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diff --git a/old/52898-0.txt b/old/52898-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9eefc29..0000000 --- a/old/52898-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3739 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Magic House and Other Poems, by Duncan Campbell Scott - -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: The Magic House and Other Poems - -Author: Duncan Campbell Scott - -Release Date: August 25, 2016 [EBook #52898] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAGIC HOUSE AND OTHER POEMS *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from scanned images of public domain -material from the Google Books project.) - - - - - - - - - - THE MAGIC HOUSE - - - - - THE MAGIC HOUSE - - AND OTHER POEMS - - BY - - DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT - - [Illustration: colophon] - - METHUEN AND CO. - 18 BURY STREET, W.C. - LONDON - 1893 - - - Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty - - - - - TO - - MY MOTHER - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -A LITTLE SONG - -The sunset in the rosy west, 1 - -THE HILL PATH - -Are the little breezes blind, 2 - -THE VOICE AND THE DUSK - -The slender moon and one pale star, 5 - -FOR REMEMBRANCE - -It would be sweet to think when we are old, 7 - -THE MESSAGE - -Wind of the gentle summer night, 8 - -THE SILENCE OF LOVE - -My heart would need the earth, 10 - -AN IMPROMPTU - -The stars are in the ebon sky, 11 - -FROM THE FARM ON THE HILL - -The night wind moves the gloom, 13 - -AT SCARBORO’ BEACH - -The wave is over the foaming reef, 15 - -THE FIFTEENTH OF APRIL - -Pallid saffron glows the broken stubble, 17 - -IN AN OLD QUARRY - -Above the lifeless pools the mist films swim, 19 - -TO WINTER - -Come, O thou conqueror of the flying year, 20 - -TO WINTER - -Come, O thou season of intense repose, 21 - -THE IDEAL - -Let your soul grow a thing apart, 22 - -A SUMMER STORM - -Last night a storm fell on the world, 23 - -LIFE AND DEATH - -I thought of death beside the lonely sea, 25 - -IN THE COUNTRY CHURCHYARD - -This is the acre of unfathomed rest, 26 - -SONG - -I have done, 32 - -THE MAGIC HOUSE - -In her chamber, wheresoe’er, 33 - -IN THE HOUSE OF DREAMS - -The lady Lillian knelt upon the sward, 36 - -THE RIVER TOWN - -There’s a town where shadows run, 38 - -OFF THE ISLE AUX COUDRES - -The moon, Capella, and the Pleiades, 40 - -AT LES EBOULEMENTS - -The bay is set with ashy sails, 41 - -ABOVE ST. IRÉNÉE - -I rested on the breezy height, 42 - -WRITTEN IN A. LAMPMAN’S POEMS - -When April moved in maiden guise, 45 - -OFF RIVIÈRE DU LOUP - -O ship incoming from the sea, 48 - -AT THE CEDARS - -You had two girls--Baptiste-- 50 - -THE END OF THE DAY - -I hear the bells at eventide, 54 - -THE REED-PLAYER - -By a dim shore where water darkening, 56 - -A FLOCK OF SHEEP - -Over the field the bright air clings and tingles, 58 - -A PORTRAIT - -All her hair is softly set, 60 - -AT THE LATTICE - -Good-night, Marie, I kiss thine eyes, 63 - -THE FIRST SNOW - -The field pools gathered into frosted lace, 64 - -IN NOVEMBER - -The ruddy sunset lies, 66 - -THE SLEEPER - -Touched with some divine repose, 68 - -A NIGHT IN JUNE - -The world is heated seven times, 70 - -MEMORY - -I see a schooner in the bay, 72 - -YOUTH AND TIME - -Move not so lightly, Time, away, 73 - -A MEMORY OF THE ‘INFERNO’ - -An hour before the dawn I dreamed of you, 74 - -LA BELLE FERONIÈRE, - -I never trod where Leonardo was, 75 - -A NOVEMBER DAY - -There are no clouds above the world, 76 - -OTTAWA - -City about whose brow the north winds blow, 78 - -SONG - -Here’s the last rose, 79 - -NIGHT AND THE PINES - -Here in the pine shade is the nest of night, 80 - -A NIGHT IN MARCH - -At eve the fiery sun went forth, 82 - -SEPTEMBER - -The morns are grey with haze and faintly cold, 86 - -BY THE WILLOW SPRING - -Come hither, Care, and look on this fair place, 87 - - - - -A LITTLE SONG - - - The sunset in the rosy west - Burned soft and high; - A shore-lark fell like a stone to his nest - In the waving rye. - - A wind came over the garden beds - From the dreamy lawn, - The pansies nodded their purple heads, - The poppies began to yawn. - - One pansy said: It is only sleep, - Only his gentle breath: - But a rose lay strewn in a snowy heap, - For the rose it was only death. - - Heigho, we’ve only one life to live, - And only one death to die: - Good-morrow, new world, have you nothing to give?-- - Good-bye, old world, good-bye. - - - - - THE HILL PATH - - TO H.D.S. - - - Are the little breezes blind, - They that push me as they pass? - Do they search the tangled grass - For some path they want to find? - Take my fingers, little wind; - You are all alone, and I - Am alone too. I will guide, - You will follow; let us go - By a pathway that I know, - Leading down the steep hillside, - Past the little sharp-lipped pools, - Shrunken with the summer sun, - Where the sparrows come to drink; - And we’ll scare the little birds, - Coming on them unawares; - And the daisies every one - We will startle on the brink - Of a doze. - (Gently, gently, little wind), - Very soon a wood we’ll see, - There my lover waits for me. - (Go more gently, little wind, - You should follow soft, behind.) - You will hear my lover say - How he loves me night and day, - But his words you must not tell - To the other little winds, - For they all might come to hear, - And might rustle through the wood, - And disturb the solitude. - (Blow more softly, little wind, - You are tossing all my hair, - Go more gently, have a care; - If you lead you can’t be blind, - So,--good-bye:) - There he goes: I see his feet - On the grass; - Now the little pools are blurred - As they pass; - And he must be very fleet, - For I see the bushes stirred - Near the wood. I hope he’ll tell, - If he isn’t out of breath, - That he met me on the hill. - But I hope he will not say - That he kissed me for good-bye - Just before he flew away. - - - - - THE VOICE AND THE DUSK - - - The slender moon and one pale star, - A rose-leaf and a silver bee - From some god’s garden blown afar, - Go down the gold deep tranquilly. - - Within the south there rolls and grows - A mighty town with tower and spire, - From a cloud bastion masked with rose - The lightning flashes diamond fire. - - The purple-martin darts about - The purlieus of the iris fen; - The king-bird rushes up and out, - He screams and whirls and screams again. - - A thrush is hidden in a maze - Of cedar buds and tamarac bloom, - He throws his rapid flexile phrase, - A flash of emeralds in the gloom. - - A voice is singing from the hill - A happy love of long ago; - Ah! tender voice, be still, be still, - ‘’Tis sometimes better not to know.’ - - The rapture from the amber height - Floats tremblingly along the plain, - Where in the reeds with fairy light - The lingering fireflies gleam again. - - Buried in dingles more remote, - Or drifted from some ferny rise, - The swooning of the golden throat - Drops in the mellow dusk and dies. - - A soft wind passes lightly drawn, - A wave leaps silverly and stirs - The rustling sedge, and then is gone - Down the black cavern in the firs. - - - - - FOR REMEMBRANCE - - - It would be sweet to think when we are old - Of all the pleasant days that came to pass, - That here we took the berries from the grass, - There charmed the bees with pans, and smoke unrolled, - And spread the melon nets when nights were cold, - Or pulled the blood-root in the underbrush, - And marked the ringing of the tawny thrush, - While all the west was broken burning gold. - - And so I bind with rhymes these memories; - As girls press pansies in the poet’s leaves - And find them afterwards with sweet surprise; - Or treasure petals mingled with perfume, - Loosing them in the days when April grieves,-- - A subtle summer in the rainy room. - - - - - THE MESSAGE - - - Wind of the gentle summer night, - Dwell in the lilac tree, - Sway the blossoms clustered light, - Then blow over to me. - - Wind, you are sometimes strong and great, - You frighten the ships at sea, - Now come floating your delicate freight - Out of the lilac tree. - - Wind, you must waver a gossamer sail - To ferry a scent so light, - Will you carry my love a message as frail - Through the hawk-haunted night? - - For my heart is sometimes strange and wild, - Bitter and bold and free, - I scare the beautiful timid child, - As you frighten the ships at sea; - - But now when the hawks are piercing the air, - With the golden stars above, - The only thing my heart can bear - Is a lilac message of love. - - Gentle wind, will you carry this - Up to her window white; - Give her a gentle tender kiss, - Bid her good-night--good-night. - - - - - THE SILENCE OF LOVE - - - My heart would need the earth, - My voice would need the sea, - To only tell the one half - How dear you are to me. - - And if I had the winds, - The stars and the planets as well, - I might tell the other half, - Or perhaps I would try to tell. - - - - - AN IMPROMPTU - - - The stars are in the ebon sky, - Burning, gold, alone; - The wind roars over the rolling earth, - Like water over a stone. - - We are like things in a river-bed - The stream runs over, - They see the iris, and arrowhead, - Anemone, and clover. - - But they cannot touch the shining things, - For all their strife, - For the strong river swirls and swings-- - And that is much like life. - - For life is a plunging and heavy stream, - And there’s something bright above; - But the ills of breathing only seem, - When we know the light is love. - - The stars are in the ebon sky, - Burning, gold, alone; - The wind roars over the rolling earth, - Like water over a stone. - - - - - FROM THE FARM ON THE HILL - - TO A.P.S. - - - The night wind moves the gloom - In the shadowy basswood; - Mysteriously the leaves sway and sing; - So slow, so tender is the wind, - The slender elm-tree - Is hardly stirred. - - The sky is veiled with clouds, - With diaphanous tissue; - Through their dissolving films - The stars shine, - But how infinitely removed; - How inaccessible! - - In the distant city - Under the obscure towers - The lights of watchers gleam; - From the dim fields - At intervals in the silence - A cuckoo utters - A distorted cry; - Through the low woods, - Haunted with vain melancholy, - A whip-poor-will wanders, - Forcing his monotonous song. - - All the ancient desire - Of the human spirit - Has returned upon me in this hour, - All the wild longing - That cannot be satisfied. - Break, O anguish of nature, - Into some glorious sound! - Let me touch the next circle of being, - For I have compassed this life. - - - - - AT SCARBORO’ BEACH - - - The wave is over the foaming reef - Leaping alive in the sun, - Seaward the opal sails are blown - Vanishing one by one. - - ’Tis leagues around the blue sea curve - To the sunny coast of Spain, - And the ships that sail so deftly out - May never come home again. - - A mist is wreathed round Richmond point, - There’s a shadow on the land, - But the sea is in the splendid sun, - Plunging so careless and grand. - - The sandpipers trip on the glassy beach, - Ready to mount and fly; - Whenever a ripple reaches their feet - They rise with a timorous cry. - - Take care, they pipe, take care, take care, - For this is the treacherous main, - And though you may sail so deftly out, - You may never come home again. - - - - - THE FIFTEENTH OF APRIL - - TO A.L. - - - Pallid saffron glows the broken stubble, - Brimmed with silver lie the ruts, - Purple the ploughed hill; - Down a sluice with break and bubble - Hollow falls the rill; - Falls and spreads and searches, - Where, beyond the wood, - Starts a group of silver birches, - Bursting into bud. - - Under Venus sings the vesper sparrow, - Down a path of rosy gold - Floats the slender moon; - Ringing from the rounded barrow - Rolls the robin’s tune; - Lighter than the robin; hark! - Quivering silver-strong - From the field a hidden shore-lark - Shakes his sparkling song. - - Now the dewy sounds begin to dwindle, - Dimmer grow the burnished rills, - Breezes creep and halt, - Soon the guardian night shall kindle - In the violet vault, - All the twinkling tapers - Touched with steady gold, - Burning through the lawny vapours - Where they float and fold. - - - - - IN AN OLD QUARRY - - NOVEMBER - - - Above the lifeless pools the mist films swim, - On the lowlands where sedges chaff and nod; - The withered fringes of the golden-rod - Hang frayed and formless at the quarry’s rim. - Filled with the wine of sunset to the brim, - These limestone pits are cups for the night god, - Set for his lips when he strays hither, shod - With shadows, all the stars following him. - And as gloom grows and deepens like a psalm, - This broken field which summer has passed by - Has caught the ultimate lethean calm, - The fabulous quiet of far Thessaly, - And though the land has lost the bloom and balm, - Nature is all content in liberty. - - - - - TO WINTER - - - Come, O thou conqueror of the flying year; - Come from thy fastness of the Arctic suns; - Mass on the purple waste and wide frontier - Thy wanish hosts and silver clarions. - - Then heap this sombre shoulder of the world - With shifting bastions; let thy storm winds blare; - Drift wide thy pallid gonfalon unfurled; - And arm with daggers all the desperate air. - - These are but raids in dreams, and friendly brawls; - Thou art a gentle giant that half sleeps, - And blusters grandly to his frozen thralls, - The more to charm them with the wealth he keeps: - - We hardly hear thy bluff and hearty word, - When over the first flower sings the first bird. - - - - - TO WINTER - - - Come, O thou season of intense repose; - Come with thy lidded eyes and crystal breath; - Come gently with thy soft release of snows; - And bring thy few short months of tender death. - - Build a huge tomb within the desert frore, - With green clear chambers in the icy rift, - Carve the sleep rune above the crystal door, - And trench a legend in the pallid drift. - - Let the large stars about the horizon lie, - Watching the confines of the world’s great sleep; - Spread the vast province of the purple sky, - With thy wan curtains dropped from deep to deep. - - Then hush the stir and bid the movement cease; - Pass gently, leave the tired world in peace. - - - - - THE IDEAL - - - Let your soul grow a thing apart, - Untroubled by the restless day, - Sublimed by some unconscious art, - Controlled by some divine delay. - - For life is greater than they think, - Who fret along its shallow bars: - Swing out the boom to float or sink - And front the ocean and the stars. - - - - - A SUMMER STORM - - - Last night a storm fell on the world - From heights of drouth and heat, - The surly clouds for weeks were furled, - The air could only sway and beat, - - The beetles clattered at the blind, - The hawks fell twanging from the sky, - The west unrolled a feathery wind, - And the night fell sullenly. - - The storm leaped roaring from its lair, - Like the shadow of doom, - The poignard lightning searched the air, - The thunder ripped the shattered gloom, - - The rain came down with a roar like fire, - Full-voiced and clamorous and deep, - The weary world had its heart’s desire, - And fell asleep. - - And now in the morning early, - The clouds are sailing by - Clearly, oh! so clearly, - The distant mountains lie. - - The wind is very mild and slow, - The clouds obey his will, - They part and part and onward go, - Travelling together still. - - ’Tis very sweet to be alive, - On a morning that’s so fair, - For nothing seems to stir or strive, - In the unconscious air. - - A tawny thrush is in the wood, - Ringing so wild and free; - Only one bird has a blither mood, - The white-throat on the tree. - - - - - LIFE AND DEATH - - - I thought of death beside the lonely sea, - That went beyond the limit of my sight, - Seeming the image of his mastery, - The semblance of his huge and gloomy might. - - But firm beneath the sea went the great earth, - With sober bulk and adamantine hold, - The water but a mantle for her girth, - That played about her splendour fold on fold. - - And life seemed like this dear familiar shore, - That stretched from the wet sands’ last wavy crease, - Beneath the sea’s remote and sombre roar, - To inland stillness and the wilds of peace. - - Death seems triumphant only here and there; - Life is the sovereign presence everywhere. - - - - - IN THE COUNTRY CHURCHYARD - - TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER - - - This is the acre of unfathomed rest, - These stones, with weed and lichen bound, enclose - No active grief, no uncompleted woes, - But only finished work and harboured quest, - And balm for ills; - And the last gold that smote the ashen west - Lies garnered here between the harvest hills. - - This spot has never known the heat of toil, - Save when the angel with the mighty spade - Has turned the sod and built the house of shade; - But here old chance is guardian of the soil; - Green leaf and grey, - The barrows blossom with the tangled spoil, - And God’s own weeds are fair in God’s own way. - - Sweet flowers may gather in the ferny wood: - Hepaticas, the morning stars of spring; - The bloodroots with their milder ministering, - Like planets in the lonelier solitude; - And that white throng, - Which shakes the dingles with a starry brood, - And tells the robin his forgotten song. - - These flowers may rise amid the dewy fern, - They may not root within this antique wall, - The dead have chosen for their coronal, - No buds that flaunt of life and flare and burn; - They have agreed, - To choose a beauty puritan and stern, - The universal grass, the homely weed. - - This is the paradise of common things, - The scourged and trampled here find peace to grow, - The frost to furrow and the wind to sow, - The mighty sun to time their blossomings; - And now they keep - A crown reflowering on the tombs of kings, - Who earned their triumph and have claimed their sleep. - - Yea, each is here a prince in his own right, - Who dwelt disguised amid the multitude, - And when his time was come, in haughty mood, - Shook off his motley and reclaimed his might; - His sombre throne - In the vast province of perpetual night, - He holds secure, inviolate, alone. - - The poor forgets that ever he was poor, - The priest has lost his science of the truth, - The maid her beauty, and the youth his youth, - The statesman has forgot his subtle lure, - The old his age, - The sick his suffering, and the leech his cure, - The poet his perplexed and vacant page. - - These swains that tilled the uplands in the sun - Have all forgot the field’s familiar face, - And lie content within this ancient place, - Whereto when hands were tired their thought would run - To dream of rest, - When the last furrow was turned down, and won - The last harsh harvest from the earth’s patient breast. - - O dwellers in the valley vast and fair, - I would that calling from your tranquil clime, - You make a truce for me with cruel time; - For I am weary of this eager care - That never dies; - I would be born into your tranquil air, - Your deserts crowned and sovereign silences. - - I would, but that the world is beautiful, - And I am more in love with the sliding years, - They have not brought me frantic joy or tears, - But only moderate state and temperate rule; - Not to forget - This quiet beauty, not to be Time’s fool, - I will be man a little longer yet. - - For lo, what beauty crowns the harvest hills!-- - The buckwheat acres gleam like silver shields; - The oats hang tarnished in the golden fields; - Between the elms the yellow wheat-land fills; - The apples drop - Within the orchard, where the red tree spills, - The fragrant fruitage over branch and prop. - - The cows go lowing through the lovely vale; - The clarion peacock warns the world of rain, - Perched on the barn a gaudy weather-vane; - The farm lad holloes from the shifted rail, - Along the grove - He beats a measure on his ringing pail, - And sings the heart-song of his early love. - - There is a honey scent along the air; - The hermit thrush has tuned his fleeting note. - Among the silver birches far remote - His spirit voice appeareth here and there, - To fail and fade, - A visionary cadence falling fair, - That lifts and lingers in the hollow shade. - - And now a spirit in the east, unseen, - Raises the moon above her misty eyes, - And travels up the veiled and starless skies, - Viewing the quietude of her demesne; - Stainless and slow, - I watch the lustre of her planet’s sheen, - From burnished gold to liquid silver flow. - - And now I leave the dead with you, O night; - You wear the semblance of their fathomless state, - For you we long when the day’s fire is great, - And when stern life is cruellest in his might, - Of death we dream: - A country of dim plain and shadowy height, - Crowned with strange stars and silences supreme: - - Rest here, for day is hot to follow you, - Rest here until the morning star has come, - Until is risen aloft dawn’s rosy dome, - Based deep on buried crimson into blue, - And morn’s desire - Has made the fragile cobweb drenched with dew - A net of opals veiled with dreamy fire. - - - - - SONG - - - I have done, - Put by the lute; - Songs and singing soon are over, - Soon as airy shades that hover - Up above the purple clover-- - I have done, put by the lute. - Once I sang as early thrushes - Sing about the dewy bushes, - Now I’m mute; - I am like a weary linnet, - For my throat has no song in it, - I have had my singing minute. - I have done, - Put by the lute. - - - - - THE MAGIC HOUSE - - - In her chamber, wheresoe’er - Time shall build the walls of it, - Melodies shall minister, - Mellow sounds shall flit - Through a dusk of musk and myrrh. - - Lingering in the spaces vague, - Like the breath within a flute, - Winds shall move along the stair; - When she walketh mute - Music meet shall greet her there. - - Time shall make a truce with Time, - All the languid dials tell - Irised hours of gossamer, - Eve perpetual - Shall the night or light defer. - - From her casement she shall see - Down a valley wild and dim, - Swart with woods of pine and fir; - Shall the sunsets swim - Red with untold gold to her. - - From her terrace she shall see - Lines of birds like dusky motes - Falling in the heated glare; - How an eagle floats - In the wan unconscious air. - - From her turret she shall see - Vision of a cloudy place, - Like a group of opal flowers - On the verge of space, - Or a town, or crown of towers. - - From her garden she shall hear - Fall the cones between the pines; - She shall seem to hear the sea, - Or behind the vines - Some small noise, a voice may be. - - But no thing shall habit there, - There no human foot shall fall, - No sweet word the silence stir, - Naught her name shall call, - Nothing come to comfort her. - - But about the middle night, - When the dusk is loathéd most, - Ancient thoughts and words long said, - Like an alien host, - There shall come unsummonéd. - - With her forehead on her wrist - She shall lean against the wall - And see all the dream go by; - In the interval - Time shall turn Eternity. - - But the agony shall pass-- - Fainting with unuttered prayer, - She shall see the world’s outlines - And the weary glare - And the bare unvaried pines. - - - - - IN THE HOUSE OF DREAMS - - - I - - The lady Lillian knelt upon the sward, - Between the arbour and the almond leaves; - Beyond, the barley gathered into sheaves; - A blade of gladiolus, like a sword, - Flamed fierce against the gold; and down toward - The limpid west, a pallid poplar wove - A spell of shadow; through the meadow drove - A deep unbroken brook without a ford. - - A fountain flung and poised a golden ball; - On the soft grass a frosted serpent lay, - With oval spots of opal over all; - Upon the basin’s edge within the spray, - Lulled by some craft of laughter in the fall, - An ancient crow dreamed hours and hours away. - - - II - - The lady watched the serpent and the crow - For days, then came a little naked lad, - And smote the serpent with a spear he had; - Then stooped and caught the coil, and straining slow, - Took the lithe weight upon his shoulder, so, - And tugged, but could not move the ponderous thing, - Then flushing red with rage, his spear did fling, - And cut the gladiolus at one blow. - - Then back he swung his flaming weapon high, - And smote the snake and called a magic name; - Then the whole garden vanished utterly, - And through a mist the lightning went and came, - And flooded all the caverns of the sky, - A rosy gulf of unimprisoned flame. - - - - - THE RIVER TOWN - - - There’s a town where shadows run - In the sparkle and the blue, - By the river and the sun - Swept and flooded thro’ and thro’. - - There the sailor trolls a song, - There the sea-gull dips her wing, - There the wind is clear and strong, - There the waters break and swing. - - But at night with leaden sweep - Come the clouds along the flood, - Lifting in the vaulted deep - Pinions of a giant brood. - - Charging by the slip, the whole - River rushes black and sheer, - There the great fish heave and roll - In the gloom beyond the pier. - - All the lonely hollow town - Towers above the windy quay, - And the ancient tide goes down - With its secret to the sea. - - - - - OFF THE ISLE AUX COUDRES - - - The moon, Capella, and the Pleiades - Silver the river’s grey uncertain floor; - Only a heron haunts the grassy shore; - A fox barks sharply in the cedar trees; - Then comes the lift and lull of plangent seas, - Swaying the light marish grasses more and more - Until they float, and the slow tide brims o’er, - And then a rivulet runs along the breeze. - - O night! thou art so beautiful, so strange, so sad; - I feel that sense of scope and ancientness, - Of all the mighty empires thou hast had - Dreaming of power beneath thy palace dome, - Of how thou art untouched by their distress, - Supreme above this dreaming land, my home. - - - - - AT LES EBOULEMENTS - - TO M. E. S. - - - The bay is set with ashy sails, - With purple shades that fade and flee, - And curling by in silver wales, - The tide is straining from the sea. - - The grassy points are slowly drowned, - The water laps and over-rolls, - The wicker pêche; with shallow sound - A light wave labours on the shoals. - - The crows are feeding in the foam, - They rise in crowds tumultuously, - ‘Come home,’ they cry, ‘come home, come home, - And leave the marshes to the sea.’ - - - - - ABOVE ST. IRÉNÉE - - - I rested on the breezy height, - In cooler shade and clearer air, - Beneath a maple tree; - Below, the mighty river took - Its sparkling shade and sheeny light - Down to the sombre sea, - And clustered by the leaping brook, - The roofs of white St. Irénée. - - The sapphire hills on either hand - Broke down upon the silver tide, - The river ran in streams, - In streams of mingled azure-grey, - With here a broken purple band, - And whorls of drab, and beams - Of shattered silver light astray, - Where far away the south shore gleams. - - I walked a mile along the height - Between the flowers upon the road, - Asters and golden-rod; - And in the gardens pinks and stocks, - And gaudy poppies shaking light, - And daisies blooming near the sod, - And lowly pansies set in flocks, - With purple monkshood overawed. - - And there I saw a little child - Between the tossing golden-rod, - Coming along to me; - She was a tender little thing, - So fragile-sweet, so Mary-mild, - I thought her name Marie; - No other name methought could cling - To any one so fair as she. - - And when we came at last to meet, - I spoke a simple word to her, - ‘Where are you going, Marie?’ - She answered and she did not smile, - - But oh! her voice,--her voice so sweet, - ‘Down to St. Irénée,’ - And so passed on to walk her mile, - And left the lonely road to me. - - And as the night came on apace, - With stars above the darkened hills, - I heard perpetually, - Chiming along the falling hours, - On the deep dusk that mellow phrase, - ‘Down to St. Irénée:’ - It seemed as if the stars and flowers - Should all go there with me. - - - - - WRITTEN IN A COPY OF ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN’S POEMS - - - When April moved in maiden guise - Hiding her sweet inviolate eyes, - You saw about the hazel roots, - Beyond the ruddy osier shoots, - The violets rise. - - At even, in the lower woods, - Amid the cedarn solitudes, - You heard afar amid the hush - The argent utterance of the thrush - In slower interludes. - - When bees above in arboured rooms - Were busy in the basswood blooms, - You drowsed within the sombre drone, - Dreaming, and deemed yourself alone, - Harboured in glooms. - - The singing of the sentient bees - Brought wisdom for perplexities; - They taught you all the murmured lore - Of seas around an ancient shore, - Of streams and trees. - - You saw the web of life unrolled, - Fold and inweave, weave and unfold, - Crimson and azure strand on strand, - From some great gulf in vision-land, - Deep and untold. - - And as the soft clouds opal-gray - Against the confines of the day - Seem lighter for the depth of skies, - So, lighter for your saddened eyes, - Your fair thoughts stray. - - I pluck a bunch before the spring, - Of field-flowers reflowering, - Upon a fell that fancy weaves, - A memory lingers in their leaves - Of songs you sing. - - You must have rested here sometime, - When thought was high and words in chime, - Your seed thoughts left for sun and showers - Have blossomed into pleasant flowers, - Instead of rhyme. - - And so I bring them back to you, - These pensile buds of tender hue, - Of crimson, pink and purple sheen, - Of yellow deep, and delicate green, - Of white and blue. - - - - - OFF RIVIÈRE DU LOUP - - - O ship incoming from the sea - With all your cloudy tower of sail, - Dashing the water to the lee, - And leaning grandly to the gale; - - The sunset pageant in the west - Has filled your canvas curves with rose, - And jewelled every toppling crest - That crashes into silver snows! - - You know the joy of coming home, - After long leagues to France or Spain; - You feel the clear Canadian foam - And the gulf water heave again. - - Between these sombre purple hills - That cool the sunset’s molten bars, - You will go on as the wind wills, - Beneath the river’s roof of stars. - - You will toss onward toward the lights - That spangle over the lonely pier, - By hamlets glimmering on the heights, - By level islands black and clear. - - You will go on beyond the tide, - Through brimming plains of olive sedge, - Through paler shallows light and wide, - The rapids piled along the ledge. - - At evening off some reedy bay - You will swing slowly on your chain, - And catch the scent of dewy hay, - Soft blowing from the pleasant plain. - - - - - AT THE CEDARS - - TO W. W. C. - - - You had two girls--Baptiste-- - One is Virginie-- - Hold hard--Baptiste! - Listen to me. - - The whole drive was jammed - In that bend at the Cedars, - The rapids were dammed - With the logs tight rammed - And crammed; you might know - The Devil had clinched them below. - - We worked three days--not a budge, - ‘She’s as tight as a wedge, on the ledge,’ - Says our foreman; - ‘Mon Dieu! boys, look here, - We must get this thing clear.’ - - He cursed at the men - And we went for it then; - With our cant-dogs arow, - We just gave he-yo-ho; - When she gave a big shove - From above. - - The gang yelled and tore - For the shore, - The logs gave a grind - Like a wolf’s jaws behind, - And as quick as a flash, - With a shove and a crash, - They were down in a mash, - But I and ten more, - All but Isaac Dufour, - Were ashore. - - He leaped on a log in the front of the rush, - And shot out from the bind - While the jam roared behind; - As he floated along - He balanced his pole - And tossed us a song. - But just as we cheered, - Up darted a log from the bottom, - Leaped thirty feet square and fair, - And came down on his own. - - He went up like a block - With the shock, - And when he was there - In the air, - Kissed his hand - To the land; - When he dropped - My heart stopped, - For the first logs had caught him - And crushed him; - When he rose in his place - There was blood on his face. - - There were some girls, Baptiste, - Picking berries on the hillside, - Where the river curls, Baptiste, - You know--on the still side - One was down by the water, - She saw Isaac - Fall back. - - She did not scream, Baptiste, - She launched her canoe; - It did seem, Baptiste, - That she wanted to die too, - For before you could think - The birch cracked like a shell - In that rush of hell, - And I saw them both sink-- - - Baptiste!-- - He had two girls, - One is Virginie, - What God calls the other - Is not known to me. - - - - - THE END OF THE DAY - - - I hear the bells at eventide - Peal slowly one by one, - Near and far off they break and glide, - Across the stream float faintly beautiful - The antiphonal bells of Hull; - The day is done, done, done, - The day is done. - - The dew has gathered in the flowers, - Lake tears from some unconscious deep: - The swallows whirl around the towers, - The light runs out beyond the long cloud bars, - And leaves the single stars; - ’Tis time for sleep, sleep, sleep, - ’Tis time for sleep. - - The hermit thrush begins again,-- - Timorous eremite-- - That song of risen tears and pain, - As if the one he loved was far away: - ‘Alas! another day--’ - ‘And now Good Night, Good Night,’ - ‘Good Night.’ - - - - - THE REED-PLAYER - - TO B. C. - - - By a dim shore where water darkening - Took the last light of spring, - I went beyond the tumult, hearkening - For some diviner thing. - - Where the bats flew from the black elms like leaves, - Over the ebon pool - Brooded the bittern’s cry, as one that grieves - Lands ancient, bountiful. - - I saw the fireflies shine below the wood, - Above the shallows dank, - As Uriel from some great altitude, - The planets rank on rank. - - And now unseen along the shrouded mead - One went under the hill; - He blew a cadence on his mellow reed, - That trembled and was still. - - It seemed as if a line of amber fire - Had shot the gathered dusk, - As if had blown a wind from ancient Tyre - Laden with myrrh and musk. - - He gave his luring note amid the fern; - Its enigmatic fall - Haunted the hollow dusk with golden turn - And argent interval. - - I could not know the message that he bore, - The springs of life from me - Hidden; his incommunicable lore - As much a mystery. - - And as I followed far the magic player - He passed the maple wood, - And when I passed the stars had risen there, - And there was solitude. - - - - - A FLOCK OF SHEEP - - TO C. G. D. R. - - - Over the field the bright air clings and tingles, - In the gold sunset while the red wind swoops; - Upon the nibbled knolls and from the dingles, - The sheep are gathering in frightened groups. - - From the wide field the laggards bleat and follow, - A drover hurls his cry and hooting laugh; - And one young swain, too glad to whoop or hollo, - Is singing wildly as he whirls his staff. - - Now crowding into little groups and eddies - They swirl about and charge and try to pass; - The sheep-dog yelps and heads them off and steadies - And rounds and moulds them in a seething mass. - - They stand a moment with their heads uplifted - Till the wise dog barks loudly on the flank, - They all at once roll over and are drifted - Down the small hill toward the river bank. - - Covered with rusty marks and purple blotches - Around the fallen bars they flow and leap; - The wary dog stands by and keenly watches - As if he knew the name of every sheep. - - Now down the road the nimble sound decreases, - The drovers cry, the dog delays and whines, - And now with twinkling feet and glimmering fleeces - They round and vanish past the dusky pines. - - The drove is gone, the ruddy wind grows colder, - The singing youth puts up the heavy bars, - Beyond the pines he sees the crimson smoulder, - And catches in his eyes the early stars. - - - - - A PORTRAIT - - - All her hair is softly set, - Like a misty coronet, - Massing darkly on her brow, - Like the pines above the snow; - And her eyebrows lightly drawn, - Slender clouds above the dawn, - Or like ferns above her eyes, - Ferns and pools in Paradise. - - Her sweet mouth is like a flower, - Like a poppy full of power, - Shaken light and crimson stain, - Pressed together by the rain, - Glowing liquid in the sun, - When the rain is done. - - When she moves, her motionings - Seem to shadow hidden wings; - So the cuckoo going to light - Takes a little further flight, - Fluttering onward, poised there, - Half in grass and half in air. - - When she speaks, her girlish voice - Makes a very pleasant noise, - Like a brook that hums along - Under leaves an undersong: - When she sings, her voice is clear, - Like the waters swerving sheer, - In the sunlight magical, - Down a ringing fall. - - Here her spirit came to dwell - From the passionate Israfel; - One of those great songs of his - Rounded to a soul like this; - And when she seems so strange at even, - He must be singing in the heaven; - When she wears that charméd smile, - Listening, listening all the while, - She is stirred with kindred things, - Starry fire and sweeping wings, - And the seraph’s sobbing strings. - - - - - AT THE LATTICE - - - Good-night, Marie, I kiss thine eyes, - A tender touch on either lid; - They cover, as a cloud, the skies - Where like a star your soul lies hid. - - My love is like a fire that flows, - This touch will leave a tiny scar, - I’ll claim you by it for my rose, - My rose, my own, where’er you are. - - And when you bind your hair, and when - You lie within your silken nest, - This kiss will visit you again, - You will not rest, my love, you will not rest. - - - - - THE FIRST SNOW - - - I - - The field pools gathered into frosted lace; - An icy glitter lined the iron ruts, - And bound the circle of the musk-rat huts; - A junco flashed about a sunny space - Where rose stems made a golden amber grace; - Between the dusky alders’ woven ranks, - A stream thought yet about his summer banks, - And made an August music in the place. - - Along the horizon’s faded shrunken lines, - Veiling the gloomy borders of the night, - Hung the great snow clouds washed with pallid gold; - And stealing from his covert in the pines, - The wind, encouraged to a stinging flight, - Dropped in the hollow conquered by the cold. - - - II - - Then a light cloud rose up for hardihood, - Trailing a veil of snow that whirled and broke, - Blown softly like a shroud of steam or smoke, - Sallied across a knoll where maples stood, - Charged over broken country for a rood, - Then seeing the night withdrew his force and fled, - Leaving the ground with snow-flakes thinly spread, - And traces of the skirmish in the wood. - - The stars sprang out and flashed serenely near, - The solid frost came down with might and main, - It set the rivers under bolt and bar; - Bang! went the starting eaves beneath the strain, - And e’er Orion saw the morning-star - The winter was the master of the year. - - - - - IN NOVEMBER - - TO J. A. R. - - - The ruddy sunset lies - Banked along the west; - In flocks with sweep and rise - The birds are going to rest. - - The air clings and cools, - And the reeds look cold, - Standing above the pools, - Like rods of beaten gold. - - The flaunting golden-rod - Has lost her worldly mood, - She’s given herself to God, - And taken a nun’s hood. - - The wild and wanton horde, - That kept the summer revel, - Have taken the serge and cord, - And given the slip to the Devil. - - The winter’s loose somewhere, - Gathering snow for a fight; - From the feel of the air - I think it will freeze to-night. - - - - - THE SLEEPER - - - Touched with some divine repose, - Isabelle has fallen asleep, - Like the perfume from the rose - In and out her breathings creep. - - Dewy are her rosy palms, - In her cheek the flushes flit, - And a dream her spirit calms - With the pleasant thought of it. - - All the rounded heavens show - Like the concave of a pearl, - Stars amid the opal glow - Little fronds of flame unfurl. - - Then upfloats a planet strange, - Not the moon that mortals know, - With a magic mountain range, - Cones and craters white as snow; - - Something different yet the same-- - Rain by rainbows glorified, - Roses lit with lambent flame-- - ’Tis the maid moon’s other side. - - When the sleeper floats from sleep, - She will smile the vision o’er, - See the veinéd valleys deep, - No one ever saw before. - - Yet the moon is not betrayed, - (Ah! the subtle Isabelle!) - She’s a maiden, and a maid - Maiden secrets will not tell. - - - - - A NIGHT IN JUNE - - - The world is heated seven times, - The sky is close above the lawn, - An oven when the coals are drawn. - - There is no stir of air at all, - Only at times an inward breeze - Turns back a pale leaf in the trees. - - Here the syringa’s rich perfume - Covers the tulip’s red retreat, - A burning pool of scent and heat. - - The pallid lightning wavers dim - Between the trees, then deep and dense - The darkness settles more intense. - - A hawk lies panting in the grass, - Or plunges upward through the air, - The lightning shows him whirling there. - - A bird calls madly from the eaves. - Then stops, the silence all at once - Disturbed, falls dead again and stuns. - - A redder lightning flits about, - But in the north a storm is rolled - That splits the gloom with vivid gold; - - Dead silence, then a little sound, - The distance chokes the thunder down, - It shudders faintly in the town. - - A fountain plashing in the dark - Keeps up a mimic dropping strain; - Ah! God, if it were really rain! - - - - - MEMORY - - - I see a schooner in the bay - Cutting the current into foam; - One day she flies and then one day - Comes like a swallow veering home. - - I hear a water miles away - Go sobbing down the wooded glen; - One day it lulls and then one day - Comes sobbing on the wind again. - - Remembrance goes but will not stay; - That cry of unpermitted pain - One day departs and then one day - Comes sobbing to my heart again. - - - - - YOUTH AND TIME - - - Move not so lightly, Time, away, - Grant us a breathing-space of tender ruth; - Deal not so harshly with the flying day, - Leave us the charm of spring, the touch of youth. - - Leave us the lilacs wet with dew, - Leave us the balsams odorous with rain, - Leave us of frail hepaticas a few, - Let the red osier sprout for us again. - - Leave us the hazel thickets set - Along the hills, leave us a month that yields - The fragile bloodroot and the violet, - Leave us the sorrage shimmering on the fields. - - You offer us largess of power, - You offer fame, we ask not these in sooth, - These comfort age upon his failing hour, - But oh, the charm of spring, the touch of youth! - - - - - A MEMORY OF THE ‘INFERNO’ - - - An hour before the dawn I dreamed of you; - Your spirit made a smile upon your face, - As fleeting as the visionary grace - That music lends to words; and when it flew, - I thought of how the maid Francesca grew, - So lovely at Ravenna, until Time - Ripened the fruit of her immortal crime. - As pure as light my vision took this hue - To paint our sorrow: so your lips made moan; - ‘Upon that day we read no more therein’: - I wept, such tears Paolo might have known; - And all the love, the immemorial pain, - Swept down upon me as I felt begin, - That furious circle rage and reel again. - - - - - LA BELLE FERONIÈRE - - - I never trod where Leonardo was, - Then why art thou within this house of dreams, - Strange Lady? From thy face a memory streams, - Of things, forgotten now, that came to pass; - The flower of Milan floated in thy glass: - Thy dreaming smile; thy subtle loveliness! - Ah! laughter airier far than ours, I guess, - Lighted thy brow, fleeter than fire in grass. - - Yet, there is something fateful in thy face: - Say, when the master caught it, didst thou know, - Almost thy name would perish with thy grace, - Thine artifices melt away like snow, - And all the power within this painted space, - Be his alone to hold and haunt us so? - - - - - A NOVEMBER DAY - - - There are no clouds above the world, - But just a round of limpid grey, - Barred here with nacreous lines unfurled, - That seem to crown the autumnal day, - With rings of silver chased and pearled. - - The moistened leaves along the ground, - Lie heavy in an aureate floor; - The air is lingering in a swound; - Afar from some enchanted shore, - Silence has blown instead of sound. - - The trees all flushed with tender pink - Are floating in the liquid air, - Each twig appears a shadowy link, - To keep the branches mooréd there, - Lest all might drift or sway and sink. - - This world might be a valley low, - In some lost ocean grey and old, - Where sea-plants film the silver flow, - Where waters swing above the gold - Of galleons sunken long ago. - - - - - OTTAWA - - - City about whose brow the north winds blow, - Girdled with woods and shod with river foam, - Called by a name as old as Troy or Rome, - Be great as they, but pure as thine own snow; - Rather flash up amid the auroral glow, - The Lamia city of the northern star, - Than be so hard with craft or wild with war, - Peopled with deeds remembered for their woe. - - Thou art too bright for guile, too young for tears, - And thou wilt live to be too strong for Time; - For he may mock thee with his furrowed frowns, - But thou wilt grow in calm throughout the years, - Cinctured with peace and crowned with power sublime, - The maiden queen of all the towered towns. - - - - - SONG - - - Here’s the last rose, - And the end of June, - With the tulips gone - And the lilacs strewn; - A light wind blows - From the golden west, - The bird is charmed - To her secret nest: - Here’s the last rose-- - In the violet sky - A great star shines, - The gnats are drawn - To the purple pines; - On the magic lawn - A shadow flows - From the summer moon: - Here’s the last rose, - And the end of the tune. - - - - - NIGHT AND THE PINES - - - Here in the pine shade is the nest of night, - Lined deep with shadows, odorous and dim, - And here he stays his sweeping flight, - Here where the strongest wind is lulled for him, - He lingers brooding until dawn, - While all the trembling stars move on and on. - - Under the cliff there drops a lonely fall, - Deep and half heard its thunder lifts and booms; - Afar the loons with eerie call - Haunt all the bays, and breaking through the glooms - Upfloats that cry of light despair, - As if a demon laughed upon the air. - - A raven croaks from out his ebon sleep, - When a brown cone falls near him through the dark; - And when the radiant meteors sweep - Afar within the larches wakes the lark; - The wind moves on the cedar hill, - Tossing the weird cry of the whip-poor-will. - - Sometimes a titan wind, slumbrous and hushed, - Takes the dark grove within his swinging power; - And like a cradle softly pushed, - The shade sways slowly for a lulling hour; - While through the cavern sweeps a cry, - A Sibyl with her secret prophecy. - - When morning lifts its fragile silver dome, - And the first eagle takes the lonely air, - Up from his dense and sombre home - The night sweeps out, a tireless wayfarer, - Leaving within the shadows deep, - The haunting mood and magic of his sleep. - - And so we cannot come within this grove, - But all the quiet dusk remembrance brings - Of ancient sorrow and of hapless love, - Fate, and the dream of power, and piercing things - Traces of mystery and might, - The passion-sadness of the soul of night. - - - - - A NIGHT IN MARCH - - - At eve the fiery sun went forth - Flooding the clouds with ruby blood, - Up roared a war-wind from the north - And crashed at midnight through the wood. - - The demons danced about the trees, - The snow slipped singing over the wold, - And ever when the wind would cease - A lynx cried out within the cold. - - A spirit walked the ringing rooms, - Passing the locked and secret door, - Heavy with divers ancient dooms, - With dreams dead laden to the core. - - ‘Spirit, thou art too deep with woe, - I have no harbour place for thee, - Leave me to lesser griefs, and go, - Go with the great wind to the sea.’ - - I faltered like a frightened child, - That fears its nurse’s fairy brood, - And as I spoke, I heard the wild - Wind plunging through the shattered wood. - - ‘Hast thou betrayed the rest of kings, - With tragic fears and spectres wan, - My dreams are lit with purer things, - With humbler ghosts, begone, begone.’ - - The noisy dark was deaf and blind, - Still the strange spirit strayed or stood, - And I could only hear the wind - Go roaring through the riven wood. - - ‘Art thou the fate for some wild heart, - That scorned his cavern’s curve and bars, - That leaped the bounds of time and art, - And lost thee lingering near the stars?’ - - It was so still I heard my thought, - Even the wind was very still, - The desolate deeper silence brought - The lynx-moan from the lonely hill. - - ‘Art thou the thing I might have been, - If all the dead had known control, - Risen through the ages’ trembling sheen, - A mirage of my desert soul?’ - - The wind rushed down the roof in wrath, - Then shrieked and held its breath and stood, - Like one who finds beside his path, - A dead girl in the marish wood. - - ‘Or have I ceased, as those who die - And leave the broken word unsaid, - Art thou the spirit ministry - That hovers round the newly dead?’ - - The auroras rose in solitude, - And wanly paled within the room, - The window showed an ebon rood, - Upon the blanched and ashen gloom. - - I heard a voice within the dark, - That answered not my idle word, - I could not choose but pause and hark, - It was so magically stirred. - - It grew within the quiet hour, - With the rose shadows on the wall, - It had a touch of ancient power, - A wild and elemental fall; - - Its rapture had a dreaming close: - The dawn grew slowly on the wold, - Spreading in fragile veils of rose, - In tender lines of lemon-gold. - - The world was turning into light, - Was sweeping into life and peace, - And folded in the fading night, - I felt the dawning sink and cease. - - - - - SEPTEMBER - - - The morns are grey with haze and faintly cold, - The early sunsets arc the west with red; - The stars are misty silver overhead, - Above the dawn Orion lies outrolled. - Now all the slopes are slowly growing gold, - And in the dales a deeper silence dwells; - The crickets mourn with funeral flutes and bells, - For days before the summer had grown old. - - Now the night-gloom with hurrying wings is stirred, - Strangely the comrade pipings rise and sink, - The birds are following in the pathless dark - The footsteps of the pilgrim summer. Hark! - Was that the redstart or the bobolink? - That lonely cry the summer-hearted bird? - - - - - BY THE WILLOW SPRING - - TO E. W. - - - Come hither, Care, and look on this fair place, - But leave your gossip and your puckered face - Beyond that flowering carrot in the glow, - Where the red poppies in the orchard blow, - And come with gentle feet; the last thing there - Was a white butterfly upon the air, - And even now a thrush was in the grass, - To feel the sovereign water slowly pass. - This pool is quiet as oblivion, - Hidden securely from the flooding sun; - Its crystal placid surface here receives - The wan grey under light of the willow leaves; - And shy things brood about the grass unheard; - Only in sunny distance sings the bird. - O Time long dead, O days reclaimed and done, - Thou broughtest joy and tears to every one, - And here by this deep pool thou wast not slow, - To deal a maiden all her tender woe; - Be kindlier to her now that she is dead, - Let her charmed spirit visit this well-head - More often, for at eve in honey-time, - Drifting in silence from her ghostly clime, - She haunts the pool about the willows pale: - Be gentle, for my feeling art may fail, - I’ll freshen sorrow and retell her tale. - - She was a fragile daughter of the earth, - And touched with faery from her fatal birth; - For many summers she was hardly shy, - Not clouded with her hovering destiny, - But only wild as any woodland thing, - That comes at even to a trodden spring; - And scarce she seemed of any settled mood, - That lights the peaceful hills of maidenhood, - But shifted strangely on the whimsy air, - Not quiet nor contented anywhere. - She gathered sunshine in an earthen cruse, - And thought to keep it for her own sweet use; - Or fluttered flowers from her window high, - And wept upon them when they would not fly; - And when she found the brownish mignonette - Had blossomed where a little seed was set, - She planted her rag playmate in the sun, - Because she wanted yet another one; - And when she heard the enraptured sparrow sing, - She clamoured for a song from everything. - For many years she was as strange and free, - As a pine linnet in a cedar tree. - Her folk thought: She is very wild and odd, - But she is good, we’ll wait and trust in God. - O love, that watched the weird and charméd child, - Change from her airy fancies sweet and mild, - Like a blue brook that clears a meadow spring, - And threads the barley where the bobolinks sing, - Then wimples by the roots of dusky firs, - And gathers darkness in those deeps of hers, - Then makes an arrowy movement through a pass, - Where rocks are crannied with the clinging grass, - Then falls, almost dissolved in silver rain, - She gathers deeply to a pool again; - But something wild in her new spirit lies, - She never can regain her limpid eyes: - O love, alas! ’twas ever so to be, - When streams set out to reach the bitter sea. - It was a time within the early spring, - Before the orchards had done blossoming, - Before the kinglet on his northern search, - Had ceased his timorous piping in the birch, - When streams were bright before the coming leaves - And gurgled like the swallows in the eaves, - She wandered led by fancy to this place, - And looked upon the water’s crystal face; - She saw--what thing of beauty or of awe - I know not, no one knoweth what she saw. - But ever after she was constant here, - As silent as her shadow in the mere, - Sitting upon a stone which many feet - Had grooved and trodden for the water sweet, - And leaning gravely on her slanted arm, - Her fingers buried in the gravel warm, - She gazed and gazed and did not speak or sigh, - As if this gazing was her destiny. - They led her nightly from the magic pool, - Before the shadows grew too deep and cool; - They thought to win her from the liquid spell, - And tried to tease the elfin maid to tell, - What was the charm that led her to the spring; - But all their words availed not anything. - Then gazed they on the surface of the pool - To read the reason of such subtle rule; - Their eyes were overclouded, they could see - (Who had drawn water there perpetually) - Nothing but water in a depth serene, - With a few moony stones of palish green. - They thought perchance it was her face she saw - And answered, beauty unto beauty’s law, - But when they showed her image in a glass, - She was not cured and nothing came to pass; - So then they left her to her own strange will, - And here she stayed when the fair pool was still. - But when the wind would hurl the heavy rain, - She peered out sadly from her window-pane; - And when the night set wildly close and deep, - She took her trouble down the dale of sleep: - But when the night was warm and no dew fell, - She waked and dreamed beside the starlit well. - - Then came a change, each day some offering - She laid beside the clear soft flowing spring; - And there she found them at the break of morn, - And everything would take away forlorn; - Until beside the unconscious spring was laid - Each treasure held most precious by a maid. - After, she offered flowers and often set - A bowlful of the pleasant mignonette, - And starred the stones with the narcissus white, - And pansies left athinking all the night, - Then ruffled dewy dahlias, and at last, - When sundown told the summer-time had passed, - The stainéd asters; but from day to day, - Sadly she took the untouched flowers away. - With autumn and the sounding harvest flute, - She brought her timid god the heavy fruit; - But found it still and cool at early dawn, - Beaded with dew upon the crispy lawn. - At last one eve she placed an apple here, - Smooth as a topaz and as golden clear, - Scented like almonds, with a flesh like dew - And luscious-sweet as honey through and through. - She left it sadly on the sleepy lawn, - But when she came again her apple gold was gone. - - Day after day for days she mutely strove, - Not to be separate from her placid love; - Perchance she thought that, breaking through the spell, - Her shadow-god, deep in the tranquil well, - Had taken her last gift;--no man may know; - Her fancies merged with all mute things that go - The poppied path, dreams and desires foredone, - The unplucked roses of oblivion. - But now she searched for words that would express - Something of all her spirit’s loneliness; - And formed a liquid jargon, full of falls - As weird and wild as ariel madrigals; - Our human tongue was far too harsh for this, - Or her slight spirit bore too great a bliss; - But always grew she very faint and pale, - Day after day her beauty grew more frail, - More mute, more eerie, more ethereal; - Her soul burned whitely in its waning shell. - - Then came the winter with his frosty breath - And made the world an image of white death, - And like to death he found the charméd child; - Yet could not kill her with his bluster wild. - Only in his first days she went about, - And sadly hearkened to his hearty shout; - From windows where the wizard frost had traced - Moth-wings of rime with silver ferns inlaced, - She saw her pool set coldly in the drift, - Where in the autumn she had left her gift, - Capped with a cloud of silver steam or smoke, - That hovered there whether she dreamed or woke; - And often stealing from her early sleep, - She watched the light cloud in the midnight deep, - Waver and blow beneath the moon’s white globe, - Shivering and whispering in her chilly robe. - At last she would not look or speak at all, - And turned her large eyes to the shaded wall. - Now she is dead, they thought; but never so, - She died not when the winter winds did blow; - She was a spirit of the summer air, - She would not vanish at the year’s despair. - - At length the merry sun grew warm and high, - And changed the wildwood with his alchemy; - The violet reared her bell of drooping gold, - And over her the robin chimed and trolled. - When the first slender moon of May had come, - That finds the blithe bird busy at his home, - They missed the spirit maiden from the room, - That now was sweet with light and spring perfume, - And called her all the echoing afternoon; - She answered not, but when the growing moon - Went down the west with the last bird awing, - They found her dead beside her darling spring. - - This is her tale, her murmurous monument - Flows softly where her fragile life was spent, - Not grooved in brass nor trenched in pallid stone, - But told by water to the reeds alone. - - She cometh here sometimes on summer eves, - Her quiet spirit lingers in the leaves, - And while this spring flows on, and while the wands - Sway in the moonlight, while in drifting bands, - The thistledown blows gleaming in the air, - And dappled thrushes haunt the precinct fair; - She will return, she will return and lean - Above the crystal in the covert green, - And dream of beauty on the shadow flung - Of irised distance when the world was young. - - Let us be gone; this is no place for tears, - Let us go slowly with the guardian years; - Let us be brave, the day is almost done, - Another setting of the pleasant sun. - - - Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to Her Majesty, - at the Edinburgh University Press. - - * * * * * - - LIST OF BOOKS - -MAY 1893. - - MESSRS. METHUEN’S - - ANNOUNCEMENTS - - - =Gladstone.= THE SPEECHES AND PUBLIC ADDRESSES OF THE RT. HON. W. E. - GLADSTONE, M.P. With Notes. Edited by A. W. HUTTON, M.A. (Librarian - of the Gladstone Library), and H. J. COHEN, M.A. With Portraits. - _8vo. Vol. IX. 12s. 6d._ - - Messrs. METHUEN beg to announce that they are about to issue, in - ten volumes 8vo, an authorised collection of Mr. Gladstone’s - Speeches, the work being undertaken with his sanction and under his - superintendence. Notes and Introductions will be added. - - _In view of the interest in the Home Rule Question, it is proposed - to issue Vols. IX. and X., which will include the speeches of the - last seven or eight years, immediately, and then to proceed with - the earlier volumes. Volume X. is already published._ - - =Henley & Whibley.= A BOOK OF ENGLISH PROSE. Collected by W. E. - HENLEY and CHARLES WHIBLEY. _Crown 8vo._ - -[_October._ - - Also small limited editions on Dutch and Japanese paper. 21_s._ and - 42_s._ _net_. - - A companion book to Mr. Henley’s well-known _Lyra Heroica_. It is - believed that no such collection of splendid prose has ever been - brought within the compass of one volume. Each piece, whether - containing a character-sketch or incident, is complete in itself. - The book will be finely printed and bound. - - =Henley.= ENGLISH LYRICS. Selected and Edited by W. E. HENLEY. In Two - Editions: - - A limited issue on hand-made paper. _Large crown 8vo. 10s. 6d. - net._ - - A small issue on finest large Japanese paper. _Demy 8vo. 42s. net._ - - The announcement of this important collection of English Lyrics - will excite wide interest. It will be finely printed by Messrs. - Constable & Co., and issued in limited editions. - - =Cheyne.= FOUNDERS OF OLD TESTAMENT CRITICISM: Biographical, - Descriptive, and Critical Studies. By T. K. CHEYNE, D.D., Oriel - Professor of the Interpretation of Holy Scripture at Oxford. _Large - crown 8vo. 7s. 6d._ - -[_Ready._ - - This important book is a historical sketch of O.T. Criticism in the - form of biographical studies from the days of Eichhorn to those of - Driver and Robertson Smith. It is the only book of its kind in - English. - - =Prior.= CAMBRIDGE SERMONS. Edited by C. H. PRIOR, M.A., Fellow and - Tutor of Pembroke College. _Crown 8vo. 6s._ - -[_October._ - - A volume of sermons preached before the University of Cambridge by - various preachers, including the Archbishop of Canterbury and - Bishop Westcott. - - =Collingwood.= JOHN RUSKIN: His Life and Work. By W. G. COLLINGWOOD, - M.A., late Scholar of University College, Oxford, Author of the - ‘Art Teaching of John Ruskin,’ Editor of Mr. Ruskin’s Poems. _2 - vols. 8vo. 32s._ - -[_Ready._ - - Also a limited edition on hand-made paper, with the Illustrations - on India paper. £3, 3_s._ _net_. - -[_All sold._ - - Also a small edition on Japanese paper. £5, 5_s._ _net_. - -[_All sold._ - - This important work is written by Mr. Collingwood, who has been for - some years Mr. Ruskin’s private secretary, and who has had unique - advantages in obtaining materials for this book from Mr. Ruskin - himself and from his friends. It contains a large amount of new - matter, and of letters which have never been published, and is, in - fact, as near as is possible at present, a full and authoritative - biography of Mr. Ruskin. The book contains numerous portraits of - Mr. Ruskin, including a coloured one from a water-colour portrait - by himself, and also 13 sketches, never before published, by Mr. - Ruskin and Mr. Arthur Severn. A bibliography is added. - - _The First Edition having been at once exhausted, a Second is now - ready._ - - ‘No more magnificent volumes have been published for a long time - than “The Life and Work of John Ruskin.” In binding, paper, - printing, and illustrations they will satisfy the most fastidious. - They will be prized not only by the band of devotees who look up to - Mr. Ruskin as the teacher of the age, but by the many whom no - eccentricities can blind to his genius....’--_Times._ - - ‘It is just because there are so many books about Mr. Ruskin that - these extra ones are needed. They survey all the others, and - supersede most of them, and they give us the great writer as a - whole.... He has given us everything needful--a biography, a - systematic account of his writings, and a bibliography.... This - most lovingly written and most profoundly interesting - book.’--_Daily News._ - - ‘The record is one which is well worth telling; the more so as Mr. - Collingwood knows more about his subject than the rest of the - world.... His two volumes are fitted with elaborate indices and - tables, which will one day be of immense use to the students of - Ruskin’s work.... It is a book which will be very widely and - deservedly read.’--_St. James’s Gazette._ - - ‘To a large number of people these volumes will be more - pre-eminently the book of the year than any other that has been, or - is likely to be, published.... It is long since we have had a - biography with such varied delights of substance and of form. Such - a book is a pleasure for the day, and a joy for ever.’--_Daily - Chronicle._ - - ‘It is not likely that much will require to be added to this record - of his career which has come from the pen of Mr. W. G. Collingwood. - Mr. Ruskin could not well have been more fortunate in his - biographer.’--_Globe._ - - ‘A noble monument of a noble subject. One of the most beautiful - books about one of the noblest lives of our century. The volumes - are exceedingly handsome, and the illustrations very - beautiful.’--_Glasgow Herald._ - - ‘It is indeed an excellent biography of Ruskin.’--_Scotsman._ - - =John Beever.= PRACTICAL FLY-FISHING, Founded on Nature, by JOHN - BEEVER, late of the Thwaite House, Coniston. A New Edition, with a - Memoir of the Author by W. G. COLLINGWOOD, M.A., Author of ‘The - Life and Work of John Ruskin,’ etc. Also additional Notes and a - chapter on Char-Fishing, by A. and A. R. SEVERN. With a specially - designed title-page. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - -[_Ready._ - - Also a small edition on large paper. 10_s._ 6_d._ _net_. - - A little book on Fly-Fishing by an old friend of Mr. Ruskin. It has - been out of print for some time, and being still much in request, - is now issued with a Memoir of the Author by W. G. Collingwood. - - =Hosken.= VERSES BY THE WAY. BY J. D. HOSKEN. - - Printed on laid paper, and bound in buckram, gilt top. 5_s._ - - Also a small edition on large Dutch hand-made paper. _Price 12s. - 6d. net._ - -[_October._ - - A Volume of Lyrics and Sonnets by J. D. Hosken, the Postman Poet, - of Helston, Cornwall, whose interesting career is now more or less - well known to the literary public. Q, the Author of ‘The Splendid - Spur,’ etc., will write a critical and biographical introduction. - - =Oscar Browning.= GUELPHS AND GHIBELLINES: A Short History of - Mediæval Italy, A.D. 1250-1409. By OSCAR BROWNING, Fellow and Tutor - of King’s College, Cambridge. _Crown 8vo. 5s._ - - =Oliphant.= THOMAS CHALMERS: A Biography. By Mrs. OLIPHANT. With - Portrait. _Crown 8vo. Buckram, 5s._ - -[_Ready._ - - A Life of the celebrated Scottish divine from the capable and - sympathetic pen of Mrs. Oliphant, which will be welcome to a large - circle of readers. It is issued uniform with Mr. Lock’s ‘Life of - John Keble.’ - - =Anthony Hope.= A CHANGE OF AIR: A Novel. By ANTHONY HOPE, Author of - ‘Mr. Witt’s Widow,’ etc. _1 vol. Crown 8vo. 6s._ - -[_Ready._ - - A bright story by Mr. Hope, who has, the Athenum says, ‘a decided - outlook and individuality of his own.’ - - =Baring Gould.= MRS. CURGENVEN OF CURGENVEN. By S. BARING GOULD, - Author of ‘Mehalah,’ ‘Old Country Life,’ etc. _Crown 8vo. 3 vols. - 31s. 6d._ - -[_Ready._ - - A powerful and characteristic story of Devon life by the author of - ‘Mehalah.’ - - =Benson.= DODO: A DETAIL OF THE DAY. By E. F. BENSON. _Crown 8vo. 2 - vols. 21s._ - -[_Ready._ - - A story of society by a new writer, full of interest and power, - which will attract considerable notice. - - =Parker.= MRS. FALCHION. By GILBERT PARKER, Author of ‘Pierre and His - People.’ _2 vols. Crown 8vo. 21s._ - -[_Ready._ - - A new story by a writer whose previous work, ‘Pierre and his - People,’ was received with unanimous favour, and placed him at once - in the front rank. - - ‘There is strength and genius in Mr. Parker’s style.’--_Daily - Telegraph._ - - ‘His style of portraiture is always effectively picturesque, and - sometimes finely imaginative--the fine art which is only achieved - by the combination of perfect vision and beautifully adequate - rendering.’--_Daily Chronicle._ - - ‘He has the right stuff in him. He has the story-teller’s - gift.--_St. James’s Gazette._ - - =Pearce.= JACO TRELOAR. By J. H. PEARCE, Author of ‘Esther - Pentreath.’ _2 vols. Crown 8vo. 21s._ - -[_Ready._ - - A tragic story of Cornish life by a writer of remarkable power, - whose first novel has been highly praised by Mr. Gladstone. - - =Norris.= HIS GRACE. By W. E. NORRIS, Author of ‘Mademoiselle de - Mersac,’ ‘The Rogue,’ etc. Third and Cheaper Edition. _Crown 8vo. - 6s._ - -[_October._ - - An edition in one volume of a novel which in its two volume form - quickly ran through two editions. - - =Pryce.= TIME AND THE WOMAN. By RICHARD PRYCE, Author of ‘Miss - Maxwell’s Affections,’ ‘The Quiet Mrs. Fleming,’ etc. New and - Cheaper Edition. _Crown 8vo. 6s._ - -[_October._ - - Mr. Pryce’s work recalls the style of Octave Feuillet, by its - clearness, conciseness, its literary reserve.’--_Athenæum._ - - =Dickenson.= A VICAR’S WIFE. By EVELYN DICKENSON. _Cheap Edition. - Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - -[_Ready._ - - =Prowse.= THE POISON OF ASPS. By R. ORTON PROWSE. _Cheap Edition. - Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - -[_Ready._ - - =Taylor.= THE KING’S FAVOURITE. By UNA TAYLOR. _Cheaper Edition. 1 - vol. Crown 8vo. 6s._ - -[_Ready._ - - A cheap edition of a novel whose style and beauty of thought - attracted much attention. - - =Baring Gould.= THE STORY OF KING OLAF. By S. BARING GOULD, author of - ‘Mehalah,’ etc. Illustrated. _Crown 8vo. 6s._ - -[_October._ - - A stirring story of Norway, written for boys by the author of ‘In - the Roar of the Sea.’ - - =Cuthell.= TWO CHILDREN AND CHING. By Mrs. CUTHELL. Illustrated. - _Crown 8vo. 6s._ - -[_October._ - - Another story, with a dog hero, by the author of the very popular - ‘Only a Guard-Room Dog.’ - - =Blake.= TODDLEBEN’S HERO. By M. BLAKE, author of ‘The Siege of - Norwich Castle.’ With over 30 Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 5s._ - -[_October._ - - A story of military life for children. - - -NEW TWO-SHILLING EDITIONS - -_Crown 8vo, Picture Boards._ - -2/- - - A DOUBLE KNOT. By G. MANVILLE FENN. - A REVEREND GENTLEMAN. By J. MACLAREN COBBAN. - MR. BUTLER’S WARD. By MABEL ROBINSON. - - -UNIVERSITY EXTENSION SERIES - - ELECTRICAL SCIENCE. By GEORGE J. BURCH. With numerous - Illustrations. 3_s._ - - THE CHEMISTRY OF FIRE. By M. M. PATTISON MUIR. 2_s._ 6_d._ - - AGRICULTURAL BOTANY. By M. C. POTTER. Copiously Illustrated. _Crown - 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - - -SOCIAL QUESTIONS OF TO-DAY - -_Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d._ - - WOMEN’S WORK. By LADY DILKE, MISS BULLEY, and MISS ABRAHAM. - - BACK TO THE LAND. By HAROLD E. MOORE, F.S.I., Author of ‘Hints on - Land Improvements,’ ‘Agricultural Co-operation,’ etc. - - -New and Recent Books - - -Poetry - - =Rudyard Kipling.= BARRACK-ROOM BALLADS; And Other Verses. By RUDYARD - KIPLING. _Sixth Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._ - - A Special Presentation Edition, bound in white buckram, with extra - gilt ornament. 7_s._ 6_d._ - - ‘Mr. Kipling’s verse is strong, vivid, lull of character.... - Unmistakable genius rings in every line.’--_Times._ - - ‘The disreputable lingo of Cockayne is henceforth justified before - the world; for a man of genius has taken it in hand, and has shown, - beyond all cavilling, that in its way it also is a medium for - literature. You are grateful, and you say to yourself, half in envy - and half in admiration: “Here is a _book_; here, or one is a - Dutchman, is one of the books of the year.”’--_National Observer._ - - ‘“Barrack-Room Ballads” contains some of the best work that Mr. - Kipling has ever done, which is saying a good deal. “Fuzzy-Wuzzy,” - “Gunga Din,” and “Tommy,” are, in our opinion, altogether superior - to anything of the kind that English literature has hitherto - produced.’--_Athenæum._ - - ‘These ballads are as wonderful in their descriptive power as they - are vigorous in their dramatic force. There are few ballads in the - English language more stirring than “The Ballad of East and West,” - worthy to stand by the Border ballads of Scott.’--_Spectator._ - - ‘The ballads teem with imagination, they palpitate with emotion. We - read them with laughter and tears; the metres throb in our pulses, - the cunningly ordered words tingle with life; and if this be not - poetry, what is?’--_Pall Mall Gazette._ - - =Henley.= LYRA HEROICA: An Anthology selected from the best English - Verse of the 16th, 17th, 18th, and 19th Centuries. By WILLIAM - ERNEST HENLEY, Author of ‘A Book of Verse,’ ‘Views and Reviews,’ - etc. _Crown 8vo. Stamped gilt buckram, gilt top, edges uncut. 6s._ - - ‘Mr. Henley has brought to the task of selection an instinct alike - for poetry and for chivalry which seems to us quite wonderfully, - and even unerringly, right.’--_Guardian._ - - =Tomson.= A SUMMER NIGHT, AND OTHER POEMS. By GRAHAM R. TOMSON. With - Frontispiece by A. TOMSON. _Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - - Also an edition on handmade paper, limited to 50 copies. _Large - crown 8vo. 10s. 6d. net._ - - ‘Mrs. Tomson holds perhaps the very highest rank among poetesses of - English birth. This selection will help her reputation.’--_Black - and White._ - - =Ibsen.= BRAND. A Drama by HENRIK IBSEN. Translated by WILLIAM - WILSON. _Crown 8vo. 5s._ - - ‘The greatest world-poem of the nineteenth century next to “Faust.” - “Brand” will have an astonishing interest for Englishmen. It is in - the same set with “Agamemnon,” with “Lear,” with the literature - that we now instinctively regard as high and holy.’--_Daily - Chronicle._ - - “=Q.=” GREEN BAYS: Verses and Parodies. By “Q.,” Author of ‘Dead - Man’s Rock’ etc. _Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - - ‘The verses display a rare and versatile gift of parody, great - command of metre, and a very pretty turn of humour.’--_Times._ - - “=A. G.=” VERSES TO ORDER. By “A. G.” _Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt - top. 2s. 6d. net._ - - A small volume of verse by a writer whose initials are well known - to Oxford men. - - ‘A capital specimen of light academic poetry. These verses are very - bright and engaging, easy and sufficiently witty.’--_St. James’s - Gazette._ - - =Langbridge.= A CRACKED FIDDLE. Being Selections from the Poems of - FREDERIC LANGBRIDGE. With Portrait. _Crown 8vo. 5s._ - - =Langbridge.= BALLADS OF THE BRAVE: Poems of Chivalry, Enterprise, - Courage, and Constancy, from the Earliest Times to the Present Day. - Edited, with Notes, by Rev. F. LANGBRIDGE. _Crown 8vo. Buckram 3s. - 6d._ School Edition, 2_s._ 6_d._ - - ‘A very happy conception happily carried out. These “Ballads of the - Brave” are intended to suit the real tastes of boys, and will suit - the taste of the great majority.’--_Spectator._ - - ‘The book is full of splendid things.’--_World._ - - -History and Biography - - =Gladstone.= THE SPEECHES AND PUBLIC ADDRESSES OF THE RT. HON. W. E. - GLADSTONE, M.P. With Notes and Introductions. Edited by A. W. - HUTTON, M. A. (Librarian of the Gladstone Library), and H. J. - COHEN, M.A. With Portraits. _8vo. Vol. X. 12s. 6d._ - - =Russell.= THE LIFE OF ADMIRAL LORD COLLINGWOOD. By W. CLARK RUSSELL, - Author of ‘The Wreck of the Grosvenor.’ With Illustrations by F. - BRANGWYN. _8vo. 15s._ - - ‘A really good book.’--_Saturday Review._ - - ‘A most excellent and wholesome book, which we should like to see - in the hands of every boy in the country.’--_St. James’s Gazette._ - - =Clark.= THE COLLEGES OF OXFORD: Their History and their Traditions. - By Members of the University. Edited by A. CLARK, M.A., Fellow and - Tutor of Lincoln College. _8vo. 12s. 6d._ - - ‘Whether the reader approaches the book as a patriotic member of a - college, as an antiquary, or as a student of the organic growth of - college foundation, it will amply reward his attention.’--_Times._ - - ‘A delightful book, learned and lively.’--_Academy._ - - ‘A work which will certainly be appealed to for many years as the - standard book on the Colleges of Oxford.’--_Athenæum._ - - =Hulton.= RIXAE OXONIENSES: An Account of the Battles of the Nations, - The Struggle between Town and Gown, etc. By S. F. HULTON, M.A. - _Crown 8vo. 5s._ - - =James.= CURIOSITIES OF CHRISTIAN HISTORY PRIOR TO THE REFORMATION. - By CROAKE JAMES, Author of ‘Curiosities of Law and Lawyers.’ _Crown - 8vo. 7s. 6d._ - - =Perrens.= THE HISTORY OF FLORENCE FROM THE TIME OF THE MEDICIS TO - THE FALL OF THE REPUBLIC. By F. T. PERRENS. Translated by HANNAH - LYNCH. In three volumes. _Vol. I. 8vo. 12s. 6d._ - - This is a translation from the French of the best history of - Florence in existence. This volume covers a period of profound - interest--political and literary--and is written with great - vivacity. - - ‘This is a standard book by an honest and intelligent historian, - who has deserved well of his countrymen, and of all who are - interested in Italian history.’--_Manchester Guardian._ - - =Kaufmann.= CHARLES KINGSLEY. By M. KAUFMANN, M.A. _Crown 8vo. 5s._ - - A biography of Kingsley, especially dealing with his achievements - in social reform. - - ‘The author has certainly gone about his work with - conscientiousness and industry.’--_Sheffield Daily Telegraph._ - - =Lock.= THE LIFE OF JOHN KEBLE. By WALTER LOCK, M.A., Fellow of - Magdalen, Subwarden of Keble, Oxford. With Portrait. _Fourth - Edition. Crown 8vo. Buckram, 5s._ - - ‘This modest, but thorough, careful, and appreciative biography - goes very far to supply what has been wanted. It is high but - well-deserved praise to say that the tone and tenor of the memoir - are thoroughly in harmony with the character and disposition of - Keble himself.... All Churchmen must be indebted to Mr. Lock for - this admirable memoir, which enables us to know a good and great - churchman better than before; and the memoir, which to be - appreciated must be carefully read, makes one think Mr. Keble a - better and greater man than ever.’--_Guardian._ - - =Hutton.= CARDINAL MANNING: A Biography. By A. W. HUTTON, M.A. With - Portrait. _Crown 8vo. 6s. Cheap Edition, 2s. 6d._ - - =Wells.= THE TEACHING OF HISTORY IN SCHOOLS. A Lecture delivered at - the University Extension Meeting in Oxford, Aug. 6th, 1892. By J. - WELLS, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Wadham College, and Editor of - ‘Oxford and Oxford Life.’ _Crown 8vo. 6d._ - - =Pollard.= THE JESUITS IN POLAND. By A. F. POLLARD, B.A. Oxford Prize - Essays--The Lothian Prize Essay 1892. _Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. net._ - - =Clifford.= THE DESCENT OF CHARLOTTE COMPTON (BARONESS FERRERS DE - CHARTLEY). By her Great-Granddaughter, ISABELLA G. C. CLIFFORD. - _Small 4to. 10s. 6d. net._ - - -General Literature - - =Bowden.= THE IMITATION OF BUDDHA: Being Quotations from Buddhist - Literature for each Day in the Year. Compiled by E. M. BOWDEN. With - Preface by Sir EDWIN ARNOLD. _Second Edition. 16mo. 2s. 6d._ - - =Ditchfleld.= OUR ENGLISH VILLAGES: Their Story and their - Antiquities. By P. H. DITCHFIELD, M.A., F.R.H.S., Rector of - Barkham, Berks. _Post 8vo. 2s. 6d._ Illustrated. - - ‘An extremely amusing and interesting little book, which should - find a place in every parochial library.’--_Guardian._ - - =Ditchfleld.= OLD ENGLISH SPORTS. By P. H. DITCHFIELD, M.A. _Crown - 8vo. 2s. 6d._ Illustrated. - - ‘A charming account of old English Sports.’--_Morning Post._ - - =Burne.= PARSON AND PEASANT: Chapters of their Natural History. By J. - B. BURNE, M.A., Rector of Wasing. _Crown 8vo. 5s._ - - ‘“Parson and Peasant” is a book not only to be interested in, but - to learn something from--a book which may prove a help to many a - clergyman, and broaden the hearts and ripen the charity of - laymen.’--_Derby Mercury._ - - =Massee.= A MONOGRAPH OF THE MYXOGASTRES. By GEORGE MASSEE. With 12 - Coloured Plates. _Royal 8vo. 18s. net._ - - This is the only work in English on this important group. It - contains 12 Coloured Plates, produced in the finest style of - chromo-lithography. - - ‘Supplies a want acutely felt. Its merits are of a high order, and - it is one of the most important contributions to systematic natural - science which have lately appeared.’--_Westminster Review._ - - ‘A work much in advance of any book in the language treating of - this group of organisms. It is indispensable to every student of - the Mxyogastres. The coloured plates deserve high praise for their - accuracy and execution.’--_Nature._ - - =Cunningham.= THE PATH TOWARDS KNOWLEDGE: Essays on Questions of the - Day. By W. CUNNINGHAM, D.D., Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, - Professor of Economics at King’s College, London. _Crown 8vo. 4s. - 6d._ - - Essays on Marriage and Population, Socialism, Money, Education, - Positivism, etc. - - =Bushill.= PROFIT SHARING AND THE LABOUR QUESTION. By T. W. BUSHILL, - a Profit Sharing Employer. With an Introduction by SEDLEY TAYLOR, - Author of ‘Profit Sharing between Capital and Labour.’ _Crown 8vo. - 2s. 6d._ - - =Anderson Graham.= NATURE IN BOOKS: Studies in Literary Biography. By - P. ANDERSON GRAHAM. _Crown 8vo. 6s._ - - The chapters are entitled: I. ‘The Magic of the Fields’ - (Jefferies). II. ‘Art and Nature’ (Tennyson). III. ‘The Doctrine of - Idleness’ (Thoreau). IV. ‘The Romance of Life’ (Scott). V. ‘The - Poetry of Toil’ (Burns). VI. ‘The Divinity of Nature’ (Wordsworth). - - =Wells.= OXFORD AND OXFORD LIFE. By Members of the University. Edited - by J. WELLS, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Wadham College. _Crown 8vo. - 3s. 6d._ - - This work contains an account of life at Oxford--intellectual, - social, and religious--a careful estimate of necessary expenses, a - review of recent changes, a statement of the present position of - the University, and chapters on Women’s Education, aids to study, - and University Extension. - - ‘We congratulate Mr. Wells on the production of a readable and - intelligent account of Oxford as it is at the present time, written - by persons who are, with hardly an exception, possessed of a close - acquaintance with the system and life of the - University.’--_Athenæum._ - - =Driver.= SERMONS ON SUBJECTS CONNECTED WITH THE OLD TESTAMENT. By S. - R. DRIVER, D.D., Canon of Christ Church, Regius Professor of Hebrew - in the University of Oxford. _Crown 8vo. 6s._ - - An important volume of sermons on Old Testament Criticism preached - before the University by the author of ‘An Introduction to the - Literature of the Old Testament.’ - - ‘A welcome volume to the author’s famous ‘Introduction.’ No man can - read these discourses without feeling that Dr. Driver is fully - alive to the deeper teaching of the Old Testament.’--_Guardian._ - - -WORKS BY S. Baring Gould. - -Author of ‘Mehalah,’ etc. - - OLD COUNTRY LIFE. With Sixty-seven Illustrations by W. PARKINSON, - F. D. BEDFORD, and F. MASEY. _Large Crown 8vo, cloth super extra, - top edge gilt, 10s. 6d. Fourth and Cheaper Edition. 6s._ - -[_Ready._ - - ‘“Old Country Life,” as healthy wholesome reading, full of breezy - life and movement, full of quaint stories vigorously told, will not - be excelled by any book to be published throughout the year. Sound, - hearty, and English to the core.--_World._ - - HISTORIC ODDITIES AND STRANGE EVENTS. _Third Edition, Crown 8vo. - 6s._ - - ‘A collection of exciting and entertaining chapters. The whole - volume is delightful reading.’--_Times._ - - FREAKS OF FANATICISM. (First published as Historic Oddities, Second - Series.) _Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 6s._ - - ‘Mr. Baring Gould has a keen eye for colour and effect, and the - subjects he has chosen give ample scope to his descriptive and - analytic faculties. A perfectly fascinating book.’--_Scottish - Leader._ - - SONGS OF THE WEST: Traditional Ballads and Songs of the West of - England, with their Traditional Melodies. Collected by S. BARING - GOULD, M.A., and H. FLEETWOOD SHEPPARD, M.A. Arranged for Voice and - Piano. In 4 Parts (containing 25 Songs each), _Parts I., II., III., - 3s. each. Part IV., 5s. In one Vol., roan, 15s._ - - ‘A rich and varied collection of humour, pathos, grace, and poetic - fancy.’--_Saturday Review._ - - YORKSHIRE ODDITIES AND STRANGE EVENTS. _Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. - 6s._ - - SURVIVALS AND SUPERSTITIONS. With Illustrations. By S. BARING - GOULD. _Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d._ - - A book on such subjects as Foundations, Gables, Holes, Gallows, - Raising the Hat, Old Ballads, etc. etc. It traces in a most - interesting manner their origin and history. - - ‘We have read Mr. Baring Gould’s book from beginning to end. It is - full of quaint and various information, and there is not a dull - page in it.’--_Notes and Queries._ - - THE TRAGEDY OF THE CAESARS: The Emperors of the Julian and Claudian - Lines. With numerous Illustrations from Busts, Gems, Cameos, etc. - By S. BARING GOULD, Author of ‘Mehalah,’ etc. _2 vols. Royal 8vo. - 30s._ - - This book is the only one in English which deals with the personal - history of the Caesars, and Mr. Baring Gould has found a subject - which, for picturesque detail and sombre interest, is not rivalled - by any work of fiction. The volumes are copiously illustrated. - - ‘A most splendid and fascinating book on a subject of undying - interest The great feature of the book is the use the author has - made of the existing portraits of the Caesars, and the admirable - critical subtlety he has exhibited in dealing with this line of - research. It is brilliantly written, and the illustrations are - supplied on a scale of profuse magnificence.’--_Daily Chronicle._ - - ‘The volumes will in no sense disappoint the general reader. - Indeed, in their way, there is nothing in any sense so good in - English.... Mr. Baring Gould has most diligently read his - authorities and presented his narrative in such a way as not to - make one dull page.’--_Athenæum._ - - JACQUETTA, and other Stories. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - - ARMINELL: A Social Romance. _New Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - - ‘To say that a book is by the author of “Mehalah” is to imply that - it contains a story cast on strong lines, containing dramatic - possibilities, vivid and sympathetic descriptions of Nature, and a - wealth of ingenious imagery. All these expectations are justified - by “Arminell.”’--_Speaker._ - - URITH: A Story of Dartmoor. _Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - - ‘The author is at his best.’--_Times._ - - ‘He has nearly reached the high water-mark of - “Mehalah.”’--_National Observer._ - - MARGERY OF QUETHER, and other Stories. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - - IN THE ROAR OF THE SEA: A Tale of the Cornish Coast. _New Edition. - 6s._ - - -Fiction - - =Author of ‘Indian Idylls.’= IN TENT AND BUNGALOW: Stories of Indian - Sport and Society. By the Author of ‘Indian Idylls.’ _Crown 8vo. - 3s. 6d._ - - =Fenn.= A DOUBLE KNOT. By G. MANVILLE FENN, Author of ‘The Vicar’s - People,’ etc. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - - =Pryce.= THE QUIET MRS. FLEMING. By RICHARD PRYCE, Author of ‘Miss - Maxwell’s Affections,’ etc. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. Picture Boards, - 2s._ - - =Pryce.= TIME AND THE WOMAN. 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By EDNA - LYALL, Author of ‘Donovan,’ etc. Also paper, 1_s._ - - 7. DISENCHANTMENT. By F. MABEL ROBINSON. - - 8. DISARMED. By M. BETHAM EDWARDS. - - 9. JACK’S FATHER. By W. E. NORRIS. - - 10. MARGERY OF QUETHER. By S. BARING GOULD. - - 11. A LOST ILLUSION. By LESLIE KEITH. - - 12. A MARRIAGE AT SEA. By W. CLARK RUSSELL. - - 13. MR. BUTLER’S WARD. By F. MABEL ROBINSON. - - 14. URITH. By S. BARING GOULD. - - 15. HOVENDEN, V.C. By F. MABEL ROBINSON. - -Other Volumes will be announced in due course. - - -NEW TWO-SHILLING EDITIONS - -2/- - - -_Crown 8vo, Ornamental Boards._ - - ARMINELL. By the Author of ‘Mehalah.’ - ELI’S CHILDREN. By G. MANVILLE FENN. - DISENCHANTMENT. By F. MABEL ROBINSON. - THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN. By F. MABEL ROBINSON. - JACQUETTA. By the Author of ‘Mehalah.’ - - -_Picture Boards._ - - THE QUIET MRS. FLEMING. By RICHARD PRYCE. - JACK’S FATHER. By W. E. NORRIS. - MR. BUTLER’S WARD. By MABEL ROBINSON. - A REVEREND GENTLEMEN. By J. MACLAREN COBBAN. - - -Books for Boys and Girls - - =Cuthell.= ONLY A GUARD-ROOM DOG. By Mrs. CUTHELL. With 16 - Illustrations by W. PARKINSON. _Square Crown 8vo. 6s._ - - ‘This is a charming story. Tangle was but a little mongrel Sky - terrier, but he had a big heart in his little body, and played a - hero’s part more than once. The book can be warmly - recommended.’--_Standard._ - - =Collingwood.= THE DOCTOR OF THE JULIET. By HARRY COLLINGWOOD, Author - of ‘The Pirate Island,’ etc. Illustrated by GORDON BROWNE. _Crown - 8vo. 6s._ - - ‘“The Doctor of the Juliet,” well illustrated by Gordon Browne, is - one of Harry Collingwood’s best efforts.’--_Morning Post._ - - =Walford.= A PINCH OF EXPERIENCE. By L. B. WALFORD, Author of ‘Mr. - Smith.’ With Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. _Crown 8vo. 6s._ - - ‘The clever authoress steers clear of namby-pamby, and invests her - moral with a fresh and striking dress. There is terseness and - vivacity of style, and the illustrations are - admirable.’--_Anti-Jacobin._ - - =Molesworth.= THE RED GRANGE. By Mrs. MOLESWORTH, Author of - ‘Carrots.’ With Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. _Crown 8vo. 6s._ - - ‘A volume in which girls will delight, and beautifully - illustrated.’--_Pall Mall Gazette._ - - =Clark Russell.= MASTER ROCKAFELLAR’S VOYAGE. By W. CLARK RUSSELL, - Author of ‘The Wreck of the Grosvenor,’ etc. Illustrated by GORDON - BROWNE. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - - ‘Mr. Clark Russell’s story of “Master Rockafellar’s Voyage” will be - among the favourites of the Christmas books. There is a rattle and - “go” all through it, and its illustrations are charming in - themselves, and very much above the average in the way in which - they are produced.’--_Guardian._ - - =Author of ‘Mdle. Mori.’= THE SECRET OF MADAME DE Monluc. By the - Author of ‘The Atelier du Lys,’ ‘Mdle. Mori.’ _Crown 8vo. 5s._ - - ‘An exquisite literary cameo.’--_World._ - - =Manville Fenn.= SYD BELTON: Or, The Boy who would not go to Sea. By - G. MANVILLE FENN, Author of ‘In the King’s Name,’ etc. Illustrated - by GORDON BROWNE. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - - ‘Who among the young story-reading public will not rejoice at the - sight of the old combination, so often proved admirable--a story by - Manville Fenn, illustrated by Gordon Browne? The story, too, is one - of the good old sort, full of life and vigour, breeziness and - fun.’--_Journal of Education._ - - =Parr.= DUMPS. By Mrs. PARR, Author of ‘Adam and Eve,’ ‘Dorothy Fox,’ - etc. Illustrated by W. PARKINSON. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - - ‘One of the prettiest stories which even this clever writer has - given the world for a long time.’--_World._ - - =Meade.= OUT OF THE FASHION. By L. T. MEADE, Author of ‘A Girl of the - People,’ etc. With 6 Illustrations by W. PAGET. _Crown 8vo. 6s._ - - ‘One of those charmingly-written social tales, which this writer - knows so well how to write. It is delightful reading, and is well - illustrated by W. Paget.’--_Glasgow Herald._ - - =Meade.= A GIRL OF THE PEOPLE. By L. T. MEADE, Author of ‘Scamp and - I,’ etc. Illustrated by R. BARNES. _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d._ - - ‘An excellent story. Vivid portraiture of character, and broad and - wholesome lessons about life.’--_Spectator._ - - ‘One of Mrs. Meade’s most fascinating books.’--_Daily News._ - - =Meade.= HEPSY GIPSY. By L. T. MEADE. Illustrated by EVERARD HOPKINS. - _Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d._ - - ‘Mrs. Meade has not often done better work than - this.’--_Spectator._ - - =Meade.= THE HONOURABLE MISS: A Tale of a Country Town. By L. T. - MEADE, Author of ‘Scamp and I,’ ‘A Girl of the People,’ etc. With - Illustrations by EVERARD HOPKINS. _Crown 8vo, 3s. 6d._ - - =Adams.= MY LAND OF BEULAH. By MRS. LEITH ADAMS. With a Frontispiece - by GORDON BROWNE. _Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d._ - - -Leaders of Religion - - Edited by H. C. BEECHING, M.A. _With Portrait, crown 8vo, 2s. 6d._ - - A series of short biographies, free from party bias, of the most - prominent leaders of religious life and thought. - -2/6 - - The following are ready-- - - CARDINAL NEWMAN. By R. H. HUTTON. - - ‘Few who read this book will fail to be struck by the wonderful - insight it displays into the nature of the Cardinal’s genius and - the spirit of his life.’--WILFRID WARD, in the _Tablet_. - - ‘Full of knowledge, excellent in method, and intelligent in - criticism. We regard it as wholly admirable.’--_Academy._ - - JOHN WESLEY. By J. H. OVERTON, M.A. - - ‘It is well done: the story is clearly told, proportion is duly - observed, and there is no lack either of discrimination or of - sympathy.’--_Manchester Guardian._ - - BISHOP WILBERFORCE. By G. W. DANIEL, M.A. - - CHARLES SIMEON. By H. C. G. MOULE, M.A. - - CARDINAL MANNING. By A. W. HUTTON, M.A. - -Other volumes will be announced in due course. - - -University Extension Series - -A series of books on historical, literary, and scientific subjects, -suitable for extension students and home reading circles. Each volume -will be complete in itself, and the subjects will be treated by -competent writers in a broad and philosophic spirit. - -Edited by J. E. SYMES, M.A., -Principal of University College, Nottingham. -_Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d._ - -2/6 - - -_The following volumes are ready_:-- - - THE INDUSTRIAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND. By H. DE B. GIBBINS, M.A., late - Scholar of Wadham College, Oxon., Cobden Prizeman. _Second - Edition._ With Maps and Plans. - -[_Ready._ - - A compact and clear story of our industrial development. A study of - this concise but luminous book cannot fail to give the reader a - clear insight into the principal phenomena of our industrial - history. The editor and publishers are to be congratulated on this - first volume of their venture, and we shall look with expectant - interest for the succeeding volumes of the series.’--_University - Extension Journal._ - - A HISTORY OF ENGLISH POLITICAL ECONOMY. By L. L. PRICE, M.A., - Fellow of Oriel College, Oxon. - - PROBLEMS OF POVERTY: An Inquiry into the Industrial Conditions of - the Poor. By J. A. HOBSON, M.A. - - VICTORIAN POETS. By A. SHARP. - - THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. By J. E. SYMES, M.A. - - PSYCHOLOGY. By F. S. GRANGER, M.A., Lecturer in Philosophy at - University College, Nottingham. - - THE EVOLUTION OF PLANT LIFE: Lower Forms. By G. MASSEE, Kew - Gardens. With Illustrations. - - AIR AND WATER. Professor V. B. LEWES, M.A. Illustrated. - - THE CHEMISTRY OF LIFE AND HEALTH. By C. W. KIMMINS, M.A. Camb. - Illustrated. - - THE MECHANICS OF DAILY LIFE. By V. P. SELLS, M.A. Illustrated. - - ENGLISH SOCIAL REFORMERS. H. DE B. 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BASTABLE, M.A., Professor of - Economics at Trinity College, Dublin. - - THE ALIEN INVASION. By W. H. WILKINS, B.A., Secretary to the - Society for Preventing the Immigration of Destitute Aliens. - - THE RURAL EXODUS. By P. ANDERSON GRAHAM. - - LAND NATIONALIZATION. By HAROLD COX, B.A. - - A SHORTER WORKING DAY. By H. DE B. GIBBINS and R. A. HADFIELD, of - the Hecla Works, Sheffield. - - BACK TO THE LAND, being an inquiry as to the possible conditions - under which those now unemployed can be provided with rural work, - with practical suggestions as to the means by which a larger number - of persons than at present can be maintained from the land. By - HAROLD E. 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