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diff --git a/old/undrw10.txt b/old/undrw10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dba8d08 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/undrw10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2742 @@ +****The Project Gutenberg Etext of Underwoods, by Stevenson**** +#18 in our series by Robert Louis Stevenson + + +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. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Underwoods by Robert Louis Stevenson. +Scanned and proofed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +Underwoods + + + + +Of all my verse, like not a single line; +But like my title, for it is not mine. +That title from a better man I stole: +Ah, how much better, had I stol'n the whole! + + +DEDICATION + + +THERE are men and classes of men that stand above the +common herd: the soldier, the sailor and the shepherd not +unfrequently; the artist rarely; rarely still, the clergyman; +the physician almost as a rule. He is the flower (such as it +is) of our civilisation; and when that stage of man is done +with, and only remembered to be marvelled at in history, he +will be thought to have shared as little as any in the defects +of the period, and most notably exhibited the virtues of the +race. Generosity he has, such as is possible to those who +practise an art, never to those who drive a trade; discretion, +tested by a hundred secrets; tact, tried in a thousand +embarrassments; and what are more important, Heraclean +cheerfulness and courage. So it is that he brings air and +cheer into the sickroom, and often enough, though not so often +as he wishes, brings healing. + +Gratitude is but a lame sentiment; thanks, when they are +expressed, are often more embarrassing than welcome; and yet I +must set forth mine to a few out of many doctors who have +brought me comfort and help: to Dr. Willey of San Francisco, +whose kindness to a stranger it must be as grateful to him, as +it is touching to me, to remember; to Dr. Karl Ruedi of Davos, +the good genius of the English in his frosty mountains; to Dr. +Herbert of Paris, whom I knew only for a week, and to Dr. +Caissot of Montpellier, whom I knew only for ten days, and who +have yet written their names deeply in my memory; to Dr. +Brandt of Royat; to Dr. Wakefield of Nice; to Dr. Chepmell, +whose visits make it a pleasure to be ill; to Dr. Horace +Dobell, so wise in counsel; to Sir Andrew Clark, so unwearied +in kindness and to that wise youth, my uncle, Dr. Balfour. + +I forget as many as I remember; and I ask both to pardon +me, these for silence, those for inadequate speech. But one +name I have kept on purpose to the last, because it is a +household word with me, and because if I had not received +favours from so many hands and in so many quarters of the +world, it should have stood upon this page alone: that of my +friend Thomas Bodley Scott of Bournemouth. Will he accept +this, although shared among so many, for a dedication to +himself? and when next my ill-fortune (which has thus its +pleasant side) brings him hurrying to me when he would fain +sit down to meat or lie down to rest, will he care to remember +that he takes this trouble for one who is not fool enough to +be ungrateful? + +R. L. S. + +SKERRYVORE, +BOURNEMOUTH. + + +NOTE + + +THE human conscience has fled of late the troublesome +domain of conduct for what I should have supposed to be the +less congenial field of art: there she may now be said to +rage, and with special severity in all that touches dialect; +so that in every novel the letters of the alphabet are +tortured, and the reader wearied, to commemorate shades of +mis-pronunciation. Now spelling is an art of great difficulty +in my eyes, and I am inclined to lean upon the printer, even +in common practice, rather than to venture abroad upon new +quests. And the Scots tongue has an orthography of its own, +lacking neither "authority nor author." Yet the temptation is +great to lend a little guidance to the bewildered Englishman. +Some simple phonetic artifice might defend your verses from +barbarous mishandling, and yet not injure any vested interest. +So it seems at first; but there are rocks ahead. Thus, if I +wish the diphthong OU to have its proper value, I may write +OOR instead of OUR; many have done so and lived, and the +pillars of the universe remained unshaken. But if I did so, +and came presently to DOUN, which is the classical Scots +spelling of the English DOWN, I should begin to feel uneasy; +and if I went on a little farther, and came to a classical +Scots word, like STOUR or DOUR or CLOUR, I should know +precisely where I was - that is to say, that I was out of +sight of land on those high seas of spelling reform in which +so many strong swimmers have toiled vainly. To some the +situation is exhilarating; as for me, I give one bubbling cry +and sink. The compromise at which I have arrived is +indefensible, and I have no thought of trying to defend it. +As I have stuck for the most part to the proper spelling, I +append a table of some common vowel sounds which no one need +consult; and just to prove that I belong to my age and have in +me the stuff of a reformer, I have used modification marks +throughout. Thus I can tell myself, not without pride, that I +have added a fresh stumbling-block for English readers, and to +a page of print in my native tongue, have lent a new +uncouthness. SED NON NOBIS. + +I note again, that among our new dialecticians, the local +habitat of every dialect is given to the square mile. I could +not emulate this nicety if I desired; for I simply wrote my +Scots as well as I was able, not caring if it hailed from +Lauderdale or Angus, from the Mearns or Galloway; if I had +ever heard a good word, I used it without shame; and when +Scots was lacking, or the rhyme jibbed, I was glad (like my +betters) to fall back on English. For all that, I own to a +friendly feeling for the tongue of Fergusson and of Sir +Walter, both Edinburgh men; and I confess that Burns has +always sounded in my ear like something partly foreign. And +indeed I am from the Lothians myself; it is there I heard the +language spoken about my childhood; and it is in the drawling +Lothian voice that I repeat it to myself. Let the precisians +call my speech that of the Lothians. And if it be not pure, +alas! what matters it? The day draws near when this +illustrious and malleable tongue shall be quite forgotten; and +Burn's Ayrshire, and Dr. Macdonald's Aberdeen-awa', and +Scott's brave, metropolitan utterance will be all equally the +ghosts of speech. Till then I would love to have my hour as a +native Maker, and be read by my own countryfolk in our own +dying language: an ambition surely rather of the heart than of +the head, so restricted as it is in prospect of endurance, so +parochial in bounds of space. + + +BOOK I. In English + + +I - ENVOY + + +Go, little book, and wish to all +Flowers in the garden, meat in the hall, +A bin of wine, a spice of wit, +A house with lawns enclosing it, +A living river by the door, +A nightingale in the sycamore! + + +II - A SONG OF THE ROAD + + +The gauger walked with willing foot, +And aye the gauger played the flute; +And what should Master Gauger play +But OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY? + +Whene'er I buckle on my pack +And foot it gaily in the track, +O pleasant gauger, long since dead, +I hear you fluting on ahead. + +You go with me the self-same way - +The self-same air for me you play; +For I do think and so do you +It is the tune to travel to. + +For who would gravely set his face +To go to this or t'other place? +There's nothing under Heav'n so blue +That's fairly worth the travelling to. + +On every hand the roads begin, +And people walk with zeal therein; +But wheresoe'er the highways tend, +Be sure there's nothing at the end. + +Then follow you, wherever hie +The travelling mountains of the sky. +Or let the streams in civil mode +Direct your choice upon a road; + +For one and all, or high or low, +Will lead you where you wish to go; +And one and all go night and day +OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY! + +Forest of Montargis, 1878 + + +III - THE CANOE SPEAKS + + +On the great streams the ships may go +About men's business to and fro. +But I, the egg-shell pinnace, sleep +On crystal waters ankle-deep: +I, whose diminutive design, +Of sweeter cedar, pithier pine, +Is fashioned on so frail a mould, +A hand may launch, a hand withhold: +I, rather, with the leaping trout +Wind, among lilies, in and out; +I, the unnamed, inviolate, +Green, rustic rivers, navigate; +My dipping paddle scarcely shakes +The berry in the bramble-brakes; +Still forth on my green way I wend +Beside the cottage garden-end; +And by the nested angler fare, +And take the lovers unaware. +By willow wood and water-wheel +Speedily fleets my touching keel; +By all retired and shady spots +Where prosper dim forget-me-nots; +By meadows where at afternoon +The growing maidens troop in June +To loose their girdles on the grass. +Ah! speedier than before the glass +The backward toilet goes; and swift +As swallows quiver, robe and shift +And the rough country stockings lie +Around each young divinity. +When, following the recondite brook, +Sudden upon this scene I look, +And light with unfamiliar face +On chaste Diana's bathing-place, +Loud ring the hills about and all +The shallows are abandoned. . . . + + +IV + + +It is the season now to go +About the country high and low, +Among the lilacs hand in hand, +And two by two in fairy land. + +The brooding boy, the sighing maid, +Wholly fain and half afraid, +Now meet along the hazel'd brook +To pass and linger, pause and look. + +A year ago, and blithely paired, +Their rough-and-tumble play they shared; +They kissed and quarrelled, laughed and cried, +A year ago at Eastertide. + +With bursting heart, with fiery face, +She strove against him in the race; +He unabashed her garter saw, +That now would touch her skirts with awe. + +Now by the stile ablaze she stops, +And his demurer eyes he drops; +Now they exchange averted sighs +Or stand and marry silent eyes. + +And he to her a hero is +And sweeter she than primroses; +Their common silence dearer far +Than nightingale and mavis are. + +Now when they sever wedded hands, +Joy trembles in their bosom-strands +And lovely laughter leaps and falls +Upon their lips in madrigals. + + +V - THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL + + +A NAKED HOUSE, A NAKED MOOR, +A SHIVERING POOL BEFORE THE DOOR, +A GARDEN BARE OF FLOWERS AND FRUIT +AND POPLARS AT THE GARDEN FOOT: +SUCH IS THE PLACE THAT I LIVE IN, +BLEAK WITHOUT AND BARE WITHIN. + +Yet shall your ragged moor receive +The incomparable pomp of eve, +And the cold glories of the dawn +Behind your shivering trees be drawn; +And when the wind front place to place +Doth the unmoored cloud-galleons chase, +Your garden gloom and gleam again, +With leaping sun, with glancing rain. +Here shall the wizard moon ascend +The heavens, in the crimson end +Of day's declining splendour; here +The army of the stars appear. +The neighbour hollows dry or wet, +Spring shall with tender flowers beset; +And oft the morning muser see +Larks rising from the broomy lea, +And every fairy wheel and thread +Of cobweb dew-bediamonded. +When daisies go, shall winter time +Silver the simple grass with rime; +Autumnal frosts enchant the pool +And make the cart-ruts beautiful; +And when snow-bright the moor expands, +How shall your children clap their hands! +To make this earth our hermitage, +A cheerful and a changeful page, +God's bright and intricate device +Of days and seasons doth suffice. + + +VI - A VISIT FROM THE SEA + + +Far from the loud sea beaches +Where he goes fishing and crying, +Here in the inland garden +Why is the sea-gull flying? + +Here are no fish to dive for; +Here is the corn and lea; +Here are the green trees rustling. +Hie away home to sea! + +Fresh is the river water +And quiet among the rushes; +This is no home for the sea-gull +But for the rooks and thrushes. + +Pity the bird that has wandered! +Pity the sailor ashore! +Hurry him home to the ocean, +Let him come here no more! + +High on the sea-cliff ledges +The white gulls are trooping and crying, +Here among the rooks and roses, +Why is the sea-gull flying? + + +VII - TO A GARDENER + + +Friend, in my mountain-side demesne +My plain-beholding, rosy, green +And linnet-haunted garden-ground, +Let still the esculents abound. +Let first the onion flourish there, +Rose among roots, the maiden-fair, +Wine-scented and poetic soul +Of the capacious salad bowl. +Let thyme the mountaineer (to dress +The tinier birds) and wading cress, +The lover of the shallow brook, +From all my plots and borders look. + +Nor crisp and ruddy radish, nor +Pease-cods for the child's pinafore +Be lacking; nor of salad clan +The last and least that ever ran +About great nature's garden-beds. +Nor thence be missed the speary heads +Of artichoke; nor thence the bean +That gathered innocent and green +Outsavours the belauded pea. + +These tend, I prithee; and for me, +Thy most long-suffering master, bring +In April, when the linnets sing +And the days lengthen more and more +At sundown to the garden door. +And I, being provided thus. +Shall, with superb asparagus, +A book, a taper, and a cup +Of country wine, divinely sup. + +La Solitude, Hyeres + + +VIII - TO MINNIE + + +(With a hand-glass) + +A picture-frame for you to fill, +A paltry setting for your face, +A thing that has no worth until +You lend it something of your grace + +I send (unhappy I that sing +Laid by awhile upon the shelf) +Because I would not send a thing +Less charming than you are yourself. + +And happier than I, alas! +(Dumb thing, I envy its delight) +'Twill wish you well, the looking-glass, +And look you in the face to-night. + +1869. + + +IX - TO K. DE M. + + +A lover, of the moorland bare +And honest country winds, you were; +The silver-skimming rain you took; +And loved the floodings of the brook, +Dew, frost and mountains, fire and seas, +Tumultuary silences, +Winds that in darkness fifed a tune, +And the high-riding, virgin moon. + +And as the berry, pale and sharp, +Springs on some ditch's counterscarp +In our ungenial, native north - +You put your frosted wildings forth, +And on the heath, afar from man, +A strong and bitter virgin ran. + +The berry ripened keeps the rude +And racy flavour of the wood. +And you that loved the empty plain +All redolent of wind and rain, +Around you still the curlew sings - +The freshness of the weather clings - +The maiden jewels of the rain +Sit in your dabbled locks again. + + +X - TO N. V. DE G. S. + + +The unfathomable sea, and time, and tears, +The deeds of heroes and the crimes of kings +Dispart us; and the river of events +Has, for an age of years, to east and west +More widely borne our cradles. Thou to me +Art foreign, as when seamen at the dawn +Descry a land far off and know not which. +So I approach uncertain; so I cruise +Round thy mysterious islet, and behold +Surf and great mountains and loud river-bars, +And from the shore hear inland voices call. + +Strange is the seaman's heart; he hopes, he fears; +Draws closer and sweeps wider from that coast; +Last, his rent sail refits, and to the deep +His shattered prow uncomforted puts back. +Yet as he goes he ponders at the helm +Of that bright island; where he feared to touch, +His spirit readventures; and for years, +Where by his wife he slumbers safe at home, +Thoughts of that land revisit him; he sees +The eternal mountains beckon, and awakes +Yearning for that far home that might have been. + + +XI - TO WILL. H. LOW + + +Youth now flees on feathered foot +Faint and fainter sounds the flute, +Rarer songs of gods; and still +Somewhere on the sunny hill, +Or along the winding stream, +Through the willows, flits a dream; +Flits but shows a smiling face, +Flees but with so quaint a grace, +None can choose to stay at home, +All must follow, all must roam. + +This is unborn beauty: she +Now in air floats high and free, +Takes the sun and breaks the blue; - +Late with stooping pinion flew +Raking hedgerow trees, and wet +Her wing in silver streams, and set +Shining foot on temple roof: +Now again she flies aloof, +Coasting mountain clouds and kiss't +By the evening's amethyst. + +In wet wood and miry lane, +Still we pant and pound in vain; +Still with leaden foot we chase +Waning pinion, fainting face; +Still with gray hair we stumble on, +Till, behold, the vision gone! + +Where hath fleeting beauty led? +To the doorway of the dead. +Life is over, life was gay: +We have come the primrose way. + + +XII - TO MRS. WILL. H. LOW + + +Even in the bluest noonday of July, +There could not run the smallest breath of wind +But all the quarter sounded like a wood; +And in the chequered silence and above +The hum of city cabs that sought the Bois, +Suburban ashes shivered into song. +A patter and a chatter and a chirp +And a long dying hiss - it was as though +Starched old brocaded dames through all the house +Had trailed a strident skirt, or the whole sky +Even in a wink had over-brimmed in rain. + +Hark, in these shady parlours, how it talks +Of the near Autumn, how the smitten ash +Trembles and augurs floods! O not too long +In these inconstant latitudes delay, +O not too late from the unbeloved north +Trim your escape! For soon shall this low roof +Resound indeed with rain, soon shall your eyes +Search the foul garden, search the darkened rooms, +Nor find one jewel but the blazing log. + +12 Rue Vernier, Paris + + +XIII - TO H. F. BROWN + + +(Written during a dangerous sickness.) + +I sit and wait a pair of oars +On cis-Elysian river-shores. +Where the immortal dead have sate, +`Tis mine to sit and meditate; +To re-ascend life's rivulet, +Without remorse, without regret; +And sing my ALMA GENETRIX +Among the willows of the Styx. + +And lo, as my serener soul +Did these unhappy shores patrol, +And wait with an attentive ear +The coming of the gondolier, +Your fire-surviving roll I took, +Your spirited and happy book; (1) +Whereon, despite my frowning fate, +It did my soul so recreate +That all my fancies fled away +On a Venetian holiday. + +Now, thanks to your triumphant care, +Your pages clear as April air, +The sails, the bells, the birds, I know, +And the far-off Friulan snow; +The land and sea, the sun and shade, +And the blue even lamp-inlaid. +For this, for these, for all, O friend, +For your whole book from end to end - +For Paron Piero's muttonham - +I your defaulting debtor am. + +Perchance, reviving, yet may I +To your sea-paven city hie, +And in FELZE, some day yet +Light at your pipe my cigarette. + +(1) LIFE ON THE LAGOONS, by H. F. Brown, originally +burned in the fire at +Messrs. Kegan Paul, Trench. and Co.'s. + + +XIV - TO ANDREW LANG + + +Dear Andrew, with the brindled hair, +Who glory to have thrown in air, +High over arm, the trembling reed, +By Ale and Kail, by Till and Tweed: +An equal craft of band you show +The pen to guide, the fly to throw: +I count you happy starred; for God, +When He with inkpot and with rod +Endowed you, bade your fortune lead +Forever by the crooks of Tweed, +Forever by the woods of song +And lands that to the Muse belong; +Or if in peopled streets, or in +The abhorred pedantic sanhedrim, +It should be yours to wander, still +Airs of the morn, airs of the hill, +The plovery Forest and the seas +That break about the Hebrides, +Should follow over field and plain +And find you at the window pane; +And you again see hill and peel, +And the bright springs gush at your heel. +So went the fiat forth, and so +Garrulous like a brook you go, +With sound of happy mirth and sheen +Of daylight - whether by the green +You fare that moment, or the gray; +Whether you dwell in March or May; +Or whether treat of reels and rods +Or of the old unhappy gods: +Still like a brook your page has shone, +And your ink sings of Helicon. + + +XV - ET TU IN ARCADIA VIXISTI +(TO R. A. M. S.) + + +In ancient tales, O friend, thy spirit dwelt; +There, from of old, thy childhood passed; and there +High expectation, high delights and deeds, +Thy fluttering heart with hope and terror moved. +And thou hast heard of yore the Blatant Beast, +And Roland's horn, and that war-scattering shout +Of all-unarmed Achilles, aegis-crowned +And perilous lands thou sawest, sounding shores +And seas and forests drear, island and dale +And mountain dark. For thou with Tristram rod'st +Or Bedevere, in farthest Lyonesse. + +Thou hadst a booth in Samarcand, whereat +Side-looking Magians trafficked; thence, by night, +An Afreet snatched thee, and with wings upbore +Beyond the Aral mount; or, hoping gain, +Thou, with a jar of money, didst embark, +For Balsorah, by sea. But chiefly thou +In that clear air took'st life; in Arcady +The haunted, land of song; and by the wells +Where most the gods frequent. There Chiron old, +In the Pelethronian antre, taught thee lore: +The plants, he taught, and by the shining stars +In forests dim to steer. There hast thou seen +Immortal Pan dance secret in a glade, +And, dancing, roll his eyes; these, where they fell, +Shed glee, and through the congregated oaks +A flying horror winged; while all the earth +To the god's pregnant footing thrilled within. +Or whiles, beside the sobbing stream, he breathed, +In his clutched pipe unformed and wizard strains +Divine yet brutal; which the forest heard, +And thou, with awe; and far upon the plain +The unthinking ploughman started and gave ear. + +Now things there are that, upon him who sees, +A strong vocation lay; and strains there are +That whoso hears shall hear for evermore. +For evermore thou hear'st immortal Pan +And those melodious godheads, ever young +And ever quiring, on the mountains old. + +What was this earth, child of the gods, to thee? +Forth from thy dreamland thou, a dreamer, cam'st +And in thine ears the olden music rang, +And in thy mind the doings of the dead, +And those heroic ages long forgot. +To a so fallen earth, alas! too late, +Alas! in evil days, thy steps return, +To list at noon for nightingales, to grow +A dweller on the beach till Argo come +That came long since, a lingerer by the pool +Where that desired angel bathes no more. + +As when the Indian to Dakota comes, +Or farthest Idaho, and where he dwelt, +He with his clan, a humming city finds; +Thereon awhile, amazed, he stares, and then +To right and leftward, like a questing dog, +Seeks first the ancestral altars, then the hearth +Long cold with rains, and where old terror lodged, +And where the dead. So thee undying Hope, +With all her pack, hunts screaming through the years: +Here, there, thou fleeest; but nor here nor there +The pleasant gods abide, the glory dwells. + +That, that was not Apollo, not the god. +This was not Venus, though she Venus seemed +A moment. And though fair yon river move, +She, all the way, from disenchanted fount +To seas unhallowed runs; the gods forsook +Long since her trembling rushes; from her plains +Disconsolate, long since adventure fled; +And now although the inviting river flows, +And every poplared cape, and every bend +Or willowy islet, win upon thy soul +And to thy hopeful shallop whisper speed; +Yet hope not thou at all; hope is no more; +And O, long since the golden groves are dead +The faery cities vanished from the land! + + +XVI - TO W. E. HENLEY + + +The year runs through her phases; rain and sun, +Springtime and summer pass; winter succeeds; +But one pale season rules the house of death. +Cold falls the imprisoned daylight; fell disease +By each lean pallet squats, and pain and sleep +Toss gaping on the pillows. +But O thou! +Uprise and take thy pipe. Bid music flow, +Strains by good thoughts attended, like the spring +The swallows follow over land and sea. +Pain sleeps at once; at once, with open eyes, +Dozing despair awakes. The shepherd sees +His flock come bleating home; the seaman hears +Once more the cordage rattle. Airs of home! +Youth, love and roses blossom; the gaunt ward +Dislimns and disappears, and, opening out, +Shows brooks and forests, and the blue beyond +Of mountains. +Small the pipe; but oh! do thou, +Peak-faced and suffering piper, blow therein +The dirge of heroes dead; and to these sick, +These dying, sound the triumph over death. +Behold! each greatly breathes; each tastes a joy +Unknown before, in dying; for each knows +A hero dies with him - though unfulfilled, +Yet conquering truly - and not dies in vain + +So is pain cheered, death comforted; the house +Of sorrow smiles to listen. Once again - +O thou, Orpheus and Heracles, the bard +And the deliverer, touch the stops again! + + +XVII - HENRY JAMES + + +Who comes to-night? We ope the doors in vain. +Who comes? My bursting walls, can you contain +The presences that now together throng +Your narrow entry, as with flowers and song, +As with the air of life, the breath of talk? +Lo, how these fair immaculate women walk +Behind their jocund maker; and we see +Slighted DE MAUVES, and that far different she, +GRESSIE, the trivial sphynx; and to our feast +DAISY and BARB and CHANCELLOR (she not least!) +With all their silken, all their airy kin, +Do like unbidden angels enter in. +But he, attended by these shining names, +Comes (best of all) himself - our welcome James. + + +XVIII - THE MIRROR SPEAKS + + +Where the bells peal far at sea +Cunning fingers fashioned me. +There on palace walls I hung +While that Consuelo sung; +But I heard, though I listened well, +Never a note, never a trill, +Never a beat of the chiming bell. +There I hung and looked, and there +In my gray face, faces fair +Shone from under shining hair. +Well I saw the poising head, +But the lips moved and nothing said; +And when lights were in the hall, +Silent moved the dancers all. + +So awhile I glowed, and then +Fell on dusty days and men; +Long I slumbered packed in straw, +Long I none but dealers saw; +Till before my silent eye +One that sees came passing by. + +Now with an outlandish grace, +To the sparkling fire I face +In the blue room at Skerryvore; +Where I wait until the door +Open, and the Prince of Men, +Henry James, shall come again. + + +XIX - KATHARINE + + +We see you as we see a face +That trembles in a forest place +Upon the mirror of a pool +Forever quiet, clear and cool; +And in the wayward glass, appears +To hover between smiles and tears, +Elfin and human, airy and true, +And backed by the reflected blue. + + +XX- TO F. J. S. + + +I read, dear friend, in your dear face +Your life's tale told with perfect grace; +The river of your life, I trace +Up the sun-chequered, devious bed +To the far-distant fountain-head. + +Not one quick beat of your warm heart, +Nor thought that came to you apart, +Pleasure nor pity, love nor pain +Nor sorrow, has gone by in vain; + +But as some lone, wood-wandering child +Brings home with him at evening mild +The thorns and flowers of all the wild, +From your whole life, O fair and true +Your flowers and thorns you bring with you! + + +XXI - REQUIEM + + +Under the wide and starry sky, +Dig the grave and let me lie. +Glad did I live and gladly die, +And I laid me down with a will. + +This be the verse you grave for me: +HERE HE LIES WHERE HE LONGED TO BE; +HOME IS THE SAILOR, HOME FROM SEA, +AND THE HUNTER HOME FROM THE HILL. + + +XXII - THE CELESTIAL SURGEON + + +If I have faltered more or less +In my great task of happiness; +If I have moved among my race +And shown no glorious morning face; +If beams from happy human eyes +Have moved me not; if morning skies, +Books, and my food, and summer rain +Knocked on my sullen heart in vain:- +Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take +And stab my spirit broad awake; +Or, Lord, if too obdurate I, +Choose thou, before that spirit die, +A piercing pain, a killing sin, +And to my dead heart run them in! + + +XXIII - OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS + + +Out of the sun, out of the blast, +Out of the world, alone I passed +Across the moor and through the wood +To where the monastery stood. +There neither lute nor breathing fife, +Nor rumour of the world of life, +Nor confidences low and dear, +Shall strike the meditative ear. +Aloof, unhelpful, and unkind, +The prisoners of the iron mind, +Where nothing speaks except the hell +The unfraternal brothers dwell. + +Poor passionate men, still clothed afresh +With agonising folds of flesh; +Whom the clear eyes solicit still +To some bold output of the will, +While fairy Fancy far before +And musing Memory-Hold-the-door +Now to heroic death invite +And now uncurtain fresh delight: +O, little boots it thus to dwell +On the remote unneighboured hill! + +O to be up and doing, O +Unfearing and unshamed to go +In all the uproar and the press +About my human business! +My undissuaded heart I hear +Whisper courage in my ear. +With voiceless calls, the ancient earth +Summons me to a daily birth. + +Thou, O my love, ye, O my friends - +The gist of life, the end of ends - +To laugh, to love, to live, to die, +Ye call me by the ear and eye! + +Forth from the casemate, on the plain +Where honour has the world to gain, +Pour forth and bravely do your part, +O knights of the unshielded heart! +Forth and forever forward! - out +From prudent turret and redoubt, +And in the mellay charge amain, +To fall but yet to rise again! +Captive? ah, still, to honour bright, +A captive soldier of the right! +Or free and fighting, good with ill? +Unconquering but unconquered still! + +And ye, O brethren, what if God, +When from Heav'n's top he spies abroad, +And sees on this tormented stage +The noble war of mankind rage: +What if his vivifying eye, +O monks, should pass your corner by? +For still the Lord is Lord of might; +In deeds, in deeds, he takes delight; +The plough, the spear, the laden barks, +The field, the founded city, marks; +He marks the smiler of the streets, +The singer upon garden seats; +He sees the climber in the rocks: +To him, the shepherd folds his flocks. +For those he loves that underprop +With daily virtues Heaven's top, +And bear the falling sky with ease, +Unfrowning caryatides. +Those he approves that ply the trade, +That rock the child, that wed the maid, +That with weak virtues, weaker hands, +Sow gladness on the peopled lands, +And still with laughter, song and shout, +Spin the great wheel of earth about. + +But ye? - O ye who linger still +Here in your fortress on the hill, +With placid face, with tranquil breath, +The unsought volunteers of death, +Our cheerful General on high +With careless looks may pass you by. + + +XXIV + + +Not yet, my soul, these friendly fields desert, +Where thou with grass, and rivers, and the breeze, +And the bright face of day, thy dalliance hadst; +Where to thine ear first sang the enraptured birds; +Where love and thou that lasting bargain made. +The ship rides trimmed, and from the eternal shore +Thou hearest airy voices; but not yet +Depart, my soul, not yet awhile depart. + +Freedom is far, rest far. Thou art with life +Too closely woven, nerve with nerve intwined; +Service still craving service, love for love, +Love for dear love, still suppliant with tears. +Alas, not yet thy human task is done! +A bond at birth is forged; a debt doth lie +Immortal on mortality. It grows - +By vast rebound it grows, unceasing growth; +Gift upon gift, alms upon alms, upreared, +From man, from God, from nature, till the soul +At that so huge indulgence stands amazed. + +Leave not, my soul, the unfoughten field, nor leave +Thy debts dishonoured, nor thy place desert +Without due service rendered. For thy life, +Up, spirit, and defend that fort of clay, +Thy body, now beleaguered; whether soon +Or late she fall; whether to-day thy friends +Bewail thee dead, or, after years, a man +Grown old in honour and the friend of peace. +Contend, my soul, for moments and for hours; +Each is with service pregnant; each reclaimed +Is as a kingdom conquered, where to reign. + +As when a captain rallies to the fight +His scattered legions, and beats ruin back, +He, on the field, encamps, well pleased in mind. +Yet surely him shall fortune overtake, +Him smite in turn, headlong his ensigns drive; +And that dear land, now safe, to-morrow fall. +But he, unthinking, in the present good +Solely delights, and all the camps rejoice. + + +XXV + + +It is not yours, O mother, to complain, +Not, mother, yours to weep, +Though nevermore your son again +Shall to your bosom creep, +Though nevermore again you watch your baby sleep. + +Though in the greener paths of earth, +Mother and child, no more +We wander; and no more the birth +Of me whom once you bore, +Seems still the brave reward that once it seemed of yore; + +Though as all passes, day and night, +The seasons and the years, +From you, O mother, this delight, +This also disappears - +Some profit yet survives of all your pangs and tears. + +The child, the seed, the grain of corn, +The acorn on the hill, +Each for some separate end is born +In season fit, and still +Each must in strength arise to work the almighty will. + +So from the hearth the children flee, +By that almighty hand +Austerely led; so one by sea +Goes forth, and one by land; +Nor aught of all man's sons escapes from that command + +So from the sally each obeys +The unseen almighty nod; +So till the ending all their ways +Blindfolded loth have trod: +Nor knew their task at all, but were the tools of God. + +And as the fervent smith of yore +Beat out the glowing blade, +Nor wielded in the front of war +The weapons that he made, +But in the tower at home still plied his ringing trade; + +So like a sword the son shall roam +On nobler missions sent; +And as the smith remained at home +In peaceful turret pent, +So sits the while at home the mother well content. + + +XXVI - THE SICK CHILD + + +CHILD. +O Mother, lay your hand on my brow! +O mother, mother, where am I now? +Why is the room so gaunt and great? +Why am I lying awake so late? + +MOTHER. +Fear not at all: the night is still. +Nothing is here that means you ill - +Nothing but lamps the whole town through, +And never a child awake but you. + +CHILD. +Mother, mother, speak low in my ear, +Some of the things are so great and near, +Some are so small and far away, +I have a fear that I cannot say, +What have I done, and what do I fear, +And why are you crying, mother dear? + +MOTHER. +Out in the city, sounds begin +Thank the kind God, the carts come in! +An hour or two more, and God is so kind, +The day shall be blue in the window-blind, +Then shall my child go sweetly asleep, +And dream of the birds and the hills of sheep. + + +XXVII - IN MEMORIAM F. A. S. + + +Yet, O stricken heart, remember, O remember +How of human days he lived the better part. +April came to bloom and never dim December +Breathed its killing chills upon the head or heart. + +Doomed to know not Winter, only Spring, a being +Trod the flowery April blithely for a while, +Took his fill of music, joy of thought and seeing, +Came and stayed and went, nor ever ceased to smile. + +Came and stayed and went, and now when all is finished, +You alone have crossed the melancholy stream, +Yours the pang, but his, O his, the undiminished +Undecaying gladness, undeparted dream. + +All that life contains of torture, toil, and treason, +Shame, dishonour, death, to him were but a name. +Here, a boy, he dwelt through all the singing season +And ere the day of sorrow departed as he came. + +DAVOS, 1881. + + +XXVIII - TO MY FATHER + + +Peace and her huge invasion to these shores +Puts daily home; innumerable sails +Dawn on the far horizon and draw near; +Innumerable loves, uncounted hopes +To our wild coasts, not darkling now, approach: +Not now obscure, since thou and thine are there, +And bright on the lone isle, the foundered reef, +The long, resounding foreland, Pharos stands. + +These are thy works, O father, these thy crown; +Whether on high the air be pure, they shine +Along the yellowing sunset, and all night +Among the unnumbered stars of God they shine; + +Or whether fogs arise and far and wide +The low sea-level drown - each finds a tongue +And all night long the tolling bell resounds: +So shine, so toll, till night be overpast, +Till the stars vanish, till the sun return, +And in the haven rides the fleet secure. + +In the first hour, the seaman in his skiff +Moves through the unmoving bay, to where the town +Its earliest smoke into the air upbreathes +And the rough hazels climb along the beach. +To the tugg'd oar the distant echo speaks. +The ship lies resting, where by reef and roost +Thou and thy lights have led her like a child. + +This hast thou done, and I - can I be base? +I must arise, O father, and to port +Some lost, complaining seaman pilot home. + + +XXIX - IN THE STATES + + +With half a heart I wander here +As from an age gone by +A brother - yet though young in years. +An elder brother, I. + +You speak another tongue than mine, +Though both were English born. +I towards the night of time decline, +You mount into the morn. + +Youth shall grow great and strong and free, +But age must still decay: +To-morrow for the States - for me, +England and Yesterday. + +SAN FRANCISCO. + + +XXX - A PORTRAIT + + +I am a kind of farthing dip, +Unfriendly to the nose and eyes; +A blue-behinded ape, I skip +Upon the trees of Paradise. + +At mankind's feast, I take my place +In solemn, sanctimonious state, +And have the air of saying grace +While I defile the dinner plate. + +I am "the smiler with the knife," +The battener upon garbage, I - +Dear Heaven, with such a rancid life, +Were it not better far to die? + +Yet still, about the human pale, +I love to scamper, love to race, +To swing by my irreverent tail +All over the most holy place; + +And when at length, some golden day, +The unfailing sportsman, aiming at, +Shall bag, me - all the world shall say: +THANK GOD, AND THERE'S AN END OF THAT! + + +XXXI + + +Sing clearlier, Muse, or evermore be still, +Sing truer or no longer sing! +No more the voice of melancholy Jacques +To wake a weeping echo in the hill; +But as the boy, the pirate of the spring, +From the green elm a living linnet takes, +One natural verse recapture - then be still. + + +XXXII - A CAMP (1) + + +The bed was made, the room was fit, +By punctual eve the stars were lit; +The air was still, the water ran, +No need was there for maid or man, +When we put up, my ass and I, +At God's green caravanserai. + +(1) From TRAVELS WITH A DONKEY + + +XXXIII - THE COUNTRY OF THE CAMISARDS (1) + + +We travelled in the print of olden wars, +Yet all the land was green, +And love we found, and peace, +Where fire and war had been. + +They pass and smile, the children of the sword - +No more the sword they wield; +And O, how deep the corn +Along the battlefield! + +(1) From TRAVELS WITH A DONKEY + + +XXXIV - SKERRYVORE + + +For love of lovely words, and for the sake +Of those, my kinsmen and my countrymen, +Who early and late in the windy ocean toiled +To plant a star for seamen, where was then +The surfy haunt of seals and cormorants: +I, on the lintel of this cot, inscribe +The name of a strong tower. + + +XXXV - SKERRYVORE: THE PARALLEL + + +Here all is sunny, and when the truant gull +Skims the green level of the lawn, his wing +Dispetals roses; here the house is framed +Of kneaded brick and the plumed mountain pine, +Such clay as artists fashion and such wood +As the tree-climbing urchin breaks. But there +Eternal granite hewn from the living isle +And dowelled with brute iron, rears a tower +That from its wet foundation to its crown +Of glittering glass, stands, in the sweep of winds, +Immovable, immortal, eminent. + + +XXXVI + + +MY HOUSE, I say. But hark to the sunny doves +That make my roof the arena of their loves, +That gyre about the gable all day long +And fill the chimneys with their murmurous song: +OUR HOUSE, they say; and MINE, the cat declares +And spreads his golden fleece upon the chairs; +And MINE the dog, and rises stiff with wrath +If any alien foot profane the path. +So too the buck that trimmed my terraces, +Our whilome gardener, called the garden his; +Who now, deposed, surveys my plain abode +And his late kingdom, only from the road. + + +XXXVII + + +My body which my dungeon is, +And yet my parks and palaces:- +Which is so great that there I go +All the day long to and fro, +And when the night begins to fall +Throw down my bed and sleep, while all +The building hums with wakefulness - +Even as a child of savages +When evening takes her on her way, +(She having roamed a summer's day +Along the mountain-sides and scalp) +Sleeps in an antre of that alp:- +Which is so broad and high that there, +As in the topless fields of air, +My fancy soars like to a kite + +And faints in the blue infinite:- +Which is so strong, my strongest throes +And the rough world's besieging blows +Not break it, and so weak withal, +Death ebbs and flows in its loose wall +As the green sea in fishers' nets, +And tops its topmost parapets:- +Which is so wholly mine that I +Can wield its whole artillery, +And mine so little, that my soul +Dwells in perpetual control, +And I but think and speak and do +As my dead fathers move me to:- +If this born body of my bones +The beggared soul so barely owns, +What money passed from hand to hand, +What creeping custom of the land, +What deed of author or assign, +Can make a house a thing of mine? + + +XXXVIII + + +Say not of me that weakly I declined +The labours of my sires, and fled the sea, +The towers we founded and the lamps we lit, +To play at some with paper like a child. +But rather say: IN THE AFTERNOON OF TIME +A STRENUOUS FAMILY DUSTED FROM ITS HANDS +THE SAND OF GRANITE, AND BEHOLDING FAR +ALONG THE SOUNDING COAST ITS PYRAMIDS +AND TALL MEMORIALS CATCH THE DYING SUN, +SMILED WELL CONTENT, AND TO THIS CHILDISH TASK +AROUND THE FIRE ADDRESSED ITS EVENING HOURS. + + +BOOK II. - In Scots +TABLE OF COMMON SCOTTISH VOWEL SOUNDS + +ae } +ae } = open A as in rare. + +a' } +au } = AW as in law +aw } + +ea = open E as in mere, but this with exceptions, as +heather = heather, wean=wain, lear=lair. + +ee } +ei } = open E as in mere. +ie } + +oa = open O as in more. +ou = doubled O as in poor. +ow = OW as in bower. +u = doubled O as in poor. +ui or u-umlaut before R = (say roughly) open A as in +rare. +ui or u-umlaut before any other consonant = (say roughly) +close I as in grin. +y = open I as in kite. +i = pretty nearly what you please, much as in English, +Heaven guide the reader through that labyrinth! But in Scots +it dodges usually from the short I, as in grin, to the open E, +as in mere. Find the blind, I may remark, are prounced to +rhyme with the preterite of grin. + + +I - THE MAKER TO POSTERITY + + +Far `yont amang the years to be +When a' we think, an' a' we see, +An' a' we luve, `s been dung ajee +By time's rouch shouther, +An' what was richt and wrang for me +Lies mangled throu'ther, + +It's possible - it's hardly mair - +That some ane, ripin' after lear - +Some auld professor or young heir, +If still there's either - +May find an' read me, an' be sair +Perplexed, puir brither! + +"What tongue does your auld bookie speak?" +He'll spier; an' I, his mou to steik: +"No bein' fit to write in Greek, +I write in Lallan, +Dear to my heart as the peat reek, +Auld as Tantallon. + +"Few spak it then, an' noo there's nane. +My puir auld sangs lie a' their lane, +Their sense, that aince was braw an' plain, +Tint a'thegether, +Like runes upon a standin' stane +Amang the heather. + +"But think not you the brae to speel; +You, tae, maun chow the bitter peel; +For a' your lear, for a' your skeel, +Ye're nane sae lucky; +An' things are mebbe waur than weel +For you, my buckie. + +"The hale concern (baith hens an' eggs, +Baith books an' writers, stars an' clegs) +Noo stachers upon lowsent legs +An' wears awa'; +The tack o' mankind, near the dregs, +Rins unco law. + +"Your book, that in some braw new tongue, +Ye wrote or prentit, preached or sung, +Will still be just a bairn, an' young +In fame an' years, +Whan the hale planet's guts are dung +About your ears; + +"An' you, sair gruppin' to a spar +Or whammled wi' some bleezin' star, +Cryin' to ken whaur deil ye are, +Hame, France, or Flanders - +Whang sindry like a railway car +An' flie in danders." + + +II - ILLE TERRARUM + + +Frae nirly, nippin', Eas'lan' breeze, +Frae Norlan' snaw, an' haar o' seas, +Weel happit in your gairden trees, +A bonny bit, +Atween the muckle Pentland's knees, +Secure ye sit. + +Beeches an' aiks entwine their theek, +An' firs, a stench, auld-farrant clique. +A' simmer day, your chimleys reek, +Couthy and bien; +An' here an' there your windies keek +Amang the green. + +A pickle plats an' paths an' posies, +A wheen auld gillyflowers an' roses: +A ring o' wa's the hale encloses +Frae sheep or men; +An' there the auld housie beeks an' dozes, +A' by her lane. + +The gairdner crooks his weary back +A' day in the pitaty-track, +Or mebbe stops awhile to crack +Wi' Jane the cook, +Or at some buss, worm-eaten-black, +To gie a look. + +Frae the high hills the curlew ca's; +The sheep gang baaing by the wa's; +Or whiles a clan o' roosty craws +Cangle thegether; +The wild bees seek the gairden raws, +Weariet wi' heather. + +Or in the gloamin' douce an' gray +The sweet-throat mavis tunes her lay; +The herd comes linkin' doun the brae; +An' by degrees +The muckle siller mune maks way +Amang the trees. + +Here aft hae I, wi' sober heart, +For meditation sat apairt, +When orra loves or kittle art +Perplexed my mind; +Here socht a balm for ilka smart +O' humankind. + +Here aft, weel neukit by my lane, +Wi' Horace, or perhaps Montaigne, +The mornin' hours hae come an' gane +Abune my heid - +I wadnae gi'en a chucky-stane +For a' I'd read. + +But noo the auld city, street by street, +An' winter fu' o' snaw an' sleet, +Awhile shut in my gangrel feet +An' goavin' mettle; +Noo is the soopit ingle sweet, +An' liltin' kettle. + +An' noo the winter winds complain; +Cauld lies the glaur in ilka lane; +On draigled hizzie, tautit wean +An' drucken lads, +In the mirk nicht, the winter rain +Dribbles an' blads. + +Whan bugles frae the Castle rock, +An' beaten drums wi' dowie shock, +Wauken, at cauld-rife sax o'clock, +My chitterin' frame, +I mind me on the kintry cock, +The kintry hame. + +I mind me on yon bonny bield; +An' Fancy traivels far afield +To gaither a' that gairdens yield +O' sun an' Simmer: +To hearten up a dowie chield, +Fancy's the limmer! + + +III + + +When aince Aprile has fairly come, +An' birds may bigg in winter's lum, +An' pleisure's spreid for a' and some +O' whatna state, +Love, wi' her auld recruitin' drum, +Than taks the gate. + +The heart plays dunt wi' main an' micht; +The lasses' een are a' sae bricht, +Their dresses are sae braw an' ticht, +The bonny birdies!- +Puir winter virtue at the sicht +Gangs heels ower hurdies. + +An' aye as love frae land to land +Tirls the drum wi' eident hand, +A' men collect at her command, +Toun-bred or land'art, +An' follow in a denty band +Her gaucy standart. + +An' I, wha sang o' rain an' snaw, +An' weary winter weel awa', +Noo busk me in a jacket braw, +An' tak my place +I' the ram-stam, harum-scarum raw, +Wi' smilin' face. + + +IV - A MILE AN' A BITTOCK + + +A mile an' a bittock, a mile or twa, +Abune the burn, ayont the law, +Davie an' Donal' an' Cherlie an' a', +An' the mune was shinin' clearly! + +Ane went hame wi' the ither, an' then +The ither went hame wi' the ither twa men, +An' baith wad return him the service again, +An' the mune was shinin' clearly! + +The clocks were chappin' in house an' ha', +Eleeven, twal an' ane an' twa; +An' the guidman's face was turnt to the wa', +An' the mune was shinin' clearly! + +A wind got up frae affa the sea, +It blew the stars as clear's could be, +It blew in the een of a' o' the three, +An' the mune was shinin' clearly! + +Noo, Davie was first to get sleep in his head, +"The best o' frien's maun twine," he said; +"I'm weariet, an' here I'm awa' to my bed." +An' the mune was shinin' clearly! + +Twa o' them walkin' an' crackin' their lane, +The mornin' licht cam gray an' plain, +An' the birds they yammert on stick an' stane, +An' the mune was shinin' clearly! + +O years ayont, O years awa', +My lads, ye'll mind whate'er befa'- +My lads, ye'll mind on the bield o' the law, +When the mune was shinin' clearly. + + +V - A LOWDEN SABBATH MORN + + +The clinkum-clank o' Sabbath bells +Noo to the hoastin' rookery swells, +Noo faintin' laigh in shady dells, +Sounds far an' near, +An' through the simmer kintry tells +Its tale o' cheer. + +An' noo, to that melodious play, +A' deidly awn the quiet sway - +A' ken their solemn holiday, +Bestial an' human, +The singin' lintie on the brae, +The restin' plou'man, + +He, mair than a' the lave o' men, +His week completit joys to ken; +Half-dressed, he daunders out an' in, +Perplext wi' leisure; +An' his raxt limbs he'll rax again +Wi' painfu' pleesure. + +The steerin' mither strang afit +Noo shoos the bairnies but a bit; +Noo cries them ben, their Sinday shuit +To scart upon them, +Or sweeties in their pouch to pit, +Wi' blessin's on them. + +The lasses, clean frae tap to taes, +Are busked in crunklin' underclaes; +The gartened hose, the weel-filled stays, +The nakit shift, +A' bleached on bonny greens for days, +An' white's the drift. + +An' noo to face the kirkward mile: +The guidman's hat o' dacent style, +The blackit shoon, we noo maun fyle +As white's the miller: +A waefu' peety tae, to spile +The warth o' siller. + +Our Marg'et, aye sae keen to crack, +Douce-stappin' in the stoury track, +Her emeralt goun a' kiltit back +Frae snawy coats, +White-ankled, leads the kirkward pack +Wi' Dauvit Groats. + +A thocht ahint, in runkled breeks, +A' spiled wi' lyin' by for weeks, +The guidman follows closs, an' cleiks +The sonsie missis; +His sarious face at aince bespeaks +The day that this is. + +And aye an' while we nearer draw +To whaur the kirkton lies alaw, +Mair neebours, comin' saft an' slaw +Frae here an' there, +The thicker thrang the gate an' caw +The stour in air. + +But hark! the bells frae nearer clang; +To rowst the slaw, their sides they bang; +An' see! black coats a'ready thrang +The green kirkyaird; +And at the yett, the chestnuts spang +That brocht the laird. + +The solemn elders at the plate +Stand drinkin' deep the pride o' state: +The practised hands as gash an' great +As Lords o' Session; +The later named, a wee thing blate +In their expression. + +The prentit stanes that mark the deid, +Wi' lengthened lip, the sarious read; +Syne wag a moraleesin' heid, +An' then an' there +Their hirplin' practice an' their creed +Try hard to square. + +It's here our Merren lang has lain, +A wee bewast the table-stane; +An' yon's the grave o' Sandy Blane; +An' further ower, +The mither's brithers, dacent men! +Lie a' the fower. + +Here the guidman sall bide awee +To dwall amang the deid; to see +Auld faces clear in fancy's e'e; +Belike to hear +Auld voices fa'in saft an' slee +On fancy's ear. + +Thus, on the day o' solemn things, +The bell that in the steeple swings +To fauld a scaittered faim'ly rings +Its walcome screed; +An' just a wee thing nearer brings +The quick an' deid. + +But noo the bell is ringin' in; +To tak their places, folk begin; +The minister himsel' will shune +Be up the gate, +Filled fu' wi' clavers about sin +An' man's estate. + +The tunes are up - FRENCH, to be shure, +The faithfu' FRENCH, an' twa-three mair; +The auld prezentor, hoastin' sair, +Wales out the portions, +An' yirks the tune into the air +Wi' queer contortions. + +Follows the prayer, the readin' next, +An' than the fisslin' for the text - +The twa-three last to find it, vext +But kind o' proud; +An' than the peppermints are raxed, +An' southernwood. + +For noo's the time whan pews are seen +Nid-noddin' like a mandareen; +When tenty mithers stap a preen +In sleepin' weans; +An' nearly half the parochine +Forget their pains. + +There's just a waukrif' twa or three: +Thrawn commentautors sweer to 'gree, +Weans glowrin' at the bumlin' bee +On windie-glasses, +Or lads that tak a keek a-glee +At sonsie lasses. + +Himsel', meanwhile, frae whaur he cocks +An' bobs belaw the soundin'-box, +The treesures of his words unlocks +Wi' prodigality, +An' deals some unco dingin' knocks +To infidality. + +Wi' sappy unction, hoo he burkes +The hopes o' men that trust in works, +Expounds the fau'ts o' ither kirks, +An' shaws the best o' them +No muckle better than mere Turks, +When a's confessed o' them. + +Bethankit! what a bonny creed! +What mair would ony Christian need?- +The braw words rumm'le ower his heid, +Nor steer the sleeper; +And in their restin' graves, the deid +Sleep aye the deeper. + +NOTE. - It may be guessed by some that I had a certain +parish in my eye, and this makes it proper I should add a word +of disclamation. In my time there have been two ministers in +that parish. Of the first I have a special reason to speak +well, even had there been any to think ill. The second I have +often met in private and long (in the due phrase) "sat under" +in his church, and neither here nor there have I heard an +unkind or ugly word upon his lips. The preacher of the text +had thus no original in that particular parish; but when I was +a boy, he might have been observed in many others; he was then +(like the schoolmaster) abroad; and by recent advices, it +would seem he has not yet entirely disappeared. + + +VI - THE SPAEWIFE + + +O, I wad like to ken - to the beggar-wife says I - +Why chops are guid to brander and nane sae guid to fry. +An' siller, that's sae braw to keep, is brawer still to +gi'e. +- IT'S GEY AN' EASY SPIERIN', says the beggar-wife to me. + +O, I wad like to ken - to the beggar-wife says I - +Hoo a' things come to be whaur we find them when we try, +The lasses in their claes an' the fishes in the sea. +- IT'S GEY AN' EASY SPIERIN', says the beggar-wife to me. + +O, I wad like to ken - to the beggar-wife says I - +Why lads are a' to sell an' lasses a' to buy; +An' naebody for dacency but barely twa or three +- IT'S GEY AN' EASY SPIERIN', says the beggar-wife to me. + +O, I wad like to ken - to the beggar-wife says I - +Gin death's as shure to men as killin' is to kye, +Why God has filled the yearth sae fu' o' tasty things to +pree. +- IT'S GEY AN' EASY SPIERIN', says the beggar-wife to me. + +O, I wad like to ken - to the beggar wife says I - +The reason o' the cause an' the wherefore o' the why, +Wi' mony anither riddle brings the tear into my e'e. +- IT'S GEY AN' EASY SPIERIN', says the beggar-wife to me. + + +VII - THE BLAST - 1875 + + +It's rainin'. Weet's the gairden sod, +Weet the lang roads whaur gangrels plod - +A maist unceevil thing o' God +In mid July - +If ye'll just curse the sneckdraw, dod! +An' sae wull I! + +He's a braw place in Heev'n, ye ken, +An' lea's us puir, forjaskit men +Clamjamfried in the but and ben +He ca's the earth - +A wee bit inconvenient den +No muckle worth; + +An' whiles, at orra times, keeks out, +Sees what puir mankind are about; +An' if He can, I've little doubt, +Upsets their plans; +He hates a' mankind, brainch and root, +An' a' that's man's. + +An' whiles, whan they tak heart again, +An' life i' the sun looks braw an' plain, +Doun comes a jaw o' droukin' rain +Upon their honours - +God sends a spate outower the plain, +Or mebbe thun'ers. + +Lord safe us, life's an unco thing! +Simmer an' Winter, Yule an' Spring, +The damned, dour-heartit seasons bring +A feck o' trouble. +I wadnae try't to be a king - +No, nor for double. + +But since we're in it, willy-nilly, +We maun be watchfu', wise an' skilly, +An' no mind ony ither billy, +Lassie nor God. +But drink - that's my best counsel till 'e: +Sae tak the nod. + + +VIII - THE COUNTERBLAST - 1886 + + +My bonny man, the warld, it's true, +Was made for neither me nor you; +It's just a place to warstle through, +As job confessed o't; +And aye the best that we'll can do +Is mak the best o't. + +There's rowth o' wrang, I'm free to say: +The simmer brunt, the winter blae, +The face of earth a' fyled wi' clay +An' dour wi' chuckies, +An' life a rough an' land'art play +For country buckies. + +An' food's anither name for clart; +An' beasts an' brambles bite an' scart; +An' what would WE be like, my heart! +If bared o' claethin'? +- Aweel, I cannae mend your cart: +It's that or naethin'. + +A feek o' folk frae first to last +Have through this queer experience passed; +Twa-three, I ken, just damn an' blast +The hale transaction; +But twa-three ithers, east an' wast, +Fand satisfaction, + +Whaur braid the briery muirs expand, +A waefu'an' a weary land, +The bumblebees, a gowden band, +Are blithely hingin'; +An' there the canty wanderer fand +The laverock singin'. + +Trout in the burn grow great as herr'n, +The simple sheep can find their fair'n'; +The wind blaws clean about the cairn +Wi' caller air; +The muircock an' the barefit bairn +Are happy there. + +Sic-like the howes o' life to some: +Green loans whaur they ne'er fash their thumb. +But mark the muckle winds that come +Soopin' an' cool, +Or hear the powrin' burnie drum +In the shilfa's pool. + +The evil wi' the guid they tak; +They ca' a gray thing gray, no black; +To a steigh brae, a stubborn back +Addressin' daily; +An' up the rude, unbieldy track +O' life, gang gaily. + +What you would like's a palace ha', +Or Sinday parlour dink an' braw +Wi' a' things ordered in a raw +By denty leddies. +Weel, than, ye cannae hae't: that's a' +That to be said is. + +An' since at life ye've taen the grue, +An' winnae blithely hirsle through, +Ye've fund the very thing to do - +That's to drink speerit; +An' shune we'll hear the last o' you - +An' blithe to hear it! + +The shoon ye coft, the life ye lead, +Ithers will heir when aince ye're deid; +They'll heir your tasteless bite o' breid, +An' find it sappy; +They'll to your dulefu' house succeed, +An' there be happy. + +As whan a glum an' fractious wean +Has sat an' sullened by his lane +Till, wi' a rowstin' skelp, he's taen +An' shoo'd to bed - +The ither bairns a' fa' to play'n', +As gleg's a gled. + + +IX - THE COUNTERBLAST IRONICAL + + +It's strange that God should fash to frame +The yearth and lift sae hie, +An' clean forget to explain the same +To a gentleman like me. + +They gutsy, donnered ither folk, +Their weird they weel may dree; +But why present a pig in a poke +To a gentleman like me? + +They ither folk their parritch eat +An' sup their sugared tea; +But the mind is no to be wyled wi' meat +Wi' a gentleman like me. + +They ither folk, they court their joes +At gloamin' on the lea; +But they're made of a commoner clay, I suppose, +Than a gentleman like me. + +They ither folk, for richt or wrang, +They suffer, bleed, or dee; +But a' thir things are an emp'y sang +To a gentleman like me. + +It's a different thing that I demand, +Tho' humble as can be - +A statement fair in my Maker's hand +To a gentleman like me: + +A clear account writ fair an' broad, +An' a plain apologie; +Or the deevil a ceevil word to God +From a gentleman like me. + + +X - THEIR LAUREATE TO AN ACADEMY CLASS DINNER CLUB + + +Dear Thamson class, whaure'er I gang +It aye comes ower me wi' a spang: +"LORDSAKE! THEY THAMSON LADS - (DEIL HANG +OR ELSE LORD MEND THEM!) - +AN' THAT WANCHANCY ANNUAL SANG +I NE'ER CAN SEND THEM!" + +Straucht, at the name, a trusty tyke, +My conscience girrs ahint the dyke; +Straucht on my hinderlands I fyke +To find a rhyme t' ye; +Pleased - although mebbe no pleased-like - +To gie my time t'ye. + +"WEEL," an' says you, wi' heavin' breist, +"SAE FAR, SAE GUID, BUT WHAT'S THE NEIST? +YEARLY WE GAITHER TO THE FEAST, +A' HOPEFU' MEN - +YEARLY WE SKELLOCH `HANG THE BEAST - +NAE SANG AGAIN!' " + +My lads, an' what am I to say? +Ye shurely ken the Muse's way: +Yestreen, as gleg's a tyke - the day, +Thrawn like a cuddy: +Her conduc', that to her's a play, +Deith to a body. + +Aft whan I sat an' made my mane, +Aft whan I laboured burd-alane +Fishin' for rhymes an' findin' nane, +Or nane were fit for ye - +Ye judged me cauld's a chucky stane - +No car'n' a bit for ye! + +But saw ye ne'er some pingein' bairn +As weak as a pitaty-par'n' - +Less used wi' guidin' horse-shoe airn +Than steerin' crowdie - +Packed aff his lane, by moss an' cairn, +To ca' the howdie. + +Wae's me, for the puir callant than! +He wambles like a poke o' bran, +An' the lowse rein, as hard's he can, +Pu's, trem'lin' handit; +Till, blaff! upon his hinderlan' +Behauld him landit. + +Sic-like - I awn the weary fac' - +Whan on my muse the gate I tak, +An' see her gleed e'e raxin' back +To keek ahint her; - +To me, the brig o' Heev'n gangs black +As blackest winter. + +"LORDSAKE! WE'RE AFF," thinks I, "BUT WHAUR? +ON WHAT ABHORRED AN' WHINNY SCAUR, +OR WHAMMLED IN WHAT SEA O' GLAUR, +WILL SHE DESERT ME? +AN' WILL SHE JUST DISGRACE? OR WAUR - +WILL SHE NO HURT ME?" + +Kittle the quaere! But at least +The day I've backed the fashious beast, +While she, wi' mony a spang an' reist, +Flang heels ower bonnet; +An' a' triumphant - for your feast, +Hae! there's your sonnet! + + +XI - EMBRO HIE KIRK + + +The Lord Himsel' in former days +Waled out the proper tunes for praise +An' named the proper kind o' claes +For folk to preach in: +Preceese and in the chief o' ways +Important teachin'. + +He ordered a' things late and air'; +He ordered folk to stand at prayer, +(Although I cannae just mind where +He gave the warnin',) +An' pit pomatum on their hair +On Sabbath mornin'. + +The hale o' life by His commands +Was ordered to a body's hands; +But see! this CORPUS JURIS stands +By a' forgotten; +An' God's religion in a' lands +Is deid an' rotten. + +While thus the lave o' mankind's lost, +O' Scotland still God maks His boast - +Puir Scotland, on whase barren coast +A score or twa +Auld wives wi' mutches an' a hoast +Still keep His law. + +In Scotland, a wheen canty, plain, +Douce, kintry-leevin' folk retain +The Truth - or did so aince - alane +Of a' men leevin'; +An' noo just twa o' them remain - +Just Begg an' Niven. + +For noo, unfaithfu', to the Lord +Auld Scotland joins the rebel horde; +Her human hymn-books on the board +She noo displays: +An' Embro Hie Kirk's been restored +In popish ways. + +O PUNCTUM TEMPORIS for action +To a' o' the reformin' faction, +If yet, by ony act or paction, +Thocht, word, or sermon, +This dark an' damnable transaction +Micht yet determine! + +For see - as Doctor Begg explains - +Hoo easy 't's dune! a pickle weans, +Wha in the Hie Street gaither stanes +By his instruction, +The uncovenantit, pentit panes +Ding to destruction. + +Up, Niven, or ower late - an' dash +Laigh in the glaur that carnal hash; +Let spires and pews wi' gran' stramash +Thegether fa'; +The rumlin' kist o' whustles smash +In pieces sma'. + +Noo choose ye out a walie hammer; +About the knottit buttress clam'er; +Alang the steep roof stoyt an' stammer, +A gate mis-chancy; +On the aul' spire, the bells' hie cha'mer, +Dance your bit dancie. + +Ding, devel, dunt, destroy, an' ruin, +Wi' carnal stanes the square bestrewin', +Till your loud chaps frae Kyle to Fruin, +Frae Hell to Heeven, +Tell the guid wark that baith are doin' - +Baith Begg an' Niven. + + +XII - THE SCOTSMAN'S RETURN FROM ABROAD +In a letter from Mr. Thomson to Mr. Johnstone. + + +In mony a foreign pairt I've been, +An' mony an unco ferlie seen, +Since, Mr. Johnstone, you and I +Last walkit upon Cocklerye. +Wi' gleg, observant een, I pass't +By sea an' land, through East an' Wast, +And still in ilka age an' station +Saw naething but abomination. +In thir uncovenantit lands +The gangrel Scot uplifts his hands + +At lack of a' sectarian fush'n, +An' cauld religious destitution. +He rins, puir man, frae place to place, +Tries a' their graceless means o' grace, +Preacher on preacher, kirk on kirk - +This yin a stot an' thon a stirk - +A bletherin' clan, no warth a preen, +As bad as Smith of Aiberdeen! + +At last, across the weary faem, +Frae far, outlandish pairts I came. +On ilka side o' me I fand +Fresh tokens o' my native land. +Wi' whatna joy I hailed them a' - +The hilltaps standin' raw by raw, +The public house, the Hielan' birks, +And a' the bonny U.P. kirks! +But maistly thee, the bluid o' Scots, +Frae Maidenkirk to John o' Grots, +The king o' drinks, as I conceive it, +Talisker, Isla, or Glenlivet! + +For after years wi' a pockmantie +Frae Zanzibar to Alicante, +In mony a fash and sair affliction +I gie't as my sincere conviction - +Of a' their foreign tricks an' pliskies, +I maist abominate their whiskies. +Nae doot, themsel's, they ken it weel, +An' wi' a hash o' leemon peel, +And ice an' siccan filth, they ettle +The stawsome kind o' goo to settle; +Sic wersh apothecary's broos wi' +As Scotsmen scorn to fyle their moo's wi'. + +An', man, I was a blithe hame-comer +Whan first I syndit out my rummer. +Ye should hae seen me then, wi' care +The less important pairts prepare; +Syne, weel contentit wi' it a', +Pour in the sperrits wi' a jaw! +I didnae drink, I didnae speak, - +I only snowkit up the reek. +I was sae pleased therein to paidle, +I sat an' plowtered wi' my ladle. + +An' blithe was I, the morrow's morn, +To daunder through the stookit corn, +And after a' my strange mishanters, +Sit doun amang my ain dissenters. +An', man, it was a joy to me +The pu'pit an' the pews to see, +The pennies dirlin' in the plate, +The elders lookin' on in state; +An' 'mang the first, as it befell, +Wha should I see, sir, but yoursel' + +I was, and I will no deny it, +At the first gliff a hantle tryit + +To see yoursel' in sic a station - +It seemed a doubtfu' dispensation. +The feelin' was a mere digression; +For shune I understood the session, +An' mindin' Aiken an' M'Neil, +I wondered they had dune sae weel. +I saw I had mysel' to blame; +For had I but remained at hame, +Aiblins - though no ava' deservin' 't - +They micht hae named your humble servant. + +The kirk was filled, the door was steeked; +Up to the pu'pit ance I keeked; +I was mair pleased than I can tell - +It was the minister himsel'! +Proud, proud was I to see his face, +After sae lang awa' frae grace. +Pleased as I was, I'm no denyin' +Some maitters were not edifyin'; + +For first I fand - an' here was news! - +Mere hymn-books cockin' in the pews - +A humanised abomination, +Unfit for ony congregation. +Syne, while I still was on the tenter, +I scunnered at the new prezentor; +I thocht him gesterin' an' cauld - +A sair declension frae the auld. +Syne, as though a' the faith was wreckit, +The prayer was not what I'd exspeckit. +Himsel', as it appeared to me, +Was no the man he used to be. +But just as I was growin' vext +He waled a maist judeecious text, +An', launchin' into his prelections, +Swoopt, wi' a skirl, on a' defections. + +O what a gale was on my speerit +To hear the p'ints o' doctrine clearit, +And a' the horrors o' damnation +Set furth wi' faithfu' ministration! +Nae shauchlin' testimony here - +We were a' damned, an' that was clear, +I owned, wi' gratitude an' wonder, +He was a pleisure to sit under. + + +XIII + + +Late in the nicht in bed I lay, +The winds were at their weary play, +An' tirlin' wa's an' skirlin' wae +Through Heev'n they battered; - +On-ding o' hail, on-blaff o' spray, +The tempest blattered. + +The masoned house it dinled through; +It dung the ship, it cowped the coo'. +The rankit aiks it overthrew, +Had braved a' weathers; +The strang sea-gleds it took an' blew +Awa' like feathers. + +The thrawes o' fear on a' were shed, +An' the hair rose, an' slumber fled, +An' lichts were lit an' prayers were said +Through a' the kintry; +An' the cauld terror clum in bed +Wi' a' an' sindry. + +To hear in the pit-mirk on hie +The brangled collieshangie flie, +The warl', they thocht, wi' land an' sea, +Itsel' wad cowpit; +An' for auld airn, the smashed debris +By God be rowpit. + +Meanwhile frae far Aldeboran, +To folks wi' talescopes in han', +O' ships that cowpit, winds that ran, +Nae sign was seen, +But the wee warl' in sunshine span +As bricht's a preen. + +I, tae, by God's especial grace, +Dwall denty in a bieldy place, +Wi' hosened feet, wi' shaven face, +Wi' dacent mainners: +A grand example to the race +O' tautit sinners! + +The wind may blaw, the heathen rage, +The deil may start on the rampage; - +The sick in bed, the thief in cage - +What's a' to me? +Cosh in my house, a sober sage, +I sit an' see. + +An' whiles the bluid spangs to my bree, +To lie sae saft, to live sae free, +While better men maun do an' die +In unco places. +"WHAUR'S GOD?" I cry, an' "WHAE IS ME +TO HAE SIC GRACES?" + +I mind the fecht the sailors keep, +But fire or can'le, rest or sleep, +In darkness an' the muckle deep; +An' mind beside +The herd that on the hills o' sheep +Has wandered wide. + +I mind me on the hoastin' weans - +The penny joes on causey stanes - +The auld folk wi' the crazy banes, +Baith auld an' puir, +That aye maun thole the winds an' rains +An' labour sair. + +An' whiles I'm kind o' pleased a blink, +An' kind o' fleyed forby, to think, +For a' my rowth o' meat an' drink +An' waste o' crumb, +I'll mebbe have to thole wi' skink +In Kingdom Come. + +For God whan jowes the Judgment bell, +Wi' His ain Hand, His Leevin' Sel', +Sall ryve the guid (as Prophets tell) +Frae them that had it; +And in the reamin' pat o' Hell, +The rich be scaddit. + +O Lord, if this indeed be sae, +Let daw that sair an' happy day! +Again' the warl', grawn auld an' gray, +Up wi' your aixe! +An' let the puir enjoy their play - +I'll thole my paiks. + + +XIV - MY CONSCIENCE! + + +Of a' the ills that flesh can fear, +The loss o' frien's, the lack o' gear, +A yowlin' tyke, a glandered mear, +A lassie's nonsense - +There's just ae thing I cannae bear, +An' that's my conscience. + +Whan day (an' a' excuse) has gane, +An' wark is dune, and duty's plain, +An' to my charmer a' my lane +I creep apairt, +My conscience! hoo the yammerin' pain +Stends to my heart! + +A' day wi' various ends in view +The hairsts o' time I had to pu', +An' made a hash wad staw a soo, +Let be a man! - +My conscience! whan my han's were fu', +Whaur were ye than? + +An' there were a' the lures o' life, +There pleesure skirlin' on the fife, +There anger, wi' the hotchin' knife +Ground shairp in Hell - +My conscience! - you that's like a wife! - +Whaur was yoursel'? + +I ken it fine: just waitin' here, +To gar the evil waur appear, +To clart the guid, confuse the clear, +Mis-ca' the great, +My conscience! an' to raise a steer +Whan a's ower late. + +Sic-like, some tyke grawn auld and blind, +Whan thieves brok' through the gear to p'ind, +Has lain his dozened length an' grinned +At the disaster; +An' the morn's mornin', wud's the wind, +Yokes on his master. + + +XV - TO DOCTOR JOHN BROWN + + +(Whan the dear doctor, dear to a', +Was still amang us here belaw, +I set my pipes his praise to blaw +Wi' a' my speerit; +But noo, Dear Doctor! he's awa', +An' ne'er can hear it.) + +By Lyne and Tyne, by Thames and Tees, +By a' the various river-Dee's, +In Mars and Manors 'yont the seas +Or here at hame, +Whaure'er there's kindly folk to please, +They ken your name. + +They ken your name, they ken your tyke, +They ken the honey from your byke; +But mebbe after a' your fyke, +(The truth to tell) +It's just your honest Rab they like, +An' no yoursel'. + +As at the gowff, some canny play'r +Should tee a common ba' wi' care - +Should flourish and deleever fair +His souple shintie - +An' the ba' rise into the air, +A leevin' lintie: + +Sae in the game we writers play, +There comes to some a bonny day, +When a dear ferlie shall repay +Their years o' strife, +An' like your Rab, their things o' clay, +Spreid wings o' life. + +Ye scarce deserved it, I'm afraid - +You that had never learned the trade, +But just some idle mornin' strayed +Into the schule, +An' picked the fiddle up an' played +Like Neil himsel'. + +Your e'e was gleg, your fingers dink; +Ye didnae fash yoursel' to think, +But wove, as fast as puss can link, +Your denty wab:- +Ye stapped your pen into the ink, +An' there was Rab! + +Sinsyne, whaure'er your fortune lay +By dowie den, by canty brae, +Simmer an' winter, nicht an' day, +Rab was aye wi' ye; +An' a' the folk on a' the way +Were blithe to see ye. + +O sir, the gods are kind indeed, +An' hauld ye for an honoured heid, +That for a wee bit clarkit screed +Sae weel reward ye, +An' lend - puir Rabbie bein' deid - +His ghaist to guard ye. + +For though, whaure'er yoursel' may be, +We've just to turn an' glisk a wee, +An' Rab at heel we're shure to see +Wi' gladsome caper: - +The bogle of a bogle, he - +A ghaist o' paper! + +And as the auld-farrand hero sees +In Hell a bogle Hercules, +Pit there the lesser deid to please, +While he himsel' +Dwalls wi' the muckle gods at ease +Far raised frae hell: + +Sae the true Rabbie far has gane +On kindlier business o' his ain +Wi' aulder frien's; an' his breist-bane +An' stumpie tailie, +He birstles at a new hearth stane +By James and Ailie. + + +XVI + + +It's an owercome sooth for age an' youth +And it brooks wi' nae denial, +That the dearest friends are the auldest friends +And the young are just on trial. + +There's a rival bauld wi' young an' auld +And it's him that has bereft me; +For the surest friends are the auldest friends +And the maist o' mines hae left me. + +There are kind hearts still, for friends to fill +And fools to take and break them; +But the nearest friends are the auldest friends +And the grave's the place to seek them. + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Underwoods, by Stevenson + |