall<br /> +From the steep mountain wall,<br /> + That fall, and flash, and fleet<br /> + With silver feet,</p> +<p class="poetry">Ye woods, ye streams that lave<br /> +The meadows with your wave,<br /> + Ye hills, and valley fair,<br /> + Attend my prayer!</p> +<p class="poetry">When Heaven and Fate decree<br /> +My latest hour for me,<br /> + When I must pass away<br /> + From pleasant day,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>I ask that none my break<br /> +The marble for my sake,<br /> + Wishful to make more fair<br /> + My sepulchre.</p> +<p class="poetry">Only a laurel tree<br /> +Shall shade the grave of me,<br /> + Only Apollo’s bough<br /> + Shall guard me now!</p> +<p class="poetry">Now shall I be at rest<br /> +Among the spirits blest,<br /> + The happy dead that dwell—<br /> + Where,—who may tell?</p> +<p class="poetry">The snow and wind and hail<br /> +May never there prevail,<br /> + Nor ever thunder fall<br /> + Nor storm at all.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>But always fadeless there<br /> +The woods are green and fair,<br /> + And faithful ever more<br /> + Spring to that shore!</p> +<p class="poetry">There shall I ever hear<br /> +Alcaeus’ music clear,<br /> + And sweetest of all things<br /> + There <span +class="smcap">Sappho</span> sings.</p> +<h3><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>SAN +TERENZO.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(The village in the bay of Spezia, +near which Shelley was living before the wreck of the Don +Juan.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Mid</span> April seemed +like some November day,<br /> + When through the glassy waters, dull as lead,<br /> +Our boat, like shadowy barques that bear the dead,<br /> + Slipped down the long shores of the Spezian bay,<br +/> + Rounded a point,—and San Terenzo lay<br /> +Before us, that gay village, yellow and red,<br /> +The roof that covered Shelley’s homeless head,—<br /> + His house, a place deserted, bleak and grey.</p> +<p class="poetry">The waves broke on the door-step; fishermen<br +/> + Cast their long nets, and drew, and cast again.<br +/> + Deep in the ilex woods we wandered free,<br /> +<a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>When +suddenly the forest glades were stirred<br /> + With waving pinions, and a great sea bird<br /> +Flew forth, like Shelley’s spirit, to the sea!</p> +<p style="text-align: right">1880.</p> +<h3><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>ROMANCE.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> Love dwelt in a +Northern land.<br /> + A grey tower in a forest green<br /> +Was hers, and far on either hand<br /> + The long wash of the waves was seen,<br /> +And leagues on leagues of yellow sand,<br /> + The woven forest boughs between!</p> +<p class="poetry">And through the silver Northern night<br /> + The sunset slowly died away,<br /> +And herds of strange deer, lily-white,<br /> + Stole forth among the branches grey;<br /> +About the coming of the light,<br /> + They fled like ghosts before the day!</p> +<p class="poetry">I know not if the forest green<br /> + Still girdles round that castle grey;<br /> +<a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>I know not +if the boughs between<br /> + The white deer vanish ere the day;<br /> +Above my Love the grass is green,<br /> + My heart is colder than the clay!</p> +<h3><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>BALLADE OF HIS OWN COUNTRY.</h3> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">scribbled</span> on a +fly-book’s leaves<br /> + Among the shining salmon-flies;<br /> +A song for summer-time that grieves<br /> + I scribbled on a fly-book’s leaves.<br /> + Between grey sea and golden sheaves,<br /> +Beneath the soft wet Morvern skies,<br /> +I scribbled on a fly-book’s leaves<br /> + Among the shining salmon-flies.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">TO C. H. ARKCOLL</p> +<p class="poetry">Let them boast of Arabia, oppressed<br /> + By the odour of myrrh on the breeze;<br /> +In the isles of the East and the West<br /> + That are sweet with the cinnamon trees<br /> +Let the sandal-wood perfume the seas;<br /> + Give the roses to Rhodes and to Crete,<br /> +<a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>We are +more than content, if you please,<br /> + With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat!</p> +<p class="poetry">Though Dan Virgil enjoyed himself best<br /> + With the scent of the limes, when the bees<br /> +Hummed low ’round the doves in their nest,<br /> + While the vintagers lay at their ease,<br /> +Had he sung in our northern degrees,<br /> + He’d have sought a securer retreat,<br /> +He’d have dwelt, where the heart of us flees,<br /> + With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, the broom has a chivalrous crest<br /> + And the daffodil’s fair on the leas,<br /> +And the soul of the Southron might rest,<br /> + And be perfectly happy with these;<br /> +But <i>we</i>, that were nursed on the knees<br /> + Of the hills of the North, we would fleet<br /> +Where our hearts might their longing appease<br /> + With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><a +name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah Constance, the land of our quest<br /> + It is far from the sounds of the street,<br /> +Where the Kingdom of Galloway’s blest<br /> + With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat!</p> +<h3><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>VILLANELLE</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(TO M. JOSEPH BOULMIER, AUTHOR OF +“LES VILLANELLES.”)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Villanelle</span>, why art +thou mute?<br /> + Hath the singer ceased to sing?<br +/> +Hath the Master lost his lute?</p> +<p class="poetry">Many a pipe and scrannel flute<br /> + On the breeze their discords +fling;<br /> +Villanelle, why art <i>thou</i> mute?</p> +<p class="poetry">Sound of tumult and dispute,<br /> + Noise of war the echoes bring;<br +/> +Hath the Master lost his lute?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>Once he sang of bud and shoot<br /> + In the season of the Spring;<br /> +Villanelle, why art thou mute?</p> +<p class="poetry">Fading leaf and falling fruit<br /> + Say, “The year is on the +wing,<br /> +Hath the Master lost his lute?”</p> +<p class="poetry">Ere the axe lie at the root,<br /> + Ere the winter come as king,<br /> +Villanelle, why art thou mute?<br /> +Hath the Master lost his lute?</p> +<h3><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>TRIOLETS AFTER MOSCHUS.</h3> +<blockquote><p>Αίαῖ ταὶ +μαλάχαι μέν +ἐπὰν κατὰ +κᾱπον +ὄλωνται<br /> +ὕστερον άυ +ζώοντι καὶ +εἰς ἔτος +ἄλλο +φύοντι<br /> +άμμες δ’ οι +μεγάλοι +καὶ χαρτερί +οι σοφοὶ +ἄνδρες<br /> +ὁππότε πρᾱτα +θάνωμες +άνάχοοι ἔν +χθονὶ +χοίλα<br /> +‘εύδομες +ἔυ μάλα +μαχρὸν +ἀπέμονα +νήγρετον +‘ύπνον.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Alas</span>, for us no +second spring,<br /> + Like mallows in the garden-bed,<br /> +For these the grave has lost his sting,<br /> + Alas, for <i>us</i> no second spring,<br /> + Who sleep without awakening,<br /> +And, dead, for ever more are dead,<br /> + Alas, for us no second spring,<br /> + Like mallows in the +garden-bed!</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas, the strong, the wise, the brave<br /> + That boast themselves the sons of men!<br /> +<a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 58</span>Once they +go down into the grave—<br /> + Alas, the strong, the wise, the brave,—<br /> + They perish and have none to save,<br /> + They are sown, and are not raised again;<br /> +Alas, the strong, the wise, the brave,<br /> + That boast themselves the sons of men!</p> +<h3><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>BALLADE OF CRICKET.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">TO T. W. LANG.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> burden of hard +hitting: slog away!<br /> +Here shalt thou make a “five” and there a +“four,”<br /> +And then upon thy bat shalt lean, and say,<br /> +That thou art in for an uncommon score.<br /> +Yea, the loud ring applauding thee shall roar,<br /> +And thou to rival <span class="smcap">Thornton</span> shalt +aspire,<br /> +When lo, the Umpire gives thee “leg +before,”—<br /> +“This is the end of every man’s desire!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The burden of much bowling, when the stay<br /> +Of all thy team is “collared,” swift or slower,<br /> +When “bailers” break not in their wonted way,<br /> +And “yorkers” come not off as here-to-fore,<br /> +<a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>When +length balls shoot no more, ah never more,<br /> +When all deliveries lose their former fire,<br /> +When bats seem broader than the broad barn-door,—<br /> +“This is the end of every man’s desire!”</p> +<p class="poetry">The burden of long fielding, when the clay<br +/> +Clings to thy shoon in sudden shower’s downpour,<br /> +And running still thou stumblest, or the ray<br /> +Of blazing suns doth bite and burn thee sore,<br /> +And blind thee till, forgetful of thy lore,<br /> +Thou dost most mournfully misjudge a “skyer,”<br /> +And lose a match the Fates cannot restore,—<br /> +“This is the end of every man’s desire!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas, yet liefer on Youth’s hither +shore<br /> +Would I be some poor Player on scant hire,<br /> +Than King among the old, who play no more,—<br /> +“<i>This</i> is the end of every man’s +desire!”</p> +<h3><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>THE +LAST MAYING.</h3> +<blockquote><p>“It is told of the last Lovers which watched +May-night in the forest, before men brought the tidings of the +Gospel to this land, that they beheld no Fairies, nor Dwarfs, nor +no such Thing, but the very Venus herself, who bade them +‘make such cheer as they might, for’ said she, +‘I shall live no more in these Woods, nor shall ye endure +to see another May time.’”—<span +class="smcap">Edmund Gorliot</span>, “Of Phantasies and +Omens,” p. 149. (1573.)</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">Whence</span> do ye +come, with the dew on your hair?<br /> +From what far land are the boughs ye bear,<br /> + The blossoms and buds upon breasts and tresses,<br +/> +The light burned white in your faces fair?”</p> +<p class="poetry">“In a falling fane have we built our +house,<br /> +With the dying Gods we have held carouse,<br /> + And our lips are wan from their wild caresses,<br /> +Our hands are filled with their holy boughs.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>As we crossed the lawn in the dying day<br /> +No fairy led us to meet the May,<br /> + But the very Goddess loved by lovers,<br /> +In mourning raiment of green and grey.</p> +<p class="poetry">She was not decked as for glee and game,<br /> +She was not veiled with the veil of flame,<br /> + The saffron veil of the Bride that covers<br /> +The face that is flushed with her joy and shame.</p> +<p class="poetry">On the laden branches the scent and dew<br /> +Mingled and met, and as snow to strew<br /> + The woodland rides and the fragrant grasses,<br /> +White flowers fell as the night wind blew.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tears and kisses on lips and eyes<br /> +Mingled and met amid laughter and sighs<br /> + For grief that abides, and joy that passes,<br /> +For pain that tarries and mirth that flies.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>It chanced as the dawning grew to grey<br /> +Pale and sad on our homeward way,<br /> + With weary lips, and palled with pleasure<br /> +The Goddess met us, farewell to say.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye have made your choice, and the better +part,<br /> +Ye chose” she said, “and the wiser art;<br /> + In the wild May night drank all the measure,<br /> +The perfect pleasure of heart and heart.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Ye shall walk no more with the +May,” she said,<br /> +“Shall your love endure though the Gods be dead?<br /> + Shall the flitting flocks, mine own, my chosen,<br +/> +Sing as of old, and be happy and wed?</p> +<p class="poetry">“Yea, they are glad as of old; but +you,<br /> +Fair and fleet as the dawn or the dew,<br /> + Abide no more, for the springs are frozen,<br /> +And fled the Gods that ye loved and knew.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>Ye shall never know Summer again like this;<br /> +Ye shall play no more with the Fauns, I wis,<br /> + No more in the nymphs’ and dryads’ +playtime<br /> +Shall echo and answer kiss and kiss.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Though the flowers in your golden hair +be bright,<br /> +Your golden hair shall be waste and white<br /> +On faded brows ere another May time<br /> + Bring the spring, but no more delight.”</p> +<h3><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>HOMERIC UNITY.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> sacred keep of +Ilion is rent<br /> +By shaft and pit; foiled waters wander slow<br /> +Through plains where Simois and Scamander went<br /> + To war with Gods and heroes long ago.<br /> + Not yet to tired Cassandra, lying low<br /> +In rich Mycenæ, do the Fates relent:<br /> + The bones of Agamemnon are a show,<br /> +And ruined is his royal monument.</p> +<p class="poetry">The dust and awful treasures of the Dead,<br /> + Hath Learning scattered wide, but vainly thee,<br /> +Homer, she meteth with her tool of lead,<br /> + And strives to rend thy songs; too blind to see<br +/> +The crown that burns on thine immortal head<br /> + Of indivisible supremacy!</p> +<h3><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>IN +TINTAGEL.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">LUI.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ah</span> lady, lady, leave +the creeping mist,<br /> + And leave the iron castle by the sea!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">ELLE.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, from the sea there came a ghost that +kissed<br /> + My lips, and so I cannot come to thee!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">LUI.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah lady, leave the cruel landward wind<br /> + That crusts the blighted flowers with bitter +foam!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">ELLE.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nay, for his arms are cold and strong to +bind,<br /> + And I must dwell with him and make my home!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><a +name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 67</span>LUI.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, for the Spring is fair in Joyous Guard<br +/> + And down deep alleys sweet birds sing again.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">ELLE.</p> +<p class="poetry">But I must tarry with the winter hard,<br /> + And with the bitter memory of pain,<br /> +Although the Spring be fair in Joyous Guard,<br /> + And in the gardens glad birds sing again!</p> +<h3><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>PISIDICÊ.</h3> +<p>The incident is from the Love Stories of Parthenius, who +preserved fragments of a lost epic on the expedition of Achilles +against Lesbos, an island allied with Troy.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> daughter of the +Lesbian king<br /> + Within her bower she watched the war,<br /> +Far off she heard the arrows ring,<br /> + The smitten harness ring afar;<br /> +And, fighting from the foremost car,<br /> + Saw one that smote where all must flee;<br /> +More fair than the Immortals are<br /> + He seemed to fair Pisidicê!</p> +<p class="poetry">She saw, she loved him, and her heart<br /> + Before Achilles, Peleus’ son,<br /> +<a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 69</span>Threw all +its guarded gates apart,<br /> + A maiden fortress lightly won!<br /> +And, ere that day of fight was done,<br /> + No more of land or faith recked she,<br /> +But joyed in her new life begun,—<br /> + Her life of love, Pisidicê!</p> +<p class="poetry">She took a gift into her hand,<br /> + As one that had a boon to crave;<br /> +She stole across the ruined land<br /> + Where lay the dead without a grave,<br /> +And to Achilles’ hand she gave<br /> + Her gift, the secret postern’s key.<br /> +“To-morrow let me be thy slave!”<br /> + Moaned to her love Pisidicê.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ere dawn the Argives’ clarion call<br /> + Rang down Methymna’s burning street;<br /> +They slew the sleeping warriors all,<br /> + They drove the women to the fleet,<br /> +<a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>Save one, +that to Achilles’ feet<br /> + Clung, but, in sudden wrath, cried he:<br /> +“For her no doom but death is meet,”<br /> + And there men stoned Pisidicê.</p> +<p class="poetry">In havens of that haunted coast,<br /> + Amid the myrtles of the shore,<br /> +The moon sees many a maiden ghost<br /> + Love’s outcast now and evermore.<br /> +The silence hears the shades deplore<br /> + Their hour of dear-bought love; but <i>thee</i><br +/> +The waves lull, ’neath thine olives hoar,<br /> + To dreamless rest, Pisidicê!</p> +<h3><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>FROM +THE EAST TO THE WEST.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Returning</span> from what +other seas<br /> + Dost thou renew thy murmuring,<br /> +Weak Tide, and hast thou aught of these<br /> + To tell, the shores where float and cling<br /> +My love, my hope, my memories?</p> +<p class="poetry">Say does my lady wake to note<br /> + The gold light into silver die?<br /> +Or do thy waves make lullaby,<br /> + While dreams of hers, like angels, float<br /> +Through star-sown spaces of the sky?</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, would such angels came to me<br /> + That dreams of mine might speak with hers,<br /> +Nor wake the slumber of the sea<br /> +With words as low as winds that be<br /> + Awake among the gossamers!</p> +<h3><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>LOVE +THE VAMPIRE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">Ο +ΕΡΩΤΑΣ ’Σ +ΤΟΝ ΤΑΦΟ.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">The</span> level sands and grey,<br /> + Stretch leagues and leagues away,<br /> +Down to the border line of sky and foam,<br /> + A spark of sunset burns,<br /> + The grey tide-water turns,<br /> +Back, like a ghost from her forbidden home!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Here, without pyre or +bier,<br /> + Light Love was buried here,<br /> +Alas, his grave was wide and deep enough,<br /> + Thrice, with averted head,<br /> + We cast dust on the dead,<br /> +And left him to his rest. An end of Love.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page73"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 73</span>“No stone to roll away,<br /> + No seal of snow or clay,<br /> +Only soft dust above his wearied eyes,<br /> + But though the sudden sound<br /> + Of Doom should shake the ground,<br /> +And graves give up their ghosts, he will not rise!”</p> +<p class="poetry"> So each to each we said!<br +/> + Ah, but to either bed<br /> +Set far apart in lands of North and South,<br /> + Love as a Vampire came<br /> + With haggard eyes aflame,<br /> +And kissed us with the kisses of his mouth!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thenceforth in dreams must +we<br /> + Each other’s shadow see<br /> +Wand’ring unsatisfied in empty lands,<br /> + Still the desirèd face<br /> + Fleets from the vain embrace,<br /> +And still the shape evades the longing hands.</p> +<h3><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>BALLADE OF THE BOOK-MAN’S PARADISE.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> <i>is</i> a +Heaven, or here, or there,—<br /> +A Heaven there is, for me and you,<br /> +Where bargains meet for purses spare,<br /> +Like ours, are not so far and few.<br /> +Thuanus’ bees go humming through<br /> +The learned groves, ’neath rainless skies,<br /> +O’er volumes old and volumes new,<br /> +Within that Book-man’s Paradise!</p> +<p class="poetry">There treasures bound for Longepierre<br /> +Keep brilliant their morocco blue,<br /> +There Hookes’ <i>Amanda</i> is not rare,<br /> +Nor early tracts upon Peru!<br /> +<a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>Racine is +common as Rotrou,<br /> +No Shakespeare Quarto search defies,<br /> +And Caxtons grow as blossoms grew,<br /> +Within that Book-man’s Paradise!</p> +<p class="poetry">There’s Eve,—not our first mother +fair,—<br /> +But Clovis Eve, a binder true;<br /> +Thither does Bauzonnet repair,<br /> +Derome, Le Gascon, Padeloup!<br /> +But never come the cropping crew<br /> +That dock a volume’s honest size,<br /> +Nor they that “letter” backs askew,<br /> +Within that Book-man’s Paradise!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Friend, do not Heber and De Thou,<br /> +And Scott, and Southey, kind and wise,<br /> +<i>La chasse au bouquin</i> still pursue<br /> +Within that Book-man’s Paradise?</p> +<h3><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>BALLADE OF A FRIAR.</h3> +<p>(Clement Marot’s <i>Frère Lubin</i>, though +translated by Longfellow and others, has not hitherto been +rendered into the original measure, of <i>ballade à double +refrain</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Some</span> ten or twenty +times a day,<br /> +To bustle to the town with speed,<br /> +To dabble in what dirt he may,—<br /> +Le Frère Lubin’s the man you need!<br /> +But any sober life to lead<br /> +Upon an exemplary plan,<br /> +Requires a Christian indeed,—<br /> +Le Frère Lubin is <i>not</i> the man!</p> +<p class="poetry">Another’s wealth on his to lay,<br /> +With all the craft of guile and greed,<br /> +To leave you bare of pence or pay,—<br /> +Le Frère Lubin’s the man you need!<br /> +<a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>But watch +him with the closest heed,<br /> +And dun him with what force you can,—<br /> +He’ll not refund, howe’er you plead,—<br /> +Le Frère Lubin is <i>not</i> the man!</p> +<p class="poetry">An honest girl to lead astray,<br /> +With subtle saw and promised meed,<br /> +Requires no cunning crone and grey,—<br /> +Le Frère Lubin’s the man you need!<br /> +He preaches an ascetic creed,<br /> +But,—try him with the water can—<br /> +A dog will drink, whate’er his breed,—<br /> +Le Frère Lubin is <i>not</i> the man!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">In good to fail, in ill succeed,<br /> +Le Frère Lubin’s the man you need!<br /> +In honest works to lead the van,<br /> +Le Frère Lubin is <i>not</i> the man!</p> +<h3><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>BALLADE OF NEGLECTED MERIT. <a name="citation78"></a><a +href="#footnote78" class="citation">[78]</a></h3> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">have</span> scribbled in +verse and in prose,<br /> +I have painted “arrangements in greens,”<br /> +And my name is familiar to those<br /> +Who take in the high class magazines;<br /> +I compose; I’ve invented machines;<br /> +I have written an “Essay on Rhyme”;<br /> +For my county I played, in my teens,<br /> +But—I am not in “Men of the Time!”</p> +<p class="poetry">I have lived, as a chief, with the Crows;<br /> +I have “interviewed” Princes and Queens;<br /> +I have climbed the Caucasian snows;<br /> +I abstain, like the ancients, from beans,—<br /> +<a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 79</span>I’ve +a guess what Pythagoras means,<br /> +When he says that to eat them’s a crime,—<br /> +I have lectured upon the Essenes,<br /> +But—I am not in “Men of the Time!”</p> +<p class="poetry">I’ve a fancy as morbid as Poe’s,<br +/> +I can tell what is meant by “Shebeens,”<br /> +I have breasted the river that flows<br /> +Through the land of the wild Gadarenes;<br /> +I can gossip with Burton on <i>skenes</i>,<br /> +I can imitate Irving (the Mime),<br /> +And my sketches are quainter than Keene’s,<br /> +But—I am not in “Men of the Time!”</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">So the tower of mine eminence leans<br /> +Like the Pisan, and mud is its lime;<br /> +I’m acquainted with Dukes and with Deans,<br /> +But—I am not in “Men of the Time!”</p> +<h3><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>BALLADE OF RAILWAY NOVELS.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Let</span> others praise +analysis<br /> + And revel in a “cultured” style,<br /> +And follow the subjective Miss <a name="citation80"></a><a +href="#footnote80" class="citation">[80]</a><br /> + From Boston to the banks of Nile,<br /> +Rejoice in anti-British bile,<br /> + And weep for fickle hero’s woe,<br /> +These twain have shortened many a mile,<br /> + Miss Braddon and Gaboriau.</p> +<p class="poetry">These damsels of +“Democracy’s,”<br /> + How long they stop at every stile!<br /> +<a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>They +smile, and we are told, I wis,<br /> + Ten subtle reasons <i>why</i> they smile.<br /> +Give <i>me</i> your villains deeply vile,<br /> + Give me Lecoq, Jottrat, and Co.,<br /> +Great artists of the ruse and wile,<br /> + Miss Braddon and Gaboriau!</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh, novel readers, tell me this,<br /> + Can prose that’s polished by the file,<br /> +Like great Boisgobey’s mysteries,<br /> + Wet days and weary ways beguile,<br /> +And man to living reconcile,<br /> + Like these whose every trick we know?<br /> +The agony how high they pile,<br /> + Miss Braddon and Gaboriau!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, friend, how many and many a while<br /> + They’ve made the slow time fleetly flow,<br /> +And solaced pain and charmed exile,<br /> + Miss Braddon and Gaboriau.</p> +<h3><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>THE +CLOUD CHORUS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(FROM ARISTOPHANES.)</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><i>Socrates +speaks</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hither, come hither, ye Clouds renowned, and +unveil yourselves here;<br /> +Come, though ye dwell on the sacred crests of Olympian snow,<br +/> +Or whether ye dance with the Nereid choir in the gardens +clear,<br /> +Or whether your golden urns are dipped in Nile’s +overflow,<br /> +Or whether you dwell by Mæotis mere<br /> +Or the snows of Mimas, arise! appear!<br /> +And hearken to us, and accept our gifts ere ye rise and go.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><i>The Clouds +sing</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Immortal Clouds from the echoing shore<br /> +<a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>Of the +father of streams, from the sounding sea,<br /> +Dewy and fleet, let us rise and soar.<br /> +Dewy and gleaming, and fleet are we!<br /> +Let us look on the tree-clad mountain crest,<br /> + On the sacred earth where the fruits rejoice,<br /> +On the waters that murmur east and west<br /> + On the tumbling sea with his moaning voice,<br /> +For unwearied glitters the Eye of the Air,<br /> + And the bright rays gleam;<br /> +Then cast we our shadows of mist, and fare<br /> +In our deathless shapes to glance everywhere<br /> + From the height of the heaven, on the land and +air,<br /> + And the Ocean stream.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let us on, ye Maidens that bring the Rain,<br +/> + Let us gaze on Pallas’ citadel,<br /> + In the country of Cecrops, fair +and dear<br /> + The mystic land of the holy +cell,<br /> + Where the Rites unspoken securely dwell,<br /> + And the gifts of the Gods that +know not stain<br /> +<a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>And a +people of mortals that know not fear.<br /> +For the temples tall, and the statues fair,<br /> +And the feasts of the Gods are holiest there,<br /> +The feasts of Immortals, the chaplets of flowers<br /> + And the Bromian mirth at the coming of spring,<br /> +And the musical voices that fill the hours,<br /> + And the dancing feet of the Maids that sing!</p> +<h3><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>BALLADE OF LITERARY FAME.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">“All these for +Fourpence.”</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>, where are the +endless Romances<br /> +Our grandmothers used to adore?<br /> +The Knights with their helms and their lances,<br /> +Their shields and the favours they wore?<br /> +And the Monks with their magical lore?<br /> +They have passed to Oblivion and <i>Nox</i>,<br /> +They have fled to the shadowy shore,—<br /> +They are all in the Fourpenny Box!</p> +<p class="poetry">And where the poetical fancies<br /> +Our fathers rejoiced in, of yore?<br /> +The lyric’s melodious expanses,<br /> +The Epics in cantos a score?<br /> +<a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 86</span>They have +been and are not: no more<br /> +Shall the shepherds drive silvery flocks,<br /> +Nor the ladies their languors deplore,—<br /> +They are all in the Fourpenny Box!</p> +<p class="poetry">And the Music! The songs and the +dances?<br /> +The tunes that Time may not restore?<br /> +And the tomes where Divinity prances?<br /> +And the pamphlets where Heretics roar?<br /> +They have ceased to be even a bore,—<br /> +The Divine, and the Sceptic who mocks,—<br /> +They are “cropped,” they are “foxed” to +the core,—<br /> +They are all in the Fourpenny Box!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Suns beat on them; tempests downpour,<br /> +On the chest without cover or locks,<br /> +Where they lie by the Bookseller’s door,—<br /> +They are <i>all</i> in the Fourpenny Box!</p> +<h3><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>Νήνεμος +’Αἰών</h3> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">would</span> my days had +been in other times,<br /> +A moment in the long unnumbered years<br /> +That knew the sway of Horus and of hawk,<br /> +In peaceful lands that border on the Nile.</p> +<p class="poetry">I would my days had been in other times,<br /> +Lulled by the sacrifice and mumbled hymn<br /> +Between the Five great Rivers, or in shade<br /> +And shelter of the cool Himâlayan hills.</p> +<p class="poetry">I would my days had been in other times,<br /> +That I in some old abbey of Touraine<br /> +Had watched the rounding grapes, and lived my life,<br /> +Ere ever Luther came or Rabelais!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>I would my days had been in other times,<br /> +When quiet life to death not terrible<br /> +Drifted, as ashes of the Santhal dead<br /> +Drift down the sacred Rivers to the Sea!</p> +<h2><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>ART.</h2> +<h3><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>A VERY +WOFUL BALLADE OF THE ART CRITIC.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(TO E. A. ABBEY.)</p> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">spirit</span> came to my +sad bed,<br /> +And weary sad that night was I,<br /> +Who’d tottered, since the dawn was red,<br /> +Through miles of Grosvenor Gallery,<br /> +Yea, leagues of long Academy<br /> +Awaited me when morn grew white,<br /> +’Twas then the Spirit whispered nigh,<br /> +“Take up the pen, my friend, and write!</p> +<p class="poetry">“Of many a portrait grey as lead,<br /> +Of many a mustard-coloured sky,<br /> +<a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>Say much, +where little should be said,<br /> +Lay on thy censure dexterously,<br /> +With microscopic glances pry<br /> +At textures, Tadema’s delight,<br /> +Praise foreign swells they always sky,<br /> +Take up the pen, my friend, and write!”</p> +<p class="poetry">I answered, “’Tis for daily +bread,<br /> +A sorry crust, I ween, and dry,<br /> +That still, with aching feet and head,<br /> +I push this lawful industry,<br /> +’Mid pictures hung or low, or high,<br /> +But, touching that which I indite,<br /> +Do artists hold me lovingly?<br /> +Take up the pen, my friend, and write.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><a +name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span><i>The Spirit +writeth in form of</i></p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">“They fain would black thy dexter eye,<br +/> +They hate thee with a bitter spite,<br /> +But scribble since thou must, or die,<br /> +Take tip the pen, my friend, and write!”</p> +<h3><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>ART’S MARTYR.</h3> +<p>Telleth of a young man that fain would be fairly tattooed on +his flesh, after the heathen manner, in devices of blue, and +that, falling among the Dyacks, a folk of Borneo, was by them +tattooed in modern fashion and device, and of his misery that +fell upon him, and his outlawry.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap"><i>He</i></span><i> +said</i>, The China on the shelf<br /> + Is very fair to view,<br /> +And wherefore should mine outer self,<br /> + Not correspond thereto?<br /> + In blue<br /> + My frame I must tattoo.</p> +<p class="poetry">Where may tattooing men abound,<br /> + And ah, where might they be?<br /> +Nay, well I wot they are not found<br /> + In lands of Christentie,<br /> + <a +name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>(<i>Quoth +he</i>)<br /> + But I must cross the sea!</p> +<p class="poetry">So forth he sailed to Borneo,<br /> + (A land that culture lacks,)<br /> +And there his money did bestow<br /> + To purchase pricks and hacks,<br /> + (Dyacks<br /> + Are famed tattooing blacks.)</p> +<p class="poetry">But European commerce had<br /> + Debased the savage kind,<br /> +And they this most unhappy lad<br /> + Before (and eke behind)<br /> + Designed<br /> + In colours to their mind!</p> +<p class="poetry">Such awful colours as are blent<br /> + On terrible placards<br /> +<a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span>Where +flames the fierce advertisement<br /> + Yea, or on Christmas cards<br /> + (Not +Ward’s,<br /> + But common Christmas cards!)</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus never more to Chelsea might<br /> + The luckless boy return,<br /> +He knew himself too dreadful, quite,<br /> + A thing his friends would spurn,<br /> + And turn<br /> + To praise some Grecian urn!</p> +<p class="poetry">But still he dwells in Borneo,<br /> + A land that culture lacks,<br /> +And there they all admire him so,<br /> + They bring him heads in sacks,<br /> + Dyacks<br /> + Are <i>not</i> æsthetic blacks!</p> +<h3><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>THE +PALACE OF BRIC-À-BRAC.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Here</span>, where old +Nankin glitters,<br /> + Here, where men’s tumult seems<br /> +As faint as feeble twitters<br /> + Of sparrows heard in dreams,<br /> + We watch Limoges enamel,<br /> + An old chased silver camel,<br /> + A shawl, the gift of Schamyl,<br +/> + And manuscripts in reams.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here, where the hawthorn pattern<br /> + On flawless cup and plate<br /> +Need fear no housemaid slattern,<br /> + Fell minister of fate,<br /> + ’Mid webs divinely woven,<br +/> + And helms and hauberks cloven,<br +/> + <a name="page98"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 98</span>On music of Beethoven<br /> + We dream and meditate.</p> +<p class="poetry">We know not, and we need not<br /> + To know how mortals fare,<br /> +Of Bills that pass, or speed not,<br /> + Time finds us unaware,<br /> + Yea, creeds and codes may +crumble,<br /> + And Dilke and Gladstone +stumble,<br /> + And eat the pie that’s +humble,<br /> + We neither know nor care!</p> +<p class="poetry">Can kings or clergies alter<br /> + The crackle on one plate?<br /> +Can creeds or systems palter<br /> + With what is truly great?<br /> + With Corots and with Millets,<br +/> + With April daffodillies,<br /> + Or make the maiden lilies<br /> + Bloom early or bloom late?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>Nay, here ’midst Rhodian roses,<br /> + ’Midst tissues of Cashmere,<br /> +The Soul sublime reposes,<br /> + And knows not hope nor fear;<br /> + Here all she sees her own is,<br +/> + And musical her moan is,<br /> + O’er Caxtons and Bodonis,<br +/> + Aldine and Elzevir!</p> +<h3><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +100</span>RONDEAUX OF THE GALLERIES.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Camelot</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> Camelot how grey +and green<br /> +The Damsels dwell, how sad their teen,<br /> +In Camelot how green and grey<br /> +The melancholy poplars sway.<br /> +I wis I wot not what they mean<br /> +Or wherefore, passionate and lean,<br /> +The maidens mope their loves between,<br /> +Not seeming to have much to say,<br /> + + +In Camelot.<br /> +Yet there hath armour goodly sheen<br /> +The blossoms in the apple treen,<br /> +(To spell the Camelotian way)<br /> +Show fragrant through the doubtful day,<br /> +<a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>And +Master’s work is often seen<br /> + + +In Camelot!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Philistia</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Philistia! Maids in muslin white<br /> +With flannelled oarsmen oft delight<br /> +To drift upon thy streams, and float<br /> +In Salter’s most luxurious boat;<br /> +In buff and boots the cheery knight<br /> +Returns (quite safe) from Naseby fight;<br /> +Thy humblest folk are clean and bright,<br /> +Thou still must win the public vote,<br /> + + +Philistia!<br /> +Observe the High Church curate’s coat,<br /> +The realistic hansom note!<br /> +Ah, happy land untouched of blight,<br /> +Smirks, Bishops, Babies, left and right,<br /> +We know thine every charm by rote,<br /> + + +Philistia!</p> +<h2><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>SCIENCE.</h2> +<h3><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>THE +BARBAROUS BIRD-GODS: A SAVAGE PARABASIS.</h3> +<p>In the <i>Aves</i> of Aristophanes, the Bird Chorus declare +that they are older than the Gods, and greater benefactors of +men. This idea recurs in almost all savage mythologies, and +I have made the savage Bird-gods state their own case.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Birds sing</i>:</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">We</span> would have you to +wit, that on eggs though we sit, and are spiked on the spit, and +are baked in the pan,<br /> +Birds are older by far than your ancestors are, and made love and +made war ere the making of Man!<br /> +For when all things were dark, not a glimmer nor spark, and the +world like a barque without rudder or sail<br /> +Floated on through the night, ’twas a Bird struck a light, +’twas a flash from the bright feather’d +Tonatiu’s <a name="citation105"></a><a href="#footnote105" +class="citation">[105]</a> tail!<br /> +<a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>Then the +Hawk <a name="citation106a"></a><a href="#footnote106a" +class="citation">[106a]</a> with some dry wood flew up in the +sky, and afar, safe and high, the Hawk lit Sun and Moon,<br /> +And the Birds of the air they rejoiced everywhere, and they +recked not of care that should come on them soon.<br /> +For the Hawk, so they tell, was then known as Pundjel, <a +name="citation106b"></a><a href="#footnote106b" +class="citation">[106b]</a> and a-musing he fell at the close of +the day;<br /> +Then he went on the quest, as we thought, of a nest, with some +bark of the best, and a clawful of clay. <a +name="citation106c"></a><a href="#footnote106c" +class="citation">[106c]</a><br /> +And with these did he frame two birds lacking a name, without +feathers (his game was a puzzle to all);<br /> +Next around them he fluttered a-dancing, and muttered; and, +lastly, he uttered a magical call:<br /> +Then the figures of clay, as they featherless lay, they leaped +up, who but they, and embracing they fell,<br /> +<a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>And +<i>this</i> was the baking of Man, and his making; but now +he’s forsaking his Father, Pundjel!<br /> +Now these creatures of mire, they kept whining for fire, and to +crown their desire who was found but the Wren?<br /> +To the high heaven he came, from the Sun stole he flame, and for +this has a name in the memory of men! <a +name="citation107a"></a><a href="#footnote107a" +class="citation">[107a]</a><br /> +And in India who for the Soma juice flew, and to men brought it +through without falter or fail?<br /> +Why the Hawk ’twas again, and great Indra to men would +appear, now and then, in the shape of a Quail,<br /> +While the Thlinkeet’s delight is the Bird of the Night, the +beak and the bright ebon plumage of Yehl.<a +name="citation107b"></a><a href="#footnote107b" +class="citation">[107b]</a><br /> +And who for man’s need brought the famed Suttung’s +mead? why ’tis told in the creed of the Sagamen strong,<br +/> +<a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>’Twas the Eagle god who brought the drink from +the blue, and gave mortals the brew that’s the fountain of +song. <a name="citation108a"></a><a href="#footnote108a" +class="citation">[108a]</a><br /> +Next, who gave men their laws? and what reason or cause the young +brave overawes when in need of a squaw,<br /> +Till he thinks it a shame to wed one of his name, and his conduct +you blame if he thus breaks the law?<br /> +For you still hold it wrong if a <i>lubra</i> <a +name="citation108b"></a><a href="#footnote108b" +class="citation">[108b]</a> belong to the self-same <i>kobong</i> +<a name="citation108c"></a><a href="#footnote108c" +class="citation">[108c]</a> that is Father of you,<br /> +To take <i>her</i> as a bride to your ebony side; nay, you give +her a wide berth; quite right of you, too.<br /> +For her father, you know, is <i>your</i> father, the Crow, and no +blessing but woe from the wedding would spring.<br /> +Well, these rules they were made in the wattle-gum shade, and +were strictly obeyed, when the Crow was the King. <a +name="citation108d"></a><a href="#footnote108d" +class="citation">[108d]</a><br /> +<a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>Thus on +Earth’s little ball to the Birds you owe all, yet your +gratitude’s small for the favours they’ve done,<br /> +And their feathers you pill, and you eat them at will, yes, you +plunder and kill the bright birds one by one;<br /> +There’s a price on their head, and the Dodo is dead, and +the Moa has fled from the sight of the sun!</p> +<h3><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>MAN +AND THE ASCIDIAN.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">A MORALITY.</p> +<p class="poetry">“<span class="smcap">The</span> Ancestor +remote of Man,”<br /> +Says Darwin, “is th’ Ascidian,”<br /> +A scanty sort of water-beast<br /> +That, ninety million years at least<br /> +Before Gorillas came to be,<br /> +Went swimming up and down the sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">Their ancestors the pious praise,<br /> +And like to imitate their ways;<br /> +How, then, does our first parent live,<br /> +What lesson has his life to give?</p> +<p class="poetry">Th’ Ascidian tadpole, young and gay,<br +/> +Doth Life with one bright eye survey,<br /> +<a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>His +consciousness has easy play.<br /> +He’s sensitive to grief and pain,<br /> +Has tail, and spine, and bears a brain,<br /> +And everything that fits the state<br /> +Of creatures we call vertebrate.<br /> +But age comes on; with sudden shock<br /> +He sticks his head against a rock!<br /> +His tail drops off, his eye drops in,<br /> +His brain’s absorbed into his skin;<br /> +He does not move, nor feel, nor know<br /> +The tidal water’s ebb and flow,<br /> +But still abides, unstirred, alone,<br /> +A sucker sticking to a stone.</p> +<p class="poetry">And we, his children, truly we<br /> +In youth are, like the Tadpole, free.<br /> +And where we would we blithely go,<br /> +Have brains and hearts, and feel and know.<br /> +Then Age comes on! To Habit we<br /> +Affix ourselves and are not free;<br /> +<a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +112</span>Th’ Ascidian’s rooted to a rock,<br /> +And we are bond-slaves of the clock;<br /> +Our rocks are Medicine—Letters—Law,<br /> +From these our heads we cannot draw:<br /> +Our loves drop off, our hearts drop in,<br /> +And daily thicker grows our skin.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, scarce we live, we scarcely know<br /> +The wide world’s moving ebb and flow,<br /> +The clanging currents ring and shock,<br /> +But we are rooted to the rock.<br /> +And thus at ending of his span,<br /> +Blind, deaf, and indolent, does Man<br /> +Revert to the Ascidian.</p> +<h3><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>BALLADE OF THE PRIMITIVE JEST.</h3> +<blockquote><p>“What did the dark-haired Iberian laugh at +before the tall blonde Aryan drove him into the corners of +Europe?”—<i>Brander Matthews</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">am</span> an ancient +Jest!<br /> +Palæolithic man<br /> +In his arboreal nest<br /> +The sparks of fun would fan;<br /> +My outline did he plan,<br /> +And laughed like one possessed,<br /> +’Twas thus my course began,<br /> +I am a Merry Jest!</p> +<p class="poetry">I am an early Jest!<br /> +Man delved, and built, and span;<br /> +Then wandered South and West<br /> +The peoples Aryan,<br /> +<a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span><i>I</i> +journeyed in their van;<br /> +The Semites, too, confessed,—<br /> +From Beersheba to Dan,—<br /> +I am a Merry Jest!</p> +<p class="poetry">I am an ancient Jest,<br /> +Through all the human clan,<br /> +Red, black, white, free, oppressed,<br /> +Hilarious I ran!<br /> +I’m found in Lucian,<br /> +In Poggio, and the rest,<br /> +I’m dear to Moll and Nan!<br /> +I am a Merry Jest!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">Envoy</span>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Prince, you may storm and ban—<br /> +Joe Millers <i>are</i> a pest,<br /> +Suppress me if you can!<br /> +I am a Merry Jest!</p> +<h2><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>CAMEOS.</h2> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>SONNETS FROM THE +ANTIQUE</i>.</p> +<p>These versions from classical passages are pretty close to the +original, except where compression was needed, as in the sonnets +from Pausanias and Apuleius, or where, as in the case of +fragments of Æschylus and Sophocles, a little expansion was +required.</p> +<h3><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>CAMEOS.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap"><i>The</i></span><i> graver +by Apollo’s shrine</i>,<br /> + <i>Before the Gods had fled</i>, <i>would +stand</i>,<br /> + <i>A shell or onyx in his hand</i>,<br /> +<i>To copy there the face divine</i>,<br /> +<i>Till earnest touches</i>, <i>line by line</i>,<br /> + <i>Had wrought the wonder of the land</i><br /> + <i>Within a beryl’s golden band</i>,<br /> +<i>Or on some fiery opal fine</i>.<br /> +<i>Ah</i>! <i>would that as some ancient ring</i><br /> +<i>To us</i>, <i>on shell or stone</i>, <i>doth bring</i>,<br /> + <i>Art’s marvels perished long ago</i>,<br /> +<i>So I</i>, <i>within the sonnet’s space</i>,<br /> +<i>The large Hellenic lines might trace</i>,<br /> + <i>The statue in the cameo</i>!</p> +<h3><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>HELEN ON THE WALLS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Iliad</i>, iii. 146.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fair</span> Helen to the +Scæan portals came,<br /> +Where sat the elders, peers of Priamus,<br /> +Thymoetas, Hiketaon, Panthöus,<br /> +And many another of a noble name,<br /> +Famed warriors, now in council more of fame.<br /> +Always above the gates, in converse thus<br /> +They chattered like cicalas garrulous;<br /> +Who marking Helen, swore “it is no shame<br /> +That armed Achæan knights, and Ilian men<br /> +For such a woman’s sake should suffer long.<br /> +Fair as a deathless goddess seemeth she.<br /> +Nay, but aboard the red-prowed ships again<br /> +Home let her pass in peace, not working wrong<br /> +To us, and children’s children yet to be.”</p> +<h3><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>THE +ISLES OF THE BLESSED.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Pindar</i>, <i>Fr.</i>, 106, 107 +(95): B. 4, 129–130, 109 (97): B. 4, 132.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> the light of the +sun, in the night of the Earth, on the souls of the True<br /> + Shines, and their city is girt with the meadow where +reigneth the rose;<br /> +And deep is the shade of the woods, and the wind that flits +o’er them and through<br /> + Sings of the sea, and is sweet from the isles where +the frankincense blows:<br /> +Green is their garden and orchard, with rare fruits golden it +glows,<br /> + And the souls of the Blessed are glad in the +pleasures on Earth that they knew,<br /> +<a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>And in +chariots these have delight, and in dice and in minstrelsy +those,<br /> + And the savour of sacrifice clings to the altars and +rises anew.</p> +<p class="poetry">But the Souls that Persephone cleanses from +ancient pollution and stain,<br /> + These at the end of the age be they prince, be they +singer, or seer;<br /> +These to the world, shall be born as of old, shall be sages +again;<br /> + These of their hands shall be hardy, shall live, and +shall die, and shall hear<br /> +Thanks of the people, and songs of the minstrels that praise them +amain,<br /> + And their glory shall dwell in the land where they +dwelt, while year calls unto year!</p> +<h3><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>DEATH.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Æsch.</i>, <i>Fr.</i>, +156.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all Gods Death +alone<br /> + Disdaineth sacrifice:<br /> +No man hath found or shown<br /> + The gift that Death would prize.<br /> + In vain are songs or sighs,<br /> +Pæan, or praise, or moan,<br /> + Alone beneath the skies<br /> +Hath Death no altar-stone!</p> +<p class="poetry">There is no head so dear<br /> + That men would grudge to Death;<br /> +Let Death but ask, we give<br /> +All gifts that we may live;<br /> +But though Death dwells so near,<br /> + We know not what he saith.</p> +<h3><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>NYSA.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Soph.</i>, <i>Fr.</i>, 235; +<i>Æsch.</i>, <i>Fr.</i>, 56.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">On</span> these +Nysæan shores divine<br /> + The clusters ripen in a day.<br /> + At dawn the blossom shreds away;<br /> +The berried grapes are green and fine<br /> +And full by noon; in day’s decline<br /> + They’re purple with a bloom of grey,<br /> + And e’er the twilight plucked are they,<br /> +And crushed, by nightfall, into wine.</p> +<p class="poetry">But through the night with torch in hand<br /> + Down the dusk hills the Mænads fare;<br /> + The bull-voiced mummers roar and blare,<br /> +The muffled timbrels swell and sound,<br /> + And drown the clamour of the band<br /> +Like thunder moaning underground.</p> +<h3><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>COLONUS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Œd. Col.</i>, +667–705.)</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">I.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Here</span> be the fairest +homes the land can show,<br /> +The silvery-cliffed Colonus; always here<br /> +The nightingale doth haunt and singeth clear,<br /> +For well the deep green gardens doth she know.<br /> +Groves of the God, where winds may never blow,<br /> + Nor men may tread, nor noontide sun may peer<br /> + Among the myriad-berried ivy dear,<br /> +Where Dionysus wanders to and fro.</p> +<p class="poetry">For here he loves to dwell, and here resort<br +/> +These Nymphs that are his nurses and his court,<br /> +And golden eyed beneath the dewy boughs<br /> + The crocus burns, and the narcissus fair<br /> + Clusters his blooms to crown thy clustered hair,<br +/> +Demeter, and to wreathe the Maiden’s brows!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry"><a +name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>II.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Yea</span>, here the dew of +Heaven upon the grain<br /> + Fails never, nor the ceaseless water-spring,<br /> + Near neighbour of Cephisus wandering,<br /> +That day by day revisiteth the plain.<br /> +Nor do the Goddesses the grove disdain,<br /> + But chiefly here the Muses quire and sing,<br /> + And here they love to weave their dancing ring,<br +/> +With Aphrodite of the golden rein.</p> +<p class="poetry">And here there springs a plant that knoweth +not<br /> + The Asian mead, nor that great Dorian isle,<br /> +Unsown, untilled, within our garden plot<br /> + It dwells, the grey-leaved olive; ne’er shall +guile<br /> +Nor force of foemen root it from the spot:<br /> + Zeus and Athene guarding it the while!</p> +<h3><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 125</span>THE +PASSING OF ŒDIPOUS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Œd. Col.</i>, +1655–1666.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">How</span> Œdipous +departed, who may tell<br /> + Save Theseus only? for there neither came<br /> + The burning bolt of thunder, and the flame<br /> +To blast him into nothing, nor the swell<br /> +Of sea-tide spurred by tempest on him fell.<br /> + But some diviner herald none may name<br /> + Called him, or inmost Earth’s abyss became<br +/> +The painless place where such a soul might dwell.</p> +<p class="poetry">Howe’er it chanced, untouched of +malady,<br /> + Unharmed by fear, unfollowed by lament,<br /> +With comfort on the twilight way he went,<br /> + Passing, if ever man did, wondrously;<br /> +From this world’s death to life divinely rent,<br /> + Unschooled in Time’s last lesson, how we +die.</p> +<h3><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>THE +TAMING OF TYRO.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Soph.</i>, <i>Fr.</i>, +587.)</p> +<p>(Sidero, the stepmother of Tyro, daughter of Salmoneus, +cruelly entreated her in all things, and chiefly in this, that +she let sheer her beautiful hair.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">At</span> fierce +Sidero’s word the thralls drew near,<br /> + And shore the locks of Tyro,—like ripe corn<br +/> + They fell in golden harvest,—but forlorn<br /> +The maiden shuddered in her pain and fear,<br /> + Like some wild mare that cruel grooms in scorn<br /> +Hunt in the meadows, and her mane they sheer,<br /> +And drive her where, within the waters clear,<br /> + She spies her shadow, and her shame doth mourn.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah! hard were he and pitiless of heart<br /> + Who marking that wild thing made weak and tame,<br +/> + Broken, and grieving for her glory +gone,<br /> +Could mock her grief; but scornfully apart<br /> + Sidero stood, and watched a wind that came<br /> +And tossed the curls like fire that flew and shone!</p> +<h3><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>TO +ARTEMIS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Hippol.</i>, <i>Eurip.</i>, +73–87.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">For</span> thee soft crowns +in thine untrampled mead<br /> + I wove, my lady, and to thee I bear;<br /> +Thither no shepherd drives his flocks to feed,<br /> + Nor scythe of steel has ever laboured there;<br /> + Nay, through the spring among the blossoms fair<br +/> +The brown bee comes and goes, and with good heed<br /> +Thy maiden, Reverence, sweet streams doth lead<br /> + About the grassy close that is her care!</p> +<p class="poetry">Souls only that are gracious and serene<br /> + By gift of God, in human lore unread,<br /> +May pluck these holy blooms and grasses green<br /> + That now I wreathe for thine immortal head,<br /> +I that may walk with thee, thyself unseen,<br /> + And by thy whispered voice am comforted.</p> +<h3><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +128</span>CRITICISM OF LIFE.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Hippol.</i>, <i>Eurip.</i>, +252–266.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Long</span> life hath +taught me many things, and shown<br /> + That lukewarm loves for men who die are best,<br /> + Weak wine of liking let them mix alone,<br /> +Not Love, that stings the soul within the breast;<br /> +Happy, who wears his love-bonds lightliest,<br /> + Now cherished, now away at random thrown!<br /> + Grievous it is for other’s grief to moan,<br +/> +Hard that my soul for thine should lose her rest!</p> +<p class="poetry">Wise ruling this of life: but yet again<br /> + Perchance too rigid diet is not well;<br /> +He lives not best who dreads the coming pain<br /> + And shunneth each delight desirable:<br /> +<i>Flee thou extremes</i>, this word alone is plain,<br /> + Of all that God hath given to Man to spell!</p> +<h3><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +129</span>AMARYLLIS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Theocritus</i>, <i>Idyll</i>, +iii.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fair</span> Amaryllis, wilt +thou never peep<br /> + From forth the cave, and call me, and be mine?<br /> +Lo, apples ten I bear thee from the steep,<br /> + These didst thou long for, and all these are +thine.<br /> +Ah, would I were a honey-bee to sweep<br /> + Through ivy, and the bracken, and woodbine;<br /> +To watch thee waken, Love, and watch thee sleep,<br /> + Within thy grot below the shadowy pine.<br /> +Now know I Love, a cruel god is he,<br /> + The wild beast bare him in the wild wood drear;<br +/> +And truly to the bone he burneth me.<br /> + But, black-browed Amaryllis, ne’er a tear,<br +/> +Nor sigh, nor blush, nor aught have I from thee;<br /> + Nay, nor a kiss, a little gift and dear.</p> +<h3><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>THE +CANNIBAL ZEUS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">A.D.</span> +160</p> +<blockquote><p>Καὶ +ἔθυσε τὸ +βρέφος, καὶ +ἔσπεισεν +ἐπὶ τοῦ +βωμοῦ τὸ +‘αῖμχ—έπὶ +τούτου<br /> +βωμοῦ τῷ Δὺ +θύουσιν ἐν +ἀποῤῥήτῳ.—<i>Paus.</i> +viii. 38</p> +</blockquote> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">None</span> elder city doth +the Sun behold<br /> + Than ancient Lycosura; ’twas begun<br /> + Ere Zeus the meat of mortals learned to shun,<br /> +And here hath he a grove whose haunted fold<br /> +The driven deer seek and huntsmen dread: ’tis told<br /> + That whoso fares within that forest dun<br /> + Thenceforth shall cast no shadow in the Sun,<br /> +Ay, and within the year his life is cold!</p> +<p class="poetry">Hard by dwelt he <a name="citation130"></a><a +href="#footnote130" class="citation">[130]</a> who, while the +Gods deigned eat<br /> +At good men’s tables, gave them dreadful meat,<br /> + A child he slew:—his mountain altar green<br +/> +<a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>Here +still hath Zeus, with rites untold of me,<br /> +Piteous, but as they are let these things be,<br /> + And as from the beginning they have been!</p> +<h3><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +132</span>INVOCATION OF ISIS.</h3> +<p style="text-align: center">(<i>Apuleius</i>, <i>Metamorph. +XI</i>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Thou</span> that art +sandalled on immortal feet<br /> + With leaves of palm, the prize of Victory;<br /> +Thou that art crowned with snakes and blossoms sweet,<br /> + Queen of the silver dews and shadowy sky,<br /> + I pray thee by all names men name thee by!<br /> +Demeter, come, and leave the yellow wheat!<br /> + Or Aphrodite, let thy lovers sigh!<br /> +Or Dian, from thine Asian temple fleet!</p> +<p class="poetry">Or, yet more dread, divine Persephone<br /> + From worlds of wailing spectres, ah, draw near;<br +/> +Approach, Selene, from thy subject sea;<br /> + Come, Artemis, and this night spare the deer:<br /> +By all thy names and rites I summon thee;<br /> + By all thy rites and names, Our Lady, hear!</p> +<h3><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>THE +COMING OF ISIS.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">So</span> Lucius prayed, +and sudden, from afar,<br /> + Floated the locks of Isis, shone the bright<br /> +Crown that is tressed with berry, snake, and star;<br /> + She came in deep blue raiment of the night,<br /> +Above her robes that now were snowy white,<br /> +Now golden as the moons of harvest are,<br /> +Now red, now flecked with many a cloudy bay,<br /> + Now stained with all the lustre of the light.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then he who saw her knew her, and he knew<br /> + The awful symbols borne in either hand;<br /> +The golden urn that laves Demeter’s dew,<br /> + The handles wreathed with asps, the mystic wand;<br +/> +The shaken seistron’s music, tinkling through<br /> + The temples of that old Osirian land.</p> +<h2><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span><i>THE SPINET</i>.</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap"><i>My</i></span><i> heart +an old Spinet with strings</i><br /> + <i>To laughter chiefly turned</i>, <i>but +some</i><br /> + <i>That Fate has practised hard on</i>, +<i>dumb</i>,<br /> +<i>They answer not whoever sings</i>.<br /> +<i>The ghosts of half-forgotten things</i><br /> + <i>Will touch the keys with fingers numb</i>,<br /> + <i>The little mocking spirits come</i><br /> +<i>And thrill it with their fairy wings</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>A jingling harmony it makes</i><br /> + <i>My heart</i>, <i>my lyre</i>, <i>my old +Spinet</i>,<br /> +<i>And now a memory it wakes</i>,<br /> + <i>And now the music means</i> +“<i>forget</i>,”<br /> +<i>And little heed the player takes</i><br /> + <i>Howe’er the thoughtful critic fret</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +135</span>NOTES.</h2> +<p><a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>Page +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page3">3</a></span>. +<i>The Fortunate Islands</i>. This piece is a rhymed loose +version of a passage in the <i>Vera Historia</i> of Lucian. +The humorist was unable to resist the temptation to introduce +passages of mockery, which are here omitted. Part of his +description of the Isles of the Blest has a close and singular +resemblance to the New Jerusalem of the Apocalypse. The +clear River of Life and the prodigality of gold and of precious +stones may especially be noticed.</p> +<p><i>Whoso doth taste the Dead Men’s bread</i>, +&.c. This belief that the living may visit, on +occasion, the dwellings of the dead, but can never return to +earth if they taste the food of the departed, is expressed in +myths of worldwide distribution. Because she ate the +pomegranate seed, Persephone became subject to the spell of +Hades. In Apuleius, Psyche, when she visits the place of +souls, is advised to abstain from food. Kohl found the myth +among the Ojibbeways, Mr. Codrington among the Solomon Islanders; +it occurs in Samoa, in the Finnish Kalewala (where Wainamoinen, +in Pohjola, refrains from touching meat or drink), and the belief +has left its mark on the mediæval ballad of Thomas of +Ercildoune. When he is in Fairy Land, the Fairy Queen +supplies him with the bread and wine of earth, and will not +suffer him to touch the fruits which grow “in this +countrie.” See also “Wandering Willie” in +Redgauntlet.</p> +<p>Page <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page20">20</a></span>. <i>As now the hutted +Eskimo</i>. The Eskimo and the <a name="page138"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 138</span>miserable Fuegians are almost the +only Socialists who practise what European Anarchists +preach. The Fuegians go so far as to tear up any piece of +cloth which one of the tribe may receive, so that each member may +have a rag. The Eskimo are scarcely such consistent +walkers, and canoes show a tendency to accumulate in the hands of +proprietors. Formerly no Eskimo was allowed to possess more +than one canoe. Such was the wild justice of the Polar +philosophers.</p> +<p>Page <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page36">36</a></span>. <i>The latest +minstrel</i>. “The sound of all others dearest to his +ear, the gentle ripple of Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly +audible as we knelt around the bed and his eldest son kissed and +closed his eyes.”—Lockhart’s Life of Scott, +vii., 394.</p> +<p>Page <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span>. <i>Ronsard’s +Grave</i>. This version ventures to condense the original +which, like most of the works of the Pleiad, is unnecessarily +long.</p> +<p>Page <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page46">46</a></span>. <i>The snow</i>, <i>and +wind</i>, <i>and hail</i>. Ronsard’s rendering of the +famous passage in Odyssey, vi., about the dwellings of the +Olympians. The vision of a Paradise of learned lovers and +poets constantly recurs in the poetry of Joachim du Bellay, and +of Ronsard.</p> +<p>Page <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span>. <i>Romance</i>. +Suggested by a passage in La Faustin, by M. E. de Goncourt, a +curious moment of poetry in a repulsive piece of +<i>naturalisme</i>.</p> +<p>Page <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span>. <i>M. Boulmier</i>, author of +<i>Les Villanelles</i>, died shortly after this villanelle was +written; he had not published a larger collection on which he had +been at work.</p> +<p>Page <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page61">61</a></span>. <i>Edmund Gorliot</i>. +The bibliophile will not easily procure Gorliot’s book, +which is not in the catalogues. Throughout <i>The Last +Maying</i> there is reference to the <i>Pervigilium +Veneris</i>.</p> +<p>Page <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page105">105</a></span>. <i>Bird-Gods</i>. +Apparently Aristophanes preserved, in a burlesque form, the +remnants of a genuine myth. Almost all savage religions +have their bird-gods, and it is probable that Aristophanes <a +name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>did not +invent, but only used a surviving myth of which there are +scarcely any other traces in Greek literature.</p> +<p>Page <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page134">134</a></span>. <i>Spinet</i>. The +accent is on the last foot, even when the word is written +<i>spinnet</i>. Compare the remarkable Liberty which Pamela +took with the 137th Psalm.</p> +<p class="poetry"><i>My Joys and Hopes all overthrown</i>,<br /> +<i>My Heartstrings almost broke</i>,<br /> +<i>Unfit my Mind for Melody</i>,<br /> +<i>Much more to bear a Joke</i>.<br /> +<i>But yet</i>, <i>if from my Innocence</i><br /> +<i>I</i>, <i>even in Thought</i>, <i>should slide</i>,<br /> +<i>Then</i>, <i>let my fingers quite forget</i><br /> +<i>The sweet Spinnet to guide</i>!</p> +<p style="text-align: right" class="poetry"><i>Pamela</i>, <i>or +Virtue Rewarded</i>, vol. i.,<br /> +p. 184., 1785.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES.</h2> +<p><a name="footnote78"></a><a href="#citation78" +class="footnote">[78]</a> N.B. There is only one +veracious statement in this ballade, which must not be accepted +as autobiographical.</p> +<p><a name="footnote80"></a><a href="#citation80" +class="footnote">[80]</a> These lines do <i>not</i> apply +to Miss Annie P. (or Daisy) Miller, and her delightful sisters, +<i>Gades adituræ mecum</i>, in the pocket edition of Mr. +James’s novels, if ever I go to Gades.</p> +<p><a name="footnote105"></a><a href="#citation105" +class="footnote">[105]</a> Tonatiu, the Thunder Bird; well +known to the Dacotahs and Zulus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106a"></a><a href="#citation106a" +class="footnote">[106a]</a> The Hawk, in the myth of the +Galinameros of Central California, lit up the Sun.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106b"></a><a href="#citation106b" +class="footnote">[106b]</a> Pundjel, the Eagle Hawk, is the +demiurge and “culture-hero” of several Australian +tribes.</p> +<p><a name="footnote106c"></a><a href="#citation106c" +class="footnote">[106c]</a> The Creation of Man is thus +described by the Australians.</p> +<p><a name="footnote107a"></a><a href="#citation107a" +class="footnote">[107a]</a> In Andaman, Thlinkeet, +Melanesian, and other myths, a Bird is the Prometheus Purphoros; +in Normandy this part is played by the Wren.</p> +<p><a name="footnote107b"></a><a href="#citation107b" +class="footnote">[107b]</a> Yehl: the Raven God of the +Thlinkeets.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108a"></a><a href="#citation108a" +class="footnote">[108a]</a> Indra stole Soma as a Hawk and +as a Quail. For Odin’s feat as a Bird, see +<i>Bragi’s Telling</i> in the Younger Edda.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108b"></a><a href="#citation108b" +class="footnote">[108b]</a> Pundjel, the Eagle Hawk, gave +Australians their marriage laws.</p> +<p><a name="footnote108c"></a><a href="#citation108c" +class="footnote">[108c]</a> <i>Lubra</i>, a woman; +<i>kobong</i>, “totem;” or, to please Mr. Max +Müller, “otem.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote108d"></a><a href="#citation108d" +class="footnote">[108d]</a> The Crow was the Hawk’s +rival.</p> +<p><a name="footnote130"></a><a href="#citation130" +class="footnote">[130]</a> Lycaon, the first werewolf.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES A LA MODE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1645-h.htm or 1645-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/4/1645 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this +eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook +for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, +performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given +away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks +not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the +trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country outside the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and + most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the + United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you + are located before using this ebook. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The +Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the +mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its +volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous +locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt +Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to +date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and +official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +</pre></body> +</html> diff --git a/1645-h/images/coverb.jpg b/1645-h/images/coverb.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..df71141 --- /dev/null +++ b/1645-h/images/coverb.jpg diff --git a/1645-h/images/covers.jpg b/1645-h/images/covers.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7efe033 --- /dev/null +++ b/1645-h/images/covers.jpg diff --git a/1645-h/images/fpb.jpg b/1645-h/images/fpb.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1799fc4 --- /dev/null +++ b/1645-h/images/fpb.jpg diff --git a/1645-h/images/fps.jpg b/1645-h/images/fps.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c0ce3de --- /dev/null +++ b/1645-h/images/fps.jpg diff --git a/1645-h/images/tpb.jpg b/1645-h/images/tpb.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e4c9eb8 --- /dev/null +++ b/1645-h/images/tpb.jpg diff --git a/1645-h/images/tps.jpg b/1645-h/images/tps.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ae777fe --- /dev/null +++ b/1645-h/images/tps.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..499041d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #1645 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1645) diff --git a/old/rmalm10.txt b/old/rmalm10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..acb067f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rmalm10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2667 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Rhymes a la Mode, by Andrew Lang +#13 in our series by Andrew Lang + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +Rhymes a la Mode + +by Andrew Lang + +February, 1999 [Etext #1645] + + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Rhymes a la Mode, by Andrew Lang +*****This file should be named rmalm10.txt or rmalm10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, rmalm11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, rmalm10a.txt + + +This etext was prepared from the 1885 Kegan Paul, Trench & Co. edition +by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. Therefore, we do NOT keep these books +in compliance with any particular paper edition, usually otherwise. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, for time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-two text +files per month, or 384 more Etexts in 1998 for a total of 1500+ +If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the +total should reach over 150 billion Etexts given away. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only 10% of the present number of computer users. 2001 +should have at least twice as many computer users as that, so it +will require us reaching less than 5% of the users in 2001. + + +We need your donations more than ever! + + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are +tax deductible to the extent allowable by law. (CMU = Carnegie- +Mellon University). + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails try our Executive Director: +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +We would prefer to send you this information by email +(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail). + +****** +If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please +FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives: +[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type] + +ftp uiarchive.cso.uiuc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd etext/etext90 through /etext96 +or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information] +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET INDEX?00.GUT +for a list of books +and +GET NEW GUT for general information +and +MGET GUT* for newsletters. + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at +Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project"). Among other +things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared from the 1885 Kegan Paul, Trench & Co. edition +by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +Rhymes a la Mode + + + + +BALLADE DEDICATORY--TO MRS. ELTON OF WHITE STAUNTON + + + +The painted Briton built his mound, +And left his celts and clay, +On yon fair slope of sunlit ground +That fronts your garden gay; +The Roman came, he bore the sway, +He bullied, bought, and sold, +Your fountain sweeps his works away +Beside your manor old! + +But still his crumbling urns are found +Within the window-bay, +Where once he listened to the sound +That lulls you day by day; - +The sound of summer winds at play, +The noise of waters cold +To Yarty wandering on their way, +Beside your manor old! + +The Roman fell: his firm-set bound +Became the Saxon's stay; +The bells made music all around +For monks in cloisters grey, +Till fled the monks in disarray +From their warm chantry's fold, +Old Abbots slumber as they may, +Beside your manor old! + +ENVOY + +Creeds, empires, peoples, all decay, +Down into darkness, rolled; +May life that's fleet be sweet, I pray, +Beside your manor old. + + + +A DREAM IN JUNE + + + +In twilight of the longest day +I lingered over Lucian, +Till ere the dawn a dreamy way +My spirit found, untrod of man, +Between the green sky and the grey. + +Amid the soft dusk suddenly +More light than air I seemed to sail, +Afloat upon the ocean sky, +While through the faint blue, clear and pale, +I saw the mountain clouds go by: +My barque had thought for helm and sail, +And one mist wreath for canopy. + +Like torches on a marble floor +Reflected, so the wild stars shone, +Within the abysmal hyaline, +Till the day widened more and more, +And sank to sunset, and was gone, +And then, as burning beacons shine +On summits of a mountain isle, +A light to folk on sea that fare, +So the sky's beacons for a while +Burned in these islands of the air. + +Then from a starry island set +Where one swift tide of wind there flows, +Came scent of lily and violet, +Narcissus, hyacinth, and rose, +Laurel, and myrtle buds, and vine, +So delicate is the air and fine: +And forests of all fragrant trees +Sloped seaward from the central hill, +And ever clamorous were these + +With singing of glad birds; and still +Such music came as in the woods +Most lonely, consecrate to Pan, +The Wind makes, in his many moods, +Upon the pipes some shepherd Man, +Hangs up, in thanks for victory! +On these shall mortals play no more, +But the Wind doth touch them, over and o'er, +And the Wind's breath in the reeds will sigh. + +Between the daylight and the dark +That island lies in silver air, +And suddenly my magic barque +Wheeled, and ran in, and grounded there; +And by me stood the sentinel +Of them who in the island dwell; +All smiling did he bind my hands, +With rushes green and rosy bands, +They have no harsher bonds than these +The people of the pleasant lands +Within the wash of the airy seas! + +Then was I to their city led: +Now all of ivory and gold +The great walls were that garlanded +The temples in their shining fold, +(Each fane of beryl built, and each +Girt with its grove of shadowy beech,) +And all about the town, and through, +There flowed a River fed with dew, +As sweet as roses, and as clear +As mountain crystals pure and cold, +And with his waves that water kissed +The gleaming altars of amethyst +That smoke with victims all the year, +And sacred are to the Gods of old. + +There sat three Judges by the Gate, +And I was led before the Three, +And they but looked on me, and straight +The rosy bonds fell down from me +Who, being innocent, was free; +And I might wander at my will +About that City on the hill, +Among the happy people clad +In purple weeds of woven air +Hued like the webs that Twilight weaves +At shut of languid summer eves +So light their raiment seemed; and glad +Was every face I looked on there! + +There was no heavy heat, no cold, +The dwellers there wax never old, +Nor wither with the waning time, +But each man keeps that age he had +When first he won the fairy clime. +The Night falls never from on high, +Nor ever burns the heat of noon. +But such soft light eternally +Shines, as in silver dawns of June +Before the Sun hath climbed the sky! + +Within these pleasant streets and wide, +The souls of Heroes go and come, +Even they that fell on either side +Beneath the walls of Ilium; +And sunlike in that shadowy isle +The face of Helen and her smile +Makes glad the souls of them that knew +Grief for her sake a little while! +And all true Greeks and wise are there; +And with his hand upon the hair +Of Phaedo, saw I Socrates, +About him many youths and fair, +Hylas, Narcissus, and with these +Him whom the quoit of Phoebus slew +By fleet Eurotas, unaware! + +All these their mirth and pleasure made +Within the plain Elysian, +The fairest meadow that may be, +With all green fragrant trees for shade +And every scented wind to fan, +And sweetest flowers to strew the lea; +The soft Winds are their servants fleet +To fetch them every fruit at will +And water from the river chill; +And every bird that singeth sweet +Throstle, and merle, and nightingale +Brings blossoms from the dewy vale, - +Lily, and rose, and asphodel - +With these doth each guest twine his crown +And wreathe his cup, and lay him down +Beside some friend he loveth well. + +There with the shining Souls I lay +When, lo, a Voice that seemed to say, +In far-off haunts of Memory, +Whoso death taste the Dead Men's bread, +Shall dwell for ever with these Dead, +Nor ever shall his body lie +Beside his friends, on the grey hill +Where rains weep, and the curlews shrill +And the brown water wanders by! + +Then did a new soul in me wake, +The dead men's bread I feared to break, +Their fruit I would not taste indeed +Were it but a pomegranate seed. +Nay, not with these I made my choice +To dwell for ever and rejoice, +For otherwhere the River rolls +That girds the home of Christian souls, +And these my whole heart seeks are found +On otherwise enchanted ground. + +Even so I put the cup away, +The vision wavered, dimmed, and broke, +And, nowise sorrowing, I woke +While, grey among the ruins grey +Chill through the dwellings of the dead, +The Dawn crept o'er the Northern sea, +Then, in a moment, flushed to red, +Flushed all the broken minster old, +And turned the shattered stones to gold, +And wakened half the world with me! + + + +L'ENVOI--To E. W. G. + + + +(Who also had rhymed on the Fortune Islands of Lucian). + +Each in the self-same field we glean +The field of the Samosatene, +Each something takes and something leaves +And this must choose, and that forego +In Lucian's visionary sheaves, +To twine a modern posy so; +But all any gleanings, truth to tell, +Are mixed with mournful asphodel, +While yours are wreathed with poppies red, +With flowers that Helen's feet have kissed, +With leaves of vine that garlanded +The Syrian Pantagruelist, +The sage who laughed the world away, +Who mocked at Gods, and men, and care, +More sweet of voice than Rabelais, +And lighter-hearted than Voltaire. + + + +A VISION IN THE STRAND + + + +The jaded light of late July +Shone yellow down the dusty Strand, +The anxious people bustled by, +Policeman, Pressman, you and I, +And thieves, and judges of the land. + +So swift they strode they had not time +To mark the humours of the Town, +But I, that mused an idle rhyme, +Looked here and there, and up and down, +And many a rapid cart I spied +That drew, as fast as ponies can, +The Newspapers of either side, +These joys of every Englishman! + +The Standard here, the Echo there, +And cultured ev'ning papers fair, +With din and fuss and shout and blare +Through all the eager land they bare, +The rumours of our little span. + +'Midst these, but ah, more slow of speed, +A biggish box of sanguine hue +Was tugged on a velocipede, +And in and out the crowd, and through, +An earnest stripling urged it well +Perched on a cranky tricycle! + +A seedy tricycle he rode, +Perchance some three miles in the hour, +But, on the big red box that glowed +Behind him, was a name of Power, +JUSTICE, (I read it e'er I wist,) +THE ORGAN OF THE SOCIALIST! + +The paper carts fled fleetly by +And vanished up the roaring Strand, +And eager purchasers drew nigh +Each with his penny in his hand, +But JUSTICE, scarce more fleet than I, +Began to permeate the land, +And dark, methinks, the twilight fell, +Or ever JUSTICE reached Pall Mall. + +Oh Man, (I stopped to moralize,) +How eager thou to fight with Fate, +To bring Astraea from the skies; +Yet ah, how too inadequate +The means by which thou fain wouldst cope +With Laws and Morals, King and Pope! +"JUSTICE!"--how prompt the witling's sneer, - +"Justice! Thou wouldst have Justice here! +And each poor man should be a squire, +Each with his competence a year, +Each with sufficient beef and beer, +And all things matched to his desire, +While all the Middle Classes should +With every vile Capitalist +Be clean reformed away for good, +And vanish like a morning mist! + +"Ah splendid Vision, golden time, +An end of hunger, cold, and crime. +An end of Rent, an end of Rank, +An end of balance at the Bank, +An end of everything that's meant +To bring Investors five per cent!" + +How fair doth Justice seem, I cried, +Yet oh, how strong the embattled powers +That war against on every side +Justice, and this great dream of ours, +And what have we to plead our cause +'Gainst Masters, Capital, and laws, +What but a big red box indeed, +With copies of a weekly screed, +That's slowly jolted, up and down, +Behind an old velocipede +To clamour JUSTICE through the town: +How touchingly inadequate +These arms wherewith we'd vanquish Fate! + +Nay, the old Order shall endure +And little change the years shall know, +And still the Many shall be poor, +And still the Poor shall dwell in woe; +Firm in the iron Law of things +The strong shall be the wealthy still, +And (called Capitalists or Kings) +Shall seize and hoard the fruits of skill. +Leaving the weaker for their gain, +Leaving the gentler for their prize +Such dens and husks as beasts disdain, - +Till slowly from the wrinkled skies +The fireless frozen Sun shall wane, +Nor Summer come with golden grain; +Till men be glad, mid frost and snow +To live such equal lives of pain +As now the hutted Eskimo! +Then none shall plough nor garner seed, +Then, on some last sad human shore, +Equality shall reign indeed, +The Rich shall be with us no more, +Thus, and not otherwise, shall come +The new, the true Millennium! + + + +ALMAE MATRES--(ST. ANDREWS, 1862. OXFORD, 1865) + + + +St. Andrews by the Northern sea, +A haunted town it is to me! +A little city, worn and grey, +The grey North Ocean girds it round. +And o'er the rocks, and up the bay, +The long sea-rollers surge and sound. +And still the thin and biting spray +Drives down the melancholy street, +And still endure, and still decay, +Towers that the salt winds vainly beat. +Ghost-like and shadowy they stand +Dim mirrored in the wet sea-sand. + +St. Leonard's chapel, long ago +We loitered idly where the tall +Fresh budded mountain ashes blow +Within thy desecrated wall: +The tough roots rent the tomb below, +The April birds sang clamorous, +We did not dream, we could not know +How hardly Fate would deal with us! + +O, broken minster, looking forth +Beyond the bay, above the town, +O, winter of the kindly North, +O, college of the scarlet gown, +And shining sands beside the sea, +And stretch of links beyond the sand, +Once more I watch you, and to me +It is as if I touched his hand! + +And therefore art thou yet more dear, +O, little city, grey and sere, +Though shrunken from thine ancient pride +And lonely by thy lonely sea, +Than these fair halls on Isis' side, +Where Youth an hour came back to me! + +A land of waters green and clear, +Of willows and of poplars tall, +And, in the spring time of the year, +The white may breaking over all, +And Pleasure quick to come at call. +And summer rides by marsh and wold, +And Autumn with her crimson pall +About the towers of Magdalen rolled; +And strange enchantments from the past, +And memories of the friends of old, +And strong Tradition, binding fast +The "flying terms" with bands of gold, - + +All these hath Oxford: all are dear, +But dearer far the little town, +The drifting surf, the wintry year, +The college of the scarlet gown, +St. Andrews by the Northern sea, +That is a haunted town to me! + + + +DESIDERIUM--IN MEMORIAM S. F. A. + + + +The call of homing rooks, the shrill +Song of some bird that watches late, +The cries of children break the still +Sad twilight by the churchyard gate. + +And o'er your far-off tomb the grey +Sad twilight broods, and from the trees +The rooks call on their homeward way, +And are you heedless quite of these? + +The clustered rowan berries red +And Autumn's may, the clematis, +They droop above your dreaming head, +And these, and all things must you miss? + +Ah, you that loved the twilight air, +The dim lit hour of quiet best, +At last, at last you have your share +Of what life gave so seldom, rest! + +Yes, rest beyond all dreaming deep, +Or labour, nearer the Divine, +And pure from fret, and smooth as sleep, +And gentle as thy soul, is thine! + +So let it be! But could I know +That thou in this soft autumn eve, +This hush of earth that pleased thee so, +Hadst pleasure still, I might not grieve. + + + +BALLADE OF MIDDLE AGE + + + +Our youth began with tears and sighs, +With seeking what we could not find; +Our verses all were threnodies, +In elegiacs still we whined; +Our ears were deaf, our eyes were blind, +We sought and knew not what we sought. +We marvel, now we look behind: +Life's more amusing than we thought! + +Oh, foolish youth, untimely wise! +Oh, phantoms of the sickly mind! +What? not content with seas and skies, +With rainy clouds and southern wind, +With common cares and faces kind, +With pains and joys each morning brought? +Ah, old, and worn, and tired we find +Life's more amusing than we thought! + +Though youth "turns spectre-thin and dies," +To mourn for youth we're not inclined; +We set our souls on salmon flies, +We whistle where we once repined. +Confound the woes of human-kind! +By Heaven we're "well deceived," I wot; +Who hum, contented or resigned, +"Life's more amusing than we thought!" + + +ENVOY + + +O nate mecum, worn and lined +Our faces show, but THAT is naught; +Our hearts are young 'neath wrinkled rind: +Life's more amusing than we thought! + + + +THE LAST CAST--THE ANGLER'S APOLOGY + + + +Just one cast more! how many a year +Beside how many a pool and stream, +Beneath the falling leaves and sere, +I've sighed, reeled up, and dreamed my dream! + +Dreamed of the sport since April first +Her hands fulfilled of flowers and snow, +Adown the pastoral valleys burst +Where Ettrick and where Teviot flow. + +Dreamed of the singing showers that break, +And sting the lochs, or near or far, +And rouse the trout, and stir "the take" +From Urigil to Lochinvar. + +Dreamed of the kind propitious sky +O'er Ari Innes brooding grey; +The sea trout, rushing at the fly, +Breaks the black wave with sudden spray! + +* * * + +Brief are man's days at best; perchance +I waste my own, who have not seen +The castled palaces of France +Shine on the Loire in summer green. + +And clear and fleet Eurotas still, +You tell me, laves his reedy shore, +And flows beneath his fabled hill +Where Dian drave the chase of yore. + +And "like a horse unbroken" yet +The yellow stream with rush and foam, +'Neath tower, and bridge, and parapet, +Girdles his ancient mistress, Rome! + +I may not see them, but I doubt +If seen I'd find them half so fair +As ripples of the rising trout +That feed beneath the elms of Yair. + +Nay, Spring I'd meet by Tweed or Ail, +And Summer by Loch Assynt's deep, +And Autumn in that lonely vale +Where wedded Avons westward sweep, + +Or where, amid the empty fields, +Among the bracken of the glen, +Her yellow wreath October yields, +To crown the crystal brows of Ken. + +Unseen, Eurotas, southward steal, +Unknown, Alpheus, westward glide, +You never heard the ringing reel, +The music of the water side! + +Though Gods have walked your woods among, +Though nymphs have fled your banks along; +You speak not that familiar tongue +Tweed murmurs like my cradle song. + +My cradle song,--nor other hymn +I'd choose, nor gentler requiem dear +Than Tweed's, that through death's twilight dim, +Mourned in the latest Minstrel's ear! + + + +TWILIGHT--SONNET (AFTER RICHEPIN) + + + +Light has flown! +Through the grey +The wind's way +The sea's moan +Sound alone! +For the day +These repay +And atone! + +Scarce I know, +Listening so +To the streams +Of the sea, +If old dreams +Sing to me! + + + +BALLADE OF SUMMER--TO C. H. ARKCOLL + + + +When strawberry pottles are common and cheap, +Ere elms be black, or limes be sere, +When midnight dances are murdering sleep, +Then comes in the sweet o' the year! +And far from Fleet Street, far from here, +The Summer is Queen in the length of the land, +And moonlit nights they are soft and clear, +When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand! + +When clamour that doves in the lindens keep +Mingles with musical plash of the weir, +Where drowned green tresses of crowsfoot creep, +Then comes in the sweet o' the year! +And better a crust and a beaker of beer, +With rose-hung hedges on either hand, +Than a palace in town and a prince's cheer, +When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand! + +When big trout late in the twilight leap, +When cuckoo clamoureth far and near, +When glittering scythes in the hayfield reap, +Then comes in the sweet o' the year! +And it's oh to sail, with the wind to steer, +Where kine knee deep in the water stand, +On a Highland loch, on a Lowland mere, +When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand! + +ENVOY. + +Friend, with the fops while we dawdle here, +Then comes in the sweet o' the year! +And the Summer runs out, like grains of sand, +When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand! + + + +BALLADE OF CHRISTMAS GHOSTS + + + +Between the moonlight and the fire +In winter twilights long ago, +What ghosts we raised for your desire +To make your merry blood run slow! +How old, how grave, how wise we grow! +No Christmas ghost can make us chill, +Save THOSE that troop in mournful row, +The ghosts we all can raise at will! + +The beasts can talk in barn and byre +On Christmas Eve, old legends know, +As year by year the years retire, +We men fall silent then I trow, +Such sights hath Memory to show, +Such voices from the silence thrill, +Such shapes return with Christmas snow, - +The ghosts we all can raise at will. + +Oh, children of the village choir, +Your carols on the midnight throw, +Oh bright across the mist and mire +Ye ruddy hearths of Christmas glow! +Beat back the dread, beat down the woe, +Let's cheerily descend the hill; +Be welcome all, to come or go, +The ghosts we all can raise at will! + +ENVOY. + +Friend, sursum corda, soon or slow +We part, like guests who've joyed their fill; +Forget them not, nor mourn them so, +The ghosts we all can raise at will! + + + +LOVE'S EASTER--SONNET + + + +Love died here +Long ago; - +O'er his bier, +Lying low, +Poppies throw; +Shed no tear; +Year by year, +Roses blow! + +Year by year, +Adon--dear +To Love's Queen - +Does not die! +Wakes when green +May is nigh! + + + +BALLADE OF THE GIRTON GIRL + + + +She has just "put her gown on" at Girton, +She is learned in Latin and Greek, +But lawn tennis she plays with a skirt on +That the prudish remark with a shriek. +In her accents, perhaps, she is weak +(Ladies ARE, one observes with a sigh), +But in Algebra--THERE she's unique, +But her forte's to evaluate pi. + +She can talk about putting a "spirt on" +(I admit, an unmaidenly freak), +And she dearly delighteth to flirt on +A punt in some shadowy creek; +Should her bark, by mischance, spring a leak, +She can swim as a swallow can fly; +She can fence, she can put with a cleek, +But her forte's to evaluate pi. + +She has lectured on Scopas and Myrton, +Coins, vases, mosaics, the antique, +Old tiles with the secular dirt on, +Old marbles with noses to seek. +And her Cobet she quotes by the week, +And she's written on [Greek text: kev] and on [Greek text: kai], +And her service is swift and oblique, +But her forte's to evaluate pi. + +ENVOY. + +Princess, like a rose is her cheek, +And her eyes are as blue as the sky, +And I'd speak, had I courage to speak, +But--her forte's to evaluate pi. + + + +RONSARD'S GRAVE + + + +Ye wells, ye founts that fall +From the steep mountain wall, +That fall, and flash, and fleet +With silver feet, + +Ye woods, ye streams that lave +The meadows with your wave, +Ye hills, and valley fair, +Attend my prayer! + +When Heaven and Fate decree +My latest hour for me, +When I must pass away +From pleasant day, + +I ask that none my break +The marble for my sake, +Wishful to make more fair +My sepulchre. + +Only a laurel tree +Shall shade the grave of me, +Only Apollo's bough +Shall guard me now! + +Now shall I be at rest +Among the spirits blest, +The happy dead that dwell - +Where,--who may tell? + +The snow and wind and hail +May never there prevail, +Nor ever thunder fall +Nor storm at all. + +But always fadeless there +The woods are green and fair, +And faithful ever more +Spring to that shore! + +There shall I ever hear +Alcaeus' music clear, +And sweetest of all things +There SAPPHO sings. + + + +SAN TERENZO + + + +(The village in the bay of Spezia, near which Shelley was living +before the wreck of the Don Juan.) + +Mid April seemed like some November day, +When through the glassy waters, dull as lead, +Our boat, like shadowy barques that bear the dead, +Slipped down the long shores of the Spezian bay, +Rounded a point,--and San Terenzo lay +Before us, that gay village, yellow and red, +The roof that covered Shelley's homeless head, - +His house, a place deserted, bleak and grey. + +The waves broke on the door-step; fishermen +Cast their long nets, and drew, and cast again. +Deep in the ilex woods we wandered free, +When suddenly the forest glades were stirred +With waving pinions, and a great sea bird +Flew forth, like Shelley's spirit, to the sea! + +1880 + + + +ROMANCE + + + +My Love dwelt in a Northern land. +A grey tower in a forest green +Was hers, and far on either hand +The long wash of the waves was seen, +And leagues on leagues of yellow sand, +The woven forest boughs between! + +And through the silver Northern night +The sunset slowly died away, +And herds of strange deer, lily-white, +Stole forth among the branches grey; +About the coming of the light, +They fled like ghosts before the day! + +I know not if the forest green +Still girdles round that castle grey; +I know not if the boughs between +The white deer vanish ere the day; +Above my Love the grass is green, +My heart is colder than the clay! + + + +BALLADE OF HIS OWN COUNTRY + + + +I scribbled on a fly-book's leaves +Among the shining salmon-flies; +A song for summer-time that grieves +I scribbled on a fly-book's leaves. +Between grey sea and golden sheaves, +Beneath the soft wet Morvern skies, +I scribbled on a fly-book's leaves +Among the shining salmon-flies. + + +TO C. H. ARKCOLL + + +Let them boast of Arabia, oppressed +By the odour of myrrh on the breeze; +In the isles of the East and the West +That are sweet with the cinnamon trees +Let the sandal-wood perfume the seas; +Give the roses to Rhodes and to Crete, +We are more than content, if you please, +With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat! + +Though Dan Virgil enjoyed himself best +With the scent of the limes, when the bees +Hummed low 'round the doves in their nest, +While the vintagers lay at their ease, +Had he sung in our northern degrees, +He'd have sought a securer retreat, +He'd have dwelt, where the heart of us flees, +With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat! + +Oh, the broom has a chivalrous crest +And the daffodil's fair on the leas, +And the soul of the Southron might rest, +And be perfectly happy with these; +But WE, that were nursed on the knees +Of the hills of the North, we would fleet +Where our hearts might their longing appease +With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat! + +ENVOY + +Ah Constance, the land of our quest +It is far from the sounds of the street, +Where the Kingdom of Galloway's blest +With the smell of bog-myrtle and peat! + + + +VILLANELLE--(To M. Joseph Boulmier, author of "Les Villanelles.") + + + +Villanelle, why art thou mute? +Hath the singer ceased to sing? +Hath the Master lost his lute? + +Many a pipe and scrannel flute +On the breeze their discords fling; +Villanelle, why art THOU mute? + +Sound of tumult and dispute, +Noise of war the echoes bring; +Hath the Master lost his lute? + +Once he sang of bud and shoot +In the season of the Spring; +Villanelle, why art thou mute? + +Fading leaf and falling fruit +Say, "The year is on the wing, +Hath the Master lost his lute?" + +Ere the axe lie at the root, +Ere the winter come as king, +Villanelle, why art thou mute? +Hath the Master lost his lute? + + + +TRIOLETS AFTER MOSCHUS + + + +[Paragraph of Greek text] + +Alas, for us no second spring, +Like mallows in the garden-bed, +For these the grave has lost his sting, +Alas, for US no second spring, +Who sleep without awakening, +And, dead, for ever more are dead, +Alas, for us no second spring, +Like mallows in the garden-bed! + +Alas, the strong, the wise, the brave +That boast themselves the sons of men! +Once they go down into the grave - +Alas, the strong, the wise, the brave, - +They perish and have none to save, +They are sown, and are not raised again; +Alas, the strong, the wise, the brave, +That boast themselves the sons of men! + + + +BALLADE OF CRICKET--TO T. W. LANG + + + +The burden of hard hitting: slog away! +Here shalt thou make a "five" and there a "four," +And then upon thy bat shalt lean, and say, +That thou art in for an uncommon score. +Yea, the loud ring applauding thee shall roar, +And thou to rival THORNTON shalt aspire, +When lo, the Umpire gives thee "leg before," - +"This is the end of every man's desire!" + +The burden of much bowling, when the stay +Of all thy team is "collared," swift or slower, +When "bailers" break not in their wonted way, +And "yorkers" come not off as here-to-fore, +When length balls shoot no more, ah never more, +When all deliveries lose their former fire, +When bats seem broader than the broad barn-door, - +"This is the end of every man's desire!" + +The burden of long fielding, when the clay +Clings to thy shoon in sudden shower's downpour, +And running still thou stumblest, or the ray +Of blazing suns doth bite and burn thee sore, +And blind thee till, forgetful of thy lore, +Thou dost most mournfully misjudge a "skyer," +And lose a match the Fates cannot restore, - +"This is the end of every man's desire!" + +ENVOY. + +Alas, yet liefer on Youth's hither shore +Would I be some poor Player on scant hire, +Than King among the old, who play no more, - +"THIS is the end of every man's desire!" + + + +THE LAST MAYING + + + +"It is told of the last Lovers which watched May-night in the +forest, before men brought the tidings of the Gospel to this land, +that they beheld no Fairies, nor Dwarfs, nor no such Thing, but +the very Venus herself, who bade them 'make such cheer as they +might, for' said she, 'I shall live no more in these Woods, nor +shall ye endure to see another May time.'"--EDMUND GORLIOT, "Of +Phantasies and Omens," p. 149. (1573.) + +"Whence do ye come, with the dew on your hair? +From what far land are the boughs ye bear, +The blossoms and buds upon breasts and tresses, +The light burned white in your faces fair?" + +"In a falling fane have we built our house, +With the dying Gods we have held carouse, +And our lips are wan from their wild caresses, +Our hands are filled with their holy boughs. + +As we crossed the lawn in the dying day +No fairy led us to meet the May, +But the very Goddess loved by lovers, +In mourning raiment of green and grey. + +She was not decked as for glee and game, +She was not veiled with the veil of flame, +The saffron veil of the Bride that covers +The face that is flushed with her joy and shame. + +On the laden branches the scent and dew +Mingled and met, and as snow to strew +The woodland rides and the fragrant grasses, +White flowers fell as the night wind blew. + +Tears and kisses on lips and eyes +Mingled and met amid laughter and sighs +For grief that abides, and joy that passes, +For pain that tarries and mirth that flies. + +It chanced as the dawning grew to grey +Pale and sad on our homeward way, +With weary lips, and palled with pleasure +The Goddess met us, farewell to say. + +"Ye have made your choice, and the better part, +Ye chose" she said, "and the wiser art; +In the wild May night drank all the measure, +The perfect pleasure of heart and heart. + +"Ye shall walk no more with the May," she said, +"Shall your love endure though the Gods be dead? +Shall the flitting flocks, mine own, my chosen, +Sing as of old, and be happy and wed? + +"Yea, they are glad as of old; but you, +Fair and fleet as the dawn or the dew, +Abide no more, for the springs are frozen, +And fled the Gods that ye loved and knew. + +Ye shall never know Summer again like this; +Ye shall play no more with the Fauns, I wis, +No more in the nymphs' and dryads' playtime +Shall echo and answer kiss and kiss. + +"Though the flowers in your golden hair be bright, +Your golden hair shall be waste and white +On faded brows ere another May time +Bring the spring, but no more delight." + + + +HOMERIC UNITY + + + +The sacred keep of Ilion is rent +By shaft and pit; foiled waters wander slow +Through plains where Simois and Scamander went +To war with Gods and heroes long ago. +Not yet to tired Cassandra, lying low +In rich Mycenae, do the Fates relent: +The bones of Agamemnon are a show, +And ruined is his royal monument. + +The dust and awful treasures of the Dead, +Hath Learning scattered wide, but vainly thee, +Homer, she meteth with her tool of lead, +And strives to rend thy songs; too blind to see +The crown that burns on thine immortal head +Of indivisible supremacy! + + + +IN TINTAGEL + + + +LUI. + +Ah lady, lady, leave the creeping mist, +And leave the iron castle by the sea! + +ELLE. + +Nay, from the sea there came a ghost that kissed +My lips, and so I cannot come to thee! + +LUI. + +Ah lady, leave the cruel landward wind +That crusts the blighted flowers with bitter foam! + +ELLE. + +Nay, for his arms are cold and strong to bind, +And I must dwell with him and make my home! + +LUI. + +Come, for the Spring is fair in Joyous Guard +And down deep alleys sweet birds sing again. + +ELLE. + +But I must tarry with the winter hard, +And with the bitter memory of pain, +Although the Spring be fair in Joyous Guard, +And in the gardens glad birds sing again! + + + +PISIDICE + + + +The incident is from the Love Stories of Parthenius, who preserved +fragments of a lost epic on the expedition of Achilles against +Lesbos, an island allied with Troy. + + +The daughter of the Lesbian king +Within her bower she watched the war, +Far off she heard the arrows ring, +The smitten harness ring afar; +And, fighting from the foremost car, +Saw one that smote where all must flee; +More fair than the Immortals are +He seemed to fair Pisidice! + +She saw, she loved him, and her heart +Before Achilles, Peleus' son, +Threw all its guarded gates apart, +A maiden fortress lightly won! +And, ere that day of fight was done, +No more of land or faith recked she, +But joyed in her new life begun, - +Her life of love, Pisidice! + +She took a gift into her hand, +As one that had a boon to crave; +She stole across the ruined land +Where lay the dead without a grave, +And to Achilles' hand she gave +Her gift, the secret postern's key. +"To-morrow let me be thy slave!" +Moaned to her love Pisidice. + +Ere dawn the Argives' clarion call +Rang down Methymna's burning street; +They slew the sleeping warriors all, +They drove the women to the fleet, +Save one, that to Achilles' feet +Clung, but, in sudden wrath, cried he: +"For her no doom but death is meet," +And there men stoned Pisidice. + +In havens of that haunted coast, +Amid the myrtles of the shore, +The moon sees many a maiden ghost +Love's outcast now and evermore. +The silence hears the shades deplore +Their hour of dear-bought love; but THEE +The waves lull, 'neath thine olives hoar, +To dreamless rest, Pisidice! + + + +FROM THE EAST TO THE WEST + + + +Returning from what other seas +Dost thou renew thy murmuring, +Weak Tide, and hast thou aught of these +To tell, the shores where float and cling +My love, my hope, my memories? + +Say does my lady wake to note +The gold light into silver die? +Or do thy waves make lullaby, +While dreams of hers, like angels, float +Through star-sown spaces of the sky? + +Ah, would such angels came to me +That dreams of mine might speak with hers, +Nor wake the slumber of the sea +With words as low as winds that be +Awake among the gossamers! + + + +LOVE THE VAMPIRE [Greek text] + + + +The level sands and grey, +Stretch leagues and leagues away, +Down to the border line of sky and foam, +A spark of sunset burns, +The grey tide-water turns, +Back, like a ghost from her forbidden home! + +Here, without pyre or bier, +Light Love was buried here, +Alas, his grave was wide and deep enough, +Thrice, with averted head, +We cast dust on the dead, +And left him to his rest. An end of Love. + +"No stone to roll away, +No seal of snow or clay, +Only soft dust above his wearied eyes, +But though the sudden sound +Of Doom should shake the ground, +And graves give up their ghosts, he will not rise!" + +So each to each we said! +Ah, but to either bed +Set far apart in lands of North and South, +Love as a Vampire came +With haggard eyes aflame, +And kissed us with the kisses of his mouth! + +Thenceforth in dreams must we +Each other's shadow see +Wand'ring unsatisfied in empty lands, +Still the desired face +Fleets from the vain embrace, +And still the shape evades the longing hands. + + + +BALLADE OF THE BOOK-MAN'S PARADISE + + + +There IS a Heaven, or here, or there, - +A Heaven there is, for me and you, +Where bargains meet for purses spare, +Like ours, are not so far and few. +Thuanus' bees go humming through +The learned groves, 'neath rainless skies, +O'er volumes old and volumes new, +Within that Book-man's Paradise! + +There treasures bound for Longepierre +Keep brilliant their morocco blue, +There Hookes' AMANDA is not rare, +Nor early tracts upon Peru! +Racine is common as Rotrou, +No Shakespeare Quarto search defies, +And Caxtons grow as blossoms grew, +Within that Book-man's Paradise! + +There's Eve,--not our first mother fair, - +But Clovis Eve, a binder true; +Thither does Bauzonnet repair, +Derome, Le Gascon, Padeloup! +But never come the cropping crew +That dock a volume's honest size, +Nor they that "letter" backs askew, +Within that Book-man's Paradise! + +ENVOY + +Friend, do not Heber and De Thou, +And Scott, and Southey, kind and wise, +La chasse au bouquin still pursue +Within that Book-man's Paradise? + + + +BALLADE OF A FRIAR + + + +(Clement Marot's Frere Lubin, though translated by Longfellow and +others, has not hitherto been rendered into the original measure, +of ballade e double refrain.) + +Some ten or twenty times a day, +To bustle to the town with speed, +To dabble in what dirt he may, - +Le Frere Lubin's the man you need! +But any sober life to lead +Upon an exemplary plan, +Requires a Christian indeed, - +Le Frere Lubin is NOT the man! + +Another's wealth on his to lay, +With all the craft of guile and greed, +To leave you bare of pence or pay, - +Le Frere Lubin's the man you need! +But watch him with the closest heed, +And dun him with what force you can, - +He'll not refund, howe'er you plead, - +Le Frere Lubin is NOT the man! + +An honest girl to lead astray, +With subtle saw and promised meed, +Requires no cunning crone and grey, - +Le Frere Lubin's the man you need! +He preaches an ascetic creed, +But,--try him with the water can - +A dog will drink, whate'er his breed, - +Le Frere Lubin is NOT the man! + +ENVOY + +In good to fail, in ill succeed, +Le Frere Lubin's the man you need! +In honest works to lead the van, +Le Frere Lubin is NOT the man! + + + +BALLADE OF NEGLECTED MERIT {1} + + + +I have scribbled in verse and in prose, +I have painted "arrangements in greens," +And my name is familiar to those +Who take in the high class magazines; +I compose; I've invented machines; +I have written an "Essay on Rhyme"; +For my county I played, in my teens, +But--I am not in "Men of the Time!" + +I have lived, as a chief, with the Crows; +I have "interviewed" Princes and Queens; +I have climbed the Caucasian snows; +I abstain, like the ancients, from beans, - +I've a guess what Pythagoras means, +When he says that to eat them's a crime, - +I have lectured upon the Essenes, +But--I am not in "Men of the Time!" + +I've a fancy as morbid as Poe's, +I can tell what is meant by "Shebeens," +I have breasted the river that flows +Through the land of the wild Gadarenes; +I can gossip with Burton on skenes, +I can imitate Irving (the Mime), +And my sketches are quainter than Keene's, +But--I am not in "Men of the Time!" + +ENVOY + +So the tower of mine eminence leans +Like the Pisan, and mud is its lime; +I'm acquainted with Dukes and with Deans, +But--I am not in "Men of the Time!" + + + +BALLADE OF RAILWAY NOVELS + + + +Let others praise analysis +And revel in a "cultured" style, +And follow the subjective Miss {2} +From Boston to the banks of Nile, +Rejoice in anti-British bile, +And weep for fickle hero's woe, +These twain have shortened many a mile, +Miss Braddon and Gaboriau. + +These damsels of "Democracy's," +How long they stop at every stile! +They smile, and we are told, I wis, +Ten subtle reasons WHY they smile. +Give ME your villains deeply vile, +Give me Lecoq, Jottrat, and Co., +Great artists of the ruse and wile, +Miss Braddon and Gaboriau! + +Oh, novel readers, tell me this, +Can prose that's polished by the file, +Like great Boisgobey's mysteries, +Wet days and weary ways beguile, +And man to living reconcile, +Like these whose every trick we know? +The agony how high they pile, +Miss Braddon and Gaboriau! + +ENVOY + +Ah, friend, how many and many a while +They've made the slow time fleetly flow, +And solaced pain and charmed exile, +Miss Braddon and Gaboriau. + + + +THE CLOUD CHORUS (FROM ARISTOPHANES) + + + +Socrates speaks. + +Hither, come hither, ye Clouds renowned, and unveil yourselves +here; +Come, though ye dwell on the sacred crests of Olympian snow, +Or whether ye dance with the Nereid choir in the gardens clear, +Or whether your golden urns are dipped in Nile's overflow, +Or whether you dwell by Maeotis mere +Or the snows of Mimas, arise! appear! +And hearken to us, and accept our gifts ere ye rise and go. + +The Clouds sing. + +Immortal Clouds from the echoing shore +Of the father of streams, from the sounding sea, +Dewy and fleet, let us rise and soar. +Dewy and gleaming, and fleet are we! +Let us look on the tree-clad mountain crest, +On the sacred earth where the fruits rejoice, +On the waters that murmur east and west +On the tumbling sea with his moaning voice, +For unwearied glitters the Eye of the Air, +And the bright rays gleam; +Then cast we our shadows of mist, and fare +In our deathless shapes to glance everywhere +From the height of the heaven, on the land and air, +And the Ocean stream. + +Let us on, ye Maidens that bring the Rain, +Let us gaze on Pallas' citadel, +In the country of Cecrops, fair and dear +The mystic land of the holy cell, +Where the Rites unspoken securely dwell, +And the gifts of the Gods that know not stain +And a people of mortals that know not fear. +For the temples tall, and the statues fair, +And the feasts of the Gods are holiest there, +The feasts of Immortals, the chaplets of flowers +And the Bromian mirth at the coming of spring, +And the musical voices that fill the hours, +And the dancing feet of the Maids that sing! + + + +BALLADE OF LITERARY FAME + + + +"All these for Fourpence." + +Oh, where are the endless Romances +Our grandmothers used to adore? +The Knights with their helms and their lances, +Their shields and the favours they wore? +And the Monks with their magical lore? +They have passed to Oblivion and Nox, +They have fled to the shadowy shore, - +They are all in the Fourpenny Box! + +And where the poetical fancies +Our fathers rejoiced in, of yore? +The lyric's melodious expanses, +The Epics in cantos a score? +They have been and are not: no more +Shall the shepherds drive silvery flocks, +Nor the ladies their languors deplore, - +They are all in the Fourpenny Box! + +And the Music! The songs and the dances? +The tunes that Time may not restore? +And the tomes where Divinity prances? +And the pamphlets where Heretics roar? +They have ceased to be even a bore, - +The Divine, and the Sceptic who mocks, - +They are "cropped," they are "foxed" to the core, - +They are all in the Fourpenny Box! + +ENVOY + +Suns beat on them; tempests downpour, +On the chest without cover or locks, +Where they lie by the Bookseller's door, - +They are ALL in the Fourpenny Box! + + + +[Greek title] + + + +I would my days had been in other times, +A moment in the long unnumbered years +That knew the sway of Horus and of hawk, +In peaceful lands that border on the Nile. + +I would my days had been in other times, +Lulled by the sacrifice and mumbled hymn +Between the Five great Rivers, or in shade +And shelter of the cool Himalayan hills. + +I would my days had been in other times, +That I in some old abbey of Touraine +Had watched the rounding grapes, and lived my life, +Ere ever Luther came or Rabelais! + +I would my days had been in other times, +When quiet life to death not terrible +Drifted, as ashes of the Santhal dead +Drift down the sacred Rivers to the Sea! + + + +A VERY WOFUL BALLADE OF THE ART CRITIC (TO E. A. ABBEY.) + + + +A spirit came to my sad bed, +And weary sad that night was I, +Who'd tottered, since the dawn was red, +Through miles of Grosvenor Gallery, +Yea, leagues of long Academy +Awaited me when morn grew white, +'Twas then the Spirit whispered nigh, +"Take up the pen, my friend, and write! + +"Of many a portrait grey as lead, +Of many a mustard-coloured sky, +Say much, where little should be said, +Lay on thy censure dexterously, +With microscopic glances pry +At textures, Tadema's delight, +Praise foreign swells they always sky, +Take up the pen, my friend, and write!" + +I answered, "'Tis for daily bread, +A sorry crust, I ween, and dry, +That still, with aching feet and head, +I push this lawful industry, +'Mid pictures hung or low, or high, +But, touching that which I indite, +Do artists hold me lovingly? +Take up the pen, my friend, and write." + +[The Spirit writeth in form of] + +ENVOY + +"They fain would black thy dexter eye, +They hate thee with a bitter spite, +But scribble since thou must, or die, +Take tip the pen, my friend, and write!" + + + +ART'S MARTYR + + + +Telleth of a young man that fain would be fairly tattooed on his +flesh, after the heathen manner, in devices of blue, and that, +falling among the Dyacks, a folk of Borneo, was by them tattooed +in modern fashion and device, and of his misery that fell upon +him, and his outlawry. + +He said, The China on the shelf +Is very fair to view, +And wherefore should mine outer self, +Not correspond thereto? +In blue +My frame I must tattoo. + +Where may tattooing men abound, +And ah, where might they be? +Nay, well I wot they are not found +In lands of Christentie, +(Quoth he) +But I must cross the sea! + +So forth he sailed to Borneo, +(A land that culture lacks,) +And there his money did bestow +To purchase pricks and hacks, +(Dyacks +Are famed tattooing blacks.) + +But European commerce had +Debased the savage kind, +And they this most unhappy lad +Before (and eke behind) +Designed +In colours to their mind! + +Such awful colours as are blent +On terrible placards +Where flames the fierce advertisement +Yea, or on Christmas cards +(Not Ward's, +But common Christmas cards!) + +Thus never more to Chelsea might +The luckless boy return, +He knew himself too dreadful, quite, +A thing his friends would spurn, +And turn +To praise some Grecian urn! + +But still he dwells in Borneo, +A land that culture lacks, +And there they all admire him so, +They bring him heads in sacks, +Dyacks +Are NOT aesthetic blacks! + + + +THE PALACE O BRIC-A-BRAC + + + +Here, where old Nankin glitters, +Here, where men's tumult seems +As faint as feeble twitters +Of sparrows heard in dreams, +We watch Limoges enamel, +An old chased silver camel, +A shawl, the gift of Schamyl, +And manuscripts in reams. + +Here, where the hawthorn pattern +On flawless cup and plate +Need fear no housemaid slattern, +Fell minister of fate, +'Mid webs divinely woven, +And helms and hauberks cloven, +On music of Beethoven +We dream and meditate. + +We know not, and we need not +To know how mortals fare, +Of Bills that pass, or speed not, +Time finds us unaware, +Yea, creeds and codes may crumble, +And Dilke and Gladstone stumble, +And eat the pie that's humble, +We neither know nor care! + +Can kings or clergies alter +The crackle on one plate? +Can creeds or systems palter +With what is truly great? +With Corots and with Millets, +With April daffodillies, +Or make the maiden lilies +Bloom early or bloom late? + +Nay, here 'midst Rhodian roses, +'Midst tissues of Cashmere, +The Soul sublime reposes, +And knows not hope nor fear; +Here all she sees her own is, +And musical her moan is, +O'er Caxtons and Bodonis, +Aldine and Elzevir! + + + +RONDEAUX OF THE GALLERIES + + + +Camelot + +In Camelot how grey and green +The Damsels dwell, how sad their teen, +In Camelot how green and grey +The melancholy poplars sway. +I wis I wot not what they mean +Or wherefore, passionate and lean, +The maidens mope their loves between, +Not seeming to have much to say, +In Camelot. +Yet there hath armour goodly sheen +The blossoms in the apple treen, +(To spell the Camelotian way) +Show fragrant through the doubtful day, +And Master's work is often seen +In Camelot! + +Philistia + +Philistia! Maids in muslin white +With flannelled oarsmen oft delight +To drift upon thy streams, and float +In Salter's most luxurious boat; +In buff and boots the cheery knight +Returns (quite safe) from Naseby fight; +Thy humblest folk are clean and bright, +Thou still must win the public vote, +Philistia! +Observe the High Church curate's coat, +The realistic hansom note! +Ah, happy land untouched of blight, +Smirks, Bishops, Babies, left and right, +We know thine every charm by rote, +Philistia! + + + +THE BARBAROUS BIRD-GODS: A SAVAGE PARABASIS + + + +In the Aves of Aristophanes, the Bird Chorus declare that they are +older than the Gods, and greater benefactors of men. This idea +recurs in almost all savage mythologies, and I have made the +savage Bird-gods state their own case. + +The Birds sing: + +We would have you to wit, that on eggs though we sit, and are +spiked on the spit, and are baked in the pan, +Birds are older by far than your ancestors are, and made love and +made war ere the making of Man! +For when all things were dark, not a glimmer nor spark, and the +world like a barque without rudder or sail +Floated on through the night, 'twas a Bird struck a light, 'twas a +flash from the bright feather'd Tonatiu's {3} tail! +Then the Hawk {4} with some dry wood flew up in the sky, and afar, +safe and high, the Hawk lit Sun and Moon, +And the Birds of the air they rejoiced everywhere, and they recked +not of care that should come on them soon. +For the Hawk, so they tell, was then known as Pundjel, {5} and a- +musing he fell at the close of the day; +Then he went on the quest, as we thought, of a nest, with some +bark of the best, and a clawful of clay. {6} +And with these did he frame two birds lacking a name, without +feathers (his game was a puzzle to all); +Next around them he fluttered a-dancing, and muttered; and, +lastly, he uttered a magical call: +Then the figures of clay, as they featherless lay, they leaped up, +who but they, and embracing they fell, +And THIS was the baking of Man, and his making; but now he's +forsaking his Father, Pundjel! +Now these creatures of mire, they kept whining for fire, and to +crown their desire who was found but the Wren? +To the high heaven he came, from the Sun stole he flame, and for +this has a name in the memory of men! {7} +And in India who for the Soma juice flew, and to men brought it +through without falter or fail? +Why the Hawk 'twas again, and great Indra to men would appear, now +and then, in the shape of a Quail, +While the Thlinkeet's delight is the Bird of the Night, the beak +and the bright ebon plumage of Yehl.{8} +And who for man's need brought the famed Suttung's mead? why 'tis +told in the creed of the Sagamen strong, + 'Twas the Eagle god who brought the drink from the blue, and gave +mortals the brew that's the fountain of song. {9} +Next, who gave men their laws? and what reason or cause the young +brave overawes when in need of a squaw, +Till he thinks it a shame to wed one of his name, and his conduct +you blame if he thus breaks the law? +For you still hold it wrong if a lubra {10} belong to the self- +same kobong {11} that is Father of you, +To take HER as a bride to your ebony side; nay, you give her a +wide berth; quite right of you, too. +For her father, you know, is YOUR father, the Crow, and no +blessing but woe from the wedding would spring. +Well, these rules they were made in the wattle-gum shade, and were +strictly obeyed, when the Crow was the King. {12} +Thus on Earth's little ball to the Birds you owe all, yet your +gratitude's small for the favours they've done, +And their feathers you pill, and you eat them at will, yes, you +plunder and kill the bright birds one by one; +There's a price on their head, and the Dodo is dead, and the Moa +has fled from the sight of the sun! + + + +MAN AND THE ASCIDIAN--A MORALITY + + + +"The Ancestor remote of Man," +Says Darwin, "is th' Ascidian," +A scanty sort of water-beast +That, ninety million years at least +Before Gorillas came to be, +Went swimming up and down the sea. + +Their ancestors the pious praise, +And like to imitate their ways; +How, then, does our first parent live, +What lesson has his life to give? + +Th' Ascidian tadpole, young and gay, +Doth Life with one bright eye survey, +His consciousness has easy play. +He's sensitive to grief and pain, +Has tail, and spine, and bears a brain, +And everything that fits the state +Of creatures we call vertebrate. +But age comes on; with sudden shock +He sticks his head against a rock! +His tail drops off, his eye drops in, +His brain's absorbed into his skin; +He does not move, nor feel, nor know +The tidal water's ebb and flow, +But still abides, unstirred, alone, +A sucker sticking to a stone. + +And we, his children, truly we +In youth are, like the Tadpole, free. +And where we would we blithely go, +Have brains and hearts, and feel and know. +Then Age comes on! To Habit we +Affix ourselves and are not free; +Th' Ascidian's rooted to a rock, +And we are bond-slaves of the clock; +Our rocks are Medicine--Letters--Law, +From these our heads we cannot draw: +Our loves drop off, our hearts drop in, +And daily thicker grows our skin. + +Ah, scarce we live, we scarcely know +The wide world's moving ebb and flow, +The clanging currents ring and shock, +But we are rooted to the rock. +And thus at ending of his span, +Blind, deaf, and indolent, does Man +Revert to the Ascidian. + + + +BALLADE OF THE PRIMITIVE JEST + + + +"What did the dark-haired Iberian laugh at before the tall blonde +Aryan drove him into the corners of Europe?"--Brander Matthews. + +I am an ancient Jest! +Palaeolithic man +In his arboreal nest +The sparks of fun would fan; +My outline did he plan, +And laughed like one possessed, +'Twas thus my course began, +I am a Merry Jest! + +I am an early Jest! +Man delved, and built, and span; +Then wandered South and West +The peoples Aryan, +I journeyed in their van; +The Semites, too, confessed, - +From Beersheba to Dan, - +I am a Merry Jest! + +I am an ancient Jest, +Through all the human clan, +Red, black, white, free, oppressed, +Hilarious I ran! +I'm found in Lucian, +In Poggio, and the rest, +I'm dear to Moll and Nan! +I am a Merry Jest! + +ENVOY + +Prince, you may storm and ban - +Joe Millers ARE a pest, +Suppress me if you can! +I am a Merry Jest! + + + +CAMEOS--SONNETS FROM THE ANTIQUE + + + +These versions from classical passages are pretty close to the +original, except where compression was needed, as in the sonnets +from Pausanias and Apuleius, or where, as in the case of fragments +of AEschylus and Sophocles, a little expansion was required. + + + +CAMEOS + + + +The graver by Apollo's shrine, +Before the Gods had fled, would stand, +A shell or onyx in his hand, +To copy there the face divine, +Till earnest touches, line by line, +Had wrought the wonder of the land +Within a beryl's golden band, +Or on some fiery opal fine. +Ah! would that as some ancient ring +To us, on shell or stone, doth bring, +Art's marvels perished long ago, +So I, within the sonnet's space, +The large Hellenic lines might trace, +The statue in the cameo! + + + +HELEN ON THE WALLS--(Iliad, iii. 146.) + + + +Fair Helen to the Scaean portals came, +Where sat the elders, peers of Priamus, +Thymoetas, Hiketaon, Panthous, +And many another of a noble name, +Famed warriors, now in council more of fame. +Always above the gates, in converse thus +They chattered like cicalas garrulous; +Who marking Helen, swore "it is no shame +That armed Achaean knights, and Ilian men +For such a woman's sake should suffer long. +Fair as a deathless goddess seemeth she. +Nay, but aboard the red-prowed ships again +Home let her pass in peace, not working wrong +To us, and children's children yet to be." + + + +THE ISLES OF THE BLESSED--(Pindar, Fr., 106, 107 (95): B. 4, 129- +130, 109 (97): B. 4, 132) + + + +Now the light of the sun, in the night of the Earth, on the souls +of the True +Shines, and their city is girt with the meadow where reigneth the +rose; +And deep is the shade of the woods, and the wind that flits o'er +them and through +Sings of the sea, and is sweet from the isles where the +frankincense blows: +Green is their garden and orchard, with rare fruits golden it +glows, +And the souls of the Blessed are glad in the pleasures on Earth +that they knew, +And in chariots these have delight, and in dice and in minstrelsy +those, +And the savour of sacrifice clings to the altars and rises anew. + +But the Souls that Persephone cleanses from ancient pollution and +stain, +These at the end of the age be they prince, be they singer, or +seer; +These to the world, shall be born as of old, shall be sages again; +These of their hands shall be hardy, shall live, and shall die, +and shall hear +Thanks of the people, and songs of the minstrels that praise them +amain, +And their glory shall dwell in the land where they dwelt, while +year calls unto year! + + + +DEATH--(AEsch., Fr., 156.) + + + +Of all Gods Death alone +Disdaineth sacrifice: +No man hath found or shown +The gift that Death would prize. +In vain are songs or sighs, +Paaen, or praise, or moan, +Alone beneath the skies +Hath Death no altar-stone! + +There is no head so dear +That men would grudge to Death; +Let Death but ask, we give +All gifts that we may live; +But though Death dwells so near, +We know not what he saith. + + + +NYSA--(Soph., Fr., 235; AEsch., Fr., 56.) + + + +On these Nysaean shores divine +The clusters ripen in a day. +At dawn the blossom shreds away; +The berried grapes are green and fine +And full by noon; in day's decline +They're purple with a bloom of grey, +And e'er the twilight plucked are they, +And crushed, by nightfall, into wine. + +But through the night with torch in hand +Down the dusk hills the Maenads fare; +The bull-voiced mummers roar and blare, +The muffled timbrels swell and sound, +And drown the clamour of the band +Like thunder moaning underground. + + + +COLONUS--(OEd. Col., 667-705.) + + + +I. + +Here be the fairest homes the land can show, +The silvery-cliffed Colonus; always here +The nightingale doth haunt and singeth clear, +For well the deep green gardens doth she know. +Groves of the God, where winds may never blow, +Nor men may tread, nor noontide sun may peer +Among the myriad-berried ivy dear, +Where Dionysus wanders to and fro. + +For here he loves to dwell, and here resort +These Nymphs that are his nurses and his court, +And golden eyed beneath the dewy boughs +The crocus burns, and the narcissus fair +Clusters his blooms to crown thy clustered hair, +Demeter, and to wreathe the Maiden's brows! + +II. + +Yea, here the dew of Heaven upon the grain +Fails never, nor the ceaseless water-spring, +Near neighbour of Cephisus wandering, +That day by day revisiteth the plain. +Nor do the Goddesses the grove disdain, +But chiefly here the Muses quire and sing, +And here they love to weave their dancing ring, +With Aphrodite of the golden rein. + +And here there springs a plant that knoweth not +The Asian mead, nor that great Dorian isle, +Unsown, untilled, within our garden plot +It dwells, the grey-leaved olive; ne'er shall guile +Nor force of foemen root it from the spot: +Zeus and Athene guarding it the while! + + + +THE PASSING OF OEDIPOUS--(OEd. Col., 1655-1666.) + + + +How OEdipous departed, who may tell +Save Theseus only? for there neither came +The burning bolt of thunder, and the flame +To blast him into nothing, nor the swell +Of sea-tide spurred by tempest on him fell. +But some diviner herald none may name +Called him, or inmost Earth's abyss became +The painless place where such a soul might dwell. + +Howe'er it chanced, untouched of malady, +Unharmed by fear, unfollowed by lament, +With comfort on the twilight way he went, +Passing, if ever man did, wondrously; +From this world's death to life divinely rent, +Unschooled in Time's last lesson, how we die. + + + +THE TAMING OF TYRO--(Soph., Fr., 587.) + + + +(Sidero, the stepmother of Tyro, daughter of Salmoneus, cruelly +entreated her in all things, and chiefly in this, that she let +sheer her beautiful hair.) + + +At fierce Sidero's word the thralls drew near, +And shore the locks of Tyro,--like ripe corn +They fell in golden harvest,--but forlorn +The maiden shuddered in her pain and fear, +Like some wild mare that cruel grooms in scorn +Hunt in the meadows, and her mane they sheer, +And drive her where, within the waters clear, +She spies her shadow, and her shame doth mourn. + +Ah! hard were he and pitiless of heart +Who marking that wild thing made weak and tame, +Broken, and grieving for her glory gone, +Could mock her grief; but scornfully apart +Sidero stood, and watched a wind that came +And tossed the curls like fire that flew and shone! + + + +TO ARTEMIS--(Hippol., Eurip., 73-87.) + + + +For thee soft crowns in thine untrampled mead +I wove, my lady, and to thee I bear; +Thither no shepherd drives his flocks to feed, +Nor scythe of steel has ever laboured there; +Nay, through the spring among the blossoms fair +The brown bee comes and goes, and with good heed +Thy maiden, Reverence, sweet streams doth lead +About the grassy close that is her care! + +Souls only that are gracious and serene +By gift of God, in human lore unread, +May pluck these holy blooms and grasses green +That now I wreathe for thine immortal head, +I that may walk with thee, thyself unseen, +And by thy whispered voice am comforted. + + + +CRITICISM OF LIFE--(Hippol, Eurip .P., 252-266.) + + + +Long life hath taught me many things, and shown +That lukewarm loves for men who die are best, +Weak wine of liking let them mix alone, +Not Love, that stings the soul within the breast; +Happy, who wears his love-bonds lightliest, +Now cherished, now away at random thrown! +Grievous it is for other's grief to moan, +Hard that my soul for thine should lose her rest! + +Wise ruling this of life: but yet again +Perchance too rigid diet is not well; +He lives not best who dreads the coming pain +And shunneth each delight desirable: +FLEE THOU EXTREMES, this word alone is plain, +Of all that God hath given to Man to spell! + + + +AMARYLLIS--(Theocritus, Idyll, iii.) + + + +Fair Amaryllis, wilt thou never peep +From forth the cave, and call me, and be mine? +Lo, apples ten I bear thee from the steep, +These didst thou long for, and all these are thine. +Ah, would I were a honey-bee to sweep +Through ivy, and the bracken, and woodbine; +To watch thee waken, Love, and watch thee sleep, +Within thy grot below the shadowy pine. +Now know I Love, a cruel god is he, +The wild beast bare him in the wild wood drear; +And truly to the bone he burneth me. +But, black-browed Amaryllis, ne'er a tear, +Nor sigh, nor blush, nor aught have I from thee; +Nay, nor a kiss, a little gift and dear. + + + +THE CANNIBAL ZEUS--A.D. 160 + + + +[Greek text]--Paus. viii. 38 + + +None elder city doth the Sun behold +Than ancient Lycosura; 'twas begun +Ere Zeus the meat of mortals learned to shun, +And here hath he a grove whose haunted fold +The driven deer seek and huntsmen dread: 'tis told +That whoso fares within that forest dun +Thenceforth shall cast no shadow in the Sun, +Ay, and within the year his life is cold! + +Hard by dwelt he {13} who, while the Gods deigned eat +At good men's tables, gave them dreadful meat, +A child he slew: --his mountain altar green +Here still hath Zeus, with rites untold of me, +Piteous, but as they are let these things be, +And as from the beginning they have been! + + + +INVOCATION OF ISIS--(Apuleius, Metamorph. XI.) + + + +Thou that art sandalled on immortal feet +With leaves of palm, the prize of Victory; +Thou that art crowned with snakes and blossoms sweet, +Queen of the silver dews and shadowy sky, +I pray thee by all names men name thee by! +Demeter, come, and leave the yellow wheat! +Or Aphrodite, let thy lovers sigh! +Or Dian, from thine Asian temple fleet! + +Or, yet more dread, divine Persephone +From worlds of wailing spectres, ah, draw near; +Approach, Selene, from thy subject sea; +Come, Artemis, and this night spare the deer: +By all thy names and rites I summon thee; +By all thy rites and names, Our Lady, hear! + + + +THE COMING OF ISIS + + + +So Lucius prayed, and sudden, from afar, +Floated the locks of Isis, shone the bright +Crown that is tressed with berry, snake, and star; +She came in deep blue raiment of the night, +Above her robes that now were snowy white, +Now golden as the moons of harvest are, +Now red, now flecked with many a cloudy bay, +Now stained with all the lustre of the light. + +Then he who saw her knew her, and he knew +The awful symbols borne in either hand; +The golden urn that laves Demeter's dew, +The handles wreathed with asps, the mystic wand; +The shaken seistron's music, tinkling through +The temples of that old Osirian land. + + + +THE SPINET + + + +My heart an old Spinet with strings +To laughter chiefly turned, but some +That Fate has practised hard on, dumb, +They answer not whoever sings. +The ghosts of half-forgotten things +Will touch the keys with fingers numb, +The little mocking spirits come +And thrill it with their fairy wings. + +A jingling harmony it makes +My heart, my lyre, my old Spinet, +And now a memory it wakes, +And now the music means "forget," +And little heed the player takes +Howe'er the thoughtful critic fret. + + + +NOTES + + + +The Fortunate Islands. + +This piece is a rhymed loose version of a passage in the Vera +Historia of Lucian. The humorist was unable to resist the +temptation to introduce passages of mockery, which are here +omitted. Part of his description of the Isles of the Blest has a +close and singular resemblance to the New Jerusalem of the +Apocalypse. The clear River of Life and the prodigality of gold +and of precious stones may especially be noticed. + +WHOSO DOTH TASTE THE DEAD MEN'S BREAD, &.c. This belief that the +living may visit, on occasion, the dwellings of the dead, but can +never return to earth if they taste the food of the departed, is +expressed in myths of worldwide distribution. Because she ate the +pomegranate seed, Persephone became subject to the spell of Hades. +In Apuleius, Psyche, when she visits the place of souls, is +advised to abstain from food. Kohl found the myth among the +Ojibbeways, Mr. Codrington among the Solomon Islanders; it occurs +in Samoa, in the Finnish Kalewala (where Wainamoinen, in Pohjola, +refrains from touching meat or drink), and the belief has left its +mark on the mediaeval ballad of Thomas of Ercildoune. When he is +in Fairy Land, the Fairy Queen supplies him with the bread and +wine of earth, and will not suffer him to touch the fruits which +grow "in this countrie." See also "Wandering Willie" in +Redgauntlet. + +AS NOW THE HUTTED ESKIMO. The Eskimo and the miserable Fuegians +are almost the only Socialists who practise what European +Anarchists preach. The Fuegians go so far as to tear up any piece +of cloth which one of the tribe may receive, so that each member +may have a rag. The Eskimo are scarcely such consistent walkers, +and canoes show a tendency to accumulate in the hands of +proprietors. Formerly no Eskimo was allowed to possess more than +one canoe. Such was the wild justice of the Polar philosophers. + +THE LATEST MINSTREL. "The sound of all others dearest to his ear, +the gentle ripple of Tweed over its pebbles, was distinctly +audible as we knelt around the bed and his eldest son kissed and +closed his eyes."--Lockhart's Life of Scott, vii., 394. + +RONSARD'S GRAVE. This version ventures to condense the original +which, like most of the works of the Pleiad, is unnecessarily +long. + +THE SNOW, AND WIND, AND HAIL. Ronsard's rendering of the famous +passage in Odyssey, vi., about the dwellings of the Olympians. +The vision of a Paradise of learned lovers and poets constantly +recurs in the poetry of Joachim du Bellay, and of Ronsard. + +ROMANCE. Suggested by a passage in La Faustin, by M. E. de +Goncourt, a curious moment of poetry in a repulsive piece of +naturalisme. + +M. BOULMIER, author of Les Villanelles, died shortly after this +villanelle was written; he had not published a larger collection +on which he had been at work. + +EDMUND GORLIOT. The bibliophile will not easily procure Gorliot's +book, which is not in the catalogues. Throughout The Last Maying +there is reference to the Pervigilium Veneris. + +BIRD-GODS. Apparently Aristophanes preserved, in a burlesque +form, the remnants of a genuine myth. Almost all savage religions +have their bird-gods, and it is probable that Aristophanes did not +invent, but only used a surviving myth of which there are scarcely +any other traces in Greek literature. + +SPINET. The accent is on the last foot, even when the word is +written spinnet. Compare the remarkable Liberty which Pamela took +with the 137th Psalm. + +My Joys and Hopes all overthrown, +My Heartstrings almost broke, +Unfit my Mind for Melody, +Much more to bear a Joke. +But yet, if from my Innocence +I, even in Thought, should slide, +Then, let my fingers quite forget +The sweet Spinnet to guide! + +Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded, vol. i., p. 184., 1785 + + + +Footnotes: + + + +{1} N.B. There is only one veracious statement in this ballade, +which must not be accepted as autobiographical. + +{2} These lines do NOT apply to Miss Annie P. (or Daisy) Miller, +and her delightful sisters, Gades aditurae mecum, in the pocket +edition of Mr. James's novels, if ever I go to Gades. + +{3} Tonatiu, the Thunder Bird; well known to the Dacotahs and +Zulus. + +{4} The Hawk, in the myth of the Galinameros of Central +California, lit up the Sun. + +{5} Pundjel, the Eagle Hawk, is the demiurge and "culture-hero" +of several Australian tribes. + +{6} The Creation of Man is thus described by the Australians. + +{7} In Andaman, Thlinkeet, Melanesian, and other myths, a Bird is +the Prometheus Purphoros; in Normandy this part is played by the +Wren. + +{8} Yehl: the Raven God of the Thlinkeets. + +{9} Indra stole Soma as a Hawk and as a Quail. For Odin's feat +as a Bird, see Bragi's Telling in the Younger Edda. + +{10} Pundjel, the Eagle Hawk, gave Australians their marriage +laws. + +{11} Lubra, a woman; kobong, "totem;" or, to please Mr. Max +Muller, "otem." + +{12} The Crow was the Hawk's rival. + +{13} Lycaon, the first werewolf. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Rhymes a la Mode, by Andrew Lang + diff --git a/old/rmalm10.zip b/old/rmalm10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b53100 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rmalm10.zip |
