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diff --git a/old/50162-0.txt b/old/50162-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5e0a4da..0000000 --- a/old/50162-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4220 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs of love and empire, by Edith Nesbit - -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/license - - -Title: Songs of love and empire - -Author: Edith Nesbit - -Release Date: October 8, 2015 [EBook #50162] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF LOVE AND EMPIRE *** - - - - -Produced by Suzanne Shell, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - SONGS OF LOVE AND EMPIRE - - - - - SONGS OF - LOVE AND EMPIRE - - By E. NESBIT - - AUTHOR OF “LAYS AND LEGENDS,” “A POMANDER OF VERSE,” ETC - - WESTMINSTER - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 1898 - - “After Sixty Years” appeared on June 22, 1897, in the _Daily News_; - “To the Queen of England” and many other verses in the _Pall Mall - Gazette_; “A Song of Peace and Honour” and “A Song of Trafalgar” in - the _Daily Chronicle_, and certain other verses in the _Athenæum_. - To the Editors of these papers my thanks are due. - - _TO HUBERT BLAND_ - - _To you the harvest of my toil has come,_ - _ause of all that lies its sheaves between;_ - _ taught me first what Love and Empire mean,_ - _ to your hands I bring my harvest home._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -ABSOLUTION 167 - -ADVENTURER, THE 58 - -AFTER SIXTY YEARS 11 - -APPEAL, THE 93 - -“AT EVENING TIME THERE SHALL BE LIGHT” 150 - -AT THE SOUND OF THE DRUM 67 - -BALLAD OF THE WHITE LADY, THE 43 - -BETRAYED 109 - -BY FAITH WITH THANKSGIVING 91 - -CHAINS INVISIBLE 147 - -CHRISTMAS HYMN 164 - -CROWN OF LIFE, THE 157 - -DIRGE 125 - -DISCRETION 86 - -EBB-TIDE 132 - -ENTREATY 83 - -EVENING PRAYER 162 - -EVENING SONG 129 - -FAITH 62 - -FAUTE DE MIEUX 99 - -FEBRUARY 139 - -FOREST POOL, THE 84 - -GHOST BEREFT, THE 50 - -GOOSE GIRL, THE 69 - -GUARDIAN ANGEL, THE 74 - -HAUNTED 123 - -HEART OF GRIEF, THE 115 - -HEART OF JOY, THE 113 - -HEART OF SADNESS, THE 111 - -IN ECLIPSE 103 - -IN THE ENCHANTED TOWER 60 - -LAST ACT, THE 97 - -“LOVE WELL THE HOUR” 107 - -MAGNIFICAT 159 - -MAIDENHOOD 152 - -MEDWAY SONG 144 - -MONK, THE 155 - -NEW COLLEGE GARDENS, OXFORD 135 - -OFFERING, THE 82 - -ON THE DOWNS 133 - -OUT OF HOPE 121 - -PEDLAR, THE 71 - -PORTRAIT, A 80 - -PRELUDE 66 - -PROMISE OF SPRING, THE 141 - -QUEEN OF ENGLAND, THE 3 - -REFUSAL, THE 64 - -REQUIEM 117 - -“SHEPHERDS ALL AND MAIDENS FAIR” 77 - -SONG IN AUTUMN 95 - -SONG OF LONG AGO 101 - -SONG OF PEACE AND HONOUR 35 - -SONG OF TRAFALGAR 26 - -SPECIAL PLEADING 105 - -SPRING SONG 88 - -TEINT NEUTRE 119 - -“THIS DESIRABLE MANSION” 131 - -TO A TULIP BULB 137 - -TOO LATE 90 - -TRAFALGAR DAY 24 - -VAIN SPELL, THE 55 - -WATERLOO DAY 32 - - - - -I - - - - -TO THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND - -[JUNE 22, 1897] - - - Come forth! the world’s aflame with flags and flowers, - The shout of bells fills full the shattered air, - This is the crown of all your golden hours, - More than all other hours august and fair; - This did the years prepare, - A triumph for our Lady and our Queen, - More rich than any king in any land hath seen. - - Clothed are your streets with scarlet, gold, and blue, - Flowers under foot and banners over head, - And while your people’s voice storms Heaven for you - About your way are voiceless blessings shed, - And over you are spread - Wide wings of love, free love, tamed to your hand, - Love that gold cannot buy, nor Majesty command. - - Not these mere visible millions only, share - Your triumph--here all English hearts beat high, - Nations far off your royal colours wear, - And swell with unheard voice this loyal cry - That strikes the English sky: - A cloud of unseen witnesses is here - To testify how great is England’s Queen, and dear. - - From out the grey-veiled past, long years away, - Come visionary faces, vision-led, - And splendid shapes that are not of our day, - The spirits of the mute and mighty dead, - To see how Time has sped - The fortunes of their England, and behold - How much more great she is than in the days of old. - - The world can see them not; but you can see-- - You the inheritor of all the past - Wherein the dead, in noble heraldry, - Blazoned the shield of England, and forecast - The charge it bears at last-- - More splendid than the azure and the or - Of the French lilies lost--long lost and sorrowed for. - - Here be the weaponed men, the English folk, - Who in long ships across the swan’s bathfared, - In whose rude tongue the voice of Freedom spoke, - In whose rough hands the sword was bright and bared-- - The men who did and dared, - And to their sons bequeathed the fighting blood - That drives to Victory and will not be withstood. - - Here, in your ordered festival, O Queen, - Mixed with the crowd and all unseen of these, - On their long swords the wild Norse rovers lean - And watch the progress of your pageantries, - And on this young June breeze - Float the bright pennons of the Cressy spears-- - Shine shadowy shafts that fell, as snow falls, at Poitiers. - - Here flutter phantom flags that once flew free - Above the travail of the tournament; - Here gleam old swords, once wet for Liberty; - Old blood-stiff banners, worn with war and rent, - Are with your fresh flowers blent, - And by your crown, where love and fame consort, - Shines the unvanquished cloven crown of Agincourt. - - Upon your river where, by day and night, - Your world-adventuring ships come home again, - Glide ghostly galleons, manned by men of might - Who plucked the wings and singed the beard of Spain; - The men who, not in vain, - Saved to the children of a world new-trod - The birth-tongue of our land, her freedom, and her God. - - Princes who lived to make our England great, - Poets who wreathed her greatness with their song, - Wise men who steered her heavy ship of State, - Brave men who steered her battle-ships along, - In spectral concourse throng - To applaud the consummated power and pride - Of that belovèd land for which they lived and died. - - The thousand un-named heroes who, sword-strong, - Ploughed the long acre wherein Empire grows - Wide as the world, and long as Time is long-- - These mark the crescence of the English rose - Whose thorny splendour glows - O’er far-off subject lands, by alien waves, - A crown for England’s brow, a garland for her graves. - - And faces out of unforgotten years, - Faces long hidden by death’s misty screen, - Faces you still can scarcely see for tears, - Will smile on you to-day and near you lean, - O Mother, Wife, and Queen! - With whispered love too sacred and too dear - For any ear than yours, Mother and Wife, to hear. - - Lady, the crowd will vaunt to-day your fame, - Daughter and heir of many mighty kings, - The Queen of England, whose imperial name - From England’s heart and lips tumultuous springs - In prayers and thanksgivings, - Because your greatness and her greatness shine - Merged each in each, as stars their beams that intertwine. - - Yet in the inmost heart, where folded close - The richest treasures of the poorest lie, - Love, whose clear eyes see many secrets, knows - A nobler name than Queen to call you by, - And breathes it silently; - But, ’mid His listening crowd of angels, One - Shall speak your name and say, “Faithful and good, well done!” - - - - -AFTER SIXTY YEARS - - - Ring, bells! flags, fly! and let the great crowd roar - Its ecstasy. Let the hid heart in prayer - Lift up your name. God bless you evermore, - Lady, who have the noblest crown to wear - That ever woman wore. - A jewel, in the front of time, shall blaze - This day, of all your days commemorate; - With Time’s white bays your brows are laureate, - And England’s love shall garland all your days. - - * * * * * - - When England’s crown, to Love’s acclaim, was laid - On the soft brightness of a maiden’s hair, - Amid delight, Love trembled, half afraid, - To give that little head such weight to bear,-- - Bind on so slight a maid - A kingdom’s purple--bid her hands hold high - The sceptre and the heavy orb of power, - To give to youth and beauty for a dower - Care and a crown, sorrow and sovereignty. - - But from our hearts sprang an intenser flame - When loyal Love met tender Love half way, - And, in love’s script, wrote on the scroll of fame, - Entwined with all the splendour of that day, - The letters of her name. - Then as fair roses grow ’mid leaves of green, - Love amid loyalty grew strong and close, - To hedge a pleasaunce round our Royal rose, - Our sovereign maiden flower, our child, our Queen. - - The trumpets spake--in sonorous triumph shout, - Their speech found echo in the hundred guns; - From countless towers the answering bells rang out, - And England’s heart spoke clamorous, through her sons, - The exulting land throughout. - Down streets ablaze with light the flags unfurled, - Along dark, lonely hills the joy-fires crept, - And eager swords within their scabbards leapt - To guard our Lady and Queen against the world. - - Those swords are rusted now. Good men and true - Dust in the dust are laid who held her dear; - But from their grave the bright flower springs anew, - Which for her festival we bring her here, - The long years’ meed and due; - The bud of homage graffed on chivalry. - God took the souls that shrined the jewel of love, - But made their sons inheritors thereof, - In endless gold entail of loyalty. - - Time, compensating life, the fruit bestowed - When in spent perfume passed the flower of youth; - Her feet were set upon the upward road, - Her face was turned towards the star of truth - That in her soul abode. - With youth the maid’s bright brow was garlanded - But richer crowns adorn the dear white hair; - The gathered love of all the years lies there, - In coronal benediction on her head. - - She is of our blood, for hath not she, too, met - The angels of delight and of despair? - Does not she, too, remember and forget - How bitter or how bright the lost days were? - Her eyes have tears made wet; - She has seen joy unveilèd even as we, - Has laid upon cold clay the heart-warm kiss, - She has known Sorrow for the king he is; - She has held little children on her knee. - - Mother, dear Mother, these your children rise - And call you blessèd, and shall we not, too, - Who are your children in the greater wise, - And love you for our land and her for you? - The blessing sanctifies - Your children as they breathe it at your knees, - And, bringing little gifts from very far, - Where the great nurseries of your Empire are, - Your children’s blessings throng from over seas. - - On Love’s spread wings, and over leagues of space, - Homage is borne from far-off sun-steeped lands; - From many a domed mysterious Eastern place, - Where Secresy holds Time between her hands, - The children of your race - Reach English hands towards your English throne; - And from the far South turn blue English eyes, - That never saw the blue of English skies, - Yet call you Mother, and your land their own. - - Where ’mid great trees the mighty waters flow - In arrogant submission to your sway, - In fur of price your northern hunters go, - And shafts of ardent greeting fly your way - Across the splendid snow; - And isles that with their coral, safe and small, - Rock in the cradle of the tropic seas, - In soft, strange speech join in the litanies - That pride and prayer breathe at your festival. - - All round the world, on every far-off sea, - In wind-ploughed oceans and in sun-kissed bays, - By every busy wharf and chattering quay, - Some cantle of your Empire sails or stays-- - Flaunts your supremacy - Against the winds of all the world, and flies - Your flag triumphant between blue and blue, - Blazons to sun and star the name of you, - And spreads your glory between seas and skies. - - There is no cottage garden, sunny-sweet, - There is no pasture where our shepherds tend - Their quiet flocks, no red-roofed village street, - But holds for you the love-wish of a friend, - Blent with high homage meet; - No little farm among the cornfields lone, - No little cot upon the uplands bare, - But hears to-day in blessing and in prayer - One name, Victoria, and that name your own. - - From the vast cities where the giant’s might, - Pauseless, resistless, moves by night and day, - From hidden mines where day is one with night, - From weary lives whose days and nights are grey - And empty of delight, - From lives that rhyme to sunshine and the spring, - From happiness at flood and hope at ebb, - Rose the magnificent and mingled web - That floats, your banner, at your thanksgiving. - - Throned on the surety of a splendid past, - With present glory clothed as with the sun, - Crowned with the future’s hopes, you know at last - What treasure from the years your life has won; - Behold, your hands hold fast - The moon of Empire, and its sway controls - The tides of war and peace, while in those hands - Lies tender homage out of all the lands - Against whose feet your furthest ocean rolls. - - How seems your life, looked back at through the years? - Much love, much sorrow, dead desires, lost dreams, - A great life lived out greatly; hidden tears, - And smiles for daily wear; strong plans and schemes, - And mighty hopes and fears; - War in the South and murder in the East, - And England’s heart-throbs echoed by your heart - When loss, and labour, and sorrow were her part, - Or when Fate bade her to some flower-crowned feast. - - Red battle-fields whereon your soldiers died, - Green pastoral fields saved by the blood of these, - Duty that bade mere sorrow stand aside, - And love transforming anguish into ease; - Long longing satisfied, - Great secrets wrenched from Nature’s grudging breast, - The fruit of knowledge plucked for all to eat,-- - These have you known, Life’s circle is complete, - And, knowing these, you know what is Life’s best: - - The dear small secrets of our common life, - The English woods and hills, the English home, - The common joys and griefs of Mother and wife, - Joy coming, going--griefs that go and come, - Soul’s peace amid world’s strife; - Hours when the Queen’s cares leave the woman free; - Dear friendships, where the friend forgets the Queen - And stoops to wear a dearer, homelier mien, - And be more loved than mere Queens rise to be. - - And, in your hour of triumph, when you shine - The centre of our triumph’s blazing star, - And, gazing down your long life’s lustrous line, - Behold how great your life-long glories are, - Yet, in your heart’s veiled shrine, - No splendour of all splendours that have been - Will brim your eyes with tremulous thanksgivings, - But little memories of little things-- - The treasures of the woman, not the Queen. - - Yet, Queen, because the love of you hath wound - A golden girdle all about the earth, - Because your name is as a trumpet sound - To call toward you men of English birth - From the world’s outmost bound, - Because old kinsmen, long estranged from home, - Come, with old foes, to greet you, friend and kin, - With kindly eyes behold your guests come in, - See from afar the long procession come! - - No Emperor in Rome’s Imperial days - Knew ever such a triumph day as this, - Though captive kings bore chains along his ways, - Though tribute from the furthest isles was his, - With pageant and with praise. - For you--free kings and free republics grace - Your triumph, and across the conquered waves - Come gifts from friends, not tributes wrung from slaves, - And praise kneels, clothed in love, before your face. - - Ring, bells! flags, fly! and let the great crowd roar - Its ecstasy! Let the hid heart in prayer - Lift up your name! God bless you evermore, - Lady, who have the noblest crown to wear - That ever monarch wore. - For, ’mid this day’s triumphal voluntaries, - Your name shines like the splendour of the sun, - Because your name with England’s name is one, - As Hers, thank God! is one with Liberty’s. - - - - -TRAFALGAR DAY - - - Laurels, bring laurels, sheaves on sheaves, - Till England’s boughs are bare of leaves! - Soon comes the flower more rare, more dear - Than any laurel this year weaves-- - The Aloe of the hundredth year - Since from the smoke of Trafalgar - He passed to where the heroes are, - Nelson, who passed and yet is here, - Whose dust is fire beneath our feet, - Whose memory mans our fleet. - - Laurels, bring laurels, since they hold - His England’s tears in each green fold, - His England’s joy, his England’s pride, - His England’s glories manifold. - Yet what was Victory since he died? - And what was Death since he lives yet, - Above a Nation’s worship set, - Above her heroes glorified?-- - Nelson, who made our flag a star - To lead where Victories are! - - - - -A SONG OF TRAFALGAR - - - Like an angry sun, like a splendid star, - War gleams down the long years’ track; - They strain at the leash, the dogs of war, - And who shall hold them back? - “Let loose the pack: we are English bred, - We will meet them full and fair - With the flag of England over our head, - And his hand to keep it there!” - - So spake our fathers. Our flag, unfurled, - Blew brave to the north and south; - An iron answer we gave the world, - For we spoke by the cannon’s mouth. - But he who taught us the word to say - Grew dumb as his Victory sang, - And England mourned on her triumph day, - And wept while her joy-bells rang. - - Long hour by hour, and long day by day, - The swift years crept apace, - The patient, the coral-insect way, - To cover the dear dead face. - O foolish rabble of envious years, - Who wist not the dead must rise, - His name is music still in our ears, - His face a light to our eyes! - - Bring hither your laurels, the fading sign - Of a deathless love and pride; - These cling more close than the laurels twine, - They are strong as the world is wide: - At the feet of Virtue in Valour clad - Shall glory and love be laid, - While Glory sings to an English lad, - Or Love to an English maid. - - Wherever the gleams of an English fire - On an English roof-tree shine, - Wherever the fire of a youth’s desire - Is laid upon Honour’s shrine, - Wherever brave deeds are treasured and told, - In the tale of the deeds of yore - Like jewels of price in a chain of gold - Are the name and the fame he bore. - - Wherever the track of our English ships - Lies white on the ocean foam, - His name is sweet to our English lips - As the names of the flowers at home; - Wherever the heart of an English boy - Grows big with a deed of worth, - Such names as his name have begot the same, - Such hearts will bring it to birth. - - They say that his England, grown tired and old, - Lies drunk by her heavy hoard; - They say her hands have the grasp of the gold - But not the grip of the sword, - That her robe of glory is rent and shred, - And that winds of shame blow through: - Speak for your England, O mighty Dead, - In the deeds you would have her do! - - Small skill have we to fight with the pen - Who fought with the sword of old, - For the sword that is wielded of Englishmen - Is as much as one hand can hold. - Yet the pen and the tongue are safe to use, - And the coward and the wise choose these; - But fools and brave were our English crews - When Nelson swept the seas. - - ’Tis the way of a statesman to fear and fret, - To ponder and pause and plan, - But the way of Nelson was better yet, - For that was the way of a man; - They would teach us smoothness, who once were rough, - They have bidden us palter and pray, - But the way of Nelson was good enough, - For that was the fighting way. - - If Nelson’s England must stoop to bear - What never honour should brook, - In vain does the tomb of her hero wear - The laurel his brow forsook; - In vain was the speech from the lips of her guns, - If now must her lips refrain; - In vain has she made us, her living sons, - Her dead have made her in vain. - - So here with your bays be the dear head crowned, - Lay flowers where the dear dust lies, - And wreathe his column with laurel round - To point his fame to the skies; - But the greenest laurel that ever grew - Is the laurel that’s yet to win; - Crowned with his laurels he waits for You - To bring Your laurels in! - - - - -WATERLOO DAY - -[JUNE 18] - - - This is the day of our glory; this is our day to weep. - Under her dusty laurels England stirs in her sleep; - Dreams of her days of honour, terrible days that are dead, - Days of the making of story, days when the sword was red, - - When all her fate and her future hung on the naked blade, - When by the sword of her children her place in the world was made, - When Honour sounded the trumpet and Valour leapt to obey, - And Heroes bought us the Empire that statesmen would sell to-day. - - England, wanton and weary, sunk in a slothful ease, - Has slain in her wars her thousands, but her tens of thousands in peace: - And the cowards grieve for her glory; their glory is in their shame; - They are glad of the moth in her banners, and the rust on her - shining name. - - Oh, if the gods would send us a balm for our sick, sad years, - Let them send us a sight of the scarlet, and the sound of - the guns in our ears! - For valour and faith and honour--these grow where the red flower grows, - And the leaves for the Nation’s healing must spring from - the blood of her foes. - - - - -A SONG OF PEACE AND HONOUR - -[DECEMBER, 1895] - -TO THE QUEEN - - - Lady and Queen, for whom our laurels twine, - Upon whose head the glories of our land - In one immortal diadem are met, - Embodied England, in whose woman-hand - The sceptre of Imperial sway is set, - Receive this song of mine! - For you are England, and her bays grow green - To deck your brow, your goodness lends her grace, - And in our hearts your face is as Her face; - The Mother-Country is the Mother-Queen. - - * * * * * - - We, men of England, children of her might, - With all our Mother’s record-roll of glory, - Great with her greatness, noble by her name, - Drank with our mothers’ milk our Mother’s story, - And in our veins the splendour of her fame - Made strong our blood and bright; - And to her absent sons her name has been - Familiar music heard in distant lands, - Heart of our heart and sinews of our hands, - England, our Mother, our Mistress and our Queen! - - Out of the thunderous echoes of the past - Through the gold-dust of centuries we hear - Her voice, “O children of a royal line, - Sons of her heart, whom England holdeth dear, - Mine was the Past--make ye the future mine - All glorious to the last!” - And, as we hear her, cowards grow to men, - And men to heroes, and the voice of fear - Is as a whisper in a deaf man’s ear, - And the dead past is quick in us again. - - Her robe is woven of glory and renown, - Hers are the golden-laden Argosies, - And lordship of the wild and watery ways, - Her flag is blown across the utmost seas: - Dead nations built her throne, and kingdoms blaze - For jewels in her crown. - Her Empire like a girdle doth enfold - The world; her feet upon her foes are set; - She wears the steel-wrought, blood-bright amulet - Won by her children in the days of old. - - Yet in a treasury of such gems as these - Which power and sovereignty and kingship fill - To the vast limit of the circling sun, - England, our Mother, in her heart holds still, - As her most precious jewel, save only one, - The priceless pearl of peace-- - Peace plucked from out the very heart of war - Through the long agony of strenuous years, - Made pure by blood and sanctified by tears, - A pearl to lie where England’s treasures are. - - O peaceful English lanes all white with may, - O English meadows where the grass grows tall, - O red-roofed village, field and farm and fold - Where the long shadows of the elm-trees fall - On the wide pastures which the sun calls gold - And twilit dew calls gray;-- - These are the home, the happy cradle-place - Of every man who has our English tongue, - Sprung from those loins from which our sires have sprung, - Heirs of the glory of our mighty race! - - Brothers, we hold the pearl of priceless worth: - Shall Peace, our pearl, by us be cast aside? - Is it not more to us than all things are? - Nay, Peace is precious as the world is wide, - But England’s honour is more precious far - Than all the heavens and earth. - Were honour outcast from her supreme place - Our pearl of Peace no more a pearl would shine, - But, trampled under-foot of cowards and swine, - Rot in the mire of a deserved disgrace. - - Know then, O ye our brothers over sea, - We will not cast our pearl of Peace away, - But, holding it, we wait; and if, at last, - The whole world came against us in array, - If all our glory into darkness passed, - Our Empire ceased to be, - Yet should we still have chosen the better part - Though in the dust our kingdoms were cast down, - Though lost were every jewel in our crown - We still should wear our jewel in our heart. - - So, for our Mother’s honour, if it must - Let Peace be lost, but lost the worthier way; - Not trampled down, but given, for her sake - Who forged of many an iron yesterday - The golden song that gold-tongued fame shall wake - When we are dust, in dust: - For brotherhood and strife and praise and blame - And all the world, even to our very land, - Weighed in the balance, are as a grain of sand - Against the honour of our English name! - - - - -II - - - - -THE BALLAD OF THE WHITE LADY - - - Sir Geoffrey met the white lady - Upon his marriage morn, - Her eyes were blue as cornflowers are, - Her hair was gold like corn. - - Sir Geoffrey gave the white lady - A posy of roses seven, - “You are the fairest May,” said he, - “That ever strayed from Heaven.” - - Sir Geoffrey by the white lady - Was lured away to shame, - For seven long years of prayers and tears - No tidings of him came. - - Then she who should have been his bride - A mighty oath she swore, - “For seven long years I have wept and prayed, - Now I will pray no more. - - “Since God and all the saints of Heaven - Bring not my lord to me, - I will go down myself to hell - And bring him back,” said she. - - * * * * * - - She crept to the white lady’s bower, - The taper’s flame was dim, - And there Sir Geoffrey lay asleep, - And the white witch sat by him. - - Her arm was laid across his neck, - Her gold hair on his face, - And there was silence in the room - As in a burial-place. - - And there were gems and carven cups, - And ’broidered bridal gear-- - “Whose bridal is this?” the lady said, - “And what knight have ye here?” - - “The good knight here ye know full well, - He was your lord, I trow, - But I have taken him from your side, - And I am his lady now. - - “This seven year with right good cheer - We twain our bridal keep, - So take for your mate another knight - And let my dear lord sleep.” - - Then up and spake Sir Geoffrey’s bride, - “What bridal cheer is this? - I would think scorn to have the lips - Who could not have the kiss! - - “I would think scorn to take the half - Who could not have the whole; - I would think scorn to steal the body - Who could not take the soul! - - “For, though ye hold his body fast - This seven weary year, - His soul walks ever at my side - And whispers in my ear. - - “I would think scorn to hold in sleep - What, if it waked, would flee, - So let his body join his soul - And both fare forth with me; - “For I have learned a spell more strong - Than yours that laid him low, - And I will speak it for his sake - Because I love him so!” - - The white lady threw back her hair, - Her eyes began to shine-- - “His soul is thine these seven years?-- - To-night it shall be mine! - - “I have been brave to hold him here - While seven long years befell, - Rather than let a bridal be - Whose seed should flower in hell. - - “I have not looked into his eyes - Nor joined my lips to his, - For fear his soul should spring to flame - And shrivel at my kiss. - - “I have been brave to watch his sleep - While the long hours come and go, - To hold the body without the soul, - Because I love him so. - - “But since his soul this seven year - Has sat by thee,” she said, - “His body and soul to-night shall lie - Upon my golden bed. - - “Thou hast no need to speak the spell - That thou hast learned,” said she, - “For I will wake him from his sleep - And take his soul from thee.” - - She stooped above him where he lay, - She laid her lips on his; - He stirred, he spake: “These seven long years - I have waited for thy kiss. - - “My soul has hung upon thy lips - And trembled at thy breath, - Thou hast given me life in a cup to drink, - As God will give me death. - - “Why didst thou fear to kill my soul - Which only lives for thee? - Thou hast put seven wasted years, - O love, ’twixt thee and me.” - - - - -THE GHOST BEREFT - - - The poor ghost came through the wind and rain - And passed down the old dear road again. - - Thin cowered the hedges, the tall trees swayed - Like little children that shrank afraid. - - The wind was wild and the night was late - When the poor ghost came to the garden gate; - - Dank were the flower-beds, heavy and wet, - The weeds stood up where the rose was set. - - The wind was angry, the rain beat sore - When the poor ghost came to its own house-door. - - “And shall I find her a-weeping still - To think how alone I lie and chill? - - “Or shall I find her happy and warm - With her dear head laid on a new love’s arm? - - “Or shall I find she has learned to pine - For another’s love, and not for mine? - - “Whatever chance, I have this to my store, - She is mine, my own, for evermore!” - - So the poor ghost came through the wind and rain - Till it reached the square bright window pane. - - “Oh! what is here in the room so bright? - Roses and love, and a hid delight? - - “What lurks in the silence that fills the room? - A cypress wreath from a dead man’s tomb? - - “What sleeps? What wakes? And oh! can it be - Her heart that is breaking--and not for me?” - - Then the poor ghost looked through the window pane, - Though all the glass was wrinkled with rain. - - “Oh, there is light, at the feet and head - Twelve tall tapers about the bed. - - “Oh, there are flowers, white flowers and rare, - But not the garland a bride may wear. - - “Jasmine white and a white white rose, - But its scent is gone where the lost dream goes. - - “Straight lilies laid on the strait white bier-- - But the room is empty--she is not here! - - “Her body lies here, deserted, cold; - And the body that loved it creeps in the mould. - - “Was there ever an hour when my Love, set free, - Would not have hastened and come to me? - - “Can the soul that loved mine long ago - Be hence and away, and I not know? - - “Oh, then God’s judgment is on me sore, - For I have lost her for evermore!” - - And the poor ghost fared through the wind and rain - To its own appointed place again. - - * * * * * - - But up in Heaven, where memories cease - Because the blessed have won to peace, - - One pale saint shivered, and closer wound - The shining raiment that wrapped her round. - - “Oh, fair is Heaven, and glad am I, - Yet I fain would remember the days gone by. - - “The past is veiled, and I may not know, - But I think there was sorrow, long ago; - - “The sun of Heaven is warm and bright, - But I think there is rain on the earth to-night. - - “O Christ, because of Thine own sore pain - Help all poor souls in the wind and rain.” - - - - -THE VAIN SPELL - - - The house sleeps dark and the moon wakes white, - The fields are alight with dew; - “Oh, will you not come to me, Love, to-night? - I have waited the whole night through, - For I knew, - O Heart of my heart, I knew by my heart, - That the night of all nights is this, - When elm shall crack and lead shall part, - When moulds shall sunder and shot bolts start - To let you through to my kiss.” - - So spake she alone in the lonely house. - She had wrapped her round with the spell, - She called the call, she vowed the vow, - And the heart she had pledged knew well - That this was the night, the only night, - When the moulds might be wrenched apart, - When the living and dead, in the dead of the night, - Might clasp once more, in the grave’s despite, - For the price of a living heart. - - But out in the grave the corpse lay white - And the grave clothes were wet with dew; - “Oh, will you not come to me, Love, to-night, - I have waited the whole night through, - For I knew - That I dared not leave my grave for an hour - Since the hour of all hours is near, - When you shall come to the hollow bower, - In a cast of the wind, in a waft of the Power, - To the heart that to-night beats here!” - - The moon grows pale and the house sleeps still; - Ah, God! do the dead forget? - The grave is white and the bed is chill, - But a guest may be coming yet. - But the hour has come and the hour has gone - That never will come again; - Love’s only chance is over and done, - And the quick and the dead are twain, not one, - And the price has been paid in vain. - - - - -THE ADVENTURER - - - The land of gold was far away, - The sea a challenge roared between; - I left my throne, my crown, my queen, - And sailed out of the quiet bay. - - I met the challenge of the wave, - The curses of the winds I mocked: - The conquered wave my galley rocked, - The wind became my envious slave. - - I brought much treasure from afar, - Spices, and shells, and rich attire; - Red rubies, fed with living fire, - To lie where all my longings are. - - Heavy with spoil my keel ploughed low - As slow we sailed into the bay, - And long ago seemed yesterday - And yesterday looked long ago. - - I came in triumph from the sea; - Bent was my crown, my courts grown mean, - And on my throne a faded queen - Raised alien eyes, and looked at me. - - “My queen! These rubies let me lay - Upon thy heart, as once my head ...” - She smiled pale scorn: “My heart!” she said, - And turned her weary eyes away. - - - - -IN THE ENCHANTED TOWER - - - The waves in thunderous menace break - Upon the rocks below my tower, - And none will dare the Sea-king’s power - And venture shipwreck for my sake. - - Yet once,--my lamp a path of light - Across the darkling sea had cast-- - I saw a sail; at last, at last, - It came towards me through the night. - - My lamp had been the beacon set - To lead the ship through mist and foam, - The ship that came to take me home, - To that far land I half forget. - - But since my tower is built so high, - And surf-robed rocks curl hid below, - I quenched my lamp--and, weeping low - I saw my ship go safely by! - - - - -FAITH - - - Through the long night, the deathlong night, - Along the dark and haunted way, - I knew your hidden face was bright-- - More bright than any day. - - And when the faint, insistent moan - Rose from some weed-grown wayside grave, - I said, “I do not walk alone; - ’Tis easy to be brave.” - - I never turned to speak with you, - For all the way was dark and long, - But all the shadows’ menace through - Your silence was my song. - - I never sought to take your hand, - For all the way was long and rough; - I taught my soul to understand - That love was strength enough. - - Then, suddenly, the ghosts drew near, - A ghastly, gliding, tomb-white band; - I called aloud for you to hear, - My hand besought your hand. - - No voice, no touch--the thin ghosts glide - Where in my dream I dreamed you were-- - Night, night, you are not by my side, - You never have been there! - - - - -THE REFUSAL - - - Mine is a palace fair to see, - All hung with gold and silver things, - It is more glorious than a king’s, - And crownèd queens might envy me. - - Ah, no, I will not let you in! - Stay rather at the gates and weep - For all the splendour that I keep, - The treasures that you cannot win. - - While you desire and I refuse, - For both the palace still is here-- - Its turrets gold, its silver gear - Are yours to wish for--mine to use. - - But if I let you in, I know - The spell would break, the palace fade, - And we stand, trembling and afraid, - Lost in the dark where chill winds blow. - - - - -PRELUDE - - - Out of the west when the sun was dying - Clouds of white wings came flying, flying, - Wheeling and whirling they swept away - Into the heart of the eastern gray; - But one white dove came straight to my breast - Out of the west. - - Into the west when the dawn was pearly - Clouds of white wings went, dewy-early, - Straight from the world of the waning stars; - O beating pinions! O prison bars! - My dove flies free no more with the rest - Into the west. - - - - -AT THE SOUND OF THE DRUM - - - Are you going for a soldier with your curly yellow hair, - And a scarlet coat instead of the smock you used to wear? - Are you going to drive the foe as you used to drive the plough? - Are you going for a soldier now? - - I am going for a soldier, and my tunic is of red - And I’m tired of woman’s chatter, and I’ll hear the drum instead; - I will break the fighting line as you broke your plighted vow, - For I’m going for a soldier now. - - For a soldier, for a soldier are you sure that you will go, - To hear the drums a-beating and to hear the bugles blow? - I’ll make you sweeter music, for I’ll swear another vow-- - Are you going for a soldier now? - - I am going for a soldier if you’d twenty vows to make; - You must get another sweetheart, with another heart to break, - For I’m sick of lies and women and the harrow and the plough, - And I’m going for a soldier now! - - - - -THE GOOSE-GIRL - - - I wandered lonely by the sea, - As is my daily use, - I saw her drive across the lea - The gander and the goose. - The gander and the gray, gray goose, - She drove them all together; - Her cheeks were rose, her gold hair loose, - All in the wild gray weather. - - “O dainty maid who drive the geese - Across the common wide, - Turn, turn your pretty back on these - And come and be my bride. - I am a poet from the town, - And, ’mid the ladies there, - There is not one would wear a crown - With half your charming air!” - - She laughed, she shook her pretty head. - “I want no poet’s hand; - Go read your fairy-books,” she said, - “For this is fairy-land. - My Prince comes riding o’er the leas; - He fitly comes to woo, - For I’m a Princess, and my geese - Were poets, once, like you!” - - - - -THE PEDLAR - - - Fly, fly, my pretty pigeon, fly! - And see if you can find him; - He has blue eyes--you’ll know him by,-- - He wears a pack behind him. - He’s gone away--ah! many a mile - Because he could not please me, - And, oh! ’twill be a weary while - Ere next he comes to tease me. - - He carries wares of every kind, - Fine ribbons, silks, and laces, - Bargains to rhyme with every mind, - And hues to suit all faces. - He has gold rings and pretty things - That other maids will throng for, - Ah, pigeon! spread your pretty wings, - And fly to him I long for. - - Tell him to turn and come again, - For once I sent him packing; - He offered me a bargain then, - But wit and price were lacking. - I have the price he asked of me, - The wit that will not weigh it; - Ah! bid him come again and see - How gladly I will pay it. - - A heart of gold he offered me - As ’twere a penny fairing, - And only asked a worthless fee, - This heavy heart I’m wearing. - I would not then--now long and drear - The white way winds behind him; - Ah! seek him, seek him, Pigeon dear, - But you will never find him! - - - - -THE GUARDIAN ANGEL - - - When my good-nights and prayers are said - And I am safe tucked up in bed, - I know my guardian angel stands - And holds my soul between his hands. - - I cannot see his wings of light - Because I keep my eyes shut tight, - For, if I open them, I know - My pretty angel has to go. - - But through the darkness I can hear - His white wings rustling very near; - I know it is his darling wings, - _Not_ Mother folding up my things! - - - - -III - - - - -“SHEPHERDS ALL AND MAIDENS FAIR” - - - Pipe, shepherds, pipe, the summer’s ripe; - So wreathe your crooks with flowers; - The world’s in tune to Love and June, - The days are rich in hours, - In rosy hours, in golden hours-- - Love’s crown and fortune fair, - So gather gold for Love to hold, - And flowers for Love to wear! - - - - - Sing, maidens, sing! A dancing ring - Of pleasures speed your way; - Too harsh and dry is fierce July, - Too maiden-meek was May; - But Love and June their old sweet tune - Are singing at your ear: - So learn the song and troop along - To meet your shepherds dear! - - Oh, Chloris fair, a rose to wear, - And gold to spend have I-- - When all are gay on this June day - You would not bid me sigh? - You would not scorn a swain forlorn-- - Each shepherd far and near - Hastes to his sweet, with flying feet, - As I towards my dear. - - No maids there be in Arcady - But have their shepherds true; - Must you alone despise the one - Who only pipes for you? - You have no ear my pipe to hear - Though all for you it be; - And I no eyes for her who sighs - And only sings for me! - - - - -A PORTRAIT - - - Like the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawn - Is her dainty way; - Like the gray of a twilight sky or a starlit lawn - Are her eyes of gray; - Like the clouds in their moving white - Is her breast’s soft stir; - And white as the moon and bright - Is the soul of her. - - Like murmur of woods in spring ere the leaves be green, - Like the voice of a bird - That sings by a stream that sings through the night unseen, - So her voice is heard. - And the secret her eyes withhold - In my soul abides, - For white as the moon and cold - Is the heart she hides. - - - - -THE OFFERING - - - What will you give me for this heart of mine, - No heart of gold--and yet my dearest treasure? - It has its graces--it can ache and pine, - And beat true time to your sweet voice’s measure; - It bears your name, it lives but for your pleasure: - What will you give me for this heart I bring, - That holds my life, my joy, my everything? - - How can I ask a price, when all my prayer - Is that, without return, you will but take it-- - Feed it with hope, or starve it to despair, - Keep it to play with, mock it, crush it, break it, - And, if your will lies there, at last forsake it? - Its epitaph shall voice its deathless pride: - “She held me in her hands until I died.” - - - - -ENTREATY - - - O love, let us part now! - Ours is the tremulous, low-spoken vow, - Ours is the spell of meeting hands and eyes. - The first, involuntary, sacred kiss - Still on our lips in benediction lies. - O Love, be wise! - Love at its best is worth no more than this-- - Let us part now! - - O Love, let us part now! - Ere yet the roses wither on my brow, - Ere yet the lilies wither in your breast, - Ere the implacable hour shall flower to bear - The seeds of deathless anguish and unrest. - To part is best. - Between us still the drawn sword flameth fair-- - Let us part now! - - - - -THE FOREST POOL - - - Lean down and see your little face - Reflected in the forest pool, - Tall foxgloves grow about the place, - Forget-me-nots grow green and cool. - Look deep and see the naiad rise - To meet the sunshine of your eyes. - - Lean down and see how you are fair, - How gold your hair, your mouth how red; - See the leaves dance about your hair - The wind has left unfilleted. - What naiad of them can compare - With you for good and dear and fair? - - Ah! look no more--the water stirs, - The naiad weeps your face to see, - Your beauty is more rare than hers, - And you are more beloved than she. - Fly! fly, before she steals the charms - The pool has trusted to her arms. - - - - -DISCRETION - - - Ah, turn your pretty eyes away! - You would not have me love again? - Love’s pleasure does not live a day, - Immortal is Love’s pain, - And I am tired of pain. - - I have loved once--aye, once or twice; - The pleasure died, the pain lives here; - I will not look in your sweet eyes, - I will not love you, Dear, - Lest you should grow too dear. - - For I am weary and afraid. - Have I not seen why life was fair, - And known how good a world God made, - How sweet the blossoms were, - How dear the green fields were? - - And I have found how life was gray, - A mist-hung road, a quest in vain, - Until once more Love smiled my way - And fooled me once again, - And taught me grief again. - - Now I will gather no more grief; - I only ask to see the sky, - The budding flower, the budding leaf, - And put old dreamings by, - The dreams Love tortures by. - - For, being wise, I love no more; - You, if you will, snare with those eyes - Some fool who never loved before, - And teach him to be wise! - For why should you be wise? - - - - -SPRING SONG - - - Here’s the Spring-time, Sweet! - Earth’s green gown is new, - Lambs begin to bleat, - Doves begin to coo, - Birds begin to woo - In the wood and lane; - Sweet, the tale is true - Spring is here again! - - I have been discreet - All the winter through; - Now, before your feet, - Blossoms let me strew. - Flowers, as yet, are few; - Will my lady deign - Take this flower or two? - Spring is here again - - Make the year complete, - Give the Spring her due! - All the flowers entreat, - All the song-birds sue. - ’Twixt the green and blue - Let Love wake and reign, - Let me worship you-- - Spring is here again! - - - - -TOO LATE - - - When Love, sweet Love, was tangled in my snare - I clipped his wings, and dressed his cage with flowers, - Made him my little joy for little hours, - And fed him when I had a song to spare. - And then I saw how good life’s good things were, - The kingdoms and the glories and the powers. - Flowers grew in sheaves and stars were shed in showers, - And, when the great things wearied, Love was there. - - But when, within his cage, one winter day - I found him lying still with folded wings, - No longer fluttering, eager to be fed-- - Kingdoms and powers and glories passed away, - And of life’s countless, precious, priceless things - Nothing was left but Love--and Love was dead! - - - - -BY FAITH WITH THANKSGIVING - - - Love is no bird that nests and flies, - No rose that buds and blooms and dies, - No star that shines and disappears, - No fire whose ashes strew the years: - Love is the god who lights the star, - Makes music of the lark’s desire, - Love tells the rose what perfumes are, - And lights and feeds the deathless fire. - - Love is no joy that dies apace - With the delight of dear embrace-- - Love is no feast of wine and bread, - Red-vintaged and gold-harvested: - Love is the god whose touch divine - On hands that clung and lips that kissed, - Has turned life’s common bread and wine - Into the Holy Eucharist. - - - - -THE APPEAL - - - All summer-time you said: - “Love has no need of shelter nor of kindness, - For all the flowers take pity on his blindness, - And lead him to his scented rose-soft bed.” - - “He is a king,” you said. - “That I bow not the knee will never grieve him, - For all the summer-palaces receive him.” - But now Love has not where to lay his head. - - “He is a god,” you said. - “His altars are wherever roses blossom.” - And summer made his altar of her bosom, - But now the altar is ungarlanded. - - Take back the words you said: - Out in the rain he shivers broken-hearted; - Summer who bore him has with tears departed, - And o’er her grave he weeps uncomforted. - - And you, for all you said, - Would weep too, if when dawn stills the wind’s riot, - You found him on your threshold, pale and quiet, - Clasped him at last, and found the child was dead. - - - - -AUTUMN SONG - - - “Will you not walk the woods with me? - The shafts of sunlight burn - On many a golden-crested tree - And many a russet fern. - The Summer’s robe is dyed anew, - And Autumn’s veil of mist - Is gemmed with little pearls of dew - Where first we met and kissed.” - - “I will not walk the woodlands brown - Where ghosts and mists are blown, - But I will walk the lonely down - And I will walk alone. - Where Night spreads out her mighty wing - And dead days keep their tryst, - There will I weep the woods of Spring - Where first we met and kissed.” - - - - -THE LAST ACT - - - Never a ring or a lock of hair - Or a letter stained with tears, - No crown for the princely hour to wear, - To be mocked of the rebel years. - Not a spoken vow, not a written page - And never a rose or a rhyme - To tell to the wintry ear of age - The tale of the summer time. - - Never a tear or a farewell kiss - When the time is come to part; - For the kiss would burn and the tear would hiss - On the smouldering fire in my heart. - But let me creep to the kindly clay, - And nothing be left to tell - How I played in your play a year and a day, - And died when the curtain fell! - - - - -FAUTE DE MIEUX - - - When the corn is green and the poppies red - And the fields are crimson with love-lies-bleeding, - When the elms are black deep overhead - And the shade lies cool where the calves are feeding, - When the blackbird whistles the song of June, - When kine knee-deep in the pond are drowsing, - Leave pastoral peace--come up through the noon - To the high chalk downs where the sheep are browsing. - - Oh! sweet to dream in the noontide heat, - On the scented bed of thyme and clover, - With the air from the sea, blown keen and sweet, - And the wings of the wide sky folded over, - While, far in the blue, the skylark sings, - Renounce desire and renounce endeavour, - Forget life’s little unworthy things - And dream that the dream will last for ever. - - The love of your life, in your heart’s hid shrine, - With its gifts and its torments, leave it sighing, - And I will bury the pain of mine - In the selfsame grave where its joy is lying. - Let me hold your hand for a quiet hour - In the wild thyme’s scent and the clear blue weather, - Then come what may, we have plucked one flower, - This hour on the downs alone together. - - - - -SONG OF LONG AGO - - - Long ago, long ago, - When the hawthorn buds were pearly - And the birds sang, late and early, - All the songs that lovers know, - How we lingered in the lane, - Kissed and parted, kissed again, - Parted, laggard foot and slow! - What a pretty world we knew - Dressed in moonlight, dreams and dew, - Long ago, my first sweet sweetheart, - Long ago! - - Long ago, long ago, - When the wind was on the river - Where the lights and shadows shiver, - And the streets were all aglow. - In the gaudy gas-lit street - We two parted, sweet, my sweet, - And the crowd went to and fro, - And your veil was wet with tears - For the inevitable years-- - Long ago, my last sweet sweetheart, - Long ago! - - - - -IN ECLIPSE - - - Pale veil of mist bound round the trees - Pale fringe of rain upon the hills, - Cold earth, cold sky and biting breeze - That mock the withered daffodils. - And yet so short a while ago, - The sunlight on the quickened land - Laughed at the memory of the snow, - And we went hand in hand. - - Pale veil of doubt wound round my heart, - Pale fringe of tears upon your eyes; - Why did we choose the evil part? - Why did we leave our Paradise? - There were such green and pleasant ways - Where you and I with happy heart - Laughed at the old unhappy days, - And now--we are apart. - - Will the sun shine again some day? - Will you forgive me and forget? - Chill is the east, the west is gray, - And all our world with tears is wet. - Ah! love, the world is wide and cold, - The weary skies are wild with rain; - Give me at least your hand to hold - Till the sun shines again. - - - - -SPECIAL PLEADING - - - The world’s a path all fresh and sweet, - A sky all fresh and fair, - With daisies underneath your feet - And roses for your hair; - Red roses for your pretty hair, - Green trees to shade your way, - And lavish blossoms everywhere, - Because the time is May. - - How gold the sun shines through the green! - How soft the turf is spread! - How richly falls the shimmering sheen - About your darling head! - How in the dawn of Paradise - Should you foresee the night? - How, with the sunlight in your eyes, - See aught beyond the light? - - * * * * * - - The world’s a path all rough and wild, - A sky all black with fears, - Among the ghosts, unhappy child, - You stumble, blind with tears; - The track is faint, and far the fold, - And very far the day: - Unless you have a hand to hold, - How will you find the way? - - - - -“LOVE WELL THE HOUR” - - - Heart of my heart, my life and light, - If you were lost what should I do? - I dare not let you from my sight, - Lest Death should fall in love with you. - - Such countless terrors lie in wait. - The gods know well how dear you are: - What if they left me desolate - And plucked and set you for their star? - - So hold my hand--the gods are strong, - And perfect joy so rare a flower - No man may hope to keep it long, - And I might lose it any hour. - - So, kiss me close, my star, my flower, - Thus shall the future spare me this: - The thought that there was ever an hour - We might have kissed and did not kiss. - - - - -BETRAYED - - - I went back to our home to-day - That still its robe of roses wore; - My feet took the old easy way, - And led me to our door. - - And you are gone and never more - Those little feet of yours will come - To meet me at the open door, - The threshold of our home. - - The door unlatched did not protest: - I entered, and the silence drew - My steps towards the little nest - That once I shared with you. - - There lay your fan, your open book, - Your seam half-sewn, and I could see - The window whence you used to look-- - Yes, once you looked--for me. - - Print of your little head caressed - Our pillow still, and on the floor - Still lay, dropped there when last you dressed, - The scarf and rose you wore. - - All should have spoken of you plain, - Yet, when I bade the silence tell - Of you, my bidding was in vain, - I could not break its spell. - - The silence would not speak, my dear, - Till the last level light grew dim; - Then, in the twilight I could hear; - The silence spoke--of him. - - - - -THE HEART OF SADNESS - - - It is not, Dear, because I am alone, - I am lonelier when the rest are near, - But that my place against your heart has grown - Too dear to dream of when you are not here. - - I weep because my thoughts no more may roam - To meet, half-way, your longing thoughts of me, - To turn with these and spread glad wings for home, - For the dear haven where I fain would be. - - When first we loved, I loved to steal away - To show to solitude what love could do, - To fill the waste space of the night and day - With thousand-wingèd dreams that flew to you; - But now through many tears I am grown wise - To know how mighty and how dear love is; - I dare not turn to him my longing eyes, - Nor even in dreams lean out my face to his, - - Because, if once I let my caged heart go - Through dreams to seek you, I should follow too - Through wrong and right, through wisdom and through woe, - Through heaven and hell, until I won to you! - - - - -THE HEART OF JOY - - - Dear, do you sigh that your love may not stay with you, - Laugh with and play with you, - Weep with and pray with you, - All his life through? - Think, O my heart, if you never had found me, - Crept through the cere-clothes the world has wound round me, - What would you do? - - Wide is the world, and so many would sigh for you, - Long for and cry for you, - Weep for and die for you, - You being you. - I only I, am the man you could sigh for, - Live for and suffer for, sorrow and die for, - Twenty lives through. - - Think! Had I missed you! The world was so wide for us, - Traps on each side for us, - Nothing as guide for us, - Yet I and you - Found Life’s great treasure, the last and the first, love; - Life’s little things, Time and Space, do their worst, love! - What, after all, can they do? - - - - -THE HEART OF GRIEF - - - You will not come again - Along the deep-banked lane - To where the field and fold so long have missed you; - You know no more the way - To where, so many a day - Before the world grew gray, - Your lover kissed you. - - The wonders and delights - Of London days and nights - Hold fast a soul not made for pastoral pleasures; - The scent of mignonette - Brings to you no regret, - No withered flowers lie yet - Among your treasures. - - And I, who long for you - Sad and glad seasons through, - Find my grief’s heart in knowing grief will find you; - Some day you too will sigh, - And lay a dead flower by, - And weep to see joy lie - At last behind you. - - What though the flower you hide - With London wire be tied? - What though the heart that broke your heart be rotten? - You too at last must miss - The smile, the word, the kiss, - And know how hard it is - To be forgotten. - - - - -REQUIEM - - - Now veiled in the inviolable past - Love lies asleep, who never more will wake; - Nor would you wake him, even for my sake - Who for your sake pray he sleep sound at last. - - What good thing had we of him--we who bore - So long his yoke? what pleasant thing had we - That we should weep his deathlong sleep to see, - Or call on Life to waken him once more? - - A little joy he gave, and much of pain, - A little pleasure, and enduring grief, - One flower of joy, and pain piled sheaf on sheaf, - Harvests of loss, for every bud of gain. - - Yet where he lies in this deserted place - Divided by his narrow grave we sit, - Welded together by the depths of it, - Watching the years pass, with averted face. - - We do not mourn for him, for here is peace; - The old unrest frets not these empty years; - With him went smiles a few, and many tears, - And peace is sweeter far than those or these. - - Only--we owe him nothing. If he gave, - We too gave gifts--his gifts were less than ours: - We gave the world, that held so many flowers - For this--the world that only holds his grave. - - - - -TEINT NEUTRE - - - Wide downs all gray, with gray of clouds roofed over, - Chill fields stripped naked of their gown of grain, - Small fields of rain-wet grass and close-grown clover, - Wet, wind-blown trees--and, over all, the rain. - - Does memory lie? For Hope her missal closes - So far away the may and roses seem; - Ah! was there ever a garden red with roses? - Ah! were you ever mine save in a dream? - - So long it is since Spring, the skylark waking - Heard her own praises in his perfect strain; - Low hang the clouds, the sad year’s heart is breaking, - And mine, my heart--and, over all, the rain. - - - - -OUT OF HOPE - - - If through the rain and wind along the street, - Where the wet stone reflects the flickering gas, - Some weeping autumn night your wandering feet, - Lost in a lonely world, should chance to pass; - If, passing many doors that welcomed you - When robes of good renown your dear name wore, - Your feet again, as once they used to do, - Paused at my door,-- - - Should I shut fast my heart for the old ill, - The old wrong done, the sorrow and the sin? - Or--only knowing that I love you still-- - Should I throw wide the door and let you in? - Come--with your sins--my tears shall wash them all, - The heart you broke still waits to be your home. - Yet if you came.... Oh! lost beyond recall - You never more will come. - - - - -HAUNTED - - - The house is haunted; when the little feet - Go pattering about it in their play, - I tremble lest the little one should meet - The ghosts that haunt the happy night and day. - - And yet I think they only come to me; - They come through night of ease and pleasant day - To whisper of the torment that must be - If I some day should be, alas! as they. - - And when the child is lying warm asleep, - The ghosts draw back the curtain of my bed, - And past them through the dreadful dark I creep, - Clasp close the child, and so am comforted. - - Cling close, cling close, my darling, my delight, - Sad voices on the wind come thin and wild, - Ghosts of poor mothers crying in the night-- - “Father, have pity--once I had a child!” - - - - -A DIRGE - - - Let Summer go - To other gardens; here we have no need of her. - She smiles and beckons, but we take no heed of her, - Who love not Summer, but bare boughs and snow. - - - Set the snow free - To choke the insolent triumph of the year, - With birds that sing as though he still were here, - And flowers that blow as if he still could see. - - Let the rose die-- - What ailed the rose to blow? she is not dear to us, - Nor all the summer pageant that draws near to us; - Let it be over soon, let it go by! - - Let winter come, - With the wild mourning of the wind-tossed boughs - To drown the stillness of the empty house - To which no more the little feet come home. - - - - -IV - - - - -EVENING SONG - - - When all the weary flowers, - Worn out with sunlit hours, - Droop o’er the garden beds - Their little sleepy heads, - The dewy dusk on quiet wings comes stealing; - And, as the night descends, - The shadows troop like friends - To bring them healing. - - So, weary of the light - Of life too full and bright, - We long for night to fall - To wrap us from it all; - Then death on dewy wings draws near and holds us, - And like a kind friend come - To children far from home, - With love enfolds us. - - But when the night is done, - Fresh to the morning sun, - Their little faces yet - With night’s sweet dewdrops wet, - The flowers awake to the new day’s new graces; - And we, ah! shall we too - Turn to the daydawn new - Our tear-wet faces? - - - - -“THIS DESIRABLE MANSION” - - - The long white windows blankly stare - Across the sodden, tangled grass, - Weed-covered are the pathways where - No footsteps ever pass; - No whispers wake, no kisses die, - No laughter thrills the dwindling flowers, - Only the night hears sigh on sigh - From ghosts of long-dead hours. - - None come here now to laugh or weep; - The spider spins on stair and hall, - And round the windows shadows creep, - And loathly creatures crawl. - Cold is the hearth; the door is fast; - No guest the silent threshold sees - Save ghosts out of the happy past,-- - And one who is as these. - - - - -EBB-TIDE - - - Now the vexed clouds, wind-driven, spread wings of white, - Long leaning wings across the sea and land. - The waves creep back bequeathing to our sight - The treasure-house of their deserted sand, - And where the nearer waves curl white and low, - Knee-deep in swirling brine the slow-foot shrimpers go. - - Pale breadth of sand, where clamorous gulls confer, - Marked with broad arrows by their planted feet; - White rippled pools, where late deep waters were - And ever the white waves marshalled in retreat - And the grey wind in sole supremacy - O’er opal and amber cold of darkening sky and sea. - - - - -ON THE DOWNS - - - The little moon is dead, - Drowned in the flood of rain - That drips from roof of byre and shed, - And splashes in the lane: - The leafless lean-flanked lane where last year’s leaves are spread. - - The sheep cower in the fold, - Where the rain beats them blind, - Where scarce the rotten hurdles hold - Against the weary wind - That moans with angry tears across the pathless wold. - - Dim lights across the down - Show where the lone farms lie, - The twisted trees have lost their brown, - Are black against the sky, - And far below blink lights, gay lights of Brighton town. - - Ah, was the moon once bright? - And did the thyme smell sweet - Where, between dewy dusk and light, - The warm turf felt our feet, - And bean-flowers scented all the enchanted summer night? - - Did sheep-bells tinkle clear - Across the golden haze? - Were the woods ever leafy-dear, - In those forgotten days? - The wet wind shrieks denial: no other voice speaks here. - - - - -NEW COLLEGE GARDENS, OXFORD - - - On this old lawn, where lost hours pass - Across the shadows dark with dew, - Where autumn on the thick sweet grass - Has laid a weary leaf or two, - When the young morning, keenly sweet, - Breathes secrets to the silent air, - Happy is he whose lingering feet - May wander lonely there. - - The enchantment of the dreaming limes, - The magic of the quiet hours, - Breathe unheard tales of other times - And other destinies than ours; - The feet that long ago walked here - Still, noiseless, walk beside our feet, - Poor ghosts, who found this garden dear, - And found the morning sweet! - - Age weeps that it no more may hold - The heart-ache that youth clasps so close, - Pain finely shaped in pleasure’s mould, - A thorn deep hidden in a rose. - Here is the immortal thorny rose - That may in no new garden grow-- - Its root is in the hearts of those - Who walked here long ago. - - - - -TO A TULIP-BULB - - - Sleep first, - And let the storm and winter do their worst; - Let all the garden lie - Bare to the angry sky, - The shed leaves shiver and die - Above your bed; - Let the white coverlet - Of sunlit snow be set - Over your sleeping head, - While in the earth you sleep - Where dreams are dear and deep, - And heed nor wind nor snow, - Nor how the dark moons go. - In this sad upper world where Winter’s hand - Has bound with chains of ice the weary land. - Then wake - To see the whole world lovely for Spring’s sake; - The garden fresh and fair - With green things everywhere, - And winter’s want and care - Banished and fled; - Primrose and violet - In every border set, - With rain and sunshine fed. - Then bless the fairy song - That cradled you so long, - And bless the fairy kiss - That wakened you to this-- - A world where Winter’s dead and Spring doth reign - And lovers whisper in the budding lane. - - - - -FEBRUARY - - - The trees stand brown against the gray, - The shivering gray of field and sky; - The mists wrapt round the dying day - The shroud poor days wear as they die: - Poor day, die soon, who lived in vain, - Who could not bring my Love again! - - Down in the garden breezes cold - Dead rustling stalks blow chill between; - Only, above the sodden mould, - The wallflower wears his heartless green - As though still reigned the rose-crowned year - And summer and my Love were here. - - The mists creep close about the house, - The empty house, all still and chill; - The desolate and trembling boughs - Scratch at the dripping window sill: - Poor day lies drowned in floods of rain, - And ghosts knock at the window pane. - - - - -THE PROMISE OF SPRING - - - Just a whisper, half-heard, - But our heart knows the word; - Caresses that seem - Like love’s lips in a dream; - Yet we know she is here, - The desirèd, the dear, - The love of the year! - In the murmur of boughs, - In the softening of skies, - In the sun on the house, - In the daffodil’s green - (Half an inch, half-unseen - Mid the mournful brown mould - Where the rotten leaf lies) - Her story is told. - - O Spring, darling Spring, - O sweet days of blue weather! - The thrushes shall sing, - Fields shall grow green again, - Daisies be seen again, - Hedges grow white; - Then down the lane, - Grown leafy again, - Shall go lovers together-- - Lovers who see again - Sunshine and showers, - Perfume and flowers, - Dewy dear hours, - Dream and delight. - - Warm shall nests be again, - Winter’s behind us; - Springtime shall find us, - Taking our hands, - Lead us away from the cold and the snow, - Into the green world where primroses grow. - Winter, hard winter, forgotten, forgiven; - All the old pain paid, to seventy times seven, - All the new glory a-glow. - Love, when Spring calls, will you still turn away? - Winter has wooed you in vain, and shall May? - Love, when Spring calls, will you go? - - - - -MEDWAY SONG - -(_Air: Carnaval de Venise_) - - - Let Housman sing of Severn shore, - Of Thames let Arnold sing, - But we will sing no river more - Save this where crowbars ring. - Let others sing of Henley, - Of fashion and renown, - But we will sing the thirteen locks - That lead to Tonbridge town! - Then sing the Kentish river, - The Kentish fields and flowers, - We waste no dreams on other streams - Who call the Medway ours. - - When on the level golden meads - The evening sunshine lies, - The little voles among the reeds - Look out with wondering eyes. - The patient anglers linger - The placid stream beside, - Where still with towering tarry prow - The stately barges glide. - Then sing the Kentish river, - The Kentish fields and flowers, - We waste no dreams on other streams - Who call the Medway ours. - - On Medway banks the May droops white, - The wild rose blossoms fair, - O’er meadow-sweet and loosestrife bright, - For water nymphs to wear. - And mid the blowing rushes - Pan pipes a joyous song, - And woodland things peep from the shade - As soft we glide along. - Then sing the Kentish river, - The Kentish fields and flowers, - We waste no dreams on other streams - Who call the Medway ours. - - You see no freight on Medway boats - Of fashions fine and rare, - But happy men in shabby coats, - And girls with wind-kissed hair. - The world’s a pain forgotten, - And very far away, - The stream that flows, the boat that goes-- - These are our world to-day. - Then sing the Kentish river, - The Kentish fields and flowers, - We waste no dreams on other streams - Who call the Medway ours. - - - - -CHAINS INVISIBLE - - - The lilies in my garden grow, - Wide meadows ring my garden round, - In that green copse wild violets blow, - And pale, frail cuckoo flowers are found. - For all you see and all you hear, - The city might be miles away, - And yet you feel the city near - Through all the quiet of the day. - - Sweet smells the earth--wet with sweet rain-- - Sweet lilac waves in moonlight pale, - And from the wood beyond the lane - I hear the hidden nightingale. - Though field and wood about me lie, - Hushed soft in dew and deep delight, - Yet can I hear the city’s sigh - Through all the silence of the night. - - For me the skylark builds and sings, - For me the vine her garland weaves; - The swallow folds her glossy wings - To build beneath my cottage eaves. - But I can feel the giant near, - Can hear his slaves by daylight weep, - And, when at last the night is here, - I hear him moaning in his sleep. - - Oh! for a little space of ground, - Though not a flower should make it gay, - Where miles of meadows wrapped me round, - And leagues and leagues of silence lay. - Oh! for a wind-lashed, treeless down, - A black night and a rising sea, - And never a thought of London town, - To steal the world’s delight from me. - - - - -AT EVENING TIME THERE SHALL BE LIGHT - - - The day was wild with wind and rain, - One grey wrapped sky and sea and shore, - It seemed our marsh would never again - Wear the rich robes that once it wore. - The scattered farms looked sad and chill, - Their sheltering trees writhed all awry, - And waves of mist broke on the hill - Where once the great sea thundered by. - - Then God remembered this His land, - This little land that is our own, - He caught the rain up in His hand, - He hid the winds behind His throne, - He soothed the fretful waves to rest, - He called the clouds to come away, - And, by blue pathways, to the west, - They went, like children tired of play. - - And then God bade our marsh put on - Its holy vestment of fine gold; - From marge to marge the glory shone - On lichened farm and fence and fold; - In the gold sky that walled the west, - In each transfigured stone and tree, - The glory of God was manifest, - Plain for a little child to see! - - - - -MAIDENHOOD - - - Through her fair world of blossoms fresh and bright, - Veiled with her maiden innocence, she goes; - Not all the splendour of the waxing light - She sees, nor all the colour of the rose; - And yet who knows what finer hues she sees, - Hid by our wisdom from our longing eyes? - Who knows what light she sees in skies and seas - Which is withholden from our seas and skies? - - Shod with her youth the thorny paths she treads - And feels not yet the treachery of the thorn, - Her crown of lilies still its perfume sheds - Where Love, the thorny crown, not yet is borne. - Yet in the mystery of her peaceful way - Who knows what fears beset her innocence, - Who, trembling, learns that thorns will wound some day, - And wonders what thorns are, and why, and whence? - - - - -V - - - - -THE MONK - - - When in my narrow cell I lie, - The long day’s penance done at last, - I see the ghosts of days gone by, - And hear the voices of the past. - - I see the blue-gray wood-smoke curled - From hearths where life has rhymed to love, - I see the kingdoms of the world-- - The glory and the power thereof, - And cry, “Ah, vainly have I striven!” - And then a voice calls, soft and low: - “Thou gavest My Earth to win My Heaven; - But Heaven-on-Earth thou mayest not know!” - - It is not for Thy Heaven, O Lord, - That I renounced Thy pleasant earth-- - The ship, the furrow, and the sword-- - The dreams of death, the dreams of birth! - - Weary of vigil, fast, and prayer, - Weak in my hope and in my faith-- - O Christ, for whom this cross I bear, - Meet me beside the gate of Death! - - When the night comes, then let me rest - (O Christ, who sanctifiest pain!) - Falling asleep upon Thy breast, - And, if Thou wilt, wake never again! - - - - -THE CROWN OF LIFE - - - The days, the doubts, the dreams of pain - Are over, not to come again, - And from the menace of the night - Has dawned the day-star of delight: - My baby lies against me pressed-- - Thus, Mother of God, are mothers blessed! - - His little head upon my arm, - His little body soft and warm, - His little feet that cannot stand - Held in the heart of this, my hand. - His little mouth close on my breast-- - Thus, Mary’s Son, are mothers blessed. - - All dreams of deeds, all deeds of day - Are very faint and far away, - Yet you some day will stand upright - And fight God’s foes, in manhood’s might, - You--tiny, worshipped, clasped, caressed-- - Thus, Mother of God, are mothers blessed. - - Whatever grief may come to be - This hour divine goes on for me. - All glorious is my little span, - Since I, like God, have made a man, - A little image of God’s best-- - Thus, Mary’s Son, are mothers blessed. - - Come change, come loss, come worlds of tears, - Come endless chain of empty years; - They cannot take away the hour - That gives me You--my bird, my flower! - Thank God for this! Leave God the rest!-- - Thus, Mother of God, are mothers blessed. - - - - -MAGNIFICAT - - - This is Christ’s birthday: long ago - He lay upon His Mother’s knee, - Who kissed and blessed Him soft and low-- - God’s gift to her, as you to me. - - My baby dear, my little one, - The love that rocks this cradling breast - Is such as Mary gave her Son: - She was more honoured, not more blest. - - He smiled as you smile: not more sweet - Than your eyes were those eyes of His, - And just such little hands and feet - As yours Our Lady used to kiss. - - The world’s desire that Mother bore: - She held a King upon her knee: - O King of all my world, and more - Than all the world’s desire to me! - - I thank God on the Christmas morn, - For He has given me all things good: - This body which a child has borne, - This breast, made holy for his food. - - High in high heaven Our Lady’s throne - Beside her Son’s stands up apart: - I sit on heaven’s steps alone - And hold my king against my heart. - - Across dark depths she hears your cry; - She sees your smile, through worlds of blue - Who was a mother, even as I, - And loved her Child, as I love you. - - And to her heart my babe is dear, - Because she bore the Babe Divine, - And all my soul to hers draws near, - And loves Him for the sake of mine! - - - - -EVENING PRAYER - - - Not to the terrible God, avenging, bright, - Whose altars struck their roots in flame and blood, - Not to the jealous God, whose merciless might - The infamy of unclean years withstood; - But to the God who lit the evening star, - Who taught the flower to blossom in delight, - Who taught His world what love and worship are - We pray, we two, to-night. - - To no vast Presence too immense to love, - To no enthronèd King too great to care, - To no strange Spirit human needs above - We bring our little, intimate, heart-warm prayer; - But to the God who is a Father too, - The Father who loved and gave His only Son - We pray across the cradle, I and you, - For ours, our little one! - - - - -CHRISTMAS HYMN - - - O Christ, born on the holy day, - I have no gift to give my King; - No flowers grow by my weary way; - I have no birthday song to sing. - - How can I sing Thy name and praise, - Who never saw Thy face divine; - Who walk in darkness all my days, - And see no Eastern stars a-shine? - - Yet, when their Christmas gifts they bring, - How can I leave Thy praise unsung? - How stay from homage to the King, - And hold a silent, grudging tongue? - - Lord, I found many a song to sing, - And many a humble hymn of praise - For Thy great Miracle of Spring, - The wonder of the waxing days. - - When I beheld Thy days and years, - Did I not sing Thy pleasant earth? - The moons of love, the years of tears, - The mysteries of death and birth? - - Have I not sung with all my soul - While soul and song were mine to yield, - Thy lightning crown, Thy cloud-control, - The dewy clover of Thy field? - - Have I not loved Thy birds and beasts, - Thy streams and woods, Thy sun and shade; - Have I not made me holy feasts - Of all the beauty Thou hast made? - - What though my tear-tired eyes, alas! - Won never grace Thy face to see? - I heard Thy footstep on the grass, - Thy voice in every wind-blown tree. - - No music now I make or win, - Yet, Lord, remember I have been - The lover of Thy world, wherein - I found nought common or unclean. - - Grown old and blind, I sing no more, - Thy saints in heaven sing sweet and strong, - Yet take the songs I made of yore - For echoes to Thy birthday song. - - - - -ABSOLUTION - - - Unbind thine eyes, with thine own soul confer, - Look on the sins that made thy life unclean, - Behold how poor thy vaunted virtues were, - How weak thy faith, thy deeds how small and mean, - How far from thy high dreams thy life hath been, - How poor thy use of all thou hast received, - How little of all God’s glory thou hast seen, - How misconstrued that which thou hast perceived. - - Turn not thine eyes away from thine unworth, - The cup of shame drink to the bitter lees; - And when thou art lowerèd to the least on earth, - And in the dust makest common cause with these, - Then shall kind arms enfold thee, bringing peace, - The Earth, thy Mother, shall assuage thy pain, - Her woods and fields, Her quiet streams and seas - Shall touch thy soul, and make thee whole again. - - But if thy heart holds fast one secret sin, - If one vile script thy soul shrinks to erase, - The mighty Mother cannot bring thee in - Unto the happy, holy, healing place; - But thou shalt weep in darkness, out of grace, - And miss the light of beauty undefiled; - For he who would behold Her, face to face, - Must be in spirit as a little child. - - * * * * * - - -NOW BEING PUBLISHED - -The New Popular Edition - -OF THE - -Works of -George Meredith - -_Crown 8vo, 6s. each._ - -With Frontispieces by BERNARD PARTRIDGE, HARRISON MILLER, and others. - - THE ORDEAL OF RICHARD FEVEREL - EVAN HARRINGTON - SANDRA BELLONI - VITTORIA - RHODA FLEMING - THE ADVENTURES OF HARRY RICHMOND - BEAUCHAMP’S CAREER - THE EGOIST - DIANA OF THE CROSSWAYS - ONE OF OUR CONQUERORS - LORD ORMONT AND HIS AMINTA - THE AMAZING MARRIAGE - THE SHAVING OF SHAGPAT - THE TRAGIC COMEDIANS - SHORT STORIES - SELECTED POEMS - - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -In the Tideway - -By FLORA ANNIE STEEL - -(_Author of “Miss Stuart’s Legacy,” “On the Face of the -Waters,” etc._) - -6_s._ - - - “One has grown accustomed to the association of Mrs. Steel’s name - with novels which deal exclusively with Indians and Anglo-Indians. - Such powerful and remarkable books as ‘The Potter’s Thumb’ and ‘On - the Face of the Waters,’ point to a specialism which is becoming - one of the salient features of modern fiction; but ‘In the - Tideway,’ although dealing entirely with England and Scotland, - presents the same keen and unerring grasp of character, the same - faculty of conveying local atmosphere and colour, the same talent - for creating strong and dramatic situations, and the same - originality of thought and expression.... It is too late in the day - to speak of Mrs. Steel’s position. This is assured, but _this book - adds greatly to an established position_. _It is profoundly - impressive._” - - “Wonderfully bright and lively both in dialogue and - incidents.”--_Scotsman._ - - - “Admirably written.”--_Glasgow Herald._ - - “The story is beyond question powerful. The characters are - life-like and the dialogue is bright and natural.”--_Manchester - Guardian._ - - “As it is, the book is a sheer triumph of skill, one degree perhaps - less valuable than a fully conceived presentation of the actual, - but none the less admirable within its limits. There is care shown - in every character.... But the real art, perhaps, lies less in the - sequence of events or the portrayal of character, than in just this - subtle suggestion everywhere of the abiding causeless mystery of - land and sea.”--_Academy._ - - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -_PRICE SIX SHILLINGS_ - -Dracula - -BY BRAM STOKER - -“One of the most enthralling and unique romances ever written.”--_The -Christian World._ - - “The very weirdest of weird tales.”--_Punch._ - - “Its fascination is so great that it is impossible to lay it - aside.”--_The Lady._ - - “It holds us enthralled.”--_The Literary World._ - - “The idea is so novel that one gasps, as it were, at its - originality. A romance far above the ordinary production.”--_St. - Paul’s._ - - “Much loving and happy human nature, much heroism, much - faithfulness, much dauntless hope, so that as one phantasmal - ghastliness follows another in horrid swift succession the reader - is always accompanied by images of devotion and - friendliness.”--_Liverpool Daily Post._ - - “A most fascinating narrative.”--_Dublin Evening Herald._ - - “While it will thrill the reader, it will fascinate him too much to - put it down till he has finished it.”--_Bristol Mercury._ - - “It is just one of those books which will inevitably be widely read - and talked about.”--_Lincoln Mercury._ - - “A preternatural story of singular power. The book is bound to be a - success.”--_Dublin Freeman’s Journal._ - - “The characters are limned in a striking manner.”--_Manchester - Courier._ - - “A decidedly able as exceptionally interesting and dramatically - told story.”--_Sheffield Telegraph._ - - “We strongly recommend all readers of a sensitive nature or weak - nerves to abstain from following the diabolic adventures of Count - Dracula.”--_Sheffield Independent._ - - “Arrests and holds the attention by virtue of new ideas, treated in - an uncommon style. Throughout the book there is not a dull - passage.”--_Shrewsbury Chronicle._ - - “Singularly entertaining.”--_Birmingham Daily Mail._ - - “Fascinates the imagination and keeps the reader - chained.”--_Western Times_ (Exeter). - - “We commend it to the attention of readers who like their literary - fare strong, and at the same time healthy.”--_Oban Times._ - - “The most original work of fiction in this almost barren - season.”--_Black and White._ - - “We read it with a fascination which was - irresistible.”--_Birmingham Gazette._ - - “The spell of the book, while one is reading it, is simply - perfect.”--_Woman._ - - “The most blood-curdling novel of the paralysed - century.”--_Gloucester Journal._ - - “The sensation of the season.”--_Weekly Liverpool Courier._ - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -The Folly of Pen Harrington - -By JULIAN STURGIS. 6_s._ - -“Decidedly to be recommended as light and lively reading.”--_Manchester -Guardian._ - -“Very pleasant reading indeed.”--_Glasgow Herald._ - -“The tale throughout is fascinating.”--_Dundee Advertiser._ - -“A thoroughly entertaining story.”--_Daily Telegraph._ - -“Bright, piquant and thoroughly entertaining.”--_The World._ - -“A clever and brightly-written novel.”--_Black and White._ - -“Will hold its own with any work of the same class that has appeared -during the last half-dozen years.”--_The Speaker._ - - -Green Fire: A Story of the Western Islands - -By FIONA MACLEOD, - -_Author of “The Sin Eater,” “Pharais,” “The Mountain Lovers,” etc._ -_Crown 8vo, 6s._ - -“There are few in whose hands the pure threads have been so skilfully -and delicately woven as they have in Fiona Macleod’s.”--_Pall Mall -Gazette._ - - -The Laughter of Peterkin - -A Re-telling of Old Stories of the Celtic Wonderworld. - -By FIONA MACLEOD. - -_Crown 8vo, 6s. Illustrated._ - -A book for young and old. - - -Odd Stories - -By FRANCES FORBES ROBERTSON. - -_Crown 8vo, 6s._ - - -The Dark Way of Love - -_From the French of M. Charles le Goffic._ - -Translated by E. WINGATE RINDER. - - -Some Observations of a Foster Parent - -By JOHN CHARLES TARVER. - -_Crown 8vo, 6s._ - -“If there were more schoolmasters of the class to which Mr. Tarver -evidently belongs, schoolmasters would be held in greater honour by -those who have suffered at their hands. His ‘Observations of a Foster -Parent’ are excellent reading; we hope they will reach the British -parent. He may be assured the book is never dull.”--_Glasgow Herald._ - -“A series of readable and discursive essays on Education. The book -deserves to be read.”--_Manchester Guardian._ - -“The book is one which all parents should diligently read.”--_Daily -Mail._ - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -The Amazing Marriage - -BY GEORGE MEREDITH - -_Crown 8vo, 6s._ - -“To say that Mr. Meredith is at his best in ‘The Amazing Marriage’ is to -say that he has given us a masterpiece.”--_Daily News._ - -“Mr. Meredith belongs to the great school of writers of whom -Aristophanes, Rabelais, Montaigne, Fielding, are some of the most -splendid examples. Mr. Meredith’s style is not ... so obscure as it is -often represented to be.”--_Athenæum._ - -“Carinthia will take her place ... in the long gallery of those -Meredithian women whom all literary Europe delights to honour.”--_Daily -Chronicle._ - -“By George Meredith! Those three words have a welcome sound for -reviewers.”--_Literary World._ - -“We have said enough to show that Mr. Meredith’s plot is excellently -conceived and excellently carried out.”--_Standard._ - -“Most novels are merely dramas with padded stage directions. Mr. -Meredith’s, everybody knows, are otherwise. His novels are always human -life....”--_The Star._ - -“Wholly delightful.”--_Black and White._ - -“This is a book in which, to use Mr. Meredith’s own expression, you jump -to his meaning.”--_Westminster Gazette._ - -“The book is full of wise, deep, and brilliant things.”--_Scotsman._ - -“This latest example of Mr. Meredith’s quality is marked by observation, -wit, and variegated fancy enough to deck out a gross of novels of the -average sort.”--_Morning Post._ - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -London City Churches - -BY - -A. E. DANIELL - -WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS BY - -LEONARD MARTIN - -WITH A MAP SHOWING THE POSITION OF EACH CHURCH - -_Imperial 16mo, 6s._ - -The intention of this book is to present to the public a concise account -of each of the churches of the City of London. If any reader should be -induced to explore for himself these very interesting, but little known -buildings, wherein he cannot fail to find ample to reward him for his -pains, the object of the writer will have been attained. - -This volume is profusely illustrated from drawings specially made by Mr. -Leonard Martin, and from photographs which have been prepared expressly -for this work. - - “The author of this book knows the City churches one and all, and - has studied their monuments and archives with the patient reverence - of the true antiquary, and, armed with the pen instead of the - chisel, he has done his best to give permanent record to their - claims on the nation, as well as on the man in the street.”--_Leeds - Mercury._ - - “His interesting text is accompanied by numerous illustrations, - many of them full-page, and altogether his book is one which has - every claim to a warm welcome from those who have a taste for - ecclesiastical archæology.”--_Glasgow Herald._ - - “This is an interesting and descriptive account of the various - churches still extant in London, and is illustrated by several - excellent photographs.... His work will be of value to the - antiquarian, and of interest to the casual observer.”--_Western - Morning News._ - - “Mr. Daniell’s work will prove very interesting reading, as he has - evidently taken great care in obtaining all the facts concerning - the City churches, their history and associations.”--_London._ - - “The illustrations to this book are good, and it deserves to be - widely read.”--_Morning Post._ - - -ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO -2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -_Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d._ - -The Shoulder of Shasta - -BY BRAM STOKER - -_Author of_ “_Dracula_.” - -“Will be one of the most popular romances, in one volume, of the season -now opening. It is chiefly remarkable for the very marked and superior -descriptive power displayed by the author in his rich and inspiring -picture of the scenery of the Shasta Mountain.... So entirely -unconventional, humorous, and bizarre, as to be quite unique.... The -composition is bold and lucid.... He is an accomplished artist, and -shows here at his best.... Mr. Bram Stoker will add widely to his -reputation by this.”--_Irish Times._ - -“A pure and well-told story.”--_Glasgow Herald._ - -“The story is charmingly written, and deserves to be read for its -brilliant open-air passages, and the portrait it contains of Grizzly -Dick.”--_Daily News._ - -“Mr. Bram Stoker has given the reading world one of the breeziest and -most picturesque tales of life on the Pacific slope that has been penned -for many a long day.”--_Daily Telegraph._ - -“Mr. Stoker seems quite at home in picturing the wild beauty of -Californian scenery.... ‘The Shoulder of Shasta’ is eminently fresh and -readable.”--_Globe._ - -“It is a capital story.”--_Bristol Times and Mirror._ - -“The story is gracefully conceived, and wrought out with considerable -skill.... A readable and entertaining work.”--_Scotsman._ - -“‘The Shoulder of Shasta’ may fairly be classed among the books to be -read and enjoyed.”--_Yorkshire Post._ - -“A pleasant story of life in Western America.... Fresh and -unconventional.”--_Publishers’ Circular._ - -“Mr. Bram Stoker’s new book is a peculiarly bright and breezy story of -Californian life.... There is nothing laboured in this description, no -straining after undue effect.... The language is simple, yet the effect -is always satisfying, and the word-picture is complete.”--_Liverpool -Daily Post._ - -“The narrative is entertaining throughout, with eloquent descriptions of -scenery.”--_Academy._ - -“Mr. Bram Stoker’s story is unflagging, full of vigour, and capital -reading from end to end; moreover, it conveys a vivid picture of life -and manners in a corner of the world better known to him than to the -majority of those who will read his book.”--_Standard._ - -The Fortune of a Spendthrift - -AND OTHER ITEMS - -BY R. ANDOM - -_Author of “We Three and Troddles,” “The Strange Adventures of Roger -Wilkins,” etc., etc._ - -AND - -FRED HAREWOOD - -“Lightly, briskly, and pleasantly written.”--_Scotsman._ - -“The adventures of a spendthrift, which form the principal feature of -the book, are related with so much dramatic force that any -improbabilities of the plot are forgotten in the reader’s eagerness to -learn the _dénouement_.... Treated with freshness in a pleasant, graphic -style, and a lively interest is cleverly sustained.... They are all told -with spirit and vivacity, and show no little skill in their descriptive -passages.”--_Literary World._ - -“A collection of brightly-written short stories, well adapted for a -holiday afternoon.”--_Globe._ - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -Dracula - -By BRAM STOKER. _Price Six Shillings._ - -“The reader hurries on breathless from the first page to the last, -afraid to miss a single word.”--_Daily Telegraph._ - -“Unquestionably a striking example of imaginative power.”--_Morning -Post._ - -“The most daring venture into the supernatural I have ever come -across.”--_Truth._ - -“One of the best things in the supernatural line that we have been lucky -enough to hit upon.”--_Pall Mall Gazette._ - -“A story of very real power.”--_The Speaker._ - -“One of the weirdest romances of late years.”--_Lloyd’s Newspaper._ - -“We have never read any work which so powerfully affected the -imagination.”--_North British Daily Mail._ - -“Interesting almost to fascination.”--_Gloucester Journal._ - -“An exciting story from beginning to end.”--_The Newsagent._ - -“Told in a way to hold the reader spell-bound.”--_Sunderland Weekly -Echo._ - -“Contains many passages of rare power and beauty.”--_Dundee Advertiser._ - -“Will remain unique amongst the terrors which paralyse our nerves at -bedtime.”--_Daily Chronicle._ - -“The story is indeed a strange and fascinating one.”--_Northern Whig._ - -“I soon became horribly enthralled, and could not choose but read -on--on--until the lights burned blue and my blood ran cold.”--_The -Referee._ - -“No other writer of the day could have produced so marvellous a -book.”--_The British Weekly._ - -“The new wild and weird ‘Vampire’ story.”--_The Morning._ - -_An Indian Story._ - -His Majesty’s Greatest Subject - -A NOVEL. 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We cannot think of what we have read as a fiction; it reads -like a piece of sincere autobiography, as absolutely frank as that of -Samuel Pepys; and though it is constructed with more art--a very -delicate art--we have no consciousness of this as we read, only when we -lay the volume aside and begin to think about it.... In all it aims at -the story is absolutely perfect.”--_Birmingham Daily Post._ - -“We may frankly say that this little volume is quite the strongest that -has recently been written on the burning question of the relations of -the sexes.”--_Manchester Guardian._ - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -Hans van Donder - -A Romance of Boer Life. - -By CHARLES MONTAGUE, Author of “The Vigil.” - -_Fcap. 8vo, 2s. 6d._ - -“Mr. Montague has written another charming romance.”--_Scotsman._ - -“Admirably told. 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PHILLIPS - -_1s. net._ - -“In brief--direct and forcible.”--_Literary World._ - -The Parasite BY CONAN DOYLE - -_1s. net._ - -ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO -2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -“The Game of Polo” - -By T. F. DALE - -(“_Stoneclink_” _of_ “_The Field_”) - -Illustrated by LILLIAN SMYTHE, CUTHBERT BRADLEY, and CRAWFORD WOOD; and a -Photogravure Portrait of Mr. JOHN WATSON. - -_Demy 8vo. One Guinea net._ - -“Likely to rank as the standard work on the subject.”--_Morning Post._ - -“What the author does not know about it is not knowledge.”--_Pall Mall -Gazette._ - -“Will doubtless be of great use to beginners.”--_Illustrated Sporting -and Dramatic._ - -“A charming addition to the library of those who are devoted to the -game.”--_The Globe._ - -The Art and Pastime of Cycling - -By R. J. MACREDY AND A. J. WILSON - -New Edition, and in a large measure rewritten. Profusely illustrated. - -_Cloth, 1s. 6d. Paper Cover, 1s._ - -“One of the most complete books on Cycling--deals with every phase of -the noble Sport.”--_Cycle and Camera._ - -“An eminently useful handbook.”--_South Africa._ - -“Full of information.”--_Scotsman._ - -“A great fund of useful and practical information.”--_The Field._ - -“The Fourth Edition of this book, and better than ever.... No cyclist’s -library is complete without it.”--_Bicycling News._ - -With Plumer in Matabeleland - -By FRANK W. SYKES - -_With numerous Illustrations in the text, and 35 Full-page Plates and Two -Maps. Demy 8vo, 15s. net._ - -“Operations of the Force during the Rebellion of 1896 are described in -great detail, and in a very interesting fashion.”--_Financial Times._ - -“Mr. Sykes served as a trooper in the M.R.F., and depicts with much -point and piquancy the life of the rank and file of that corps as it -presented itself to him throughout the campaign. Still more delightful -is the racy vein in which the humours of the situation are recounted. -Mr. Sykes’ narrative of ‘Massacres and Escapes’ is a noble record. Many -incidents not hitherto mentioned of pluck and heroism are alluded to. -_His book is one of the best of its class we have yet had the pleasure -of reviewing._”--_South Africa._ - -“The chapter on the Religion of the Matabele is well worth reading, so -from first page to last is Mr. Sykes’ book.”--_Daily News._ - -“The best illustrated and most generally interesting volume.... Frank, -catholic, fearless, and generous. I congratulate him, and also his -assistants on a notable volume.”--_African Critic._ - -Imperial Defence - -By Sir CHARLES DILKE and SPENSER WILKINSON - -New and Revised Edition. _2s. 6d._ - -“To urge our countrymen to prepare, whilst there is yet time, for a -defence that is required alike by interest, honour, and duty, and by the -best traditions of the nation’s history.”--_Daily Mail._ - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -The Paston Letters, - -1422-1509 - -EDITED BY JAMES GAIRDNER - -OF THE PUBLIC RECORD OFFICE - -_3 Vols. Fcap. 8vo. With 3 Photogravure Frontispieces, -cloth gilt extra, or paper label uncut, 16s. net._ - -These letters are the genuine correspondence of a family in Norfolk -during the Wars of the Roses. As such, they are altogether unique in -character; yet the language is not so antiquated as to present any -serious difficulty to the modern reader. The topics of the letters -relate partly to the private affairs of the family, and partly to the -stirring events of the time: and the correspondence includes State -papers, love letters, bailiff’s accounts, sentimental poems, jocular -epistles, etc. - - “This edition, which was first published some twenty years ago, is - the standard edition of these remarkable historical documents, and - contains upward of four hundred letters in addition to those - published by Frere in 1823. The reprint is in three small and - compact volumes, and should be welcome to students of history as - giving an important work in a convenient form.”--_Scotsman._ - - “Unquestionably the standard edition of these curious literary - relics of an age so long ago that the writers speak of the battles - between the contending forces of York and Lancaster as occurrences - of the moment.”--_Daily News._ - - “One of the monuments of English historical scholarship that needs - no commendation.”--_Manchester Guardian._ - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -Boswell’s Life of Johnson - -EDITED BY AUGUSTINE BIRRELL. - -WITH FRONTISPIECES BY ALEX ANSTED, A REPRODUCTION OF -SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS’ PORTRAIT. - -_Six Volumes. Foolscap 8vo. Cloth, paper label, or gilt extra, 2s. net -per Volume. Also half morocco, 3s. net per Volume. Sold in Sets only._ - -“Far and away the best Boswell, I should say, for the ordinary -book-lover now on the market.”--_Illustrated London News._ - -“ ... We have good reason to be thankful for an edition of a very useful -and attractive kind.”--_Spectator._ - -“The volumes, which are light, and so well bound that they open easily -anywhere, are exceedingly pleasant to handle and read.”--_St. James’s -Budget._ - -“This undertaking of the publishers ought to be certain of -success.”--_The Bookseller._ - -“Read him at once if you have hitherto refrained from that exhilarating -and most varied entertainment; or, have you read him?--then read him -again.”--_The Speaker._ - -“Constable’s edition will long remain the best both for the general -reader and the scholar.”--_Review of Reviews._ - -_In 48 Volumes_ - -CONSTABLE’S REPRINT - -OF - -The Waverley Novels - -THE FAVOURITE EDITION OF - -SIR WALTER SCOTT. - -With all the original Plates and Vignettes (Re-engraved). In 48 Vols. - -_Foolscap 8vo. Cloth, paper label title, 1s. 6d. net per Volume, or £3 12s. -the Set. Also cloth gilt, gilt top, 2s. net per Volume, or -£4 16s. the Set; and half leather gilt, 2s. 6d. net per Volume, or -£6 the Set._ - -“A delightful reprint. The price is lower than that of many inferior -editions.”--_Athenæum._ - -“The excellence of the print, and the convenient size of the volumes, -and the association of this edition with Sir Walter Scott himself, -should combine with so moderate a price to secure for this reprint a -popularity as great as that which the original editions long and fully -enjoyed with former generations of readers.”--_The Times._ - -“This is one of the most charming editions of the Waverley Novels that -we know, as well as one of the cheapest in the market.”--_Glasgow -Herald._ - -“Very attractive reprints.”--_The Speaker._ - -“ ... Messrs. Constable & Co. have done good service to the reading -world in reprinting them.”--_Daily Chronicle._ - -“The set presents a magnificent appearance on the bookshelf.”--_Black -and White._ - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -The Nation’s Awakening - -By SPENSER WILKINSON - -_Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d._ - -“The essence of true policy for Britain, the policy of common-sense, -lies, according to Mr. Wilkinson, in choosing for assertion and for -active defence those points in the extensive fringe of our world-wide -interests, and those moments of time at which our self-defence will -coincide with the self-defence of the world. This idea he works out in a -clever and vigorous fashion.”--_Glasgow Herald._ - -“He elaborates his views in four ‘books,’ dealing respectively with the -aims of the other Great Powers, the defence of British interests, the -organization of the Government, and ‘the idea of the nation,’ ... he -deprecates a policy of isolation, and advocates a closer alliance with -Germany.”--_Scotsman._ - -“We consider Mr. Wilkinson completely proves his case. We agree ... that -Mr. Spenser Wilkinson must make all men think. We welcome the volume, as -we have welcomed previous volumes from Mr. Wilkinson’s pen, as of the -highest value towards the formation of a national policy, of which we -never stood in greater need.”--_Athenæum._ - -“These essays show a wide knowledge of international -politics.”--_Morning Post._ - -BY THE SAME AUTHOR - - -The Volunteers and the National Defence - -_Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d._ - - -The Brain of an Army - -_Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d._ - - -The Command of the Sea - -_Crown 8vo, paper, 1s._ - -The Brain of the Navy - -_Crown 8vo, paper, 1s._ - -ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO -2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -_At all Booksellers and Bookstalls._ - -NEW AND CHEAPER EDITION, - -REVISED AND BROUGHT UP TO DATE, - -WITH A NEW CHAPTER ON THE LATE -WAR IN THE EAST. - -Problems of the Far East - -Japan--Corea--China - -BY THE - -Rt. Hon. GEORGE N. CURZON, M.P. - -_With numerous Illustrations and Maps. Extra Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d._ - -“Certainly the influence of Mr. Curzon’s thoughtful generalizations, -based as they are upon wide knowledge, and expressed in clear and -picturesque language, cannot fail to assist in solving the problems of -the Far East.”--_Manchester Courier._ - -“We dealt so fully with the other contents of Mr. Curzon’s volume at the -time of first publication, that it is only necessary to say that the -extreme interest and importance of them is enhanced by recent events, -and the light of which they are revised.”--_Glasgow Herald._ - -“Any one who desires to know anything of Japan, Corea, and China, will -employ time profitably in becoming acquainted with Mr. Curzon’s book. -The book is thoughtfully and carefully written, and the writer’s -well-known abilities, both as a traveller and a statesman, lend weight -to his words, while the fact that it is already in its fourth edition -shows that the public realize its value.”--_Belfast News Letter._ - -“All who have read the volume will admit that it is a valuable addition -to the literature dealing with the problems of the Far East.”--_Morning -Post._ - -“His impressions of travel, confirmed by a study of the best -authorities, are interesting and well written.”--_Manchester Guardian._ - -“‘Problems of the Far East’ is most informing, and deserves to be widely -read.”--_Liverpool Mercury._ - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -English Illustration. “The Sixties”: 1855-70. -By GLEESON WHITE. _Price £2 2s. net._ - -_With Numerous Illustrations by_ Sir E. BURNE-JONES; FORD MADOX BROWN; -BIRKET FOSTER; A. BOYD HOUGHTON; ARTHUR HUGHES; CHAS. KEENE; LORD -LEIGHTON, P.R.A.; G. DU MAURIER; Sir J. E. MILLAIS, P.R.A.; J. W. NORTH; -E. J. POYNTER, R.A.; D. G. ROSSETTI; FREDERICK SANDYS; J. MCNEILL -WHISTLER; FREDERICK WALKER, A.R.A.; and others. - - “Mr. Gleeson White has done his work well.... It is a book of - beauty in one of its aspects, and an instructive and well-written - critical treatise in the other.”--DAILY NEWS. - - “In this very handsome volume Mr. Gleeson White has given us what - is practically an exhaustive account of the admirable results - obtained by designers and wood-engravers during the eventful years - that lie between say 1855 and 1870.... Simply invaluable to all - students and collectors....”--_Glasgow Herald._ - - “ ... This sumptuous volume, which Messrs. Constable have printed - with their familiar mastery, and to which have been added the - glories of hand-made paper and beautiful binding. With - characteristic modesty Mr. Gleeson White would claim but the - cataloguer’s place, and would write himself down only the guide to - those who must follow. Certainly in the first instance the volume - is a monument of painstaking research.... But a careful reading - conveys the sense that the historians’ and critics’ parts belong - not less to Mr. Gleeson White. The book, in short, must be in the - hands of all who care for English art. Even those to whom the names - on its title-page are nothing but names, will find it a surprising - picture book, an album, if you will, to lay upon the table, but an - album rich in suggestion and of singular and subtle charm.”--_Pall - Mall Gazette._ - - “We recognise the magnitude of the task undertaken by Mr. Gleeson - White, as well as the care, patience, and learning that he has - bestowed upon its adequate execution. For the printing, binding, - arrangement of illustrations, and spacing of pages, we have nothing - but praise to offer.”--_Manchester Guardian._ - - “Mr. Gleeson White has written a work worthy of a foremost place - among the standard reference books on matters artistic. Messrs. - Constable have produced the book in a truly sumptuous - manner.”--_Publisher’s Circular._ - -The Household of the Lafayettes. By -EDITH SICHEL. _Illustrated. Demy 8vo. 15s. net._ - - -Songs for Little People. By NORMAN GALE. - -_Profusely Illustrated by_ HELEN STRATTON. _Large Crown 8vo, 6s._ - - “A delightful book.”--_Scotsman._ - - “We cannot imagine anything more appropriate as a gift-book for - children.”--_Glasgow Daily Mail._ - - “This book, in truth, is one of the most tasteful things of its - kind.”--_Whitehall Review._ - - “Mr. Norman Gale is to be congratulated.”--_Black and White._ - - “A delightful book in every way.”--_Academy._ - -The Selected Poems of GEORGE MEREDITH. - -_Crown 8vo. 6s._ - - -New Poems. By FRANCIS THOMPSON. _Fcap. -8vo., 6s. net._ - - “The first thing to be done, and by far the most important, is to - recognise and declare that we are here face to face with a poet of - the first order, a man of imagination all compact, a seer and - singer of rare genius.”--_Daily Chronicle._ - - “It confers a literary distinction upon the 60th year of the - Victorian Era, and it gives the annus mirabilis yet a new title to - memory.”--_Newcastle Daily Chronicle._ - - “A true poet.... At any rate here unquestionably is a new poet, a - wielder of beautiful words, a lover of beautiful things.’--I. - ZANGWILL, in the _Cosmopolitan_, Sept., 1895. - - “At least one book of poetry has been published this year that we - can hand on confidently to other generations. It is not incautious - to prophesy that Mr. Francis Thompson’s poems will - last.”--S_ketch._ - - “Mr. Thompson’s is the essential poetry of essential - Christianity.”--_Academy._ - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - - * * * * * - -CONSTABLE’S - -Hand Atlas of India - -A NEW SERIES of Sixty Maps and Plans -prepared from Ordnance and other Surveys -under the direction of - -J. G. BARTHOLOMEW, F.R.G.S., -F.R.S.E., &c. - - -_In half morocco, or full bound cloth, gilt top, 14s._ - -This Atlas is the first publication of its kind, and for tourists and -travellers generally it will be found particularly useful. There are -Twenty-two Plans of the principal towns of our Indian Empire, based on -the most recent surveys, and officially revised to date in India. - -The Topographical Section Maps are an accurate reduction of the Survey -of India, and contain all the places described in Sir W. W. Hunter’s -“Gazetteer of India,” according to his spelling. - -The Military, Railway, Telegraph, and Mission Station Maps are designed -to meet the requirements of the Military and Civil Service, also -missionaries and business men who at present have no means of obtaining -the information they require in a handy form. - -The index contains upwards of ten thousand names, and will be found more -complete than any yet attempted on a similar scale. - -Further to increase the utility of the work as a reference volume, an -abstract of the 1891 Census has been added. - - “It is tolerably safe to predict that no sensible traveller will go - to India in future without providing himself with ‘Constable’s Hand - Atlas of India.’ Nothing half so useful has been done for many - years to help both the traveller in India and the student at home. - ‘Constable’s Hand Atlas’ is a pleasure to hold and to turn - over.”--_Athenæum._ - - ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO - 2 WHITEHALL GARDENS WESTMINSTER - -_Butler & Tanner._] - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Songs of love and empire, by Edith Nesbit - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS OF LOVE AND EMPIRE *** - -***** This file should be named 50162-0.txt or 50162-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/1/6/50162/ - -Produced by Suzanne Shell, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -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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