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diff --git a/441-0.txt b/441-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..542dca4 --- /dev/null +++ b/441-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4775 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, New Poems, by Robert Louis Stevenson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: New Poems + and Variant Readings + + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + + + +Release Date: February 12, 2013 [eBook #441] +[This file was first posted on January 6, 1996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEW POEMS*** + + +Transcribed from the 1918 Chatto & Windus edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + New Poems + AND VARIANT READINGS + + + BY + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + + * * * * * + + LONDON + CHATTO & WINDUS + 1918 + + + + +PREFACE + + +ALL Stevensonians owe a debt of gratitude to the Bibliophile Society of +Boston for having discovered the following poems and given them light in +a privately printed edition, thus making them known, in fact, to the +world at large. Otherwise they would have remained scattered and hidden +indefinitely in the hands of various collectors. They will be found +extraordinarily interesting in their self-revelation, and some, indeed, +are so intimate and personal that one understands why Stevenson withheld +them from all eyes save his own. The love-poems in particular, though +they are of very unequal merit, possess in common a really affecting +sincerity. That Stevenson should have preserved these poems through all +the vicissitudes of his wandering life shows how dearly he must have +valued them; and shows, too, I think, beyond any contradiction, that he +meant they should be ultimately published. + + LLOYD OSBOURNE. + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +PRAYER 1 +LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ 2 +THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE 2 +MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACKBIRD SINGS 3 +I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR 4 +ST. MARTIN’S SUMMER 6 +DEDICATION 7 +THE OLD CHIMÆRAS, OLD RECEIPTS 8 +PRELUDE 10 +THE VANQUISHED KNIGHT 11 +TO THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS 11 +THE RELIC TAKEN, WHAT AVAILS THE SHRINE? 13 +ABOUT THE SHELTERED GARDEN GROUND 14 +AFTER READING “ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA” 15 +I KNOW NOT HOW, BUT AS I COUNT 15 +SPRING SONG 16 +THE SUMMER SUN SHONE ROUND ME 16 +YOU LOOKED SO TEMPTING IN THE PEW 17 +LOVE’S VICISSITUDES 18 +DUDDINGSTONE 18 +STOUT MARCHES LEAD TO CERTAIN ENDS 20 +AWAY WITH FUNERAL MUSIC 20 +TO SYDNEY 21 +HAD I THE POWER THAT HAVE THE WILL 23 +O DULL COLD NORTHERN SKY 24 +APOLOGETIC POSTSCRIPT OF A YEAR LATER 25 +TO MARCUS 26 +TO OTTILIE 27 +THIS GLOOMY NORTHERN DAY 28 +THE WIND IS WITHOUT THERE AND HOWLS IN THE TREES 29 +A VALENTINE’S SONG 31 +HAIL! CHILDISH SLAVES OF SOCIAL RULES 34 +SWALLOWS TRAVEL TO AND FRO 36 +TO MESDAMES ZASSETSKY AND GARSCHINE 37 +TO MADAME GARSCHINE 39 +MUSIC AT THE VILLA MARINA 39 +FEAR NOT, DEAR FRIEND, BUT FREELY LIVE YOUR DAYS 40 +LET LOVE GO, IF GO SHE WILL 41 +I DO NOT FEAR TO OWN ME KIN 42 +I AM LIKE ONE THAT FOR LONG DAYS HAD SATE 44 +VOLUNTARY 45 +ON NOW, ALTHOUGH THE YEAR BE DONE 47 +IN THE GREEN AND GALLANT SPRING 47 +DEATH, TO THE DEAD FOR EVERMORE 48 +TO CHARLES BAXTER 49 +I WHO ALL THE WINTER THROUGH 52 +LOVE, WHAT IS LOVE? 53 +SOON OUR FRIENDS PERISH 53 +AS ONE WHO HAVING WANDERED ALL NIGHT LONG 53 +STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF MEN 55 +THE WIND BLEW SHRILL AND SMART 56 +MAN SAILS THE DEEP AWHILE 57 +THE COCK’S CLEAR VOICE INTO THE CLEARER AIR 58 +NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY YEARS 59 +WHAT MAN MAY LEARN, WHAT MAN MAY DO 60 +SMALL IS THE TRUST WHEN LOVE IS GREEN 61 +KNOW YOU THE RIVER NEAR TO GREZ 62 +IT’S FORTH ACROSS THE ROARING FOAM 63 +AN ENGLISH BREEZE 65 +AS IN THEIR FLIGHT THE BIRDS OF SONG 66 +THE PIPER 67 +TO MRS. MACMARLAND 58 +TO MISS CORNISH 69 +TALES OF ARABIA 71 +BEHOLD, AS GOBLINS DARK OF MIEN 72 +STILL I LOVE TO RHYME 73 +LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE 74 +FLOWER GOD, GOD OF THE SPRING 75 +COME, MY BELOVED, HEAR FROM ME 76 +SINCE YEARS AGO FOR EVERMORE 77 +ENVOY FOR “A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES” 78 +FOR RICHMOND’S GARDEN WALL 80 +HAIL, GUEST, AND ENTER FREELY! 80 +LO, NOW, MY GUEST 81 +SO LIVE, SO LOVE, SO USE THAT FRAGILE HOUR 81 +AD SE IPSUM 82 +BEFORE THIS LITTLE GIFT WAS COME 82 +GO, LITTLE BOOK—THE ANCIENT PHRASE 83 +MY LOVE WAS WARM 84 +DEDICATORY POEM FOR “UNDERWOODS” 85 +FAREWELL 86 +THE FAR-FARERS 87 +COME, MY LITTLE CHILDREN, HERE ARE SONGS FOR YOU 87 +HOME FROM THE DAISIED MEADOWS 88 +EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR PIANO 88 +FAIR ISLE AT SEA 89 +LOUD AND LOW IN THE CHIMNEY 89 +I LOVE TO BE WARM BY THE RED FIRESIDE 90 +AT LAST SHE COMES 90 +MINE EYES WERE SWIFT TO KNOW THEE 90 +FIXED IS THE DOOM 91 +MEN ARE HEAVEN’S PIERS 92 +THE ANGLER ROSE, HE TOOK HIS ROD 93 +SPRING CAROL 94 +TO WHAT SHALL I COMPARE HER 95 +WHEN THE SUN COMES AFTER RAIN 96 +LATE, O MILLER 97 +TO FRIENDS AT HOME 97 +I, WHOM APOLLO SOMETIME VISITED 98 +TEMPEST TOSSED AND SORE AFFLICTED 98 +VARIANT FORM OF THE PRECEDING POEM 99 +I NOW, O FRIEND, WHOM NOISELESSLY THE SNOWS 100 +SINCE THOU HAST GIVEN ME THIS GOOD HOPE, O GOD 103 +GOD GAVE TO ME A CHILD IN PART 104 +OVER THE LAND IS APRIL 105 +LIGHT AS THE LINNET ON MY WAY I START 106 +COMIC, HERE IS ADIEU TO THE CITY 106 +IT BLOWS A SNOWING GALE 107 +NE SIT ANCILLÆ TIBI AMOR PUDOR 107 +TO ALL THAT LOVE THE FAR AND BLUE 108 +THOU STRAINEST THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN FERN 110 +TO ROSABELLE 111 +NOW BARE TO THE BEHOLDER’S EYE 112 +THE BOUR-TREE DEN 114 +SONNETS 118 +FRAGMENTS 123 +AIR OF DIABELLI’S 128 +EPITAPHIUM EROTII 132 +DE M. ANTONIO 133 +AD MAGISTRUM LUDI 133 +AD NEPOTEM 134 +IN CHARIDEMUM 135 +DE LIGURRA 135 +IN LUPUM 136 +AD QUINTILIANUM 137 +DE HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS 137 +AD MARTIALEM 139 +IN MAXIMUM 139 +AD OLUM 140 +DE CŒNATIONE MICÆ 140 +DE EROTIO PUELLA 141 +AD PISCATOREM 141 + +PRAYER + + + I ASK good things that I detest, + With speeches fair; + Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast, + But hear my prayer. + + I say ill things I would not say— + Things unaware: + Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day, + And not my prayer. + + My heart is evil in Thy sight: + My good thoughts flee: + O Lord, I cannot wish aright— + Wish Thou for me. + + O bend my words and acts to Thee, + However ill, + That I, whate’er I say or be, + May serve Thee still. + + O let my thoughts abide in Thee + Lest I should fall: + Show me Thyself in all I see, + Thou Lord of all. + + + + +LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ + + + LO! in thine honest eyes I read + The auspicious beacon that shall lead, + After long sailing in deep seas, + To quiet havens in June ease. + + Thy voice sings like an inland bird + First by the seaworn sailor heard; + And like road sheltered from life’s sea + Thine honest heart is unto me. + + + + +THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE + + + THOUGH deep indifference should drowse + The sluggish life beneath my brows, + And all the external things I see + Grow snow-showers in the street to me, + Yet inmost in my stormy sense + Thy looks shall be an influence. + + Though other loves may come and go + And long years sever us below, + Shall the thin ice that grows above + Freeze the deep centre-well of love? + No, still below light amours, thou + Shalt rule me as thou rul’st me now. + + Year following year shall only set + Fresh gems upon thy coronet; + And Time, grown lover, shall delight + To beautify thee in my sight; + And thou shalt ever rule in me + Crowned with the light of memory. + + + + +MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACK-BIRD SINGS + + + MY heart, when first the blackbird sings, + My heart drinks in the song: + Cool pleasure fills my bosom through + And spreads each nerve along. + + My bosom eddies quietly, + My heart is stirred and cool + As when a wind-moved briar sweeps + A stone into a pool + + But unto thee, when thee I meet, + My pulses thicken fast, + As when the maddened lake grows black + And ruffles in the blast. + + + + +I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR + + +I. + + + I DREAMED of forest alleys fair + And fields of gray-flowered grass, + Where by the yellow summer moon + My Jenny seemed to pass. + + I dreamed the yellow summer moon, + Behind a cedar wood, + Lay white on fields of rippling grass + Where I and Jenny stood. + + I dreamed—but fallen through my dream, + In a rainy land I lie + Where wan wet morning crowns the hills + Of grim reality. + + + +II. + + + I am as one that keeps awake + All night in the month of June, + That lies awake in bed to watch + The trees and great white moon. + + For memories of love are more + Than the white moon there above, + And dearer than quiet moonshine + Are the thoughts of her I love. + + + +III. + + + Last night I lingered long without + My last of loves to see. + Alas! the moon-white window-panes + Stared blindly back on me. + + To-day I hold her very hand, + Her very waist embrace— + Like clouds across a pool, I read + Her thoughts upon her face. + + And yet, as now, through her clear eyes + I seek the inner shrine— + I stoop to read her virgin heart + In doubt if it be mine— + + O looking long and fondly thus, + What vision should I see? + No vision, but my own white face + That grins and mimics me. + + + +IV. + + + Once more upon the same old seat + In the same sunshiny weather, + The elm-trees’ shadows at their feet + And foliage move together. + + The shadows shift upon the grass, + The dial point creeps on; + The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass, + As then they passed and shone. + + But now deep sleep is on my heart, + Deep sleep and perfect rest. + Hope’s flutterings now disturb no more + The quiet of my breast. + + + + +ST. MARTIN’S SUMMER + + + AS swallows turning backward + When half-way o’er the sea, + At one word’s trumpet summons + They came again to me— + The hopes I had forgotten + Came back again to me. + + I know not which to credit, + O lady of my heart! + Your eyes that bade me linger, + Your words that bade us part— + I know not which to credit, + My reason or my heart. + + But be my hopes rewarded, + Or be they but in vain, + I have dreamed a golden vision, + I have gathered in the grain— + I have dreamed a golden vision, + I have not lived in vain. + + + + +DEDICATION + + + MY first gift and my last, to you + I dedicate this fascicle of songs— + The only wealth I have: + Just as they are, to you. + + I speak the truth in soberness, and say + I had rather bring a light to your clear eyes, + Had rather hear you praise + This bosomful of songs + + Than that the whole, hard world with one consent, + In one continuous chorus of applause + Poured forth for me and mine + The homage of ripe praise. + + I write the finis here against my love, + This is my love’s last epitaph and tomb. + Here the road forks, and I + Go my way, far from yours. + + + + +THE OLD CHIMÆRAS, OLD RECEIPTS + + + THE old Chimæras, old receipts + For making “happy land,” + The old political beliefs + Swam close before my hand. + + The grand old communistic myths + In a middle state of grace, + Quite dead, but not yet gone to Hell, + And walking for a space, + + Quite dead, and looking it, and yet + All eagerness to show + The Social-Contract forgeries + By Chatterton—Rousseau— + + A hundred such as these I tried, + And hundreds after that, + I fitted Social Theories + As one would fit a hat! + + Full many a marsh-fire lured me on, + I reached at many a star, + I reached and grasped them and behold— + The stump of a cigar! + + All through the sultry sweltering day + The sweat ran down my brow, + The still plains heard my distant strokes + That have been silenced now. + + This way and that, now up, now down, + I hailed full many a blow. + Alas! beneath my weary arm + The thicket seemed to grow. + + I take the lesson, wipe my brow + And throw my axe aside, + And, sorely wearied, I go home + In the tranquil eventide. + + And soon the rising moon, that lights + The eve of my defeat, + Shall see me sitting as of yore + By my old master’s feet. + + + + +PRELUDE + + + BY sunny market-place and street + Wherever I go my drum I beat, + And wherever I go in my coat of red + The ribbons flutter about my head. + + I seek recruits for wars to come— + For slaughterless wars I beat the drum, + And the shilling I give to each new ally + Is hope to live and courage to die. + + I know that new recruits shall come + Wherever I beat the sounding drum, + Till the roar of the march by country and town + Shall shake the tottering Dagons down. + + For I was objectless as they + And loitering idly day by day; + But whenever I heard the recruiters come, + I left my all to follow the drum. + + + + +THE VANQUISHED KNIGHT + + + I HAVE left all upon the shameful field, + Honour and Hope, my God, and all but life; + Spurless, with sword reversed and dinted shield, + Degraded and disgraced, I leave the strife. + + From him that hath not, shall there not be taken + E’en that he hath, when he deserts the strife? + Life left by all life’s benefits forsaken, + O keep the promise, Lord, and take the life. + + + + +TO THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS + + + I SEND to you, commissioners, + A paper that may please ye, sirs + (For troth they say it might be worse + An’ I believe’t) + And on your business lay my curse + Before I leav’t. + + I thocht I’d serve wi’ you, sirs, yince, + But I’ve thocht better of it since; + The maitter I will nowise mince, + But tell ye true: + I’ll service wi’ some ither prince, + An’ no wi’ you. + + I’ve no been very deep, ye’ll think, + Cam’ delicately to the brink + An’ when the water gart me shrink + Straucht took the rue, + An’ didna stoop my fill to drink— + I own it true. + + I kent on cape and isle, a light + Burnt fair an’ clearly ilka night; + But at the service I took fright, + As sune’s I saw, + An’ being still a neophite + Gaed straucht awa’. + + Anither course I now begin, + The weeg I’ll cairry for my sin, + The court my voice shall echo in, + An’—wha can tell?— + Some ither day I may be yin + O’ you mysel’. + + + + +THE RELIC TAKEN, WHAT AVAILS THE SHRINE? + + + THE relic taken, what avails the shrine? + The locket, pictureless? O heart of mine, + Art thou not worse than that, + Still warm, a vacant nest where love once sat? + + Her image nestled closer at my heart + Than cherished memories, healed every smart + And warmed it more than wine + Or the full summer sun in noon-day shine. + + This was the little weather gleam that lit + The cloudy promontories—the real charm was + That gilded hills and woods + And walked beside me thro’ the solitudes. + + The sun is set. My heart is widowed now + Of that companion-thought. Alone I plough + The seas of life, and trace + A separate furrow far from her and grace. + + + + +ABOUT THE SHELTERED GARDEN GROUND + + + ABOUT the sheltered garden ground + The trees stand strangely still. + The vale ne’er seemed so deep before, + Nor yet so high the hill. + + An awful sense of quietness, + A fulness of repose, + Breathes from the dewy garden-lawns, + The silent garden rows. + + As the hoof-beats of a troop of horse + Heard far across a plain, + A nearer knowledge of great thoughts + Thrills vaguely through my brain. + + I lean my head upon my arm, + My heart’s too full to think; + Like the roar of seas, upon my heart + Doth the morning stillness sink. + + + + +AFTER READING “ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA” + + + AS when the hunt by holt and field + Drives on with horn and strife, + Hunger of hopeless things pursues + Our spirits throughout life. + + The sea’s roar fills us aching full + Of objectless desire— + The sea’s roar, and the white moon-shine, + And the reddening of the fire. + + Who talks to me of reason now? + It would be more delight + To have died in Cleopatra’s arms + Than be alive to-night. + + + + +I KNOW NOT HOW, BUT AS I COUNT + + + I KNOW not how, but as I count + The beads of former years, + Old laughter catches in my throat + With the very feel of tears. + + + + +SPRING SONG + + + THE air was full of sun and birds, + The fresh air sparkled clearly. + Remembrance wakened in my heart + And I knew I loved her dearly. + + The fallows and the leafless trees + And all my spirit tingled. + My earliest thought of love, and Spring’s + First puff of perfume mingled. + + In my still heart the thoughts awoke, + Came lone by lone together— + Say, birds and Sun and Spring, is Love + A mere affair of weather? + + + + +THE SUMMER SUN SHONE ROUND ME + + + THE summer sun shone round me, + The folded valley lay + In a stream of sun and odour, + That sultry summer day. + + The tall trees stood in the sunlight + As still as still could be, + But the deep grass sighed and rustled + And bowed and beckoned me. + + The deep grass moved and whispered + And bowed and brushed my face. + It whispered in the sunshine: + “The winter comes apace.” + + + + +YOU LOOKED SO TEMPTING IN THE PEW + + + YOU looked so tempting in the pew, + You looked so sly and calm— + My trembling fingers played with yours + As both looked out the Psalm. + + Your heart beat hard against my arm, + My foot to yours was set, + Your loosened ringlet burned my cheek + Whenever they two met. + + O little, little we hearkened, dear, + And little, little cared, + Although the parson sermonised, + The congregation stared. + + + + +LOVE’S VICISSITUDES + + + AS Love and Hope together + Walk by me for a while, + Link-armed the ways they travel + For many a pleasant mile— + Link-armed and dumb they travel, + They sing not, but they smile. + + Hope leaving, Love commences + To practise on the lute; + And as he sings and travels + With lingering, laggard foot, + Despair plays obligato + The sentimental flute. + + Until in singing garments + Comes royally, at call— + Comes limber-hipped Indiff’rence + Free stepping, straight and tall— + Comes singing and lamenting, + The sweetest pipe of all. + + + + +DUDDINGSTONE + + + WITH caws and chirrupings, the woods + In this thin sun rejoice. + The Psalm seems but the little kirk + That sings with its own voice. + + The cloud-rifts share their amber light + With the surface of the mere— + I think the very stones are glad + To feel each other near. + + Once more my whole heart leaps and swells + And gushes o’er with glee; + The fingers of the sun and shade + Touch music stops in me. + + Now fancy paints that bygone day + When you were here, my fair— + The whole lake rang with rapid skates + In the windless winter air. + + You leaned to me, I leaned to you, + Our course was smooth as flight— + We steered—a heel-touch to the left, + A heel-touch to the right. + + We swung our way through flying men, + Your hand lay fast in mine: + We saw the shifting crowd dispart, + The level ice-reach shine. + + I swear by yon swan-travelled lake, + By yon calm hill above, + I swear had we been drowned that day + We had been drowned in love. + + + + +STOUT MARCHES LEAD TO CERTAIN ENDS + + + STOUT marches lead to certain ends, + We seek no Holy Grail, my friends— + That dawn should find us every day + Some fraction farther on our way. + + The dumb lands sleep from east to west, + They stretch and turn and take their rest. + The cock has crown in the steading-yard, + But priest and people slumber hard. + + We two are early forth, and hear + The nations snoring far and near. + So peacefully their rest they take, + It seems we are the first awake! + + —Strong heart! this is no royal way, + A thousand cross-roads seek the day; + And, hid from us, to left and right, + A thousand seekers seek the light. + + + + +AWAY WITH FUNERAL MUSIC + + + AWAY with funeral music—set + The pipe to powerful lips— + The cup of life’s for him that drinks + And not for him that sips. + + + + +TO SYDNEY + + + NOT thine where marble-still and white + Old statues share the tempered light + And mock the uneven modern flight, + But in the stream + Of daily sorrow and delight + To seek a theme. + + I too, O friend, have steeled my heart + Boldly to choose the better part, + To leave the beaten ways of art, + And wholly free + To dare, beyond the scanty chart, + The deeper sea. + + All vain restrictions left behind, + Frail bark! I loose my anchored mind + And large, before the prosperous wind + Desert the strand— + A new Columbus sworn to find + The morning land. + + Nor too ambitious, friend. To thee + I own my weakness. Not for me + To sing the enfranchised nations’ glee, + Or count the cost + Of warships foundered far at sea + And battles lost. + + High on the far-seen, sunny hills, + Morning-content my bosom fills; + Well-pleased, I trace the wandering rills + And learn their birth. + Far off, the clash of sovereign wills + May shake the earth. + + The nimble circuit of the wheel, + The uncertain poise of merchant weal, + Heaven of famine, fire and steel + When nations fall; + These, heedful, from afar I feel— + I mark them all. + + But not, my friend, not these I sing, + My voice shall fill a narrower ring. + Tired souls, that flag upon the wing, + I seek to cheer: + Brave wines to strengthen hope I bring, + Life’s cantineer! + + Some song that shall be suppling oil + To weary muscles strained with toil, + Shall hearten for the daily moil, + Or widely read + Make sweet for him that tills the soil + His daily bread. + + Such songs in my flushed hours I dream + (High thought) instead of armour gleam + Or warrior cantos ream by ream + To load the shelves— + Songs with a lilt of words, that seem + To sing themselves. + + + + +HAD I THE POWER THAT HAVE THE WILL + + + HAD I the power that have the will, + The enfeebled will—a modern curse— + This book of mine should blossom still + A perfect garden-ground of verse. + + White placid marble gods should keep + Good watch in every shadowy lawn; + And from clean, easy-breathing sleep + The birds should waken me at dawn. + + —A fairy garden;—none the less + Throughout these gracious paths of mine + All day there should be free access + For stricken hearts and lives that pine; + + And by the folded lawns all day— + No idle gods for such a land— + All active Love should take its way + With active Labour hand in hand. + + + + +O DULL COLD NORTHERN SKY + + + O DULL cold northern sky, + O brawling sabbath bells, + O feebly twittering Autumn bird that tells + The year is like to die! + + O still, spoiled trees, O city ways, + O sun desired in vain, + O dread presentiment of coming rain + That cloys the sullen days! + + Thee, heart of mine, I greet. + In what hard mountain pass + Striv’st thou? In what importunate morass + Sink now thy weary feet? + + Thou run’st a hopeless race + To win despair. No crown + Awaits success, but leaden gods look down + On thee, with evil face. + + And those that would befriend + And cherish thy defeat, + With angry welcome shall turn sour the sweet + Home-coming of the end. + + Yea, those that offer praise + To idleness, shall yet + Insult thee, coming glorious in the sweat + Of honourable ways. + + + + +APOLOGETIC POSTSCRIPT OF A YEAR LATER + + + IF you see this song, my dear, + And last year’s toast, + I’m confoundedly in fear + You’ll be serious and severe + About the boast. + + Blame not that I sought such aid + To cure regret. + I was then so lowly laid + I used all the Gasconnade + That I could get. + + Being snubbed is somewhat smart, + Believe, my sweet; + And I needed all my art + To restore my broken heart + To its conceit. + + Come and smile, dear, and forget + I boasted so, + I apologise—regret— + It was all a jest;—and—yet— + I do not know. + + + + +TO MARCUS + + + YOU have been far, and I + Been farther yet, + Since last, in foul or fair + An impecunious pair, + Below this northern sky + Of ours, we met. + + Now winter night shall see + Again us two, + While howls the tempest higher, + Sit warmly by the fire + And dream and plan, as we + Were wont to do. + + And, hand in hand, at large + Our thoughts shall walk + While storm and gusty rain, + Again and yet again, + Shall drive their noisy charge + Across the talk. + + The pleasant future still + Shall smile to me, + And hope with wooing hands + Wave on to fairy lands + All over dale and hill + And earth and sea. + + And you who doubt the sky + And fear the sun— + You—Christian with the pack— + You shall not wander back + For I am Hopeful—I + Will cheer you on. + + Come—where the great have trod, + The great shall lead— + Come, elbow through the press, + Pluck Fortune by the dress— + By God, we must—by God, + We shall succeed. + + + + +TO OTTILIE + + + YOU remember, I suppose, + How the August sun arose, + And how his face + Woke to trill and carolette + All the cages that were set + About the place. + + In the tender morning light + All around lay strange and bright + And still and sweet, + And the gray doves unafraid + Went their morning promenade + Along the street. + + + + +THIS GLOOMY NORTHERN DAY + + + THIS gloomy northern day, + Or this yet gloomier night, + Has moved a something high + In my cold heart; and I, + That do not often pray, + Would pray to-night. + + And first on Thee I call + For bread, O God of might! + Enough of bread for all,— + That through the famished town + Cold hunger may lie down + With none to-night. + + I pray for hope no less, + Strong-sinewed hope, O Lord, + That to the struggling young + May preach with brazen tongue + Stout Labour, high success, + And bright reward. + + And last, O Lord, I pray + For hearts resigned and bold + To trudge the dusty way— + Hearts stored with song and joke + And warmer than a cloak + Against the cold. + + If nothing else he had, + He who has this, has all. + This comforts under pain; + This, through the stinging rain, + Keeps ragamuffin glad + Behind the wall. + + This makes the sanded inn + A palace for a Prince, + And this, when griefs begin + And cruel fate annoys, + Can bring to mind the joys + Of ages since. + + + + +THE WIND IS WITHOUT THERE AND HOWLS IN THE TREES + + + THE wind is without there and howls in the trees, + And the rain-flurries drum on the glass: + Alone by the fireside with elbows on knees + I can number the hours as they pass. + Yet now, when to cheer me the crickets begin, + And my pipe is just happily lit, + Believe me, my friend, tho’ the evening draws in, + That not all uncontested I sit. + + Alone, did I say? O no, nowise alone + With the Past sitting warm on my knee, + To gossip of days that are over and gone, + But still charming to her and to me. + With much to be glad of and much to deplore, + Yet, as these days with those we compare, + Believe me, my friend, tho’ the sorrows seem more + They are somehow more easy to bear. + + And thou, faded Future, uncertain and frail, + As I cherish thy light in each draught, + His lamp is not more to the miner—their sail + Is not more to the crew on the raft. + For Hope can make feeble ones earnest and brave, + And, as forth thro’ the years I look on, + Believe me, my friend, between this and the grave, + I see wonderful things to be done. + + To do or to try; and, believe me, my friend, + If the call should come early for me, + I can leave these foundations uprooted, and tend + For some new city over the sea. + To do or to try; and if failure be mine, + And if Fortune go cross to my plan, + Believe me, my friend, tho’ I mourn the design + I shall never lament for the man. + + + + +A VALENTINE’S SONG + + + MOTLEY I count the only wear + That suits, in this mixed world, the truly wise, + Who boldly smile upon despair + And shake their bells in Grandam Grundy’s eyes. + Singers should sing with such a goodly cheer + That the bare listening should make strong like wine, + At this unruly time of year, + The Feast of Valentine. + + We do not now parade our “oughts” + And “shoulds” and motives and beliefs in God. + Their life lies all indoors; sad thoughts + Must keep the house, while gay thoughts go abroad, + Within we hold the wake for hopes deceased; + But in the public streets, in wind or sun, + Keep open, at the annual feast, + The puppet-booth of fun. + + Our powers, perhaps, are small to please, + But even negro-songs and castanettes, + Old jokes and hackneyed repartees + Are more than the parade of vain regrets. + Let Jacques stand Wert(h)ering by the wounded deer— + We shall make merry, honest friends of mine, + At this unruly time of year, + The Feast of Valentine. + + I know how, day by weary day, + Hope fades, love fades, a thousand pleasures fade. + I have not trudged in vain that way + On which life’s daylight darkens, shade by shade. + And still, with hopes decreasing, griefs increased, + Still, with what wit I have shall I, for one, + Keep open, at the annual feast, + The puppet-booth of fun. + + I care not if the wit be poor, + The old worn motley stained with rain and tears, + If but the courage still endure + That filled and strengthened hope in earlier years; + If still, with friends averted, fate severe, + A glad, untainted cheerfulness be mine + To greet the unruly time of year, + The Feast of Valentine. + + Priest, I am none of thine, and see + In the perspective of still hopeful youth + That Truth shall triumph over thee— + Truth to one’s self—I know no other truth. + I see strange days for thee and thine, O priest, + And how your doctrines, fallen one by one, + Shall furnish at the annual feast + The puppet-booth of fun. + + Stand on your putrid ruins—stand, + White neck-clothed bigot, fixedly the same, + Cruel with all things but the hand, + Inquisitor in all things but the name. + Back, minister of Christ and source of fear— + We cherish freedom—back with thee and thine + From this unruly time of year, + The Feast of Valentine. + + Blood thou mayest spare; but what of tears? + But what of riven households, broken faith— + Bywords that cling through all men’s years + And drag them surely down to shame and death? + Stand back, O cruel man, O foe of youth, + And let such men as hearken not thy voice + Press freely up the road to truth, + The King’s highway of choice. + + + + +HAIL! CHILDISH SLAVES OF SOCIAL RULES + + + HAIL! Childish slaves of social rules + You had yourselves a hand in making! + How I could shake your faith, ye fools, + If but I thought it worth the shaking. + I see, and pity you; and then + Go, casting off the idle pity, + In search of better, braver men, + My own way freely through the city. + + My own way freely, and not yours; + And, careless of a town’s abusing, + Seek real friendship that endures + Among the friends of my own choosing. + I’ll choose my friends myself, do you hear? + And won’t let Mrs. Grundy do it, + Tho’ all I honour and hold dear + And all I hope should move me to it. + + I take my old coat from the shelf— + I am a man of little breeding. + And only dress to please myself— + I own, a very strange proceeding. + I smoke a pipe abroad, because + To all cigars I much prefer it, + And as I scorn your social laws + My choice has nothing to deter it. + + Gladly I trudge the footpath way, + While you and yours roll by in coaches + In all the pride of fine array, + Through all the city’s thronged approaches. + O fine religious, decent folk, + In Virtue’s flaunting gold and scarlet, + I sneer between two puffs of smoke,— + Give me the publican and harlot. + + Ye dainty-spoken, stiff, severe + Seed of the migrated Philistian, + One whispered question in your ear— + Pray, what was Christ, if you be Christian? + If Christ were only here just now, + Among the city’s wynds and gables + Teaching the life he taught us, how + Would he be welcome to your tables? + + I go and leave your logic-straws, + Your former-friends with face averted, + Your petty ways and narrow laws, + Your Grundy and your God, deserted. + From your frail ark of lies, I flee + I know not where, like Noah’s raven. + Full to the broad, unsounded sea + I swim from your dishonest haven. + + Alone on that unsounded deep, + Poor waif, it may be I shall perish, + Far from the course I thought to keep, + Far from the friends I hoped to cherish. + It may be that I shall sink, and yet + Hear, thro’ all taunt and scornful laughter, + Through all defeat and all regret, + The stronger swimmers coming after. + + + + +SWALLOWS TRAVEL TO AND FRO + + + SWALLOWS travel to and fro, + And the great winds come and go, + And the steady breezes blow, + Bearing perfume, bearing love. + Breezes hasten, swallows fly, + Towered clouds forever ply, + And at noonday, you and I + See the same sunshine above. + + Dew and rain fall everywhere, + Harvests ripen, flowers are fair, + And the whole round earth is bare + To the moonshine and the sun; + And the live air, fanned with wings, + Bright with breeze and sunshine, brings + Into contact distant things, + And makes all the countries one. + + Let us wander where we will, + Something kindred greets us still; + Something seen on vale or hill + Falls familiar on the heart; + So, at scent or sound or sight, + Severed souls by day and night + Tremble with the same delight— + Tremble, half the world apart. + + + + +TO MESDAMES ZASSETSKY AND GARSCHINE + + + THE wind may blaw the lee-gang way + And aye the lift be mirk an’ gray, + An deep the moss and steigh the brae + Where a’ maun gang— + There’s still an hoor in ilka day + For luve and sang. + + And canty hearts are strangely steeled. + By some dikeside they’ll find a bield, + Some couthy neuk by muir or field + They’re sure to hit, + Where, frae the blatherin’ wind concealed, + They’ll rest a bit. + + An’ weel for them if kindly fate + Send ower the hills to them a mate; + They’ll crack a while o’ kirk an’ State, + O’ yowes an’ rain: + An’ when it’s time to take the gate, + Tak’ ilk his ain. + + —Sic neuk beside the southern sea + I soucht—sic place o’ quiet lee + Frae a’ the winds o’ life. To me, + Fate, rarely fair, + Had set a freendly company + To meet me there. + + Kindly by them they gart me sit, + An’ blythe was I to bide a bit. + Licht as o’ some hame fireside lit + My life for me. + —Ower early maun I rise an’ quit + This happy lee. + + + + +TO MADAME GARSCHINE + + + WHAT is the face, the fairest face, till Care, + Till Care the graver—Care with cunning hand, + Etches content thereon and makes it fair, + Or constancy, and love, and makes it grand? + + + + +MUSIC AT THE VILLA MARINA + + + FOR some abiding central source of power, + Strong-smitten steady chords, ye seem to flow + And, flowing, carry virtue. Far below, + The vain tumultuous passions of the hour + Fleet fast and disappear; and as the sun + Shines on the wake of tempests, there is cast + O’er all the shattered ruins of my past + A strong contentment as of battles won. + + And yet I cry in anguish, as I hear + The long drawn pageant of your passage roll + Magnificently forth into the night. + To yon fair land ye come from, to yon sphere + Of strength and love where now ye shape your flight, + O even wings of music, bear my soul! + + Ye have the power, if but ye had the will, + Strong-smitten steady chords in sequence grand, + To bear me forth into that tranquil land + Where good is no more ravelled up with ill; + Where she and I, remote upon some hill + Or by some quiet river’s windless strand, + May live, and love, and wander hand in hand, + And follow nature simply, and be still. + + From this grim world, where, sadly, prisoned, we + Sit bound with others’ heart-strings as with chains, + And, if one moves, all suffer,—to that Goal, + If such a land, if such a sphere, there be, + Thither, from life and all life’s joys and pains, + O even wings of music, bear my soul! + + + + +FEAR NOT, DEAR FRIEND, BUT FREELY LIVE YOUR DAYS + + + FEAR not, dear friend, but freely live your days + Though lesser lives should suffer. Such am I, + A lesser life, that what is his of sky + Gladly would give for you, and what of praise. + Step, without trouble, down the sunlit ways. + We that have touched your raiment, are made whole + From all the selfish cankers of man’s soul, + And we would see you happy, dear, or die. + Therefore be brave, and therefore, dear, be free; + Try all things resolutely, till the best, + Out of all lesser betters, you shall find; + And we, who have learned greatness from you, we, + Your lovers, with a still, contented mind, + See you well anchored in some port of rest. + + + + +LET LOVE GO, IF GO SHE WILL + + + LET love go, if go she will. + Seek not, O fool, her wanton flight to stay. + Of all she gives and takes away + The best remains behind her still. + + The best remains behind; in vain + Joy she may give and take again, + Joy she may take and leave us pain, + If yet she leave behind + The constant mind + To meet all fortunes nobly, to endure + All things with a good heart, and still be pure, + Still to be foremost in the foremost cause, + And still be worthy of the love that was. + Love coming is omnipotent indeed, + But not Love going. Let her go. The seed + Springs in the favouring Summer air, and grows, + And waxes strong; and when the Summer goes, + Remains, a perfect tree. + + Joy she may give and take again, + Joy she may take and leave us pain. + O Love, and what care we? + For one thing thou hast given, O Love, one thing + Is ours that nothing can remove; + And as the King discrowned is still a King, + The unhappy lover still preserves his love. + + + + +I DO NOT FEAR TO OWN ME KIN + + + I DO not fear to own me kin + To the glad clods in which spring flowers begin; + Or to my brothers, the great trees, + That speak with pleasant voices in the breeze, + Loud talkers with the winds that pass; + Or to my sister, the deep grass. + + Of such I am, of such my body is, + That thrills to reach its lips to kiss. + That gives and takes with wind and sun and rain + And feels keen pleasure to the point of pain. + + Of such are these, + The brotherhood of stalwart trees, + The humble family of flowers, + That make a light of shadowy bowers + Or star the edges of the bent: + They give and take sweet colour and sweet scent; + They joy to shed themselves abroad; + And tree and flower and grass and sod + Thrill and leap and live and sing + With silent voices in the Spring. + + Hence I not fear to yield my breath, + Since all is still unchanged by death; + Since in some pleasant valley I may be, + Clod beside clod, or tree by tree, + Long ages hence, with her I love this hour; + And feel a lively joy to share + With her the sun and rain and air, + To taste her quiet neighbourhood + As the dumb things of field and wood, + The clod, the tree, and starry flower, + Alone of all things have the power. + + + + +I AM LIKE ONE THAT FOR LONG DAYS HAD SATE + + + I AM like one that for long days had sate, + With seaward eyes set keen against the gale, + On some lone foreland, watching sail by sail, + The portbound ships for one ship that was late; + And sail by sail, his heart burned up with joy, + And cruelly was quenched, until at last + One ship, the looked-for pennant at its mast, + Bore gaily, and dropt safely past the buoy; + And lo! the loved one was not there—was dead. + Then would he watch no more; no more the sea + With myriad vessels, sail by sail, perplex + His eyes and mock his longing. Weary head, + Take now thy rest; eyes, close; for no more me + Shall hopes untried elate, or ruined vex. + + For thus on love I waited; thus for love + Strained all my senses eagerly and long; + Thus for her coming ever trimmed my song; + Till in the far skies coloured as a dove, + A bird gold-coloured flickered far and fled + Over the pathless waterwaste for me; + And with spread hands I watched the bright bird flee + And waited, till before me she dropped dead. + O golden bird in these dove-coloured skies + How long I sought, how long with wearied eyes + I sought, O bird, the promise of thy flight! + And now the morn has dawned, the morn has died, + The day has come and gone; and once more night + About my lone life settles, wild and wide. + + + + +VOLUNTARY + + + HERE in the quiet eve + My thankful eyes receive + The quiet light. + I see the trees stand fair + Against the faded air, + And star by star prepare + The perfect night. + + And in my bosom, lo! + Content and quiet grow + Toward perfect peace. + And now when day is done, + Brief day of wind and sun, + The pure stars, one by one, + Their troop increase. + + Keen pleasure and keen grief + Give place to great relief: + Farewell my tears! + Still sounds toward me float; + I hear the bird’s small note, + Sheep from the far sheepcote, + And lowing steers. + + For lo! the war is done, + Lo, now the battle won, + The trumpets still. + The shepherd’s slender strain, + The country sounds again + Awake in wood and plain, + On haugh and hill. + + Loud wars and loud loves cease. + I welcome my release; + And hail once more + Free foot and way world-wide. + And oft at eventide + Light love to talk beside + The hostel door. + + + + +ON NOW, ALTHOUGH THE YEAR BE DONE + + + ON now, although the year be done, + Now, although the love be dead, + Dead and gone; + Hear me, O loved and cherished one, + Give me still the hand that led, + Led me on. + + + + +IN THE GREEN AND GALLANT SPRING + + + IN the green and gallant Spring, + Love and the lyre I thought to sing, + And kisses sweet to give and take + By the flowery hawthorn brake. + + Now is russet Autumn here, + Death and the grave and winter drear, + And I must ponder here aloof + While the rain is on the roof. + + + + +DEATH, TO THE DEAD FOR EVERMORE + + + DEATH, to the dead for evermore + A King, a God, the last, the best of friends— + Whene’er this mortal journey ends + Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door; + Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore + Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn + Disturbs the eternal sleep, + But in the stillness far withdrawn + Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep. + + For as from open windows forth we peep + Upon the night-time star beset + And with dews for ever wet; + So from this garish life the spirit peers; + And lo! as a sleeping city death outspread, + Where breathe the sleepers evenly; and lo! + After the loud wars, triumphs, trumpets, tears + And clamour of man’s passion, Death appears, + And we must rise and go. + + Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the ears + Weary of utterance, seeing all is said; + Soon, racked by hopes and fears, + The all-pondering, all-contriving head, + Weary with all things, wearies of the years; + And our sad spirits turn toward the dead; + And the tired child, the body, longs for bed. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + +_On the death of their common friend_, _Mr. John Adam_, _Clerk of court_. + + OUR Johnie’s deid. The mair’s the pity! + He’s deid, an’ deid o’ Aqua-vitæ. + O Embro’, you’re a shrunken city, + Noo Johnie’s deid! + Tak hands, an’ sing a burial ditty + Ower Johnie’s heid. + + To see him was baith drink an’ meat, + Gaun linkin’ glegly up the street. + He but to rin or tak a seat, + The wee bit body! + Bein’ aye unsicken on his feet + Wi’ whusky toddy. + + To be aye tosh was Johnie’s whim, + There’s nane was better teut than him, + Though whiles his gravit-knot wad clim’ + Ahint his ear, + An’ whiles he’d buttons oot or in + The less ae mair. + + His hair a’ lang about his bree, + His tap-lip lang by inches three— + A slockened sort ‘mon,’ to pree + A’ sensuality— + A droutly glint was in his e’e + An’ personality. + + An’ day an’ nicht, frae daw to daw, + Dink an’ perjink an’ doucely braw, + Wi’ a kind o’ Gospel ower a’, + May or October, + Like Peden, followin’ the Law + An’ no that sober. + + Whusky an’ he were pack thegether. + Whate’er the hour, whate’er the weather, + John kept himsel’ wi’ mistened leather + An’ kindled spunk. + Wi’ him, there was nae askin’ whether— + John was aye drunk. + + The auncient heroes gash an’ bauld + In the uncanny days of auld, + The task ance fo(u)nd to which th’were called, + Stack stenchly to it. + His life sic noble lives recalled, + Little’s he knew it. + + Single an’ straucht, he went his way. + He kept the faith an’ played the play. + Whusky an’ he were man an’ may + Whate’er betided. + Bonny in life—in death—this twae + Were no’ divided. + + An’ wow! but John was unco sport. + Whiles he wad smile about the Court + Malvolio-like—whiles snore an’ snort + Was heard afar. + The idle winter lads’ resort + Was aye John’s bar. + + What’s merely humorous or bonny + The Worl’ regairds wi’ cauld astony. + Drunk men tak’ aye mair place than ony; + An’ sae, ye see, + The gate was aye ower thrang for Johnie— + Or you an’ me. + + John micht hae jingled cap an’ bells, + Been a braw fule in silks an’ pells, + In ane o’ the auld worl’s canty hells + Paris or Sodom. + I wadnae had him naething else + But Johnie Adam. + + He suffered—as have a’ that wan + Eternal memory frae man, + Since e’er the weary worl’ began— + Mister or Madam, + Keats or Scots Burns, the Spanish Don + Or Johnie Adam. + + We leuch, an’ Johnie deid. An’ fegs! + Hoo he had keept his stoiterin’ legs + Sae lang’s he did’s a fact that begs + An explanation. + He stachers fifty years—syne plegs + To’s destination. + + + + +I WHO ALL THE WINTER THROUGH + + + I WHO all the winter through + Cherished other loves than you, + And kept hands with hoary policy in marriage-bed and pew; + Now I know the false and true, + For the earnest sun looks through, + And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew. + + Now the hedged meads renew + Rustic odour, smiling hue, + And the clean air shines and tinkles as the world goes wheeling + through; + And my heart springs up anew, + Bright and confident and true, + And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew. + + + + +LOVE, WHAT IS LOVE? + + + LOVE—what is love? A great and aching heart; + Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair. + Life—what is life? Upon a moorland bare + To see love coming and see love depart. + + + + +SOON OUR FRIENDS PERISH + + + SOON our friends perish, + Soon all we cherish + Fades as days darken—goes as flowers go. + Soon in December + Over an ember, + Lonely we hearken, as loud winds blow. + + + + +AS ONE WHO HAVING WANDERED ALL NIGHT LONG + + + AS one who having wandered all night long + In a perplexed forest, comes at length + In the first hours, about the matin song, + And when the sun uprises in his strength, + To the fringed margin of the wood, and sees, + Gazing afar before him, many a mile + Of falling country, many fields and trees, + And cities and bright streams and far-off Ocean’s smile: + + I, O Melampus, halting, stand at gaze: + I, liberated, look abroad on life, + Love, and distress, and dusty travelling ways, + The steersman’s helm, the surgeon’s helpful knife, + On the lone ploughman’s earth-upturning share, + The revelry of cities and the sound + Of seas, and mountain-tops aloof in air, + And of the circling earth the unsupported round: + + I, looking, wonder: I, intent, adore; + And, O Melampus, reaching forth my hands + In adoration, cry aloud and soar + In spirit, high above the supine lands + And the low caves of mortal things, and flee + To the last fields of the universe untrod, + Where is no man, nor any earth, nor sea, + And the contented soul is all alone with God. + + + + +STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF MEN + + + STRANGE are the ways of men, + And strange the ways of God! + We tread the mazy paths + That all our fathers trod. + + We tread them undismayed, + And undismayed behold + The portents of the sky, + The things that were of old. + + The fiery stars pursue + Their course in heav’n on high; + And round the ‘leaguered town, + Crest-tossing heroes cry. + + Crest-tossing heroes cry; + And martial fifes declare + How small, to mortal minds, + Is merely mortal care. + + And to the clang of steel + And cry of piercing flute + Upon the azure peaks + A God shall plant his foot: + + A God in arms shall stand, + And seeing wide and far + The green and golden earth, + The killing tide of war, + + He, with uplifted arm, + Shall to the skies proclaim + The gleeful fate of man, + The noble road to fame! + + + + +THE WIND BLEW SHRILL AND SMART + + + THE wind blew shrill and smart, + And the wind awoke my heart + Again to go a-sailing o’er the sea, + To hear the cordage moan + And the straining timbers groan, + And to see the flying pennon lie a-lee. + + O sailor of the fleet, + It is time to stir the feet! + It’s time to man the dingy and to row! + It’s lay your hand in mine + And it’s empty down the wine, + And it’s drain a health to death before we go! + + To death, my lads, we sail; + And it’s death that blows the gale + And death that holds the tiller as we ride. + For he’s the king of all + In the tempest and the squall, + And the ruler of the Ocean wild and wide! + + + + +MAN SAILS THE DEEP AWHILE + + + MAN sails the deep awhile; + Loud runs the roaring tide; + The seas are wild and wide; + O’er many a salt, o’er many a desert mile, + The unchained breakers ride, + The quivering stars beguile. + + Hope bears the sole command; + Hope, with unshaken eyes, + Sees flaw and storm arise; + Hope, the good steersman, with unwearying hand, + Steers, under changing skies, + Unchanged toward the land. + + O wind that bravely blows! + O hope that sails with all + Where stars and voices call! + O ship undaunted that forever goes + Where God, her admiral, + His battle signal shows! + + What though the seas and wind + Far on the deep should whelm + Colours and sails and helm? + There, too, you touch that port that you designed— + There, in the mid-seas’ realm, + Shall you that haven find. + + Well hast thou sailed: now die, + To die is not to sleep. + Still your true course you keep, + O sailor soul, still sailing for the sky; + And fifty fathom deep + Your colours still shall fly. + + + + +THE COCK’S CLEAR VOICE INTO THE CLEARER AIR + + + THE cock’s clear voice into the clearer air + Where westward far I roam, + Mounts with a thrill of hope, + Falls with a sigh of home. + + A rural sentry, he from farm and field + The coming morn descries, + And, mankind’s bugler, wakes + The camp of enterprise. + + He sings the morn upon the westward hills + Strange and remote and wild; + He sings it in the land + Where once I was a child. + + He brings to me dear voices of the past, + The old land and the years: + My father calls for me, + My weeping spirit hears. + + Fife, fife, into the golden air, O bird, + And sing the morning in; + For the old days are past + And new days begin. + + + + +NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY YEARS + + + NOW when the number of my years + Is all fulfilled, and I + From sedentary life + Shall rouse me up to die, + Bury me low and let me lie + Under the wide and starry sky. + Joying to live, I joyed to die, + Bury me low and let me lie. + + Clear was my soul, my deeds were free, + Honour was called my name, + I fell not back from fear + Nor followed after fame. + Bury me low and let me lie + Under the wide and starry sky. + Joying to live, I joyed to die, + Bury me low and let me lie. + + Bury me low in valleys green + And where the milder breeze + Blows fresh along the stream, + Sings roundly in the trees— + Bury me low and let me lie + Under the wide and starry sky. + Joying to live, I joyed to die, + Bury me low and let me lie. + + + + +WHAT MAN MAY LEARN, WHAT MAN MAY DO + + + WHAT man may learn, what man may do, + Of right or wrong of false or true, + While, skipper-like, his course he steers + Through nine and twenty mingled years, + Half misconceived and half forgot, + So much I know and practise not. + + Old are the words of wisdom, old + The counsels of the wise and bold: + To close the ears, to check the tongue, + To keep the pining spirit young; + To act the right, to say the true, + And to be kind whate’er you do. + + Thus we across the modern stage + Follow the wise of every age; + And, as oaks grow and rivers run + Unchanged in the unchanging sun, + So the eternal march of man + Goes forth on an eternal plan. + + + + +SMALL IS THE TRUST WHEN LOVE IS GREEN + + + SMALL is the trust when love is green + In sap of early years; + A little thing steps in between + And kisses turn to tears. + + Awhile—and see how love be grown + In loveliness and power! + Awhile, it loves the sweets alone, + But next it loves the sour. + + A little love is none at all + That wanders or that fears; + A hearty love dwells still at call + To kisses or to tears. + + Such then be mine, my love to give, + And such be yours to take:— + A faith to hold, a life to live, + For lovingkindness’ sake: + + Should you be sad, should you be gay, + Or should you prove unkind, + A love to hold the growing way + And keep the helping mind:— + + A love to turn the laugh on care + When wrinkled care appears, + And, with an equal will, to share + Your losses and your tears. + + + + +KNOW YOU THE RIVER NEAR TO GREZ + + + KNOW you the river near to Grez, + A river deep and clear? + Among the lilies all the way, + That ancient river runs to-day + From snowy weir to weir. + + Old as the Rhine of great renown, + She hurries clear and fast, + She runs amain by field and town + From south to north, from up to down, + To present on from past. + + The love I hold was borne by her; + And now, though far away, + My lonely spirit hears the stir + Of water round the starling spur + Beside the bridge at Grez. + + So may that love forever hold + In life an equal pace; + So may that love grow never old, + But, clear and pure and fountain-cold, + Go on from grace to grace. + + + + +IT’S FORTH ACROSS THE ROARING FOAM + + + IT’S forth across the roaring foam, and on towards the west, + It’s many a lonely league from home, o’er many a mountain crest, + From where the dogs of Scotland call the sheep around the fold, + To where the flags are flying beside the Gates of Gold. + + Where all the deep-sea galleons ride that come to bring the corn, + Where falls the fog at eventide and blows the breeze at morn; + It’s there that I was sick and sad, alone and poor and cold, + In yon distressful city beside the Gates of Gold. + + I slept as one that nothing knows; but far along my way, + Before the morning God rose and planned the coming day; + Afar before me forth he went, as through the sands of old, + And chose the friends to help me beside the Gates of Gold. + + I have been near, I have been far, my back’s been at the wall, + Yet aye and ever shone the star to guide me through it all: + The love of God, the help of man, they both shall make me bold + Against the gates of darkness as beside the Gates of Gold. + + + + +AN ENGLISH BREEZE + + + UP with the sun, the breeze arose, + Across the talking corn she goes, + And smooth she rustles far and wide + Through all the voiceful countryside. + + Through all the land her tale she tells; + She spins, she tosses, she compels + The kites, the clouds, the windmill sails + And all the trees in all the dales. + + God calls us, and the day prepares + With nimble, gay and gracious airs: + And from Penzance to Maidenhead + The roads last night He watered. + + God calls us from inglorious ease, + Forth and to travel with the breeze + While, swift and singing, smooth and strong + She gallops by the fields along. + + + + +AS IN THEIR FLIGHT THE BIRDS OF SONG + + + AS in their flight the birds of song + Halt here and there in sweet and sunny dales, + But halt not overlong; + The time one rural song to sing + They pause; then following bounteous gales + Steer forward on the wing: + Sun-servers they, from first to last, + Upon the sun they wait + To ride the sailing blast. + + So he awhile in our contested state, + Awhile abode, not longer, for his Sun— + Mother we say, no tenderer name we know— + With whose diviner glow + His early days had shone, + Now to withdraw her radiance had begun. + Or lest a wrong I say, not she withdrew, + But the loud stream of men day after day + And great dust columns of the common way + Between them grew and grew: + And he and she for evermore might yearn, + But to the spring the rivulets not return + Nor to the bosom comes the child again. + + And he (O may we fancy so!), + He, feeling time forever flow + And flowing bear him forth and far away + From that dear ingle where his life began + And all his treasure lay— + He, waxing into man, + And ever farther, ever closer wound + In this obstreperous world’s ignoble round, + From that poor prospect turned his face away. + + + + +THE PIPER + + + AGAIN I hear you piping, for I know the tune so well,— + You rouse the heart to wander and be free, + Tho’ where you learned your music, not the God of song can tell, + For you pipe the open highway and the sea. + O piper, lightly footing, lightly piping on your way, + Tho’ your music thrills and pierces far and near, + I tell you you had better pipe to someone else to-day, + For you cannot pipe my fancy from my dear. + + You sound the note of travel through the hamlet and the town; + You would lure the holy angels from on high; + And not a man can hear you, but he throws the hammer down + And is off to see the countries ere he die. + But now no more I wander, now unchanging here I stay; + By my love, you find me safely sitting here: + And pipe you ne’er so sweetly, till you pipe the hills away, + You can never pipe my fancy from my dear. + + + + +TO MRS. MACMARLAND + + + IN Schnee der Alpen—so it runs + To those divine accords—and here + We dwell in Alpine snows and suns, + A motley crew, for half the year: + A motley crew, we dwell to taste— + A shivering band in hope and fear— + That sun upon the snowy waste, + That Alpine ether cold and clear. + + Up from the laboured plains, and up + From low sea-levels, we arise + To drink of that diviner cup + The rarer air, the clearer skies; + For, as the great, old, godly King + From mankind’s turbid valley cries, + So all we mountain-lovers sing: + I to the hills will lift mine eyes. + + The bells that ring, the peaks that climb, + The frozen snow’s unbroken curd + Might yet revindicate in rhyme + The pauseless stream, the absent bird. + In vain—for to the deeps of life + You, lady, you my heart have stirred; + And since you say you love my life, + Be sure I love you for the word. + + Of kindness, here I nothing say— + Such loveless kindnesses there are + In that grimacing, common way, + That old, unhonoured social war. + Love but my dog and love my love, + Adore with me a common star— + I value not the rest above + The ashes of a bad cigar. + + + + +TO MISS CORNISH + + + THEY tell me, lady, that to-day + On that unknown Australian strand— + Some time ago, so far away— + Another lady joined the band. + She joined the company of those + Lovelily dowered, nobly planned, + Who, smiling, still forgive their foes + And keep their friends in close command. + + She, lady, as I learn, was one + Among the many rarely good; + And destined still to be a sun + Through every dark and rainy mood:— + She, as they told me, far had come, + By sea and land, o’er many a rood:— + Admired by all, beloved by some, + She was yourself, I understood. + + But, compliment apart and free + From all constraint of verses, may + Goodness and honour, grace and glee, + Attend you ever on your way— + Up to the measure of your will, + Beyond all power of mine to say— + As she and I desire you still, + Miss Cornish, on your natal day. + + + + +TALES OF ARABIA + + + YES, friend, I own these tales of Arabia + Smile not, as smiled their flawless originals, + Age-old but yet untamed, for ages + Pass and the magic is undiminished. + + Thus, friend, the tales of the old Camaralzaman, + Ayoub, the Slave of Love, or the Calendars, + Blind-eyed and ill-starred royal scions, + Charm us in age as they charmed in childhood. + + Fair ones, beyond all numerability, + Beam from the palace, beam on humanity, + Bright-eyed, in truth, yet soul-less houris + Offering pleasure and only pleasure. + + Thus they, the venal Muses Arabian, + Unlike, indeed, the nobler divinities, + Greek Gods or old time-honoured muses, + Easily proffer unloved caresses. + + Lost, lost, the man who mindeth the minstrelsy; + Since still, in sandy, glittering pleasances, + Cold, stony fruits, gem-like but quite in- + Edible, flatter and wholly starve him. + + + + +BEHOLD, AS GOBLINS DARK OF MIEN + + + BEHOLD, as goblins dark of mien + And portly tyrants dyed with crime + Change, in the transformation scene, + At Christmas, in the pantomime, + + Instanter, at the prompter’s cough, + The fairy bonnets them, and they + Throw their abhorred carbuncles off + And blossom like the flowers in May. + + —So mankind, to angelic eyes, + So, through the scenes of life below, + In life’s ironical disguise, + A travesty of man, ye go: + + But fear not: ere the curtain fall, + Death in the transformation scene + Steps forward from her pedestal, + Apparent, as the fairy Queen; + + And coming, frees you in a trice + From all your lendings—lust of fame, + Ungainly virtue, ugly vice, + Terror and tyranny and shame. + + So each, at last himself, for good + In that dear country lays him down, + At last beloved and understood + And pure in feature and renown. + + + + +STILL I LOVE TO RHYME + + + STILL I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander + Far from the commoner way; + Old-time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder, + Dreaming to-morrow to-day. + + Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, Apollo, + Measures descanted before; + Since I ancient verses, I emulous follow, + Prints in the marbles of yore. + + Still strange, strange, they sound in old-young raiment invested, + Songs for the brain to forget— + Young song-birds elate to grave old temples benested + Piping and chirruping yet. + + Thoughts? No thought has yet unskilled attempted to flutter + Trammelled so vilely in verse; + He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and his butter, + Won with a groan and a curse. + + + + +LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE + + + LONG time I lay in little ease + Where, placed by the Turanian, + Marseilles, the many-masted, sees + The blue Mediterranean. + + Now songful in the hour of sport, + Now riotous for wages, + She camps around her ancient port, + As ancient of the ages. + + Algerian airs through all the place + Unconquerably sally; + Incomparable women pace + The shadows of the alley. + + And high o’er dark and graving yard + And where the sky is paler, + The golden virgin of the guard + Shines, beckoning the sailor. + + She hears the city roar on high, + Thief, prostitute, and banker; + She sees the masted vessels lie + Immovably at anchor. + + She sees the snowy islets dot + The sea’s immortal azure, + And If, that castellated spot, + Tower, turret, and embrasure. + + + + +FLOWER GOD, GOD OF THE SPRING + + + FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful, + Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles, + Here I wander in April + Cold, grey-headed; and still to my + Heart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer, + Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant; + Spring, flower-planter in meadows, + Child-conductor in willowy + Fields deep dotted with bloom, daisies and crocuses: + Here that child from his heart drinks of eternity: + O child, happy are children! + She still smiles on their innocence, + She, dear mother in God, fostering violets, + Fills earth full of her scents, voices and violins: + Thus one cunning in music + Wakes old chords in the memory: + Thus fair earth in the Spring leads her performances. + One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal + Green—one more, and my bosom + Feels new life with an ecstasy. + + + + +COME, MY BELOVED, HEAR FROM ME + + + COME, my beloved, hear from me + Tales of the woods or open sea. + Let our aspiring fancy rise + A wren’s flight higher toward the skies; + Or far from cities, brown and bare, + Play at the least in open air. + In all the tales men hear us tell + Still let the unfathomed ocean swell, + Or shallower forest sound abroad + Below the lonely stars of God; + In all, let something still be done, + Still in a corner shine the sun, + Slim-ankled maids be fleet of foot, + Nor man disown the rural flute. + Still let the hero from the start + In honest sweat and beats of heart + Push on along the untrodden road + For some inviolate abode. + Still, O beloved, let me hear + The great bell beating far and near— + The odd, unknown, enchanted gong + That on the road hales men along, + That from the mountain calls afar, + That lures a vessel from a star, + And with a still, aerial sound + Makes all the earth enchanted ground. + Love, and the love of life and act + Dance, live and sing through all our furrowed tract; + Till the great God enamoured gives + To him who reads, to him who lives, + That rare and fair romantic strain + That whoso hears must hear again. + + + + +SINCE YEARS AGO FOR EVERMORE + + + SINCE years ago for evermore + My cedar ship I drew to shore; + And to the road and riverbed + And the green, nodding reeds, I said + Mine ignorant and last farewell: + Now with content at home I dwell, + And now divide my sluggish life + Betwixt my verses and my wife: + In vain; for when the lamp is lit + And by the laughing fire I sit, + Still with the tattered atlas spread + Interminable roads I tread. + + + + +ENVOY FOR “A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES” + + + WHETHER upon the garden seat + You lounge with your uplifted feet + Under the May’s whole Heaven of blue; + Or whether on the sofa you, + No grown up person being by, + Do some soft corner occupy; + Take you this volume in your hands + And enter into other lands, + For lo! (as children feign) suppose + You, hunting in the garden rows, + Or in the lumbered attic, or + The cellar—a nail-studded door + And dark, descending stairway found + That led to kingdoms underground: + There standing, you should hear with ease + Strange birds a-singing, or the trees + Swing in big robber woods, or bells + On many fairy citadels: + + There passing through (a step or so— + Neither mamma nor nurse need know!) + From your nice nurseries you would pass, + Like Alice through the Looking-Glass + Or Gerda following Little Ray, + To wondrous countries far away. + Well, and just so this volume can + Transport each little maid or man + Presto from where they live away + Where other children used to play. + As from the house your mother sees + You playing round the garden trees, + So you may see if you but look + Through the windows of this book + Another child far, far away + And in another garden play. + But do not think you can at all, + By knocking on the window, call + That child to hear you. He intent + Is still on his play-business bent. + He does not hear, he will not look, + Nor yet be lured out of this book. + For long ago, the truth to say, + He has grown up and gone away; + And it is but a child of air + That lingers in the garden there. + + + + +FOR RICHMOND’S GARDEN WALL + + + WHEN Thomas set this tablet here, + Time laughed at the vain chanticleer; + And ere the moss had dimmed the stone, + Time had defaced that garrison. + Now I in turn keep watch and ward + In my red house, in my walled yard + Of sunflowers, sitting here at ease + With friends and my bright canvases. + But hark, and you may hear quite plain + Time’s chuckled laughter in the lane. + + + + +HAIL, GUEST, AND ENTER FREELY! + + + HAIL, guest, and enter freely! All you see + Is, for your momentary visit, yours; and we + Who welcome you are but the guests of God, + And know not our departure. + + + + +LO, NOW, MY GUEST + + + LO, now, my guest, if aught amiss were said, + Forgive it and dismiss it from your head. + For me, for you, for all, to close the date, + Pass now the ev’ning sponge across the slate; + And to that spirit of forgiveness keep + Which is the parent and the child of sleep. + + + + +SO LIVE, SO LOVE, SO USE THAT FRAGILE HOUR + + + SO live, so love, so use that fragile hour, + That when the dark hand of the shining power + Shall one from other, wife or husband, take, + The poor survivor may not weep and wake. + + + + +AD SE IPSUM + + + DEAR sir, good-morrow! Five years back, + When you first girded for this arduous track, + And under various whimsical pretexts + Endowed another with your damned defects, + Could you have dreamed in your despondent vein + That the kind God would make your path so plain? + Non nobis, domine! O, may He still + Support my stumbling footsteps on the hill! + + + + +BEFORE THIS LITTLE GIFT WAS COME + + + BEFORE this little gift was come + The little owner had made haste for home; + And from the door of where the eternal dwell, + Looked back on human things and smiled farewell. + O may this grief remain the only one! + O may our house be still a garrison + Of smiling children, and for evermore + The tune of little feet be heard along the floor! + + + + +GO, LITTLE BOOK—THE ANCIENT PHRASE + + + GO, little book—the ancient phrase + And still the daintiest—go your ways, + My Otto, over sea and land, + Till you shall come to Nelly’s hand. + + How shall I your Nelly know? + By her blue eyes and her black brow, + By her fierce and slender look, + And by her goodness, little book! + + What shall I say when I come there? + You shall speak her soft and fair: + See—you shall say—the love they send + To greet their unforgotten friend! + + Giant Adulpho you shall sing + The next, and then the cradled king: + And the four corners of the roof + Then kindly bless; and to your perch aloof, + Where Balzac all in yellow dressed + And the dear Webster of the west + Encircle the prepotent throne + Of Shakespeare and of Calderon, + Shall climb an upstart. + + There with these + You shall give ear to breaking seas + And windmills turning in the breeze, + A distant undetermined din + Without; and you shall hear within + The blazing and the bickering logs, + The crowing child, the yawning dogs, + And ever agile, high and low, + Our Nelly going to and fro. + + There shall you all silent sit, + Till, when perchance the lamp is lit + And the day’s labour done, she takes + Poor Otto down, and, warming for our sakes, + Perchance beholds, alive and near, + Our distant faces reappear. + + + + +MY LOVE WAS WARM + + + MY love was warm; for that I crossed + The mountains and the sea, + Nor counted that endeavour lost + That gave my love to me. + + If that indeed were love at all, + As still, my love, I trow, + By what dear name am I to call + The bond that holds me now + + + + +DEDICATORY POEM FOR “UNDERWOODS” + + + TO her, for I must still regard her + As feminine in her degree, + Who has been my unkind bombarder + Year after year, in grief and glee, + Year after year, with oaken tree; + And yet betweenwhiles my laudator + In terms astonishing to me— + To the Right Reverend The Spectator + I here, a humble dedicator, + Bring the last apples from my tree. + + In tones of love, in tones of warning, + She hailed me through my brief career; + And kiss and buffet, night and morning, + Told me my grandmamma was near; + Whether she praised me high and clear + Through her unrivalled circulation, + Or, sanctimonious insincere, + She damned me with a misquotation— + A chequered but a sweet relation, + Say, was it not, my granny dear? + + Believe me, granny, altogether + Yours, though perhaps to your surprise. + Oft have you spruced my wounded feather, + Oft brought a light into my eyes— + For notice still the writer cries. + In any civil age or nation, + The book that is not talked of dies. + So that shall be my termination: + Whether in praise or execration, + Still, if you love me, criticise! + + + + +FAREWELL + + + FAREWELL, and when forth + I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles + Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles, + Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south, + Isle upon island, sea upon sea, + Why should I sail, why should the breeze? + I have been young, and I have counted friends. + A hopeless sail I spread, too late, too late. + Why should I from isle to isle + Sail, a hopeless sailor? + + + + +THE FAR-FARERS + + + THE broad sun, + The bright day: + White sails + On the blue bay: + The far-farers + Draw away. + + Light the fires + And close the door. + To the old homes, + To the loved shore, + The far-farers + Return no more. + + + + +COME, MY LITTLE CHILDREN, HERE ARE SONGS FOR YOU + + + COME, my little children, here are songs for you; + Some are short and some are long, and all, all are new. + You must learn to sing them very small and clear, + Very true to time and tune and pleasing to the ear. + + Mark the note that rises, mark the notes that fall, + Mark the time when broken, and the swing of it all. + So when night is come, and you have gone to bed, + All the songs you love to sing shall echo in your head. + + + + +HOME FROM THE DAISIED MEADOWS + + + HOME from the daisied meadows, where you linger yet— + Home, golden-headed playmate, ere the sun is set; + For the dews are falling fast + And the night has come at last. + Home with you, home and lay your little head at rest, + Safe, safe, my little darling, on your mother’s breast. + Lullaby, darling; your mother is watching you; she’ll be your guardian + and shield. + Lullaby, slumber, my darling, till morning be bright upon mountain and + field. + Long, long the shadows fall. + All white and smooth at home your little bed is laid. + All round your head be angels. + + + + +EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR PIANO + + + EARLY in the morning I hear on your piano + You (at least, I guess it’s you) proceed to learn to play. + Mostly little minds should take and tackle their piano + While the birds are singing in the morning of the day. + + + + +FAIR ISLE AT SEA + + + FAIR Isle at Sea—thy lovely name + Soft in my ear like music came. + That sea I loved, and once or twice + I touched at isles of Paradise. + + + + +LOUD AND LOW IN THE CHIMNEY + + + LOUD and low in the chimney + The squalls suspire; + Then like an answer dwindles + And glows the fire, + And the chamber reddens and darkens + In time like taken breath. + Near by the sounding chimney + The youth apart + Hearkens with changing colour + And leaping heart, + And hears in the coil of the tempest + The voice of love and death. + Love on high in the flute-like + And tender notes + Sounds as from April meadows + And hillside cotes; + But the deep wood wind in the chimney + Utters the slogan of death. + + + + +I LOVE TO BE WARM BY THE RED FIRESIDE + + + I LOVE to be warm by the red fireside, + I love to be wet with rain: + I love to be welcome at lamplit doors, + And leave the doors again. + + + + +AT LAST SHE COMES + + + AT last she comes, O never more + In this dear patience of my pain + To leave me lonely as before, + Or leave my soul alone again. + + + + +MINE EYES WERE SWIFT TO KNOW THEE + + + MINE eyes were swift to know thee, and my heart + As swift to love. I did become at once + Thine wholly, thine unalterably, thine + In honourable service, pure intent, + Steadfast excess of love and laughing care: + And as she was, so am, and so shall be. + I knew thee helpful, knew thee true, knew thee + And Pity bedfellows: I heard thy talk + With answerable throbbings. On the stream, + Deep, swift, and clear, the lilies floated; fish + Through the shadows ran. There, thou and I + Read Kindness in our eyes and closed the match. + + + + +FIXED IS THE DOOM + + + FIXED is the doom; and to the last of years + Teacher and taught, friend, lover, parent, child, + Each walks, though near, yet separate; each beholds + His dear ones shine beyond him like the stars. + We also, love, forever dwell apart; + With cries approach, with cries behold the gulph, + The Unvaulted; as two great eagles that do wheel in air + Above a mountain, and with screams confer, + Far heard athwart the cedars. + Yet the years + Shall bring us ever nearer; day by day + Endearing, week by week, till death at last + Dissolve that long divorce. By faith we love, + Not knowledge; and by faith, though far removed, + Dwell as in perfect nearness, heart to heart. + We but excuse + Those things we merely are; and to our souls + A brave deception cherish. + So from unhappy war a man returns + Unfearing, or the seaman from the deep; + So from cool night and woodlands to a feast + May someone enter, and still breathe of dews, + And in her eyes still wear the dusky night. + + + + +MEN ARE HEAVEN’S PIERS + + + MEN are Heaven’s piers; they evermore + Unwearying bear the skyey floor; + Man’s theatre they bear with ease, + Unfrowning cariatides! + I, for my wife, the sun uphold, + Or, dozing, strike the seasons cold. + She, on her side, in fairy-wise + Deals in diviner mysteries, + By spells to make the fuel burn + And keep the parlour warm, to turn + Water to wine, and stones to bread, + By her unconquered hero-head. + A naked Adam, naked Eve, + Alone the primal bower we weave; + Sequestered in the seas of life, + A Crusoe couple, man and wife, + With all our good, with all our will, + Our unfrequented isle we fill; + And victor in day’s petty wars, + Each for the other lights the stars. + Come then, my Eve, and to and fro + Let us about our garden go; + And, grateful-hearted, hand in hand + Revisit all our tillage land, + And marvel at our strange estate, + For hooded ruin at the gate + Sits watchful, and the angels fear + To see us tread so boldly here. + Meanwhile, my Eve, with flower and grass + Our perishable days we pass; + Far more the thorn observe—and see + How our enormous sins go free— + Nor less admire, beside the rose, + How far a little virtue goes. + + + + +THE ANGLER ROSE, HE TOOK HIS ROD + + + THE angler rose, he took his rod, + He kneeled and made his prayers to God. + The living God sat overhead: + The angler tripped, the eels were fed + + + + +SPRING CAROL + + + WHEN loud by landside streamlets gush, + And clear in the greenwood quires the thrush, + With sun on the meadows + And songs in the shadows + Comes again to me + The gift of the tongues of the lea, + The gift of the tongues of meadows. + + Straightway my olden heart returns + And dances with the dancing burns; + It sings with the sparrows; + To the rain and the (grimy) barrows + Sings my heart aloud— + To the silver-bellied cloud, + To the silver rainy arrows. + + It bears the song of the skylark down, + And it hears the singing of the town; + And youth on the highways + And lovers in byways + Follows and sees: + And hearkens the song of the leas + And sings the songs of the highways. + + So when the earth is alive with gods, + And the lusty ploughman breaks the sod, + And the grass sings in the meadows, + And the flowers smile in the shadows, + Sits my heart at ease, + Hearing the song of the leas, + Singing the songs of the meadows. + + + + +TO WHAT SHALL I COMPARE HER? + + + TO what shall I compare her, + That is as fair as she? + For she is fairer—fairer + Than the sea. + What shall be likened to her, + The sainted of my youth? + For she is truer—truer + Than the truth. + + As the stars are from the sleeper, + Her heart is hid from me; + For she is deeper—deeper + Than the sea. + Yet in my dreams I view her + Flush rosy with new ruth— + Dreams! Ah, may these prove truer + Than the truth. + + + + +WHEN THE SUN COMES AFTER RAIN + + + WHEN the sun comes after rain + And the bird is in the blue, + The girls go down the lane + Two by two. + + When the sun comes after shadow + And the singing of the showers, + The girls go up the meadow, + Fair as flowers. + + When the eve comes dusky red + And the moon succeeds the sun, + The girls go home to bed + One by one. + + And when life draws to its even + And the day of man is past, + They shall all go home to heaven, + Home at last. + + + + +LATE, O MILLER + + + LATE, O miller, + The birds are silent, + The darkness falls. + In the house the lights are lighted. + See, in the valley they twinkle, + The lights of home. + Late, O lovers, + The night is at hand; + Silence and darkness + Clothe the land. + + + + +TO FRIENDS AT HOME + + + TO friends at home, the lone, the admired, the lost + The gracious old, the lovely young, to May + The fair, December the beloved, + These from my blue horizon and green isles, + These from this pinnacle of distances I, + The unforgetful, dedicate. + + + + +I, WHOM APOLLO SOMETIME VISITED + + + I, WHOM Apollo sometime visited, + Or feigned to visit, now, my day being done, + Do slumber wholly; nor shall know at all + The weariness of changes; nor perceive + Immeasurable sands of centuries + Drink of the blanching ink, or the loud sound + Of generations beat the music down. + + + + +TEMPEST TOSSED AND SORE AFFLICTED + + + TEMPEST tossed and sore afflicted, sin defiled and care oppressed, + Come to me, all ye that labour; come, and I will give ye rest. + Fear no more, O doubting hearted; weep no more, O weeping eye! + Lo, the voice of your redeemer; lo, the songful morning near. + + Here one hour you toil and combat, sin and suffer, bleed and die; + In my father’s quiet mansion soon to lay your burden by. + Bear a moment, heavy laden, weary hand and weeping eye. + Lo, the feet of your deliverer; lo, the hour of freedom here. + + + + +VARIANT FORM OF THE PRECEDING POEM + + + COME to me, all ye that labour; I will give your spirits rest; + Here apart in starry quiet I will give you rest. + Come to me, ye heavy laden, sin defiled and care opprest, + In your father’s quiet mansions, soon to prove a welcome guest. + But an hour you bear your trial, sin and suffer, bleed and die; + But an hour you toil and combat here in day’s inspiring eye. + See the feet of your deliverer; lo, the hour of freedom nigh. + + + + +I NOW, O FRIEND, WHOM NOISELESSLY THE SNOWS + + + I NOW, O friend, whom noiselessly the snows + Settle around, and whose small chamber grows + Dusk as the sloping window takes its load: + + * * * * * + + The kindly hill, as to complete our hap, + Has ta’en us in the shelter of her lap; + Well sheltered in our slender grove of trees + And ring of walls, we sit between her knees; + A disused quarry, paved with rose plots, hung + With clematis, the barren womb whence sprung + The crow-stepped house itself, that now far seen + Stands, like a bather, to the neck in green. + A disused quarry, furnished with a seat + Sacred to pipes and meditation meet + For such a sunny and retired nook. + There in the clear, warm mornings many a book + Has vied with the fair prospect of the hills + That, vale on vale, rough brae on brae, upfills + Halfway to the zenith all the vacant sky + To keep my loose attention. . . . + Horace has sat with me whole mornings through: + And Montaigne gossiped, fairly false and true; + And chattering Pepys, and a few beside + That suit the easy vein, the quiet tide, + The calm and certain stay of garden-life, + Far sunk from all the thunderous roar of strife. + There is about the small secluded place + A garnish of old times; a certain grace + Of pensive memories lays about the braes: + The old chestnuts gossip tales of bygone days. + Here, where some wandering preacher, blest Lazil, + Perhaps, or Peden, on the middle hill + Had made his secret church, in rain or snow, + He cheers the chosen residue from woe. + All night the doors stood open, come who might, + The hounded kebbock mat the mud all night. + Nor are there wanting later tales; of how + Prince Charlie’s Highlanders . . . + + * * * * * + + I have had talents, too. In life’s first hour + God crowned with benefits my childish head. + Flower after flower, I plucked them; flower by flower + Cast them behind me, ruined, withered, dead. + Full many a shining godhead disappeared. + From the bright rank that once adorned her brow + The old child’s Olympus + + * * * * * + + Gone are the fair old dreams, and one by one, + As, one by one, the means to reach them went, + As, one by one, the stars in riot and disgrace, + I squandered what . . . + + There shut the door, alas! on many a hope + Too many; + My face is set to the autumnal slope, + Where the loud winds shall . . . + + There shut the door, alas! on many a hope, + And yet some hopes remain that shall decide + My rest of years and down the autumnal slope. + + * * * * * + + Gone are the quiet twilight dreams that I + Loved, as all men have loved them; gone! + I have great dreams, and still they stir my soul on high— + Dreams of the knight’s stout heart and tempered will. + Not in Elysian lands they take their way; + Not as of yore across the gay champaign, + Towards some dream city, towered . . . + and my . . . + The path winds forth before me, sweet and plain, + Not now; but though beneath a stone-grey sky + November’s russet woodlands toss and wail, + Still the white road goes thro’ them, still may I, + Strong in new purpose, God, may still prevail. + + * * * * * + + I and my like, improvident sailors! + + * * * * * + + At whose light fall awaking, all my heart + Grew populous with gracious, favoured thought, + And all night long thereafter, hour by hour, + The pageant of dead love before my eyes + Went proudly, and old hopes with downcast head + Followed like Kings, subdued in Rome’s imperial hour, + Followed the car; and I . . . + + + + +SINCE THOU HAST GIVEN ME THIS GOOD HOPE, O GOD + + + SINCE thou hast given me this good hope, O God, + That while my footsteps tread the flowery sod + And the great woods embower me, and white dawn + And purple even sweetly lead me on + From day to day, and night to night, O God, + My life shall no wise miss the light of love; + But ever climbing, climb above + Man’s one poor star, man’s supine lands, + Into the azure steadfastness of death, + My life shall no wise lack the light of love, + My hands not lack the loving touch of hands; + But day by day, while yet I draw my breath, + And day by day, unto my last of years, + I shall be one that has a perfect friend. + Her heart shall taste my laughter and my tears, + And her kind eyes shall lead me to the end. + + + + +GOD GAVE TO ME A CHILD IN PART + + + GOD gave to me a child in part, + Yet wholly gave the father’s heart: + Child of my soul, O whither now, + Unborn, unmothered, goest thou? + + You came, you went, and no man wist; + Hapless, my child, no breast you kist; + On no dear knees, a privileged babbler, clomb, + Nor knew the kindly feel of home. + + My voice may reach you, O my dear— + A father’s voice perhaps the child may hear; + And, pitying, you may turn your view + On that poor father whom you never knew. + + Alas! alone he sits, who then, + Immortal among mortal men, + Sat hand in hand with love, and all day through + With your dear mother wondered over you. + + + + +OVER THE LAND IS APRIL + + + OVER the land is April, + Over my heart a rose; + Over the high, brown mountain + The sound of singing goes. + Say, love, do you hear me, + Hear my sonnets ring? + Over the high, brown mountain, + Love, do you hear me sing? + + By highway, love, and byway + The snows succeed the rose. + Over the high, brown mountain + The wind of winter blows. + Say, love, do you hear me, + Hear my sonnets ring? + Over the high, brown mountain + I sound the song of spring, + I throw the flowers of spring. + Do you hear the song of spring? + Hear you the songs of spring? + + + + +LIGHT AS THE LINNET ON MY WAY I START + + + LIGHT as the linnet on my way I start, + For all my pack I bear a chartered heart. + Forth on the world without a guide or chart, + Content to know, through all man’s varying fates, + The eternal woman by the wayside waits. + + + + +COME, HERE IS ADIEU TO THE CITY + + + COME, here is adieu to the city + And hurrah for the country again. + The broad road lies before me + Watered with last night’s rain. + The timbered country woos me + With many a high and bough; + And again in the shining fallows + The ploughman follows the plough. + + The whole year’s sweat and study, + And the whole year’s sowing time, + Comes now to the perfect harvest, + And ripens now into rhyme. + For we that sow in the Autumn, + We reap our grain in the Spring, + And we that go sowing and weeping + Return to reap and sing. + + + + +IT BLOWS A SNOWING GALE + + + IT blows a snowing gale in the winter of the year; + The boats are on the sea and the crews are on the pier. + The needle of the vane, it is veering to and fro, + A flash of sun is on the veering of the vane. + Autumn leaves and rain, + The passion of the gale. + + + + +NE SIT ANCILLÆ TIBI AMOR PUDOR + + + THERE’S just a twinkle in your eye + That seems to say I _might_, if I + Were only bold enough to try + An arm about your waist. + I hear, too, as you come and go, + That pretty nervous laugh, you know; + And then your cap is always so + Coquettishly displaced. + + Your cap! the word’s profanely said. + That little top-knot, white and red, + That quaintly crowns your graceful head, + No bigger than a flower, + Is set with such a witching art, + Is so provocatively smart, + I’d like to wear it on my heart, + An order for an hour! + + O graceful housemaid, tall and fair, + I love your shy imperial air, + And always loiter on the stair + When you are going by. + A strict reserve the fates demand; + But, when to let you pass I stand, + Sometimes by chance I touch your hand + And sometimes catch your eye. + + + + +TO ALL THAT LOVE THE FAR AND BLUE + + + TO all that love the far and blue: + Whether, from dawn to eve, on foot + The fleeing corners ye pursue, + Nor weary of the vain pursuit; + Or whether down the singing stream, + Paddle in hand, jocund ye shoot, + To splash beside the splashing bream + Or anchor by the willow root: + + Or, bolder, from the narrow shore + Put forth, that cedar ark to steer, + Among the seabirds and the roar + Of the great sea, profound and clear; + Or, lastly if in heart ye roam, + Not caring to do else, and hear, + Safe sitting by the fire at home, + Footfalls in Utah or Pamere: + + Though long the way, though hard to bear + The sun and rain, the dust and dew; + Though still attainment and despair + Inter the old, despoil the new; + There shall at length, be sure, O friends, + Howe’er ye steer, whate’er ye do— + At length, and at the end of ends, + The golden city come in view. + + + + +THOU STRAINEST THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN FERN + + + (A FRAGMENT) + + THOU strainest through the mountain fern, + A most exiguously thin + Burn. + For all thy foam, for all thy din, + Thee shall the pallid lake inurn, + With well-a-day for Mr. Swin- + Burne! + Take then this quarto in thy fin + And, O thou stoker huge and stern, + The whole affair, outside and in, + Burn! + But save the true poetic kin, + The works of Mr. Robert Burn’ + And William Wordsworth upon Tin- + Tern! + + + + +TO ROSABELLE + + + WHEN my young lady has grown great and staid, + And in long raiment wondrously arrayed, + She may take pleasure with a smile to know + How she delighted men-folk long ago. + For her long after, then, this tale I tell + Of the two fans and fairy Rosabelle. + Hot was the day; her weary sire and I + Sat in our chairs companionably nigh, + Each with a headache sat her sire and I. + + Instant the hostess waked: she viewed the scene, + Divined the giants’ languor by their mien, + And with hospitable care + Tackled at once an Atlantean chair. + Her pigmy stature scarce attained the seat— + She dragged it where she would, and with her feet + Surmounted; thence, a Phaeton launched, she crowned + The vast plateau of the piano, found + And culled a pair of fans; wherewith equipped, + Our mountaineer back to the level slipped; + And being landed, with considerate eyes, + Betwixt her elders dealt her double prize; + The small to me, the greater to her sire. + As painters now advance and now retire + Before the growing canvas, and anon + Once more approach and put the climax on: + So she awhile withdrew, her piece she viewed— + For half a moment half supposed it good— + Spied her mistake, nor sooner spied than ran + To remedy; and with the greater fan, + In gracious better thought, equipped the guest. + + From ill to well, from better on to best, + Arts move; the homely, like the plastic kind; + And high ideals fired that infant mind. + Once more she backed, once more a space apart + Considered and reviewed her work of art: + Doubtful at first, and gravely yet awhile; + Till all her features blossomed in a smile. + And the child, waking at the call of bliss, + To each she ran, and took and gave a kiss. + + + + +NOW BARE TO THE BEHOLDER’S EYE + + + NOW bare to the beholder’s eye + Your late denuded bindings lie, + Subsiding slowly where they fell, + A disinvested citadel; + The obdurate corset, Cupid’s foe, + The Dutchman’s breeches frilled below. + Those that the lover notes to note, + And white and crackling petticoat. + + From these, that on the ground repose, + Their lady lately re-arose; + And laying by the lady’s name, + A living woman re-became. + Of her, that from the public eye + They do enclose and fortify, + Now, lying scattered as they fell, + An indiscreeter tale they tell: + Of that more soft and secret her + Whose daylong fortresses they were, + By fading warmth, by lingering print, + These now discarded scabbards hint. + + A twofold change the ladies know: + First, in the morn the bugles blow, + And they, with floral hues and scents, + Man their beribboned battlements. + But let the stars appear, and they + Shed inhumanities away; + And from the changeling fashion see, + Through comic and through sweet degree, + In nature’s toilet unsurpassed, + Forth leaps the laughing girl at last. + + + + +THE BOUR-TREE DEN + + + CLINKUM-CLANK in the rain they ride, + Down by the braes and the grey sea-side; + Clinkum-clank by stane and cairn, + Weary fa’ their horse-shoe-airn! + + Loud on the causey, saft on the sand, + Round they rade by the tail of the land; + Round and up by the Bour-Tree Den, + Weary fa’ the red-coat men! + + Aft hae I gane where they hae rade + And straigled in the gowden brooms— + Aft hae I gane, a saikless maid, + And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms! + + Wi’ swords and guns they wanton there, + Wi’ red, red coats and braw, braw plumes. + But I gaed wi’ my gowden hair, + And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms! + + I ran, a little hempie lass, + In the sand and the bent grass, + Or took and kilted my small coats + To play in the beached fisher-boats. + + I waded deep and I ran fast, + I was as lean as a lugger’s mast, + I was as brown as a fisher’s creel, + And I liked my life unco weel. + + They blew a trumpet at the cross, + Some forty men, both foot and horse. + A’body cam to hear and see, + And wha, among the rest, but me. + My lips were saut wi’ the saut air, + My face was brown, my feet were bare + The wind had ravelled my tautit hair, + And I thought shame to be standing there. + + Ae man there in the thick of the throng + Sat in his saddle, straight and strong. + I looked at him and he at me, + And he was a master-man to see. + . . . And who is this yin? and who is yon + That has the bonny lendings on? + That sits and looks sae braw and crouse? + . . . Mister Frank o’ the Big House! + + I gaed my lane beside the sea; + The wind it blew in bush and tree, + The wind blew in bush and bent: + Muckle I saw, and muckle kent! + + Between the beach and the sea-hill + I sat my lane and grat my fill— + I was sae clarty and hard and dark, + And like the kye in the cow park! + + There fell a battle far in the north; + The evil news gaed back and forth, + And back and forth by brae and bent + Hider and hunter cam and went: + The hunter clattered horse-shoe-airn + By causey-crest and hill-top cairn; + The hider, in by shag and shench, + Crept on his wame and little lench. + + The eastland wind blew shrill and snell, + The stars arose, the gloaming fell, + The firelight shone in window and door + When Mr. Frank cam here to shore. + He hirpled up by the links and the lane, + And chappit laigh in the back-door-stane. + My faither gaed, and up wi’ his han’! + . . . Is this Mr. Frank, or a beggarman? + + I have mistrysted sair, he said, + But let me into fire and bed; + Let me in, for auld lang syne, + And give me a dram of the brandy wine. + + They hid him in the Bour-Tree Den, + And I thought it strange to gang my lane; + I thought it strange, I thought it sweet, + To gang there on my naked feet. + In the mirk night, when the boats were at sea, + I passed the burn abune the knee; + In the mirk night, when the folks were asleep, + I had a tryst in the den to keep. + + Late and air’, when the folks were asleep, + I had a tryst, a tryst to keep, + I had a lad that lippened to me, + And bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + + O’ the bour-tree leaves I busked his bed, + The mune was siller, the dawn was red: + Was nae man there but him and me— + And bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + + Unco weather hae we been through: + The mune glowered, and the wind blew, + And the rain it rained on him and me, + And bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + + Dwelling his lane but house or hauld, + Aft he was wet and aft was cauld; + I warmed him wi’ my briest and knee— + And bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + + There was nae voice of beast ae man, + But the tree soughed and the burn ran, + And we heard the ae voice of the sea: + Bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + + + + +SONNETS + + +I. + + + NOR judge me light, tho’ light at times I seem, + And lightly in the stress of fortune bear + The innumerable flaws of changeful care— + Nor judge me light for this, nor rashly deem + (Office forbid to mortals, kept supreme + And separate the prerogative of God!) + That seaman idle who is borne abroad + To the far haven by the favouring stream. + Not he alone that to contrarious seas + Opposes, all night long, the unwearied oar, + Not he alone, by high success endeared, + Shall reach the Port; but, winged, with some light breeze + Shall they, with upright keels, pass in before + Whom easy Taste, the golden pilot, steered. + + + +II. + + + So shall this book wax like unto a well, + Fairy with mirrored flowers about the brim, + Or like some tarn that wailing curlews skim, + Glassing the sallow uplands or brown fell; + And so, as men go down into a dell + (Weary with noon) to find relief and shade, + When on the uneasy sick-bed we are laid, + We shall go down into thy book, and tell + The leaves, once blank, to build again for us + Old summer dead and ruined, and the time + Of later autumn with the corn in stook. + So shalt thou stint the meagre winter thus + Of his projected triumph, and the rime + Shall melt before the sunshine in thy book. + + + +III. + + + I have a hoard of treasure in my breast; + The grange of memory steams against the door, + Full of my bygone lifetime’s garnered store— + Old pleasures crowned with sorrow for a zest, + Old sorrow grown a joy, old penance blest, + Chastened remembrance of the sins of yore + That, like a new evangel, more and more + Supports our halting will toward the best. + Ah! what to us the barren after years + May bring of joy or sorrow, who can tell? + O, knowing not, who cares? It may be well + That we shall find old pleasures and old fears, + And our remembered childhood seen thro’ tears, + The best of Heaven and the worst of Hell. + + + +IV. + + + As starts the absent dreamer when a train, + Suddenly disengulphed below his feet, + Roars forth into the sunlight, to its seat + My soul was shaken with immediate pain + Intolerable as the scanty breath + Of that one word blew utterly away + The fragile mist of fair deceit that lay + O’er the bleak years that severed me from death. + Yes, at the sight I quailed; but, not unwise + Or not, O God, without some nervous thread + Of that best valour, Patience, bowed my head, + And with firm bosom and most steadfast eyes, + Strong in all high resolve, prepared to tread + The unlovely path that leads me toward the skies. + + + +V. + + + Not undelightful, friend, our rustic ease + To grateful hearts; for by especial hap, + Deep nested in the hill’s enormous lap, + With its own ring of walls and grove of trees, + Sits, in deep shelter, our small cottage—nor + Far-off is seen, rose carpeted and hung + With clematis, the quarry whence she sprung, + O mater pulchra filia pulchrior, + Whither in early spring, unharnessed folk, + We join the pairing swallows, glad to stay + Where, loosened in the hills, remote, unseen, + From its tall trees, it breathes a slender smoke + To heaven, and in the noon of sultry day + Stands, coolly buried, to the neck in green. + + + +VI. + + + As in the hostel by the bridge I sate, + Nailed with indifference fondly deemed complete, + And (O strange chance, more sorrowful than sweet) + The counterfeit of her that was my fate, + Dressed in like vesture, graceful and sedate, + Went quietly up the vacant village street, + The still small sound of her most dainty feet + Shook, like a trumpet blast, my soul’s estate. + Instant revolt ran riot through my brain, + And all night long, thereafter, hour by hour, + The pageant of dead love before my eyes + Went proudly; and old hopes, broke loose again + From the restraint of wisely temperate power, + With ineffectual ardour sought to rise. + + + +VII. + + + The strong man’s hand, the snow-cool head of age, + The certain-footed sympathies of youth— + These, and that lofty passion after truth, + Hunger unsatisfied in priest or sage + Or the great men of former years, he needs + That not unworthily would dare to sing + (Hard task!) black care’s inevitable ring + Settling with years upon the heart that feeds + Incessantly on glory. Year by year + The narrowing toil grows closer round his feet; + With disenchanting touch rude-handed time + The unlovely web discloses, and strange fear + Leads him at last to eld’s inclement seat, + The bitter north of life—a frozen clime. + + + +VIII. + + + As Daniel, bird-alone, in that far land, + Kneeling in fervent prayer, with heart-sick eyes + Turned thro’ the casement toward the westering skies; + Or as untamed Elijah, that red brand + Among the starry prophets; or that band + And company of Faithful sanctities + Who in all times, when persecutions rise, + Cherish forgotten creeds with fostering hand: + Such do ye seem to me, light-hearted crew, + O turned to friendly arts with all your will, + That keep a little chapel sacred still, + One rood of Holy-land in this bleak earth + Sequestered still (our homage surely due!) + To the twin Gods of mirthful wine and mirth. + + About my fields, in the broad sun + And blaze of noon, there goeth one, + Barefoot and robed in blue, to scan + With the hard eye of the husbandman + My harvests and my cattle. Her, + When even puts the birds astir + And day has set in the great woods, + We seek, among her garden roods, + With bells and cries in vain: the while + Lamps, plate, and the decanter smile + On the forgotten board. But she, + Deaf, blind, and prone on face and knee, + Forgets time, family, and feast, + And digs like a demented beast. + + Tall as a guardsman, pale as the east at dawn, + Who strides in strange apparel on the lawn? + Rails for his breakfast? routs his vassals out + (Like boys escaped from school) with song and shout? + Kind and unkind, his Maker’s final freak, + Part we deride the child, part dread the antique! + See where his gang, like frogs, among the dew + Crouch at their duty, an unquiet crew; + Adjust their staring kilts; and their swift eyes + Turn still to him who sits to supervise. + He in the midst, perched on a fallen tree, + Eyes them at labour; and, guitar on knee, + Now ministers alarm, now scatters joy, + Now twangs a halting chord, now tweaks a boy. + Thorough in all, my resolute vizier + Plays both the despot and the volunteer, + Exacts with fines obedience to my laws, + And for his music, too, exacts applause. + + The Adorner of the uncomely—those + Amidst whose tall battalions goes + Her pretty person out and in + All day with an endearing din, + Of censure and encouragement; + And when all else is tried in vain + See her sit down and weep again. + She weeps to conquer; + She varies on her grenadiers + From satire up to girlish tears! + + Or rather to behold her when + She plies for me the unresting pen, + And when the loud assault of squalls + Resounds upon the roof and walls, + And the low thunder growls and I + Raise my dictating voice on high. + + What glory for a boy of ten + Who now must three gigantic men + And two enormous, dapple grey + New Zealand pack-horses array + And lead, and wisely resolute + Our day-long business execute + In the far shore-side town. His soul + Glows in his bosom like a coal; + His innocent eyes glitter again, + And his hand trembles on the rein. + Once he reviews his whole command, + And chivalrously planting hand + On hip—a borrowed attitude— + Rides off downhill into the wood. + + I meanwhile in the populous house apart + Sit snugly chambered, and my silent art + Uninterrupted, unremitting ply + Before the dawn, by morning lamplight, by + The glow of smelting noon, and when the sun + Dips past my westering hill and day is done; + So, bending still over my trade of words, + I hear the morning and the evening birds, + The morning and the evening stars behold; + So there apart I sit as once of old + Napier in wizard Merchiston; and my + Brown innocent aides in home and husbandry + Wonder askance. What ails the boss? they ask. + Him, richest of the rich, an endless task + Before the earliest birds or servants stir + Calls and detains him daylong prisoner? + He whose innumerable dollars hewed + This cleft in the boar and devil-haunted wood, + And bade therein, from sun to seas and skies, + His many-windowed, painted palace rise + Red-roofed, blue-walled, a rainbow on the hill, + A wonder in the forest glade: he still, + + Unthinkable Aladdin, dawn and dark, + Scribbles and scribbles, like a German clerk. + We see the fact, but tell, O tell us why? + My reverend washman and wise butler cry. + Meanwhile at times the manifold + Imperishable perfumes of the past + And coloured pictures rise on me thick and fast: + And I remember the white rime, the loud + Lamplitten city, shops, and the changing crowd; + And I remember home and the old time, + The winding river, the white moving rhyme, + The autumn robin by the river-side + That pipes in the grey eve. + + The old lady (so they say), but I + Admire your young vitality. + Still brisk of foot, still busy and keen + In and about and up and down. + + I hear you pass with bustling feet + The long verandahs round, and beat + Your bell, and “Lotu! Lotu!” cry; + Thus calling our queer company, + In morning or in evening dim, + To prayers and the oft mangled hymn. + + All day you watch across the sky + The silent, shining cloudlands ply, + That, huge as countries, swift as birds, + Beshade the isles by halves and thirds, + Till each with battlemented crest + Stands anchored in the ensanguined west, + An Alp enchanted. All the day + You hear the exuberant wind at play, + In vast, unbroken voice uplift, + In roaring tree, round whistling clift. + + + + +AIR OF DIABELLI’S + + + CALL it to mind, O my love. + Dear were your eyes as the day, + Bright as the day and the sky; + Like the stream of gold and the sky above, + Dear were your eyes in the grey. + We have lived, my love, O, we have lived, my love! + Now along the silent river, azure + Through the sky’s inverted image, + Softly swam the boat that bore our love, + Swiftly ran the shallow of our love + Through the heaven’s inverted image, + In the reedy mazes round the river. + See along the silent river, + + See of old the lover’s shallop steer. + Berried brake and reedy island, + Heaven below and only heaven above. + Through the sky’s inverted image + Swiftly swam the boat that bore our love. + Berried brake and reedy island, + Mirrored flower and shallop gliding by. + All the earth and all the sky were ours, + Silent sat the wafted lovers, + Bound with grain and watched by all the sky, + Hand to hand and eye to . . . eye. + + Days of April, airs of Eden, + Call to mind how bright the vanished angel hours, + Golden hours of evening, + When our boat drew homeward filled with flowers. + O darling, call them to mind; love the past, my love. + Days of April, airs of Eden. + How the glory died through golden hours, + And the shining moon arising; + How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers. + Age and winter close us slowly in. + + Level river, cloudless heaven, + Islanded reed mazes, silver weirs; + How the silent boat with silver + Threads the inverted forest as she goes, + Broke the trembling green of mirrored trees. + O, remember, and remember + How the berries hung in garlands. + + Still in the river see the shallop floats. + Hark! Chimes the falling oar. + Still in the mind + Hark to the song of the past! + Dream, and they pass in their dreams. + + Those that loved of yore, O those that loved of yore! + Hark through the stillness, O darling, hark! + Through it all the ear of the mind + + Knows the boat of love. Hark! + Chimes the falling oar. + + O half in vain they grew old. + + Now the halcyon days are over, + Age and winter close us slowly round, + And these sounds at fall of even + Dim the sight and muffle all the sound. + And at the married fireside, sleep of soul and sleep of fancy, + Joan and Darby. + Silence of the world without a sound; + And beside the winter faggot + + Joan and Darby sit and dose and dream and wake— + Dream they hear the flowing, singing river, + See the berries in the island brake; + Dream they hear the weir, + See the gliding shallop mar the stream. + Hark! in your dreams do you hear? + + Snow has filled the drifted forest; + Ice has bound the . . . stream. + Frost has bound our flowing river; + Snow has whitened all our island brake. + + Berried brake and reedy island, + Heaven below and only heaven above azure + Through the sky’s inverted image + Safely swam the boat that bore our love. + Dear were your eyes as the day, + Bright ran the stream, bright hung the sky above. + Days of April, airs of Eden. + How the glory died through golden hours, + And the shining moon arising, + How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers. + Bright were your eyes in the night: + We have lived, my love; + O, we have loved, my love. + Now the . . . days are over, + Age and winter close us slowly round. + + Vainly time departs, and vainly + Age and winter come and close us round. + + Hark the river’s long continuous sound. + + Hear the river ripples in the reeds. + + Lo, in dreams they see their shallop + Run the lilies down and drown the weeds + Mid the sound of crackling faggots. + So in dreams the new created + Happy past returns, to-day recedes, + And they hear once more, + + From the old years, + Yesterday returns, to-day recedes, + And they hear with aged hearing warbles + + Love’s own river ripple in the weeds. + And again the lover’s shallop; + Lo, the shallop sheds the streaming weeds; + And afar in foreign countries + In the ears of aged lovers. + + And again in winter evens + Starred with lilies . . . with stirring weeds. + In these ears of aged lovers + Love’s own river ripples in the reeds. + + + + +EPITAPHIUM EROTII + + + HERE lies Erotion, whom at six years old + Fate pilfered. Stranger (when I too am cold, + Who shall succeed me in my rural field), + To this small spirit annual honours yield! + Bright be thy hearth, hale be thy babes, I crave + And this, in thy green farm, the only grave. + + + + +DE M. ANTONIO + + + NOW Antoninus, in a smiling age, + Counts of his life the fifteenth finished stage. + The rounded days and the safe years he sees, + Nor fears death’s water mounting round his knees. + To him remembering not one day is sad, + Not one but that its memory makes him glad. + So good men lengthen life; and to recall + The past is to have twice enjoyed it all. + + + + +AD MAGISTRUM LUDI + + + (UNFINISHED DRAFT.) + + NOW in the sky + And on the hearth of + Now in a drawer the direful cane, + That sceptre of the . . . reign, + And the long hawser, that on the back + Of Marsyas fell with many a whack, + Twice hardened out of Scythian hides, + Now sleep till the October ides. + + In summer if the boys be well. + + + + +AD NEPOTEM + + + O NEPOS, twice my neigh(b)our (since at home + We’re door by door, by Flora’s temple dome; + And in the country, still conjoined by fate, + Behold our villas standing gate by gate), + Thou hast a daughter, dearer far than life— + Thy image and the image of thy wife. + Thy image and thy wife’s, and be it so! + + But why for her, [ neglect the flowing / O Nepos, leave the ] can + + And lose the prime of thy Falernian? + Hoard casks of money, if to hoard be thine; + But let thy daughter drink a younger wine! + Let her go rich and wise, in silk and fur; + + Lay down a [ bin that shall / vintage to ] grow old with her; + + But thou, meantime, the while the batch is sound, + With pleased companions pass the bowl around; + Nor let the childless only taste delights, + For Fathers also may enjoy their nights. + + + + +IN CHARIDEMUM + + + YOU, Charidemus, who my cradle swung, + And watched me all the days that I was young; + You, at whose step the laziest slaves awake, + And both the bailiff and the butler quake; + The barber’s suds now blacken with my beard, + And my rough kisses make the maids afeared; + But with reproach your awful eyebrows twitch, + And for the cane, I see, your fingers itch. + If something daintily attired I go, + Straight you exclaim: “Your father did not so.” + And fuming, count the bottles on the board + As though my cellar were your private hoard. + Enough, at last: I have done all I can, + And your own mistress hails me for a man. + + + + +DE LIGURRA + + + YOU fear, Ligurra—above all, you long— + That I should smite you with a stinging song. + This dreadful honour you both fear and hope— + Both all in vain: you fall below my scope. + The Lybian lion tears the roaring bull, + He does not harm the midge along the pool. + + Lo! if so close this stands in your regard, + From some blind tap fish forth a drunken barn, + Who shall with charcoal, on the privy wall, + Immortalise your name for once and all. + + + + +IN LUPUM + + + BEYOND the gates thou gav’st a field to till; + I have a larger on my window-sill. + A farm, d’ye say? Is this a farm to you, + Where for all woods I spay one tuft of rue, + And that so rusty, and so small a thing, + One shrill cicada hides it with a wing; + Where one cucumber covers all the plain; + And where one serpent rings himself in vain + To enter wholly; and a single snail + Eats all and exit fasting to the pool? + Here shall my gardener be the dusty mole. + My only ploughman the . . . mole. + Here shall I wait in vain till figs be set, + And till the spring disclose the violet. + Through all my wilds a tameless mouse careers, + And in that narrow boundary appears, + Huge as the stalking lion of Algiers, + Huge as the fabled boar of Calydon. + And all my hay is at one swoop impresst + By one low-flying swallow for her nest, + Strip god Priapus of each attribute + Here finds he scarce a pedestal to foot. + The gathered harvest scarcely brims a spoon; + And all my vintage drips in a cocoon. + Generous are you, but I more generous still: + Take back your farm and stand me half a gill! + + + + +AD QUINTILIANUM + + + O CHIEF director of the growing race, + Of Rome the glory and of Rome the grace, + Me, O Quintilian, may you not forgive + Before from labour I make haste to live? + Some burn to gather wealth, lay hands on rule, + Or with white statues fill the atrium full. + The talking hearth, the rafters sweet with smoke, + Live fountains and rough grass, my line invoke: + A sturdy slave, not too learned wife, + Nights filled with slumber, and a quiet life. + + + + +DE HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS + + + MY Martial owns a garden, famed to please, + Beyond the glades of the Hesperides; + Along Janiculum lies the chosen block + Where the cool grottos trench the hanging rock. + The moderate summit, something plain and bare, + Tastes overhead of a serener air; + And while the clouds besiege the vales below, + Keeps the clear heaven and doth with sunshine glow. + To the June stars that circle in the skies + The dainty roofs of that tall villa rise. + Hence do the seven imperial hills appear; + And you may view the whole of Rome from here; + Beyond, the Alban and the Tuscan hills; + And the cool groves and the cool falling rills, + Rubre Fidenæ, and with virgin blood + Anointed once Perenna’s orchard wood. + Thence the Flaminian, the Salarian way, + Stretch far broad below the dome of day; + And lo! the traveller toiling towards his home; + And all unheard, the chariot speeds to Rome! + For here no whisper of the wheels; and tho’ + The Mulvian Bridge, above the Tiber’s flow, + Hangs all in sight, and down the sacred stream + The sliding barges vanish like a dream, + The seaman’s shrilling pipe not enters here, + Nor the rude cries of porters on the pier. + And if so rare the house, how rarer far + The welcome and the weal that therein are! + So free the access, the doors so widely thrown, + You half imagine all to be your own. + + + + +AD MARTIALEM + + + GO(D) knows, my Martial, if we two could be + To enjoy our days set wholly free; + To the true life together bend our mind, + And take a furlough from the falser kind. + No rich saloon, nor palace of the great, + Nor suit at law should trouble our estate; + On no vainglorious statues should we look, + But of a walk, a talk, a little book, + Baths, wells and meads, and the veranda shade, + Let all our travels and our toils be made. + Now neither lives unto himself, alas! + And the good suns we see, that flash and pass + And perish; and the bell that knells them cries: + “Another gone: O when will ye arise?” + + + + +IN MAXIMUM + + + WOULDST thou be free? I think it not, indeed; + But if thou wouldst, attend this simple rede: + [When quite contented / Thou shall be free when] thou canst dine at + home + And drink a small wine of the march of Rome; + When thou canst see unmoved thy neighbour’s plate, + And wear my threadbare toga in the gate; + When thou hast learned to love a small abode, + And not to choose a mistress _à la mode_: + When thus contained and bridled thou shalt be, + Then, Maximus, then first shalt thou be free. + + + + +AD OLUM + + + CALL me not rebel, though [ here at every word / in what I sing ] + If I no longer hail thee [ King and Lord / Lord and King ] + I have redeemed myself with all I had, + And now possess my fortunes poor but glad. + With all I had I have redeemed myself, + And escaped at once from slavery and pelf. + The unruly wishes must a ruler take, + Our high desires do our low fortunes make: + Those only who desire palatial things + Do bear the fetters and the frowns of Kings; + Set free thy slave; thou settest free thyself. + + + + +DE CŒNATIONE MICÆ + + + LOOK round: You see a little supper room; + But from my window, lo! great Cæsar’s tomb! + And the great dead themselves, with jovial breath + Bid you be merry and remember death. + + + + +DE EROTIO PUELLA + + + THIS girl was sweeter than the song of swans, + And daintier than the lamb upon the lawns + Or Curine oyster. She, the flower of girls, + Outshone the light of Erythræan pearls; + The teeth of India that with polish glow, + The untouched lilies or the morning snow. + Her tresses did gold-dust outshine + And fair hair of women of the Rhine. + Compared to her the peacock seemed not fair, + The squirrel lively, or the phoenix rare; + Her on whose pyre the smoke still hovering waits; + Her whom the greedy and unequal fates + On the sixth dawning of her natal day, + My child-love and my playmate—snatcht away. + + + + +AD PISCATOREM + + + FOR these are sacred fishes all + Who know that lord that is the lord of all; + Come to the brim and nose the friendly hand + That sways and can beshadow all the land. + Nor only so, but have their names, and come + When they are summoned by the Lord of Rome. + Here once his line an impious Lybian threw; + And as with tremulous reed his prey he drew, + Straight, the light failed him. + He groped, nor found the prey that he had ta’en. + Now as a warning to the fisher clan + Beside the lake he sits, a beggarman. + Thou, then, while still thine innocence is pure, + Flee swiftly, nor presume to set thy lure; + Respect these fishes, for their friends are great; + And in the waters empty all thy bait. + + * * * * * + + * * * * * + + BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, ENGLAND. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEW POEMS*** + + +******* This file should be named 441-0.txt or 441-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/4/441 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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