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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..51d563b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60663 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60663) diff --git a/old/60663-0.txt b/old/60663-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6fe2c59..0000000 --- a/old/60663-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4329 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets and Verse, by Hilaire Belloc - -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: Sonnets and Verse - -Author: Hilaire Belloc - -Release Date: November 10, 2019 [EBook #60663] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS AND VERSE *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - SONNETS AND VERSE - - BY - - H. BELLOC - - - - - SONNETS AND VERSE - - BY - - H. BELLOC - - [Illustration: colophon] - - DUCKWORTH & CO. - 3 HENRIETTA STREET, LONDON, W.C. - - - _First Published in 1923_ - - _All rights reserved_ - - - _Made and Printed in Great Britain - by Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh_ - - - - - To - - JOHN SWINNERTON PHILLIMORE - - A DEDICATION - - WITH THIS BOOK OF VERSE - - - _When you and I were little tiny boys_ - _We took a most impertinent delight_ - _In foolish, painted and misshapen toys_ - _Which hidden mothers brought to us at night._ - - _Do you that have the child’s diviner part--_ - _The dear content a love familiar brings--_ - _Take these imperfect toys, till in your heart_ - _They too attain the form of perfect things._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - -I. SONNETS - - PAGE - -I. LIFT UP YOUR HEARTS IN GUMBER, LAUGH -THE WEALD 3 - -II. I WAS LIKE ONE THAT KEEPS THE DECK BY NIGHT 4 - -III. RISE UP AND DO BEGIN THE DAY’S ADORNING 5 - -IV. THE WINTER MOON HAS SUCH A QUIET CAR 6 - -V. WHATEVER MOISTURE NOURISHES THE ROSE 7 - -VI. YOUTH GAVE YOU TO ME, BUT I’LL NOT BELIEVE 8 - -VII. MORTALITY IS BUT THE STUFF YOU WEAR 9 - -VIII. NOT FOR THE LUCKLESS BUDS OUR ROOTS MAY BEAR 10 - -IX. THAT WHICH IS ONE THEY SHEAR AND MAKE IT TWAIN 11 - -X. SHALL ANY MAN FOR WHOSE STRONG LOVE ANOTHER 12 - -XI. THEY THAT HAVE TAKEN WAGES OF THINGS DONE 13 - -XII. BEAUTY THAT PARENT IS TO DEATHLESS RHYME 14 - -XIII. WHAT ARE THE NAMES FOR BEAUTY? WHO SHALL PRAISE 15 - -XIV. LOVE WOOING HONOUR, HONOUR’S LOVE DID WIN 16 - -XV. YOUR LIFE IS LIKE A LITTLE WINTER’S DAY 17 - -XVI. NOW SHALL THE CERTAIN PURPOSE OF MY SOUL 18 - -XVII. BECAUSE MY FALTERING FEET MAY FAIL TO DARE 19 - -XVIII. WHEN YOU TO ACHERON’S UGLY WATER COME 20 - -XIX. WE WILL NOT WHISPER, WE HAVE FOUND THE PLACE 21 - -XX. I WENT TO SLEEP AT DAWN IN TUSCANY 22 - -XXI. ALMIGHTY GOD, WHOSE JUSTICE LIKE A SUN 23 - -XXII. MOTHER OF ALL MY CITIES ONCE THERE LAY 24 - -XXIII. NOVEMBER IS THAT HISTORIED EMPEROR 25 - -XXIV. HOAR TIME ABOUT THE HOUSE BETAKES HIM SLOW 26 - -XXV. IT FREEZES: ALL ACROSS A SOUNDLESS SKY 27 - -XXVI. O MY COMPANION, O MY SISTER SLEEP 28 - -XXVII. ARE YOU THE END, DESPAIR, OR THE POOR LEAST 29 - -XXVIII. BUT OH! NOT LOVELY HELEN, NOR THE PRIDE 30 - -XXIX. THE WORLD’S A STAGE. THE LIGHT IS IN ONE’S EYES 31 - -XXX. THE WORLD’S A STAGE--AND I’M THE SUPER MAN 32 - -XXXI. THE WORLD’S A STAGE. THE TRIFLING ENTRANCE FEE 33 - - -II. LYRICAL, DIDACTIC AND GROTESQUE - -TO DIVES 37 - -STANZAS WRITTEN ON BATTERSEA BRIDGE DURING A SOUTH-WESTERLY GALE 39 - -THE SOUTH COUNTRY 42 - -THE FANATIC 45 - -THE EARLY MORNING 48 - -OUR LORD AND OUR LADY 49 - -COURTESY 51 - -THE NIGHT 53 - -THE LEADER 54 - -A BIVOUAC 56 - -TO THE BALLIOL MEN STILL IN AFRICA 57 - -VERSES TO A LORD WHO, IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS, -SAID THAT THOSE WHO OPPOSED THE SOUTH AFRICAN -ADVENTURE CONFUSED SOLDIERS WITH MONEY-GRUBBERS 59 - -THE REBEL 61 - -THE PROPHET LOST IN THE HILLS AT EVENING 63 - -THE END OF THE ROAD 65 - -AN ORACLE THAT WARNED THE WRITER WHEN ON PILGRIMAGE 67 - -THE DEATH AND LAST CONFESSION OF WANDERING PETER 68 - -DEDICATORY ODE 70 - -DEDICATION ON THE GIFT OF A BOOK TO A CHILD 78 - -DEDICATION OF A CHILD’S BOOK OF IMAGINARY TALES 79 - -HOMAGE 80 - -THE MOON’S FUNERAL 81 - -THE HAPPY JOURNALIST 83 - -LINES TO A DON 85 - -NEWDIGATE POEM 88 - -THE YELLOW MUSTARD 93 - -THE POLITICIAN OR THE IRISH EARLDOM 94 - -THE LOSER 96 - - -III. SONGS - -NOËL 99 - -THE BIRDS 101 - -IN A BOAT 102 - -SONG INVITING THE INFLUENCE OF A YOUNG LADY UPON THE OPENING YEAR 104 - -THE RING 105 - -CUCKOO! 106 - -THE LITTLE SERVING MAID 107 - -AUVERGNAT 110 - -DRINKING SONG, ON THE EXCELLENCE OF BURGUNDY -WINE 111 - -DRINKING DIRGE 113 - -WEST SUSSEX DRINKING SONG 115 - -A BALLAD ON SOCIOLOGICAL ECONOMICS 117 - -HERETICS ALL 118 - -HA’NACKER MILL 119 - -TARANTELLA 120 - -THE CHAUNTY OF THE “NONA” 122 - -THE WINGED HORSE 125 - -STREPHON’S SONG (FROM “THE CRUEL SHEPHERDESS”) 127 - - -IV. BALLADES - -SHORT BALLADE AND POSTSCRIPT ON CONSOLS AND BOERS 131 - -BALLADE OF THE UNANSWERED QUESTION 134 - -BALLADE TO OUR LADY OF CZESTOCHOWA 136 - -BALLADE OF HELL AND OF MRS ROEBECK 138 - -BALLADE OF UNSUCCESSFUL MEN 140 - -BALLADE OF THE HERESIARCHS 142 - - -V. EPIGRAMS 147 - - -VI. THE BALLAD OF VAL-ÈS-DUNES 157 - - - - -I SONNETS - - - I - - Lift up your hearts in Gumber, laugh the Weald - And you my mother the Valley of Arun sing. - Here am I homeward from my wandering - Here am I homeward and my heart is healed. - You my companions whom the World has tired - Come out to greet me. I have found a face - More beautiful than Gardens; more desired - Than boys in exile love their native place. - - Lift up your hearts in Gumber, laugh the Weald - And you most ancient Valley of Arun sing. - Here am I homeward from my wandering, - Here am I homeward and my heart is healed. - If I was thirsty, I have heard a spring. - If I was dusty, I have found a field. - - -II - - I was like one that keeps the deck by night - Bearing the tiller up against his breast; - I was like one whose soul is centred quite - In holding course although so hardly prest, - And veers with veering shock now left now right, - And strains his foothold still and still makes play - Of bending beams until the sacred light - Shows him high lands and heralds up the day. - - But now such busy work of battle past - I am like one whose barque at bar at last - Comes hardly heeling down the adventurous breeze; - And entering calmer seas, - I am like one that brings his merchandise - To Californian skies. - - -III - - Rise up and do begin the day’s adorning; - The Summer dark is but the dawn of day. - The last of sunset fades into the morning; - The morning calls you from the dark away. - The holy mist, the white mist of the morning - Was wreathing upward on my lonely way. - The way was waiting for your own adorning - That should complete the broad adornéd day. - - Rise up and do begin the day’s adorning; - The little eastern clouds are dapple grey: - There will be wind among the leaves to-day; - It is the very promise of the morning. - _Lux Tua Via Mea_: your light’s my way-- - Then do rise up and make it perfect day. - - -IV - - The Winter Moon has such a quiet car - That all the winter nights are dumb with rest. - She drives the gradual dark with drooping crest - And dreams go wandering from her drowsy star - Because the nights are silent do not wake - But there shall tremble through the general earth, - And over you, a quickening and a birth. - The Sun is near the hill-tops for your sake. - - The latest born of all the days shall creep - To kiss the tender eyelids of the year; - And you shall wake, grown young with perfect sleep, - And smile at the new world and make it dear - With living murmurs more than dreams are deep; - Silence is dead, my dawn, the morning’s here. - - - V - - Whatever moisture nourishes the Rose - The Rose of the World in laughter’s garden-bed - Where Souls of men on faith secure are fed - And spirits immortal keep their pleasure-close. - Whatever moisture nourishes the Rose, - The burning Rose of the world, for me the same - To-day for me the spring without a name - Content or Grace or Laughter overflows. - - This is that water from the Fount of Gold - Water of Youth and washer out of cares - Which Raymond of Saragossa sought of old - And finding in the mountain, unawares, - Returned to hear an ancient story told - To Bramimond, his love, beside the marble stairs. - - -VI - - Youth gave you to me, but I’ll not believe - That Youth will, taking his quick self, take you. - Youth’s all our Truth: he cannot so deceive. - He has our graces, not our ownselves too. - He still compares with time when he’ll be spent, - By human doom enhancing what we are; - Enriches us with rare experiment, - Lends arms to leagured Age in Time’s rough war. - - Look! This Youth in us is an Old Man taking - A Boy to make him wiser than his days. - So is our old Youth our young Age’s making: - So rich in time our final debt he pays. - Then with your quite young arms do you me hold - And I will still be young when all the World’s grown old. - - -VII - - Mortality is but the Stuff you wear - To show the better on the imperfect sight. - Your home is surely with the changeless light - Of which you are the daughter and the heir. - For as you pass, the natural life of things - Proclaims the Resurrection: as you pass - Remembered summer shines across the grass - And somewhat in me of the immortal sings. - - You were not made for memory, you are not - Youth’s accident I think but heavenly more; - Moulding to meaning slips my pen’s poor blot - And opening wide that long forbidden door - Where stands the Mother of God, your exemplar. - How beautiful, how beautiful you are! - - -VIII - - Not for the luckless buds our roots may bear - Now all in bloom, now seared and cankered lying - Will I entreat you, lest they should compare - Foredoomed humanity with the fall of flowers. - Hold thou with me the chaste communion rare - And touch with life this mortal case of ours: - You’re lifted up beyond the power of dying: - I die, as bounded things die everywhere. - - You’re voiced companionship, I’m silence lonely; - You’re stuff, I’m void; you’re living, I’m decay. - I fall, I think, to-night and ending only; - You rise, I know, through still advancing day. - And knowing living gift were life for me - In narrow room of rhyme I fixed it certainly. - - -IX - - That which is one they shear and make it twain - Who would Love’s light and dark discriminate: - His pleasure is one essence with his pain, - Even his desire twin brother to his hate. - With him the foiled attempt is half achieving; - And being mastered, to be armed a lord; - And doubting every chance is still believing; - And losing all one’s own is all reward. - - I am acquainted with misfortune’s fortune, - And better than herself her dowry know: - For she that is my fortune and misfortune, - Making me hapless, makes me happier so: - In which conceit, as older men may prove, - Lies manifest the very core of Love. - - - X - - Shall any man for whose strong love another - Has thrown away his wealth and name in one, - Shall he turn mocker of a more than brother - To slight his need when his adventure’s done? - Or shall a breedless boy whose mother won him - In great men’s great concerns his little place - Turn when his farthing honours come upon him - To mock her yeoman air and conscious grace? - - Then mock me as you do my narrow scope, - For you it was put out this light of mine: - Wrongfully wrecked my new adventured hope, - Wasted my wordy wealth, spilt my rich wine, - Made my square ship within a league of shore - Alas! To be entombed in seas and seen no more. - - -XI - - They that have taken wages of things done - When sense abused has blocked the doors of sense, - They that have lost their heritage of the sun, - Their laughter and their holy innocence; - They turn them now to this thing, now to t’other, - For anchor hold against swift-eddying time, - Some to that square of earth which was their mother, - And some to noisy fame, and some to rhyme. - - But I to that far morning where you stood - In fullness of the body, with your hands - Reposing on your walls, before your lands, - And all, together, making one great good: - Then did I cry “For this my birth was meant. - These are my use, and this my sacrament!” - - -XII - - Beauty that Parent is to deathless Rhyme - Was Manhood’s maker: you shall bear a Son, - Till Daughters linked adown admiring time - Fulfil the mother, handing Beauty on. - You shall by breeding make Life answer yet, - In Time’s despite, Time’s jeer that men go void; - Your stamp of heaven shall be more largely set - Than my one joy, ten thousand times enjoyed. - - The glories of our state and its achievement, - Which wait their passing, shall not pass away. - I will extend our term beyond bereavement, - And launch our date into a dateless day. - For you shall make recórd, and when that’s sealed - In Beauty made immortal, all is healed. - - -XIII - - What are the names for Beauty? Who shall praise - God’s pledge he can fulfil His creatures’ eyes? - Or what strong words of what creative phrase - Determine Beauty’s title in the skies? - But I will call you Beauty Personate, - Ambassadorial Beauty, and again - Beauty triumphant, Beauty in the Gate, - Beauty salvation of the souls of men. - - For Beauty was not Beauty till you came - And now shall Beauty mean the sign you are; - A Beacon burnt above the Dawn, a flame - Like holy Lucifer the Morning Star, - Who latest hangs in Heaven and is the gem - On all the widowéd Night’s expectant Diadem. - - -XIV - - Love wooing Honour, Honour’s love did win - And had his pleasure all a summer’s day. - Not understanding how the dooms begin, - Love wooing Honour, wooed her life away. - Then wandered he a full five years unrest - Until, one night, this Honour that had died - Came as he slept, in youth grown glorified - And smiling like the Saints whom God has blest. - - But when he saw her on the clear night shine - Serene with more than mortal light upon her, - The boy that careless was of things divine, - Small Love, turned penitent to worship Honour. - So Love can conquer Honour: when that’s past - Dead Honour risen outdoes Love at last. - - -XV - - Your life is like a little winter’s day - Whose sad sun rises late to set too soon; - You have just come--why will you go away, - Making an evening of what should be noon. - Your life is like a little flute complaining - A long way off, beyond the willow trees: - A long way off, and nothing left remaining - But memory of a music on the breeze. - - Your life is like a pitiful leave-taking - Wept in a dream before a man’s awaking, - A Call with only shadows to attend: - A Benediction whispered and belated - Which has no fruit beyond a consecrated, - A consecrated silence at the end. - - -XVI - - Now shall the certain purpose of my soul - By blind and empty things controlled be, - And mine audacious course to that far goal - Fall short, confessing mere mortality. - Limbs shall have movement and ignore their living, - Brain wit, that he his quickness may deny. - My promised hope forswears in act of giving, - Time eats me up and makes my words a lie. - - And mine unbounded dream has found a bar, - And I must worst deceit of best things bear. - Now dawn’s but daybreak, seas but waters are, - Night darkness only, all wide heaven just air: - And you to whom these fourteen lines I tell, - My beauty, my desire: but not my love as well. - - -XVII - - Because my faltering feet may fail to dare - The first descendant of the steps of Hell - Give me the Word in time that triumphs there. - I too must pass into the misty hollow - Where all our living laughter stops: and hark! - The tiny stuffless voices of the dark - Have called me, called me, till I needs must follow: - Give me the Word and I’ll attempt it well. - - Say it’s the little winking of an eye - Which in that issue is uncurtained quite; - A little sleep that helps a moment by - Between the thin dawn and the large daylight. - Ah! tell me more than yet was hoped of men; - Swear that’s true now, and I’ll believe it then. - - -XVIII - - When you to Acheron’s ugly water come - Where darkness is and formless mourners brood - And down the shelves of that distasteful flood - Survey the human rank in order dumb. - When the pale dead go forward, tortured more - By nothingness and longing than by fire, - Which bear their hands in suppliance with desire, - With stretched desire for the ulterior shore. - - Then go before them like a royal ghost - And tread like Egypt or like Carthage crowned; - Because in your Mortality the most - Of all we may inherit has been found-- - Children for memory: the Faith for pride. - Good land to leave: and young Love satisfied. - - -XIX - - We will not whisper, we have found the place - Of silence and the endless halls of sleep. - And that which breathes alone throughout the deep - The end and the beginning: and the face - Between the level brows of whose blind eyes - Lie plenary contentment, full surcease - Of violence, and the passionless long peace - Wherein we lose our human lullabies. - - Look up and tell the immeasurable height - Between the vault of the world and your dear head; - That’s death, my little sister, and the night - Which was our Mother beckons us to bed, - Where large oblivion in her house is laid - For us tired children, now our games are played. - - -XX - - I went to sleep at Dawn in Tuscany - Beneath a Rock and dreamt a morning dream. - I thought I stood by that baptismal stream - Whereon the bounds of our redemption lie. - And there, beyond, a radiance rose to take - My soul at passing, in which light your eyes - So filled me I was drunk with Paradise. - Then the day broadened, but I did not wake. - - Here’s the last edge of my long parchment furled - And all was writ that you might read it so. - This sleep I swear shall last the length of day; - Not noise, not chance, shall drive this dream away: - Not time, not treachery, not good fortune--no, - Not all the weight of all the wears of the world. - - -XXI - - Almighty God, whose justice like a sun - Shall coruscate along the floors of Heaven, - Raising what’s low, perfecting what’s undone, - Breaking the proud and making odd things even. - The poor of Jesus Christ along the street - In your rain sodden, in your snows unshod, - They have nor hearth, nor sword, nor human meat, - Nor even the bread of men: Almighty God. - - The poor of Jesus Christ whom no man hears - Have waited on your vengeance much too long. - Wipe out not tears but blood: our eyes bleed tears. - Come smite our damnéd sophistries so strong - That thy rude hammer battering this rude wrong - Ring down the abyss of twice ten thousand years. - - -XXII - - Mother of all my cities once there lay - About your weedy wharves an orient shower - Of spice and languorous silk and all the dower - That Ocean gave you on his bridal day. - And now the youth and age have passed away - And all the sail superb and all the power; - Your time’s a time of memory like that hour - Just after sunset, wonderful and grey. - - Too tired to rise and much too sad to weep, - With strong arm nerveless on a nerveless knee, - Still to your slumbering ears the spousal deep - Murmurs his thoughts of eld eternally; - But your soul wakes not from its holy sleep - Dreaming of dead delights beside a tideless sea. - - -XXIII - - November is that historied Emperor - Conquered in age but foot to foot with fate - Who from his refuge high has heard the roar - Of squadrons in pursuit, and now, too late, - Stirrups the storm and calls the winds to war, - And arms the garrison of his last heirloom, - And shakes the sky to its extremest shore - With battle against irrevocable doom. - - Till, driven and hurled from his strong citadels, - He flies in hurrying cloud and spurs him on, - Empty of lingerings, empty of farewells - And final benedictions and is gone. - But in my garden all the trees have shed - Their legacies of the light and all the flowers are dead. - - -XXIV - - Hoar Time about the House betakes him slow - Seeking an entry for his weariness. - And in that dreadful company distress - And the sad night with silent footsteps go. - On my poor fire the brands are scarce aglow - And in the woods without what memories press - Where, waning in the trees from less to less - Mysterious hangs the hornéd moon and low. - - For now December, full of agéd care - Comes in upon the year and weakly grieves; - Mumbling his lost desires and his despair - And with mad trembling hand still interweaves - The dank sear flower-stalks tangled in his hair, - While round about him whirl the rotten leaves. - - -XXV - - It freezes: all across a soundless sky - The birds go home. The governing dark’s begun. - The steadfast dark that waits not for a sun; - The ultimate dark wherein the race shall die. - Death with his evil finger to his lip - Leers in at human windows, turning spy - To learn the country where his rule shall lie - When he assumes perpetual generalship. - - The undefeated enemy, the chill - That shall benumb the voiceful earth at last, - Is master of our moment, and has bound - The viewless wind itself. There is no sound. - It freezes. Every friendly stream is fast. - It freezes, and the graven twigs are still. - - -XXVI - - O my companion, O my sister Sleep, - The valley is all before us, bear me on. - High through the heaven of evening, hardly gone, - Beyond the harbour lights, beyond the steep, - Beyond the land and its lost benison - To where, majestic on the darkening deep, - The night comes forward from Mount Aurion. - O my companion, O my sister Sleep. - - Above the surf-line, into the night-breeze; - Eastward above the ever-whispering seas; - Through the warm airs with no more watch to keep. - My day’s run out and all its dooms are graven. - O dear forerunner of Death and promise of Haven. - O my companion, O my sister Sleep. - - -XXVII - - Are you the end, Despair, or the poor least - Of them that cast great shadows and are lies? - That dread the simple and destroy the wise, - Fail at the tomb and triumph at the feast? - You were not found on Olivet, dull beast, - Nor in Thebaid, when the night’s agonies - Dissolved to glory on the effulgent east - And Jesus Christ was in the morning skies. - - You did not curb the indomitable crest - Of Tzerna-Gora, when the Falcon-bred - Screamed over the Adriatic, and their Lord - Went riding out, much angrier than the rest, - To summon at ban the living and the dead - And break the Mahommedan with the repeated sword. - - -XXVIII - - But oh! not Lovely Helen, nor the pride - Of that most ancient Ilium matched with doom. - Men murdered Priam in his royal room - And Troy was burned with fire and Hector died. - For even Hector’s dreadful day was more - Than all his breathing courage dared defend - The armouréd light and bulwark of the war - Trailed his great story to the accustomed end. - - He was the city’s buttress, Priam’s Son, - The Soldier born in bivouac praises great - And horns in double front of battle won. - Yet down he went: when unremembering fate - Felled him at last with all his armour on. - Hector: the horseman: in the Scæan Gate. - - -XXIX - - The world’s a stage. The light is in one’s eyes. - The Auditorium is extremely dark. - The more dishonest get the larger rise; - The more offensive make the greater mark. - The women on it prosper by their shape, - Some few by their vivacity. The men, - By tailoring in breeches and in cape. - The world’s a stage--I say it once again. - - The scenery is very much the best - Of what the wretched drama has to show, - Also the prompter happens to be dumb. - We drink behind the scenes and pass a jest - On all our folly; then, before we go - Loud cries for “Author” ... but he doesn’t come. - - -XXX - - The world’s a stage--and I’m the Super man, - And no one seems responsible for salary. - I roar my part as loudly as I can - And all I mouth I mouth it to the gallery. - I haven’t got another rhyme in “alery” - It would have made a better job, no doubt - If I had left attempt at Rhyming out, - Like Alfred Tennyson adapting Malory. - - The world’s a stage, the company of which - Has very little talent and less reading: - But many a waddling heathen painted bitch - And many a standing cad of gutter breeding. - We sweat to learn our book: for all our pains - We pass. The Chucker-out alone remains. - - -XXXI - - The world’s a stage. The trifling entrance fee - Is paid (by proxy) to the registrar. - The Orchestra is very loud and free - But plays no music in particular. - They do not print a programme, that I know. - The caste is large. There isn’t any plot. - The acting of the piece is far below - The very worst of modernistic rot. - - The only part about it I enjoy - Is what was called in English the Foyay. - There will I stand apart awhile and toy - With thought, and set my cigarette alight; - And then--without returning to the play-- - On with my coat and out into the night. - - - - -II - -LYRICAL, DIDACTIC AND GROTESQUE - - - - -TO DIVES - - - Dives, when you and I go down to Hell, - Where scribblers end and millionaires as well, - We shall be carrying on our separate backs - Two very large but very different packs; - And as you stagger under yours, my friend, - Down the dull shore where all our journeys end, - And go before me (as your rank demands) - Towards the infinite flat underlands, - And that dear river of forgetfulness-- - Charon, a man of exquisite address - (For, as your wife’s progenitors could tell, - They’re very strict on etiquette in Hell), - Will, since you are a lord, observe, “My lord, - We cannot take these weighty things aboard!” - Then down they go, my wretched Dives, down-- - The fifteen sorts of boots you kept for town, - The hat to meet the Devil in; the plain - But costly ties; the cases of champagne; - The solid watch, and seal, and chain, and charm; - The working model of a Burning Farm - (To give the little Belials); all the three - Biscuits for Cerberus; the guarantee - From Lambeth that the Rich can never burn, - And even promising a safe return; - The admirable overcoat, designed - To cross Cocytus--very warmly lined: - Sweet Dives, you will leave them all behind - And enter Hell as tattered and as bare - As was your father when he took the air - Behind a barrow-load in Leicester Square. - Then turned to me, and noting one that brings - With careless step a mist of shadowy things: - Laughter and memories, and a few regrets, - Some honour, and a quantity of debts, - A doubt or two of sorts, a trust in God, - And (what will seem to you extremely odd) - His father’s granfer’s father’s father’s name, - Unspoilt, untitled, even spelt the same; - Charon, who twenty thousand times before - Has ferried Poets to the ulterior shore, - Will estimate the weight I bear, and cry-- - “Comrade!” (He has himself been known to try - His hand at Latin and Italian verse, - Much in the style of Virgil--only worse) - “We let such vain imaginaries pass!” - Then tell me, Dives, which will look the ass-- - You, or myself? Or Charon? Who can tell? - They order things so damnably in Hell. - - - - -STANZAS WRITTEN ON BATTERSEA BRIDGE DURING A SOUTH-WESTERLY GALE - - - The woods and downs have caught the mid-December, - The noisy woods and high sea-downs of home; - The wind has found me and I do remember - The strong scent of the foam. - - Woods, darlings of my wandering feet, another - Possesses you, another treads the Down; - The South West Wind that was my elder brother - Has come to me in town. - - The wind is shouting from the hills of morning, - I do remember and I will not stay. - I’ll take the Hampton road without a warning - And get me clean away. - - The Channel is up, the little seas are leaping, - The tide is making over Arun Bar; - And there’s my boat, where all the rest are sleeping - And my companions are. - - I’ll board her, and apparel her, and I’ll mount her, - My boat, that was the strongest friend to me-- - That brought my boyhood to its first encounter - And taught me the wide sea. - - Now shall I drive her, roaring hard a’ weather, - Right for the salt and leave them all behind; - We’ll quite forget the treacherous streets together - And find--or shall we find? - - There is no Pilotry my soul relies on - Whereby to catch beneath my bended hand, - Faint and beloved along the extreme horizon - That unforgotten land. - - We shall not round the granite piers and paven - To lie to wharves we know with canvas furled. - My little Boat, we shall not make the haven-- - It is not of the world. - - Somewhere of English forelands grandly guarded - It stands, but not for exiles, marked and clean; - Oh! not for us. A mist has risen and marred it:-- - My youth lies in between. - - So in this snare that holds me and appals me, - Where honour hardly lives nor loves remain, - The Sea compels me and my County calls me, - But stronger things restrain. - - * * * * * - - England, to me that never have malingered, - Nor spoken falsely, nor your flattery used, - Nor even in my rightful garden lingered:-- - What have you not refused? - - - - -THE SOUTH COUNTRY - - - When I am living in the Midlands - That are sodden and unkind, - I light my lamp in the evening: - My work is left behind; - And the great hills of the South Country - Come back into my mind. - - The great hills of the South Country - They stand along the sea; - And it’s there walking in the high woods - That I could wish to be, - And the men that were boys when I was a boy - Walking along with me. - - The men that live in North England - I saw them for a day: - Their hearts are set upon the waste fells, - Their skies are fast and grey; - From their castle-walls a man may see - The mountains far away. - - The men that live in West England - They see the Severn strong, - A-rolling on rough water brown - Light aspen leaves along. - They have the secret of the Rocks, - And the oldest kind of song. - - But the men that live in the South Country - Are the kindest and most wise, - They get their laughter from the loud surf, - And the faith in their happy eyes - Comes surely from our Sister the Spring - When over the sea she flies; - The violets suddenly bloom at her feet, - She blesses us with surprise. - - I never get between the pines - But I smell the Sussex air; - Nor I never come on a belt of sand - But my home is there. - And along the sky the line of the Downs - So noble and so bare. - - A lost thing could I never find, - Nor a broken thing mend: - And I fear I shall be all alone - When I get towards the end. - Who will there be to comfort me - Or who will be my friend? - - I will gather and carefully make my friends - Of the men of the Sussex Weald, - They watch the stars from silent folds, - They stiffly plough the field. - By them and the God of the South Country - My poor soul shall be healed. - - If I ever become a rich man, - Or if ever I grow to be old, - I will build a house with deep thatch - To shelter me from the cold, - And there shall the Sussex songs be sung - And the story of Sussex told. - - I will hold my house in the high wood - Within a walk of the sea, - And the men that were boys when I was a boy - Shall sit and drink with me. - - - - -THE FANATIC - - - Last night in Compton Street, Soho, - A man whom many of you know - Gave up the ghost at half past nine. - That evening he had been to dine - At Gressington’s--an act unwise, - But not the cause of his demise. - The doctors all agree that he - Was touched with cardiac atrophy - Accelerated (more or less) - By lack of proper food, distress, - Uncleanliness, and loss of sleep. - He was a man that could not keep - His money (when he had the same) - Because of creditors who came - And took it from him; and he gave - So freely that he could not save. - But all the while a sort of whim - Persistently remained with him, - Half admirable, half absurd: - To keep his word, to keep his word.... - By which he did not mean what you - And I would mean (of payments due - Or punctual rental of the Flat-- - He was a deal too mad for that) - But--as he put it with a fine - Abandon, foolish or divine-- - But “That great word which every man - Gave God before his life began.” - It was a sacred word, he said, - Which comforted the pathless dead - And made God smile when it was shown - Unforfeited, before the Throne. - And this (he said) he meant to hold - In spite of debt, and hate, and cold; - And this (he said) he meant to show - As passport to the Wards below. - He boasted of it and gave praise - To his own self through all his days. - He wrote a record to preserve - How steadfastly he did not swerve - From keeping it; how stiff he stood - Its guardian, and maintained it good. - He had two witnesses to swear - He kept it once in Berkeley Square. - (Where hardly anything survives) - And, through the loneliest of lives - He kept it clean, he kept it still, - Down to the last extremes of ill. - So when he died, of many friends - Who came in crowds from all the ends - Of London, that it might be known - They knew the man who died alone, - Some, who had thought his mood sublime - And sent him soup from time to time, - Said, “Well, you cannot make them fit - The world, and there’s an end of it!” - But others, wondering at him, said: - “The man that kept his word is dead!” - Then angrily, a certain third - Cried, “Gentlemen, he kept his word. - And as a man whom beasts surround - Tumultuous, on a little mound - Stands Archer, for one dreadful hour, - Because a Man is born to Power-- - And still, to daunt the pack below, - Twangs the clear purpose of his bow, - Till overwhelmed he dares to fall: - So stood this bulwark of us all. - He kept his word as none but he - Could keep it, and as did not we. - And round him as he kept his word - To-day’s diseased and faithless herd, - A moment loud, a moment strong, - But foul forever, rolled along.” - - - - -THE EARLY MORNING - - - The moon on the one hand, the dawn on the other: - The moon is my sister, the dawn is my brother. - The moon on my left and the dawn on my right. - My brother, good morning: my sister, good night. - - - - -OUR LORD AND OUR LADY - - - They warned Our Lady for the Child - That was Our blessed Lord, - And She took Him into the desert wild, - Over the camel’s ford. - - And a long song She sang to Him - And a short story told: - And She wrapped Him in a woollen cloak - To keep Him from the cold. - - But when Our Lord was grown a man - The Rich they dragged Him down, - And they crucified Him in Golgotha, - Out and beyond the Town. - - They crucified Him on Calvary, - Upon an April day; - And because He had been her little Son - She followed Him all the way. - - Our Lady stood beside the Cross, - A little space apart, - And when She heard Our Lord cry out - A sword went through Her Heart. - - They laid Our Lord in a marble tomb, - Dead, in a winding sheet. - But Our Lady stands above the world - With the white Moon at Her feet. - - - - -COURTESY - - - Of Courtesy, it is much less - Than Courage of Heart or Holiness, - Yet in my Walks it seems to me - That the Grace of God is in Courtesy. - - On Monks I did in Storrington fall, - They took me straight into their Hall; - I saw Three Pictures on a wall, - And Courtesy was in them all. - - The first the Annunciation; - The second the Visitation; - The third the Consolation, - Of God that was Our Lady’s Son. - - The first was of Saint Gabriel; - On Wings a-flame from Heaven he fell; - And as he went upon one knee - He shone with Heavenly Courtesy. - - Our Lady out of Nazareth rode-- - It was Her month of heavy load; - Yet was Her face both great and kind, - For Courtesy was in Her Mind. - - The third it was our Little Lord, - Whom all the Kings in arms adored; - He was so small you could not see - His large intent of Courtesy. - - Our Lord, that was Our Lady’s Son, - Go bless you, People, one by one; - My Rhyme is written, my work is done. - - - - -THE NIGHT - - - Most holy Night, that still dost keep - The keys of all the doors of sleep, - To me when my tired eyelids close - Give thou repose. - - And let the far lament of them - That chaunt the dead day’s requiem - Make in my ears, who wakeful lie, - Soft lullaby. - - Let them that guard the horned moon - By my bedside their memories croon. - So shall I have new dreams and blest - In my brief rest. - - Fold your great wings about my face, - Hide dawning from my resting-place, - And cheat me with your false delight, - Most Holy Night. - - - - -THE LEADER - - - The sword fell down: I heard a knell; - I thought that ease was best, - And sullen men that buy and sell - Were host: and I was guest. - All unashamed I sat with swine, - We shook the dice for war, - The night was drunk with an evil wine-- - But she went on before. - - _She rode a steed of the sea-foam breed,_ - _All faery was her blade,_ - _And the armour on her tender limbs_ - _Was of the moonshine made._ - - By God that sends the master-maids, - I know not whence she came, - But the sword she bore to save the soul - Went up like an altar flame - Where a broken race in a desert place - Call on the Holy Name. - - _We strained our eyes in the dim day-rise,_ - _We could not see them plain;_ - _But two dead men from Valmy fen_ - _Rode at her bridle-rein._ - - I hear them all, my fathers call, - I see them how they ride, - And where had been that rout obscene - Was an army straight with pride. - A hundred thousand marching men, - Of squadrons twenty score, - And after them all the guns, the guns, - But she went on before. - - _Her face was like a king’s command_ - _When all the swords are drawn._ - _She stretched her arms and smiled at us,_ - _Her head was higher than the hills._ - _She led us to the endless plains._ - _We lost her in the dawn._ - - - - -A BIVOUAC - - - I - - You came without a human sound, - You came and brought my soul to me; - I only woke, and all around - They slumbered on the firelit ground, - Beside the guns in Burgundy. - - -II - - I felt the gesture of your hands, - You signed my forehead with the Cross; - The gesture of your holy hands - Was bounteous--like the misty lands - Along the Hills in Calvados. - - -III - - But when I slept I saw your eyes, - Hungry as death, and very far. - I saw demand in your dim eyes - Mysterious as the moons that rise - At midnight, in the Pines of Var. - - - - -TO THE BALLIOL MEN STILL IN AFRICA - - - Years ago when I was at Balliol, - Balliol men--and I was one-- - Swam together in winter rivers, - Wrestled together under the sun. - And still in the heart of us, Balliol, Balliol, - Loved already, but hardly known, - Welded us each of us into the others: - Called a levy and chose her own. - - Here is a House that armours a man - With the eyes of a boy and the heart of a ranger, - And a laughing way in the teeth of the world - And a holy hunger and thirst for danger: - Balliol made me, Balliol fed me, - Whatever I had she gave me again: - And the best of Balliol loved and led me. - God be with you, Balliol men. - - I have said it before, and I say it again, - There was treason done, and a false word spoken, - And England under the dregs of men, - And bribes about, and a treaty broken: - But angry, lonely, hating it still, - I wished to be there in spite of the wrong. - My heart was heavy for Cumnor Hill - And the hammer of galloping all day long. - - Galloping outward into the weather, - Hands a-ready and battle in all: - Words together and wine together - And song together in Balliol Hall. - Rare and single! Noble and few!... - Oh! they have wasted you over the sea! - The only brothers ever I knew, - The men that laughed and quarrelled with me. - - * * * * * - - Balliol made me, Balliol fed me, - Whatever I had she gave me again; - And the best of Balliol loved and led me, - God be with you, Balliol men. - - - - - VERSES TO A LORD WHO, IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS, SAID THAT THOSE WHO - OPPOSED THE SOUTH AFRICAN ADVENTURE CONFUSED SOLDIERS WITH - MONEY-GRUBBERS - - - You thought because we held, my lord, - An ancient cause and strong, - That therefore we maligned the sword: - My lord, you did us wrong. - - We also know the sacred height - Up on Tugela side, - Where those three hundred fought with Beit - And fair young Wernher died. - - The daybreak on the failing force, - The final sabres drawn: - Tall Goltman, silent on his horse, - Superb against the dawn. - - The little mound where Eckstein stood - And gallant Albu fell, - And Oppenheim, half blind with blood - Went fording through the rising flood-- - My Lord, we know them well. - - The little empty homes forlorn, - The ruined synagogues that mourn, - In Frankfort and Berlin; - We knew them when the peace was torn-- - We of a nobler lineage born-- - And now by all the gods of scorn - We mean to rub them in. - - - - -THE REBEL - - - There is a wall of which the stones - Are lies and bribes and dead men’s bones. - And wrongfully this evil wall - Denies what all men made for all, - And shamelessly this wall surrounds - Our homesteads and our native grounds. - - But I will gather and I will ride, - And I will summon a countryside, - And many a man shall hear my halloa - Who never had thought the horn to follow; - And many a man shall ride with me - Who never had thought on earth to see - High Justice in her armoury. - - When we find them where they stand, - A mile of men on either hand, - I mean to charge from right away - And force the flanks of their array, - And press them inward from the plains, - And drive them clamouring down the lanes, - And gallop and harry and have them down, - And carry the gates and hold the town. - Then shall I rest me from my ride - With my great anger satisfied. - - Only, before I eat and drink, - When I have killed them all, I think - That I will batter their carven names, - And slit the pictures in their frames, - And burn for scent their cedar door, - And melt the gold their women wore, - And hack their horses at the knees, - And hew to death their timber trees, - And plough their gardens deep and through-- - And all these things I mean to do - For fear perhaps my little son - Should break his hands, as I have done. - - - - -THE PROPHET LOST IN THE HILLS AT EVENING - - - Strong God which made the topmost stars - To circulate and keep their course, - Remember me; whom all the bars - Of sense and dreadful fate enforce. - - Above me in your heights and tall, - Impassable the summits freeze, - Below the haunted waters call - Impassable beyond the trees. - - I hunger and I have no bread. - My gourd is empty of the wine. - Surely the footsteps of the dead - Are shuffling softly close to mine! - - It darkens. I have lost the ford. - There is a change on all things made. - The rocks have evil faces, Lord, - And I am awfully afraid. - - Remember me: the Voids of Hell - Expand enormous all around. - Strong friend of souls, Emmanuel, - Redeem me from accursed ground. - - The long descent of wasted days, - To these at last have led me down; - Remember that I filled with praise - The meaningless and doubtful ways - That lead to an eternal town. - - I challenged and I kept the Faith, - The bleeding path alone I trod; - It darkens. Stand about my wraith, - And harbour me--almighty God. - - - - -THE END OF THE ROAD - - - IN THESE BOOTS AND WITH THIS STAFF - Two hundred leaguers and a half - Walked I, went I, paced I, tripped I, - Marched I, held I, skelped I, slipped I, - Pushed I, panted, swung and dashed I; - Picked I, forded, swam and splashed I, - Strolled I, climbed I, crawled and scrambled, - Dropped and dipped I, ranged and rambled; - Plodded I, hobbled I, trudged and tramped I, - And in lonely spinnies camped I, - And in haunted pinewoods slept I, - Lingered, loitered, limped and crept I, - Clambered, halted, stepped and leapt I; - Slowly sauntered, roundly strode I, - And ... (Oh! Patron saints and Angels - That protect the four Evangels! - And you Prophets vel majores - Vel incerti, vel minores, - Virgines ac confessores - Chief of whose peculiar glories - Est in Aula Regis stare - Atque orare et exorare - Et clamare et conclamare - Clamantes cum clamoribus - Pro Nobis Peccatoribus.) - Let me not conceal it.... _Rode I._ - (For who but critics could complain - Of “riding” in a railway train?) - Across the valley and the high-land, - With all the world on either hand - Drinking when I had a mind to, - Singing when I felt inclined to; - Nor ever turned my face to home - Till I had slaked my heart at Rome. - - - - -AN ORACLE - -THAT WARNED THE WRITER WHEN ON PILGRIMAGE - - - Matutinus adest ubi Vesper, et accipiens te - Saepe recusatum voces intelligit hospes - Rusticus ignotas notas, ac flumina tellus - Occupat--In sancto tum, tum, stans Aede caveto - Tonsuram Hirsuti Capitis, via namque pedestrem - Ferrea praeveniens cursum, peregrine, laborem - Pro pietate tua inceptum frustratur, amore - Antiqui Ritus alto sub Numine Romae. - -_Translation of the above_:-- - - When early morning seems but eve - And they that still refuse receive: - When speech unknown men understand; - And floods are crossed upon dry land. - Within the Sacred Walls beware - The Shaven Head that boasts of Hair, - For when the road attains the rail - The Pilgrim’s great attempt shall fail. - - - - -THE DEATH AND LAST CONFESSION OF WANDERING PETER - - - When Peter Wanderwide was young - He wandered everywhere he would: - And all that he approved was sung, - And most of what he saw was good. - - When Peter Wanderwide was thrown - By Death himself beyond Auxerre, - He chanted in heroic tone - To priests and people gathered there: - - “If all that I have loved and seen - Be with me on the Judgment Day, - I shall be saved the crowd between - From Satan and his foul array. - - “Almighty God will surely cry, - ‘St Michael! Who is this that stands - With Ireland in his dubious eye, - And Perigord between his hands, - - “‘And on his arm the stirrup-thongs, - And in his gait the narrow seas, - And in his mouth Burgundian songs, - But in his heart the Pyrenees?’ - - “St Michael then will answer right - (And not without angelic shame), - ‘I seem to know his face by sight: - I cannot recollect his name ...?’ - - “St Peter will befriend me then, - Because my name is Peter too: - ‘I know him for the best of men - That ever wallopped barley brew. - - “‘And though I did not know him well - And though his soul were clogged with sin, - _I_ hold the keys of Heaven and Hell. - Be welcome, noble Peterkin.’ - - “Then shall I spread my native wings - And tread secure the heavenly floor, - And tell the Blessed doubtful things - Of Val d’Aran and Perigord.” - - * * * * * - - This was the last and solemn jest - Of weary Peter Wanderwide. - He spoke it with a failing zest, - And having spoken it, he died. - - - - -DEDICATORY ODE - - - I mean to write with all my strength - (It lately has been sadly waning), - A ballad of enormous length-- - Some parts of which will need explaining.[A] - - Because (unlike the bulk of men - Who write for fame or public ends), - I turn a lax and fluent pen - To talking of my private friends.[B] - - For no one, in our long decline, - So dusty, spiteful and divided, - Had quite such pleasant friends as mine, - Or loved them half as much as I did. - - * * * * * - - The Freshman ambles down the High, - In love with everything he sees, - He notes the racing autumn sky. - He sniffs a lively autumn breeze. - - “Can this be Oxford? This the place?” - (He cries) “of which my father said - The tutoring was a damned disgrace, - The creed a mummery, stuffed and dead? - - “Can it be here that Uncle Paul - Was driven by excessive gloom, - To drink and debt, and, last of all, - To smoking opium in his room? - - “Is it from here the people come, - Who talk so loud, and roll their eyes, - And stammer? How extremely rum! - How curious! What a great surprise. - - “Some influence of a nobler day - Than theirs (I mean than Uncle Paul’s), - Has roused the sleep of their decay, - And flecked with life their crumbling walls. - - “O! dear undaunted boys of old, - Would that your names were carven here, - For all the world in stamps of gold, - That I might read them and revere. - - “Who wrought and handed down for me - This Oxford of the larger air, - Laughing, and full of faith, and free, - With youth resplendent everywhere?” - - Then learn: thou ill-instructed, blind, - Young, callow, and untutored man, - Their private names were....[C] - Their club was called REPUBLICAN. - - * * * * * - - Where on their banks of light they lie, - The happy hills of Heaven between, - The Gods that rule the morning sky - Are not more young, nor more serene - - Than were the intrepid Four that stand, - The first who dared to live their dream. - And on this uncongenial land - To found the Abbey of Theleme. - - We kept the Rabelaisian plan:[D] - We dignified the dainty cloisters - With Natural Law, the Rights of Man, - Song, Stoicism, Wine and Oysters. - - The library was most inviting: - The books upon the crowded shelves - Were mainly of our private writing: - We kept a school and taught ourselves. - - We taught the art of writing things - On men we still should like to throttle: - And where to get the Blood of Kings - At only half a crown a bottle. - - * * * * * - - Eheu Fugaces! Postume! - (An old quotation out of mode); - My coat of dreams is stolen away - My youth is passing down the road. - - * * * * * - - The wealth of youth, we spent it well - And decently, as very few can. - And is it lost? I cannot tell: - And what is more, I doubt if you can. - - The question’s very much too wide, - And much too deep, and much too hollow, - And learned men on either side - Use arguments I cannot follow. - - They say that in the unchanging place, - Where all we loved is always dear, - We meet our morning face to face - And find at last our twentieth year.... - - They say (and I am glad they say) - It is so; and it may be so: - It may be just the other way, - I cannot tell. But this I know: - - From quiet homes and first beginning, - Out to the undiscovered ends, - There’s nothing worth the wear of winning, - But laughter and the love of friends. - - * * * * * - - But something dwindles, oh! my peers, - And something cheats the heart and passes, - And Tom that meant to shake the years - Has come to merely rattling glasses. - - And He, the Father of the Flock, - Is keeping Burmesans in order, - An exile on a lonely rock - That overlooks the Chinese border. - - And One (Myself I mean--no less), - Ah!--will Posterity believe it-- - Not only don’t deserve success, - But hasn’t managed to achieve it. - - Not even this peculiar town - Has ever fixed a friendship firmer, - But--one is married, one’s gone down, - And one’s a Don, and one’s in Burmah. - - * * * * * - - And oh! the days, the days, the days, - When all the four were off together: - The infinite deep of summer haze, - The roaring boast of autumn weather! - - * * * * * - - I will not try the reach again, - I will not set my sail alone, - To moor a boat bereft of men - At Yarnton’s tiny docks of stone. - - But I will sit beside the fire, - And put my hand before my eyes, - And trace, to fill my heart’s desire, - The last of all our Odysseys. - - The quiet evening kept her tryst: - Beneath an open sky we rode, - And passed into a wandering mist - Along the perfect Evenlode. - - The tender Evenlode that makes - Her meadows hush to hear the sound - Of waters mingling in the brakes, - And binds my heart to English ground. - - A lovely river, all alone, - She lingers in the hills and holds - A hundred little towns of stone, - Forgotten in the western wolds. - - * * * * * - - I dare to think (though meaner powers - Possess our thrones, and lesser wits - Are drinking worser wine than ours, - In what’s no longer Austerlitz) - - That surely a tremendous ghost, - The brazen-lunged, the bumper-filler, - Still sings to an immortal toast, - The Misadventures of the Miller. - - The unending seas are hardly bar - To men with such a prepossession: - We were? Why then, by God, we _are_-- - Order! I call the Club to session! - - You do retain the song we set, - And how it rises, trips and scans? - You keep the sacred memory yet, - Republicans? Republicans? - - You know the way the words were hurled, - To break the worst of fortune’s rub? - I give the toast across the world, - And drink it, “Gentlemen: the Club.” - - - - -DEDICATION ON THE GIFT OF A BOOK TO A CHILD - - - Child! do not throw this book about! - Refrain from the unholy pleasure - Of cutting all the pictures out! - Preserve it as your chiefest treasure. - - Child, have you never heard it said - That you are heir to all the ages? - Why, then, your hands were never made - To tear these beautiful thick pages! - - Your little hands were made to take - The better things and leave the worse ones: - They also may be used to shake - The Massive Paws of Elder Persons. - - And when your prayers complete the day, - Darling, your little tiny hands - Were also made, I think, to pray - For men that lose their fairylands. - - - - -DEDICATION OF A CHILD’S BOOK OF IMAGINARY TALES - -WHEREIN WRONG-DOERS SUFFER - - - And is it true? It is not true! - And if it was it wouldn’t do - For people such as me and you, - Who very nearly all day long - Are doing something rather wrong. - - - - -HOMAGE - - - I - - There is a light around your head - Which only Saints of God may wear, - And all the flowers on which you tread - In pleasaunce more than ours have fed, - And supped the essential air - Whose summer is a-pulse with music everywhere. - - -II - - For you are younger than the mornings are - That in the mountains break; - When upland shepherds see their only star - Pale on the dawn, and make - In his surcease the hours, - The early hours of all their happy circuit take. - - - - -THE MOON’S FUNERAL - - - I - - The Moon is dead. I saw her die. - She in a drifting cloud was drest, - She lay along the uncertain west, - A dream to see. - And very low she spake to me: - “I go where none may understand, - I fade into the nameless land, - And there must lie perpetually.” - And therefore I, - And therefore loudly, loudly I - And high - And very piteously make cry: - “The Moon is dead. I saw her die.” - - -II - - And will she never rise again? - The Holy Moon? Oh, never more! - Perhaps along the inhuman shore - Where pale ghosts are - Beyond the low lethean fen - She and some wide infernal star.... - To us who loved her never more, - The Moon will never rise again. - Oh! never more in nightly sky - Her eye so high shall peep and pry - To see the great world rolling by. - For why? - The Moon is dead. I saw her die. - - - - -THE HAPPY JOURNALIST - - - I love to walk about at night - By nasty lanes and corners foul, - All shielded from the unfriendly light - And independent as the owl. - - By dirty grates I love to lurk; - I often stoop to take a squint - At printers working at their work. - I muse upon the rot they print. - - The beggars please me, and the mud: - The editors beneath their lamps - As--Mr Howl demanding blood, - And Lord Retender stealing stamps, - - And Mr Bing instructing liars, - His elder son composing trash; - Beaufort (whose real name is Meyers) - Refusing anything but cash. - - I like to think of Mr Meyers, - I like to think of Mr Bing. - I like to think about the liars: - It pleases me, that sort of thing. - - Policemen speak to me, but I, - Remembering my civic rights, - Neglect them and do not reply. - I love to walk about at nights! - - At twenty-five to four I bunch - Across a cab I can’t afford. - I ring for breakfast after lunch. - I am as happy as a lord! - - - - -LINES TO A DON - - - Remote and ineffectual Don - That dared attack my Chesterton, - With that poor weapon, half-impelled, - Unlearnt, unsteady, hardly held, - Unworthy for a tilt with men-- - Your quavering and corroded pen; - Don poor at Bed and worse at Table, - Don pinched, Don starved, Don miserable; - Don stuttering, Don with roving eyes, - Don nervous, Don of crudities; - Don clerical, Don ordinary, - Don self-absorbed and solitary; - Don here-and-there, Don epileptic; - Don puffed and empty, Don dyspeptic; - Don middle-class, Don sycophantic, - Don dull, Don brutish, Don pedantic; - Don hypocritical, Don bad, - Don furtive, Don three-quarters mad; - Don (since a man must make an end), - Don that shall never be my friend. - - * * * * * - - Don different from those regal Dons! - With hearts of gold and lungs of bronze, - Who shout and bang and roar and bawl - The Absolute across the hall, - Or sail in amply bellowing gown - Enormous through the Sacred Town, - Bearing from College to their homes - Deep cargoes of gigantic tomes; - Dons admirable! Dons of Might! - Uprising on my inward sight - Compact of ancient tales, and port - And sleep--and learning of a sort. - Dons English, worthy of the land; - Dons rooted; Dons that understand. - Good Dons perpetual that remain - A landmark, walling in the plain-- - The horizon of my memories-- - Like large and comfortable trees. - - * * * * * - - Don very much apart from these, - Thou scapegoat Don, thou Don devoted, - Don to thine own damnation quoted, - Perplexed to find thy trivial name - Reared in my verse to lasting shame. - Don dreadful, rasping Don and wearing, - Repulsive Don--Don past all bearing. - Don of the cold and doubtful breath, - Don despicable, Don of death; - Don nasty, skimpy, silent, level; - Don evil; Don that serves the devil. - Don ugly--that makes fifty lines. - There is a Canon which confines - A Rhymed Octosyllabic Curse - If written in Iambic Verse - To fifty lines. I never cut; - I far prefer to end it--but - Believe me I shall soon return. - My fires are banked, but still they burn - To write some more about the Don - That dared attack my Chesterton. - - - - -NEWDIGATE POEM - - A PRIZE POEM SUBMITTED BY MR LAMBKIN, THEN SCHOLAR AND LATER FELLOW - OF BURFORD COLLEGE, TO THE EXAMINERS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD ON - THE PRESCRIBED POETIC THEME SET BY THEM IN 1893, “THE BENEFITS OF - THE ELECTRIC LIGHT” - - - Hail, Happy Muse, and touch the tuneful string! - The benefits conferred by Science[E] I sing. - Under the kind Examiners’ direction[F] - I only write about them in connection - With benefits which the Electric Light - Confers on us; especially at night. - These are my theme, of these my song shall rise. - My lofty head shall swell to strike the skies.[G] - And tears of hopeless love bedew the maiden’s eyes. - Descend, O Muse, from thy divine abode, - To Osney, on the Seven Bridges Road; - For under Osney’s solitary shade - The bulk of the Electric Light is made. - Here are the works;--from hence the current flows - Which (so the Company’s prospectus goes) - Can furnish to Subscribers hour by hour - No less than sixteen thousand candle power,[H] - All at a thousand volts. (It is essential - To keep the current at this high potential - In spite of the considerable expense.) - The Energy developed represents, - Expressed in foot-tons, the united forces - Of fifteen elephants and forty horses. - But shall my scientific detail thus - Clip the dear wings of Buoyant Pegasus? - Shall pure statistics jar upon the ear - That pants for Lyric accents loud and clear? - Shall I describe the complex Dynamo - Or write about its Commutator? No! - To happier fields I lead my wanton pen, - The proper study of mankind is men. - Awake, my Muse! Portray the pleasing sight - That meets us where they make Electric Light. - Behold the Electrician where he stands: - Soot, oil, and verdigris are on his hands; - Large spots of grease defile his dirty clothes, - The while his conversation drips with oaths. - Shall such a being perish in its youth? - Alas! it is indeed the fatal truth. - In that dull brain, beneath that hair unkempt, - Familiarity has bred contempt. - We warn him of the gesture all too late: - Oh, Heartless Jove! Oh, Adamantine Fate! - A random touch--a hand’s imprudent slip-- - The Terminals--a flash--a sound like “Zip!” - A smell of burning fills the started Air-- - The Electrician is no longer there! - But let us turn with true Artistic scorn - From facts funereal and from views forlorn - Of Erebus and Blackest midnight born.[I] - Arouse thee, Muse! and chaunt in accents rich - The interesting processes by which - The Electricity is passed along: - These are my theme: to these I bend my song. - It runs encased in wood or porous brick - Through copper wires two millimetres thick, - And insulated on their dangerous mission - By indiarubber, silk, or composition. - Here you may put with critical felicity - The following question: “What is Electricity?” - “Molecular Activity,” say some, - Others when asked say nothing, and are dumb. - Whatever be its nature, this is clear: - The rapid current checked in its career, - Baulked in its race and halted in its course[J] - Transforms to heat and light its latent force: - It needs no pedant in the lecturer’s chair - To prove that light and heat are present there. - The pear-shaped vacuum globe, I understand, - Is far too hot to fondle with the hand. - While, as is patent to the meanest sight, - The carbon filament is very bright. - As for the lights they hang about the town, - Some praise them highly, others run them down. - This system (technically called the Arc), - Makes some passages too light, others too dark. - But in the house the soft and constant rays - Have always met with universal praise. - For instance: if you want to read in bed - No candle burns beside your curtain’s head, - Far from some distant corner of the room - The incandescent lamp dispels the gloom, - And with the largest print need hardly try - The powers of any young and vigorous eye. - Aroint thee, Muse! Inspired the poet sings! - I cannot help observing future things! - Life is a vale, its paths are dark and rough - Only because we do not know enough: - When Science has discovered something more - We shall be happier than we were before. - Hail, Britain, Mistress of the Azure Main, - Ten thousand Fleets sweep over thee in vain! - Hail, Mighty Mother of the Brave and Free, - That beat Napoleon, and gave birth to me! - Thou that canst wrap in thine emblazoned robe - One quarter of the habitable globe. - Thy mountains, wafted by a favouring breeze, - Like mighty rocks withstand the stormy seas. - Thou art a Christian Commonwealth; and yet - Be thou not all unthankful--nor forget - As thou exultest in Imperial Might - The Benefits of the Electric Light. - - - - -THE YELLOW MUSTARD - - - Oh! ye that prink it to and fro, - In pointed flounce and furbelow, - What have ye known, what can ye know - That have not seen the mustard grow? - - The yellow mustard is no less - Than God’s good gift to loneliness; - And he was sent in gorgeous press - To jangle keys at my distress. - - I heard the throstle call again, - Come hither, Pain! come hither, Pain! - Till all my shameless feet were fain - To wander through the summer rain. - - And far apart from human place, - And flaming like a vast disgrace, - There struck me blinding in the face - The livery of the mustard race. - - * * * * * - - To see the yellow mustard grow - Beyond the town, above, below; - Beyond the purple houses, oh! - To see the yellow mustard grow! - - - - -THE POLITICIAN OR THE IRISH EARLDOM - - - A strong and striking Personality, - Worth several hundred thousand pounds-- - Of strict political Morality-- - Was walking in his park-like Grounds; - When, just as these began to pall on him - (I mean the Trees, and Things like that), - A Person who had come to call on him - Approached him, taking off his Hat. - - He said, with singular veracity: - “I serve our Sea-girt Mother-Land - In no conspicuous capacity. - I am but an Attorney; and - I do a little elementary - Negotiation, now and then, - As Agent for a Parliamentary - Division of the Town of N.... - - “Merely as one of the Electorate-- - A member of the Commonweal-- - Before completing my Directorate, - I want to know the way you feel - On matters more or less debatable; - As--whether our Imperial Pride - Can treat as taxable or rateable - The Gardens of....” His host replied: - - “The Ravages of Inebriety - (Alas! increasing day by day!) - Are undermining all Society. - I do not hesitate to say - My country squanders her abilities, - Observe how Montenegro treats - Her Educational Facilities.... -... As to the African defeats, - - “I bitterly deplored their frequency; - On Canada we are agreed, - The Laws protecting Public Decency - Are very, very lax indeed! - The Views of most of the Nobility - Are very much the same as mine, - On Thingumbob’s eligibility.... - I trust that you remain to dine?” - - His Lordship pressed with importunity, - As rarely he had pressed before. - - * * * * * - - It gave them both an opportunity - To know each other’s value more. - - - - -THE LOSER - - - He lost his money first of all - --And losing that is half the story-- - And later on he tried a fall - With Fate, in things less transitory. - - He lost his heart--and found it dead-- - (His one and only true discovery), - And after that he lost his head, - And lost his chances of recovery. - - He lost his honour bit by bit - Until the thing was out of question. - He worried so at losing it, - He lost his sleep and his digestion. - - He lost his temper--and for good-- - The remnants of his reputation, - His taste in wine, his choice of food, - And then, in rapid culmination, - - His certitudes, his sense of truth, - His memory, his self-control, - The love that graced his early youth, - And lastly his immortal soul. - - - - -III - -SONGS - - - - -NOËL - - - I - - On a winter’s night long time ago - (_The bells ring loud and the bells ring low_), - When high howled wind, and down fell snow - (Carillon, Carilla). - Saint Joseph he and Nostre Dame, - Riding on an ass, full weary came - From Nazareth into Bethlehem. - And the small child Jesus smile on you. - - -II - - And Bethlehem inn they stood before - (_The bells ring less and the bells ring more_), - The landlord bade them begone from his door - (Carillon, Carilla). - “Poor folk” (says he), “must lie where they may, - For the Duke of Jewry comes this way, - With all his train on a Christmas Day.” - And the small child Jesus smile on you. - - -III - - Poor folk that may my carol hear - (_The bells ring single and the bells ring clear_), - See! God’s one child had hardest cheer! - (Carillon, Carilla). - Men grown hard on a Christmas morn; - The dumb beast by and a babe forlorn. - It was very, very cold when our Lord was born. - And the small child Jesus smile on you. - - -IV - - Now these were Jews as Jews must be - (_The bells ring merry and the bells ring free_). - But Christian men in a band are we - (Carillon, Carilla). - Empty we go, and ill be-dight, - Singing Noël on a Winter’s night. - Give us to sup by the warm firelight, - And the small child Jesus smile on you. - - - - -THE BIRDS - - - When Jesus Christ was four years old, - The angels brought Him toys of gold, - Which no man ever had bought or sold. - - And yet with these He would not play. - He made Him small fowl out of clay, - And blessed them till they flew away: - _Tu creasti Domine_. - - Jesus Christ, Thou child so wise, - Bless mine hands and fill mine eyes, - And bring my soul to Paradise. - - - - -IN A BOAT - - - Lady! Lady! - Upon Heaven-height, - Above the harsh morning - In the mere light. - - Above the spindrift - And above the snow, - Where no seas tumble, - And no winds blow. - - The twisting tides, - And the perilous sands - Upon all sides - Are in your holy hands. - - The wind harries - And the cold kills; - But I see your chapel - Over far hills. - - My body is frozen, - My soul is afraid: - Stretch out your hands to me, - Mother and maid. - - Mother of Christ, - And Mother of me, - Save me alive - From the howl of the sea. - - If you will Mother me - Till I grow old, - I will hang in your chapel - A ship of pure gold. - - - - -SONG - - INVITING THE INFLUENCE OF A YOUNG LADY UPON THE OPENING YEAR - - - I - - You wear the morning like your dress - And are with mastery crowned; - Whenas you walk your loveliness - Goes shining all around. - Upon your secret, smiling way - Such new contents were found, - The Dancing Loves made holiday - On that delightful ground. - - -II - - Then summon April forth, and send - Commandment through the flowers; - About our woods your grace extend - A queen of careless hours. - For oh, not Vera veiled in rain, - Nor Dian’s sacred Ring, - With all her royal nymphs in train - Could so lead on the Spring. - - - - -THE RING - - - When I was flying before the King - In the wood of Valognes in my hiding, - Although I had not anything - I sent a woman a golden ring. - - A Ring of the Moors beyond Leon - With emerald and with diamond stone, - And a writing no man ever had known, - And an opal standing all alone. - - The shape of the ring the heart to bind: - The emerald turns from cold to kind: - The writing makes her sure to find:-- - But the evil opal changed her mind. - - Now when the King was dead, was he, - I came back hurriedly over the sea - From the long rocks in Normandy - To Bosham that is by Selsey. - And we clipt each other knee to knee. - But what I had was lost to me. - - - - -CUCKOO! - - - In woods so long time bare. - Cuckoo! - Up and in the wood, I know not where - Two notes fall. - Yet I do not envy him at all - His phantasy. - Cuckoo! - I too, - Somewhere, - I have sung as merrily as he - Who can dare, - Small and careless lover, so to laugh at care, - And who - Can call - Cuckoo! - In woods of winter weary, - In scented woods, of winter weary, call - Cuckoo! - In woods so long time bare. - - - - -THE LITTLE SERVING MAID - - - I - - There was a Queen of England, - And a good Queen too. - She had a house in Powis Land - With the Severn running through; - And Men-folk and Women-folk - Apprenticed to a trade; - But the prettiest of all - Was a Little Serving Maid. - - -II - - “Oh Madam, Queen of England! - Oh will you let me go! - For there’s a Lad in London - And he would have it so. - And I would have it too, Madam, - And with him would I bide; - And he will be the Groom, Madam, - And I shall be the Bride!” - - -III - - “Oh fie to you and shame to you, - You Little Serving Maid! - And are you not astonied? - And are you not afraid? - For never was it known - Since Yngelonde began - That a Little Serving Maid - Should go a-meeting of a man! - - -IV - - Then the Little Serving Maid - She went and laid her down, - With her cross and her bede, - In her new courting gown. - And she called in Mother Mary’s name - And heavily she sighed: - “I think that I have come to shame!” - And after that she died. - - - V - - The good Queen of England - Her women came and ran: - “The Little Serving Maid is dead - From loving of a man!” - Said the good Queen of England - “That is ill news to hear! - Take her out and shroud her, - And lay her on a bier.” - - -VI - - They laid her on a bier, - In the court-yard all; - Some came from Foresting, - And some came from Hall. - And Great Lords carried her, - And proud Priests prayed. - And that was the end - Of the Little Serving Maid. - - - - -AUVERGNAT - - - There was a man was half a clown - (It’s so my father tells of it). - He saw the church in Clermont town - And laughed to hear the bells of it. - - He laughed to hear the bells that ring - In Clermont Church and round of it; - He heard the verger’s daughter sing, - And loved her for the sound of it. - - The verger’s daughter said him nay; - She had the right of choice in it. - He left the town at break of day: - He hadn’t had a voice in it. - - The road went up, the road went down, - And there the matter ended it. - He broke his heart in Clermont town, - At Pontgibaud they mended it. - - - - -DRINKING SONG - - ON THE EXCELLENCE OF BURGUNDY WINE - - - My jolly fat host with your face all a-grin, - Come, open the door to us, let us come in. - A score of stout fellows who think it no sin - If they toast till they’re hoarse, and they drink till they spin, - Hoofed it amain, - Rain or no rain, - To crack your old jokes, and your bottles to drain. - - Such a warmth in the belly that nectar begets - As soon as his guts with its humour he wets, - The miser his gold, and the student his debts, - And the beggar his rags and his hunger forgets. - For there’s never a wine - Like this tipple of thine - From the great hill of Nuits to the River of Rhine. - - Outside you may hear the great gusts as they go - By Foy, by Duerne, and the hills of Lerraulx, - But the rain he may rain, and the wind he may blow, - If the Devil’s above there’s good liquor below. - So it abound, - Pass it around, - Burgundy’s Burgundy all the year round. - - - - -DRINKING DIRGE - - - A thousand years ago I used to dine - In houses where they gave me such regale - Of dear companionship and comrades fine - That out I went alone beyond the pale; - And riding, laughed and dared the skies malign - To show me all the undiscovered tale-- - But my philosophy’s no more divine, - I put my pleasure in a pint of ale. - - And you, my friends, oh! pleasant friends of mine, - Who leave me now alone, without avail, - On Californian hills you gave me wine, - You gave me cider-drink in Longuevaille; - If after many years you come to pine - For comradeship that is an ancient tale-- - You’ll find me drinking beer in Dead Man’s Chine. - I put my pleasure in a pint of ale. - - In many a briny boat I’ve tried the brine, - From many a hidden harbour I’ve set sail, - Steering towards the sunset where there shine - The distant amethystine islands pale. - - There are no ports beyond the far sea-line, - Nor any halloa to meet the mariner’s hail; - I stand at home and slip the anchor-line. - I put my pleasure in a pint of ale. - -ENVOI - - Prince! Is it true when you go out to dine - You bring your bottle in a freezing pail? - Why then you cannot be a friend of mine. - _I_ put my pleasure in a pint of ale. - - - - -WEST SUSSEX DRINKING SONG - - - They sell good Beer at Haslemere - And under Guildford Hill. - At Little Cowfold as I’ve been told - A beggar may drink his fill: - There is a good brew in Amberley too, - And by the bridge also; - But the swipes they take in at Washington Inn - Is the very best Beer I know. - - -_Chorus._ - - With my here it goes, there it goes, - All the fun’s before us: - The Tipple’s Aboard and the night is young, - The door’s ajar and the Barrel is sprung, - I am singing the best song ever was sung - And it has a rousing chorus. - - If I were what I never can be, - The master or the squire: - If you gave me the hundred from here to the sea, - Which is more than I desire: - Then all my crops should be barley and hops, - And did my harvest fail - I’d sell every rood of mine acres I would - For a belly-full of good Ale. - - -_Chorus._ - - With my here it goes, there it goes, - All the fun’s before us: - The Tipple’s aboard and the night is young, - The door’s ajar and the Barrel is sprung, - I am singing the best song ever was sung - And it has a rousing Chorus. - - - - -A BALLAD ON SOCIOLOGICAL ECONOMICS - - - A while ago it came to pass - (Merry we carol it all the day), - There sat a man on the top of an ass - (Heart be happy and carol be gay - In spite of the price of hay). - - And over the down they hoofed it so - (Happy go lucky has best of fare), - The man up above and the brute below - (And singing we all forget to care - A man may laugh if he dare). - - Over the stubble and round the crop - (Life is short and the world is round), - The donkey beneath and the man on the top - (Oh! let good ale be found, be found, - Merry good ale and sound). - - It happened again as it happened before - (Tobacco’s a boon but ale is bliss), - The moke in the ditch and the man on the floor - (And that is the moral to this, to this - Remarkable artifice). - - - - -HERETICS ALL - - - Heretics all, whoever you be, - In Tarbes or Nimes, or over the sea, - You never shall have good words from me. - _Caritas non conturbat me._ - - But Catholic men that live upon wine - Are deep in the water, and frank, and fine; - Wherever I travel I find it so, - _Benedicamus Domino_. - - On childing women that are forlorn, - And men that sweat in nothing but scorn: - That is on all that ever were born, - _Miserere Domine_. - - To my poor self on my deathbed, - And all my dear companions dead, - Because of the love that I bore them, - _Dona Eis Requiem_. - - - - -HA’NACKER MILL - - - Sally is gone that was so kindly - Sally is gone from Ha’nacker Hill. - And the Briar grows ever since then so blindly - And ever since then the clapper is still, - And the sweeps have fallen from Ha’nacker Mill - - Ha’nacker Hill is in Desolation: - Ruin a-top and a field unploughed. - And Spirits that call on a fallen nation - Spirits that loved her calling aloud: - Spirits abroad in a windy cloud. - - Spirits that call and no one answers; - Ha’nacker’s down and England’s done. - Wind and Thistle for pipe and dancers - And never a ploughman under the Sun. - Never a ploughman. Never a one. - - - - -TARANTELLA - - - Do you remember an Inn, - Miranda? - Do you remember an Inn? - And the tedding and the spreading - Of the straw for a bedding, - And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees, - And the wine that tasted of the tar? - And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers - (Under the vine of the dark verandah)? - Do you remember an Inn, Miranda, - Do you remember an Inn? - And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers - Who hadn’t got a penny, - And who weren’t paying any, - And the hammer at the doors and the Din? - And the Hip! Hop! Hap! - Of the clap - Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl - Of the girl gone chancing, - Glancing, - Dancing, - Backing and advancing, - Snapping of the clapper to the spin - Out and in---- - And the Ting, Tong, Tang of the Guitar! - Do you remember an Inn, - Miranda? - Do you remember an Inn? - - Never more; - Miranda, - Never more. - Only the high peaks hoar: - And Aragon a torrent at the door. - No sound - In the walls of the Halls where falls - The tread - Of the feet of the dead to the ground - No sound: - But the boom - Of the far Waterfall like Doom. - - - - -THE CHAUNTY OF THE “NONA” - - - I - - Come list all ye Cullies and Doxies so dear, - You shall hearken to the tale of the Bold Marineer - That took ship out of Holyhead and drove her so hard - Past Bardsey, Pwlheli, Port Madoc, and Fishguard-- - _Past Bardsey, Pwlheli, Port Madoc, and Fishguard_. - - -II - - Then he dropped out of Fishguard on a calm Summer’s day, - By St David’s and Strumbles and across St Bride’s Bay; - Circumnavigating Skomer, that Island, around, - With the heart of a Lion he threaded Jack Sound-- - _With the heart of a Lion he threaded Jack Sound_. - - -III - - But from out the Main Ocean there rolled a great cloud, - So he clawed into Milford Haven by the Fog Blast so loud, - Until he dropped anchor in a deep-wooded bay, - Where all night with Old Sleep and Quiet Sadness he lay-- - _Where all night with Old Sleep and Quiet Sadness he lay_. - - -IV - - Next morning was a Doldrum, and he whistled for a breeze, - Which came from the N.N.W.’ard all across the high seas; - And in passing St Govan’s lightship he gave them good night, - But before it was morning he raised Lundy Light-- - _Before it was morning he had raised Lundy Light_. - - - V - - Then he tossed for twelve hours in that horrible place - Which is known to the Mariner as the Great White Horse Race, - Till with a slant about three bells, or maybe near four, - He saw white water breaking upon Loud Appledore-- - _He saw white water breaking upon Loud Appledore_. - - -VI - - The Pirates of Appledore, the Wines of Instow; - But her nose is for Bideford with the tide at the flow. - Rattle anchor, batten hatches, and leave your falls curled. - The Long Bridge of Bideford is the end of the World-- - _The Long Bridge of Bideford is the end of the World_. - - - - -THE WINGED HORSE - - - I - - It’s ten years ago to-day you turned me out o’ doors - To cut my feet on flinty lands and stumble down the shores, - And I thought about the all-in-all, oh more than I can tell! - But I caught a horse to ride upon and I rode him very well, - He had flame behind the eyes of him and wings upon his side. - And I ride, and I ride! - - -II - - I rode him out of Wantage and I rode him up the hill, - And there I saw the Beacon in the morning standing still, - Inkpen and Hackpen and southward and away - High through the middle airs in the strengthening of the day, - And there I saw the channel-glint and England in her pride. - And I ride, and I ride! - - -III - - And once a-top of Lambourne down toward the hill of Clere - I saw the Host of Heaven in rank and Michael with his spear, - And Turpin out of Gascony and Charlemagne the Lord, - And Roland of the marches with his hand upon his sword - For the time he should have need of it, and forty more beside. - And I ride, and I ride! - - -IV - - For you that took the all-in-all the things you left were three. - A loud voice for singing and keen eyes to see, - And a spouting well of joy within that never yet was dried! - And I ride. - - - - -STREPHON’S SONG - - (FROM “THE CRUEL SHEPHERDESS”) - - - When I was not much older - Than Cupid, but bolder, - I asked of his Mother in passing her bower - What it was in their blindness - Men asked of her kindness - And she said it was nought but a delicate flower: - Such a delicate, delicate, delicate flower! - - This morning you kissed me, - By noon you dismissed me - As though such great things were the jest of one hour, - And you left me still wondering - If I were not too blundering - To deal with that delicate, delicate flower: - ’Tis such a delicate, delicate, delicate flower! - - For if that’s the complexion - Of Ladies’ affection - I must needs be a fool to remain in their power; - But there’s that in me burning - Which brings me returning - To beg for the delicate, delicate flower; - To implore for that delicate, delicate flower! - - - - -IV - -BALLADES - - - - -SHORT BALLADE AND POSTSCRIPT ON CONSOLS AND BOERS - - - I - - Gigantic daughter of the West - (The phrase is Tennysonian), who - From this unconquerable breast - The vigorous milk of Freedom drew - --We gave it freely--shall the crest - Of Empire in your keeping true, - Shall England--I forget the rest, - But Consols are at 82. - - -II - - Now why should anyone invest, - As even City people do - (His Lordship did among the rest), - When stocks--but what is that to you? - And then, who ever could have guessed - About the guns--and horses too!-- - Besides, they knew their business best, - And Consols are at 82. - - -III - - It serves no purpose to protest, - It isn’t manners to halloo - About the way the thing was messed-- - Or vaguely call a man a Jew. - A gentleman who cannot jest - Remarked that we should muddle through - (The continent was much impressed), - And Consols are at 82. - - -_Envoi._ - - And, Botha lay at Pilgrim’s Rest - And Myberg in the Great Karroo - (A desert to the south and west), - And Consols are at 82. - - -_Postscript._ - - Permit me--if you do not mind-- - To add it would be screaming fun - If, after printing this, I find - Them after all at 81. - - Or 70 or 63, - Or 55 or 44, - Or 39 and going free, - Or 28--or even more. - - No matter--take no more advice - From doubtful and intriguing men. - Refuse the stuff at any price, - And slowly watch them fall to 10. - - Meanwhile I feel a certain zest - In writing once again the new - Refrain that all is for the best, - And Consols are at 82. - - -_Last Envoi._ - - Prince, you and I were barely thirty-three, - And now I muse and wonder if it’s true, - That you were you and I myself was me, - And 3 per cents were really 82! - - - - -BALLADE OF THE UNANSWERED QUESTION - - - I - - What dwelling hath Sir Harland Pott - That died of drinking in Bungay? - Nathaniel Goacher who was shot - Towards the end of Malplaquet? - The only thing that we can say, - (The only thing that has been said) - About these gentlemen is, “Nay! - But where are the unanswering dead” - - -II - - Lord Bumplepuppy, too, that got - The knock from Messrs Dawkins’ dray? - And Jonas, whom the Cachalot - Begulphed in Esdraelon Bay? - The Calvinistic John McKay, - Who argued till his nostrils bled, - And dropped in apoplexy? Nay! - But where are the unanswering dead? - - -III - - And Heliodorus too, that hot - Defender of the Roman sway; - And He, the author of the “_Tot - Mercedes dant Victoriæ_,” - And all the armoured squadrons gay - That ever glory nourishèd - In all the world’s high charges? Nay! - But where are the unanswering dead? - - -_Envoi_ - - Prince, have you ever learnt to pray - Upon your knees beside your bed? - You miserable waxwork? Nay! - But where are the unanswering dead? - - - - -BALLADE TO OUR LADY OF CZESTOCHOWA - - - I - - Lady and Queen and Mystery manifold - And very Regent of the untroubled sky, - Whom in a dream St Hilda did behold - And heard a woodland music passing by: - You shall receive me when the clouds are high - With evening and the sheep attain the fold. - This is the faith that I have held and hold, - And this is that in which I mean to die. - - -II - - Steep are the seas and savaging and cold - In broken waters terrible to try; - And vast against the winter night the wold, - And harbourless for any sail to lie. - But you shall lead me to the lights, and I - Shall hymn you in a harbour story told. - This is the faith that I have held and hold, - And this is that in which I mean to die. - - -III - - Help of the half-defeated, House of gold, - Shrine of the Sword, and Tower of Ivory; - Splendour apart, supreme and aureoled, - The Battler’s vision and the World’s reply. - You shall restore me, O my last Ally, - To vengeance and the glories of the bold. - This is the faith that I have held and hold, - And this is that in which I mean to die. - - -_Envoi_ - - Prince of the degradations, bought and sold, - These verses, written in your crumbling sty, - Proclaim the faith that I have held and hold - And publish that in which I mean to die. - - - - -BALLADE OF HELL AND OF MRS ROEBECK - - - I - - I’m going out to dine at Gray’s - With Bertie Morden, Charles and Kit, - And Manderly who never pays, - And Jane who wins in spite of it, - And Algernon who won’t admit - The truth about his curious hair - And teeth that very nearly fit:-- - And Mrs Roebeck will be there. - - -II - - And then to-morrow someone says - That someone else has made a hit - In one of Mister Twister’s plays. - And off we go to yawn at it; - And when it’s petered out we quit - For number 20, Taunton Square, - And smoke, and drink, and dance a bit:-- - And Mrs Roebeck will be there. - - -III - - And so through each declining phase - Of emptied effort, jaded wit, - And day by day of London days - Obscurely, more obscurely, lit; - Until the uncertain shadows flit - Announcing to the shuddering air - A Darkening, and the end of it:-- - And Mrs Roebeck will be there. - - -_Envoi_ - - Prince, on their iron thrones they sit, - Impassible to our despair, - The dreadful Guardians of the Pit:-- - And Mrs Roebeck will be there. - - - - -BALLADE OF UNSUCCESSFUL MEN - - - I - - The cause of all the poor in ’93: - The cause of all the world at Waterloo: - The shouts of what was terrible and free - Behind the guns of _Vengeance_ and her crew: - The Maid that rode so straightly and so true - And broke the line to pieces in her pride-- - They had to chuck it up; it wouldn’t do; - The Devil didn’t like them, and they died. - - -II - - Cæsar and Alexander shall agree - That right athwart the world their bugles blew: - And all the lads that marched in Lombardy - Behind the young Napoleon charging through: - All that were easy swordsmen, all that slew - The Monsters, and that served our God and tried - The temper of this world--they lost the clue. - The Devil didn’t like them, and they died. - - -III - - You, the strong sons of anger and the sea, - What darkness on the wings of battle flew? - Then the great dead made answer: “Also we - With Nelson found oblivion: Nelson, who - When cheering out of port in spirit grew - To be one purpose with the wind and tide-- - Our nameless hulks are sunk and rotted through: - The Devil didn’t like us and we died.” - - -_Envoi_ - - Prince, may I venture (since it’s only you) - To speak discreetly of The Crucified? - He was extremely unsuccessful too: - The Devil didn’t like Him, and He died. - - - - -BALLADE OF THE HERESIARCHS - - - I - - John Calvin whose peculiar fad - It was to call God murderous, - Which further led that feverish cad - To burn alive the Servetus. - The horrible Bohemian Huss, - The tedious Wycliffe, where are they? - But where is old Nestorius? - The wind has blown them all away. - - -II - - The Kohen out of Novdograd - Who argued from the Roman Jus - “_Privata fasta nihil ad - Rem nisi sint de sacribus_.” - And Hume, who made a dreadful fuss - About the Resurrection Day - And said it was ridiculous-- - The wind has blown them all away. - - -III - - Of Smith the gallant Mormon lad - That took of wives an over-plus: - Johanna Southcott who was mad - And nasty Nietzsche, who was worse. - Of Tolstoy, the Eccentric Russ, - Our strong Posterity shall say: - “Lord Jesus! What are these to us? - The wind has blown them all away!” - - -_Envoi_ - - Prince, should you meet upon a bus - A man who makes a great display - Of Dr Haeckel, argue thus:-- - The wind has blown them all away. - - - - - V - -EPIGRAMS - - - I - -_On His Books_ - - When I am dead, I hope it may be said: - “His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.” - - -II - -_On Noman, a Guest_ - - Dear Mr Noman, does it ever strike you, - The more we see of you, the less we like you? - - -III - -_A Trinity_ - - Of three in One and One in three - My narrow mind would doubting be - Till Beauty, Grace and Kindness met - And all at once were Juliet - - -IV - -_On Torture, a Public Singer_ - - Torture will give a dozen pence or more - To keep a drab from bawling at his door. - The public taste is quite a different thing-- - Torture is positively paid to sing. - - - V - -_On Paunch, a Parasite_ - - Paunch talks against good liquor to excess, - And then about his raving Patroness; - And then he talks about himself. And then - We turn the conversation on to men. - - -VI - -_On Hygiene_ - - Of old when folk lay sick and sorely tried - The doctors gave them physic, and they died. - But here’s a happier age: for now we know - Both how to make men sick and keep them so. - - -VII - -_On Lady Poltagrue, a Public Peril_ - - The Devil, having nothing else to do, - Went off to tempt My Lady Poltagrue. - My Lady, tempted by a private whim, - To his extreme annoyance, tempted him. - - -VIII - -_The Mirror_ - - The mirror held your fair, my Fair, - A fickle moment’s space. - You looked into mine eyes, and there - For ever fixed your face. - - Keep rather to your looking-glass - Than my more faithful eyes: - It told the truth--Alas! my lass, - My constant memory lies. - - -IX - -_The Elm_ - - This is the place where Dorothea smiled. - I did not know the reason, nor did she. - But there she stood, and turned, and smiled at me: - A sudden glory had bewitched the child. - The corn at harvest, and a single tree. - This is the place where Dorothea smiled. - - - X - -_The Telephone_ - - To-night in million-voicèd London I - Was lonely as the million-pointed sky - Until your single voice. Ah! So the Sun - Peoples all heaven, although he be but one. - - -XI - -_The Statue_ - - When we are dead, some Hunting-boy will pass - And find a stone half-hidden in tall grass - And grey with age: but having seen that stone - (Which was your image), ride more slowly on. - - -XII - -_Epitaph on the Favourite Dog of a Politician_ - - Here lies a Dog: may every Dog that dies - Lie in security--as this Dog lies. - - -XIII - -_Epitaph on the Politician Himself_ - - Here richly, with ridiculous display, - The Politician’s corpse was laid away. - While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged - I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged. - - -XIV - -_Another on the Same_ - - This, the last ornament among the peers, - Bribed, bullied, swindled and blackmailed for years: - But Death’s what even Politicians fail - To bribe or swindle, bully or blackmail. - - -XV - -_On Mundane Acquaintances_ - - Good morning, Algernon: Good morning, Percy. - Good morning, Mrs Roebeck. Christ have mercy! - - -XVI - -_On a Rose for Her Bosom_ - - Go, lovely rose, and tell the lovelier fair - That he which loved her most was never there. - - -XVII - -_On the Little God_ - - Of all the gods that gave me all their glories - To-day there deigns to walk with me but one. - I lead him by the hand and tell him stories. - It is the Queen of Cyprus’ little son. - - -XVIII - -_On a Prophet_ - - Of old ’twas Samuel sought the Lord: to-day - The Lord runs after Samuel--so they say. - - -XIX - -_On a Dead Hostess_ - - Of this bad world the loveliest and the best - Has smiled and said “Good Night,” and gone to rest. - - -XX - -_On a Great Election_ - - The accursèd power which stands on Privilege - (And goes with Women, and Champagne and Bridge) - Broke--and Democracy resumed her reign: - (Which goes with Bridge, and Women and Champagne). - - -XXI - -_On a Mistaken Mariner_ - - He whistled thrice to pass the Morning Star, - Thinking that near which was so very far. - So I, whenas I meet my Dearest Dear, - Still think that far which is so very near. - - -XXII - -_On a Sleeping Friend_ - - Lady, when your lovely head - Droops to sink among the Dead, - And the quiet places keep - You that so divinely sleep; - Then the dead shall blessèd be - With a new solemnity, - For such Beauty, so descending, - Pledges them that Death is ending. - Sleep your fill--but when you wake - Dawn shall over Lethe break. - - -XXIII - -_Fatigued_ - - I’m tired of Love: I’m still more tired of Rhyme. - But Money gives me pleasure all the time. - - -XXIV - -_On Benicia, who Wished Him Well_ - - Benicia wished me well; I wished her well. - And what I wished her more I may not tell. - - -XXV - -_The False Heart_ - - I said to Heart, “How goes it?” Heart replied: - “Right as a Ribstone Pippin!” But it lied. - - -XXVI - -_Partly from the Greek_ - - She would be as the stars in your sight - That turn in the endless hollow; - That tremble, and always follow - The quiet wheels of the Night. - - - - -VI - -THE BALLAD OF VAL-ÈS-DUNES - - THE VICTORY OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR IN HIS YOUTH OVER THE REBELS - AT VAL-ÈS-DUNES IN THE YEAR 1047 - - - [This piece of verse is grossly unhistorical. Val-ès-Dunes is not - on the sea but inland. No Norman blazoned a shield or a church - window in the middle eleventh century, still less would he frame - one in silver, and I doubt gilt spurs. It was not the young Bastard - of Falaise, but the men of the King in Paris that really won the - battle. There was nothing Scandinavian left in Normandy, and - whatever there had been five generations before was slight. The - Colentin had no more Scandinavian blood than the rest. There is no - such place as Longuevaile. There is a Hauteville, but it has no bay - and had nothing to do with the Harcourts, and the Harcourts were - not of Bloodroyal--and so forth.] - - - I - - The men that lived in Longuevaile - Came out to fight by bands. - They jangled all in welded mail, - Their shields were rimmed of silver pale - And blazoned like a church-vitrail: - Their swords were in their hands. - But the harsh raven of the Old Gods - Was on the rank sea-sands. - - _There rose a wind on heath and den:_ - _The sky went racing grey._ - _The Bastard and his wall of men_ - _Were a charger’s course away._ - - -II - - The Old Gods of the Northern Hall - Are in their narrow room. - Their thrones are flanked of spearmen tall, - The three that have them in their thrall, - Sit silently before them all, - They weave upon their loom; - And round about them as they weave - The Scalds sing doom. - - -III - - The Bastard out of Normandy - Was angry for his wrong. - His eyes were virginal to see, - For nothing in his heart had he - But a hunger for his great degree; - And his back was broad and strong - As are the oxen of the field, - That pull the ploughs along. - - -IV - - He saw that column of cavalry wheel, - Split outward, and deploy. - He heard, he heard the Oliphant peal. - He crooked an angry knee to feel - The scabbard against his gilded heel. - He had great joy: - And he stood upright in the stirrup steel. - Because he was a boy. - - * * * * * - - _We faced their ordering, all the force,_ - _And there was little sound;_ - _But Haribert-Le-Marshall’s horse_ - _Pawed heavily the ground._ - - - V - - As the broad ships out of Barbary - Come driving from the large, - With yards a-bend and courses free, - And tumbling down their decks a-lee, - The hurrahing of the exultant sea, - So drave they to the charge. - But the harsh raven of the Old Gods - Was on the rank sea-marge. - - -VI - - The Old Gods of the Northern Hall - Are crownéd for the tomb. - Their biers are flanked of torches tall, - And through the flames that leap and fall - There comes a droning and a call - To the night’s womb, - As the tide beneath a castle wall - Goes drumming through the gloom. - - -VII - - They tonsured me but Easter year, - I swore to Christ and Rome. - My name is not mine older name.... - But ah! to see them as they came, - With thundering and with points aflame, - I smelt foam. - And my heart was like a wandering man’s, - Who piles his boat on Moorna sands - And serves a slave in alien lands, - And then beneath a harper’s hands - Hears suddenly of home. - - * * * * * - - _For their cavalry came in a curling leaf,_ - _They shouted as they drave,_ - _And the Bastard’s line was like a reef_ - _But theirs was like a wave._ - - -VIII - - As the broad ships out of Barbary - Strike rock. - And the stem shatters, and the sail flaps; - Streaming seaward; and the taut shroud snaps, - And the block - Clatters to the deck of the wreck. - So did the men of Longuevaile - Take the shock. - - -IX - - Our long line quivered but it did not break, - It countered and was strong. - The first bolt went through the wind with a wail, - And another and a-many with a thudding on the mail; - Pattered all the arrows in an April hail; - Whistled the ball and thong: - And I, the priest, with that began - The singing of my song. - - - X - - Press inward, inward, Normandy; - Press inward, Cleres and Vaux; - Press inward, Mons and Valery; - Press inward, Yvetot. - Stand hard the men of the Beechen Ford - (Oh! William of Falaise, my lord!) - Battle is a net and a struggle in a cord. - Battle is a wrestler’s throw. - The middle holding as the wings made good, - The far wings closing as the centre stood. - Battle is a mist and battle is a wood, - And battle is won so. - - -XI - - The fishermen fish in the River of Seine, - They haul the long nets in. - They haul them in and they haul again, - (The fishermen fish in the River of Seine) - They haul them in and they haul again, - A million glittering fin: - With the hauling in of our straining ends - That Victory did begin. - - -XII - - The tall son of the Seven Winds - Galloped hot-foot from the Hither Hithe. - So strongly went he down the press, - Almost he did that day redress - With his holping and his hardiness, - For his sword was like a scythe - In Arques when the grass is high, - And all the swaithes in order lie, - And there’s the bailiff standing by-- - A gathering of the tithe. - - -XIII - - And now, go forward, Normandy, - Go forward all in one. - The press was caught and trampled and it broke - From the sword and its swinger and the axe’s stroke, - Pouring through the gap in a whirl of smoke - As a blinded herd will run. - And so fled many and a very few - With mounts all spent would staggering pursue, - But the race fell scattered as the evening grew: - The battle was over and done. - - * * * * * - - _Like birds against the reddening day_ - _They dwindled one by one,_ - _And I heard a trumpet far away_ - _At the setting of the sun._ - - * * * * * - - -XIV - - The stars were in the Eternal Sky, - It was calm in Massared; - Richard, Abbot of Leclair, and I - And a Picard Priest that held on high - A Torch above his head; - We stumbled through the darkening land - Assoiling with anointed hand - The dying and the dead. - - -XV - - How many in the tufted grass, - How many dead there lay. - For there was found the Fortenbras - And young Garain of Hault, alas! - And the Wardens of the Breton pass - Who were lords of his array, - And Hugh that trusted in his glass - But came not home the day. - - -XVI - - I saw the miller of Martindall, - I saw that archer die. - The blunt quarrel caught him at the low white wall, - And he tossed up his arrow to the Lord God of all, - But long before the first could fall - His soul was in the sky. - - -XVII - - The last of all the lords that sprang - From Harcourt of the Crown, - He parried with the shield and the silver rang, - But the axe fell heavy on the helm with a clang - And the girths parted and the saddle swang, - And he went down: - He never more sang winter songs - In his high town. - - -XVIII - - In his high town that Faëry is, - And stands on Harcourt bay, - The fisher surging through the night - Takes bearing by that castle height, - And moors him harboured in the bight, - And watches for the day. - But with the broadening of the light, - It vanishes away. - - -XIX - - In his high town that Faëry is, - And stands on Harcourt Lea. - To summon him up his arrier-ban, - His writ beyond the mountains ran; - My father was his serving man, - Although the farm was free. - Before the angry wars began - He was a friend to me. - - -XX - - The night before the boy was born - There came a Priest who said - That he had seen red Aldeborn, - The star of hate in Taurus’ horn, - Which glared above a field of corn, - And covered him with dread. - I wish to God I had not held - The cloth in which he bled. - - * * * * * - - -XXI - - The Horse from Cleres and Valery, - The foot from Yvetot, - And all the men of the Harbour Towns - That live by fall and flow. - And all the men of the Beechen Ford - --Oh! William of Falaise, my lord!-- - And all the sails in Michael’s ward, - And all the shields of Caux, - Shall follow you out across the world, - With sword and lance and bow, - To Beachy and to Pevensey Bar, - To Chester through the snow, - With sack and pack and camping tent, - A-grumbling as they go: - My lord is William of Falaise. - Haro! - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[A] - - But do not think I shall explain - To any great extent. Believe me, - I partly write to give you pain, - And if you do not like me, leave me. - - -[B] - - And least of all can you complain, - Reviewers, whose unholy trade is, - To puff with all your might and main - Biographers of single ladies. - - -[C] Never mind. - -[D] - - The plan forgot (I know not how, - Perhaps the Refectory filled it), - To put a chapel in; and now - We’re mortgaging the rest to build it. - - -[E] To be pronounced as a monosyllable in the Imperial fashion. - -[F] Mr Punt, Mr Howl, and Mr Grewcock (now, alas, deceased). - -[G] A neat rendering of “Sublimi feriam sidera vertice.” - -[H] To the Examiners: These facts (of which I guarantee the accuracy) -were given me by a Director. - -[I] A reminiscence of Milton: “Fas est et ab hoste docere.” - -[J] Lambkin told me he regretted this line, which was for the sake of -Rhyme. He would willingly have replaced it, but to his last day could -construct no substitute. - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets and Verse, by Hilaire Belloc - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS AND VERSE *** - -***** This file should be named 60663-0.txt or 60663-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/6/6/60663/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: Sonnets and Verse - -Author: Hilaire Belloc - -Release Date: November 10, 2019 [EBook #60663] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS AND VERSE *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="337" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_i" id="page_i">{i}</a> </span></p> - -<p class="c">SONNETS AND VERSE<br /><br /> -BY<br /><br /> -H. BELLOC</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iii" id="page_iii">{iii}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ii" id="page_ii">{ii}</a></span> </p> - -<h1> -SONNETS AND VERSE</h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -<br /> -H. BELLOC<br /><br /> -<br /> -<img src="images/colophon.jpg" -width="100" -alt="" -/> -<br /> -<br /><br /> -DUCKWORTH & CO.<br /> -3 HENRIETTA STREET, LONDON, W.C.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iv" id="page_iv">{iv}</a></span><br /> -<br /><small> -<i>First Published in 1923</i><br /> -<br /> -<i>All rights reserved</i><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<i>Made and Printed in Great Britain<br /> -by Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh</i><br /></small> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_v" id="page_v">{v}</a></span><br /><br /><br /> -<span class="eng">To</span><br /><br /> -JOHN SWINNERTON PHILLIMORE<br /><br /> -<small>A DEDICATION<br /><br /> -WITH THIS BOOK OF VERSE</small></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>When you and I were little tiny boys</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>We took a most impertinent delight</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>In foolish, painted and misshapen toys</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Which hidden mothers brought to us at night.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Do you that have the child’s diviner part—</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>The dear content a love familiar brings—</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Take these imperfect toys, till in your heart</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>They too attain the form of perfect things.</i><br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vii" id="page_vii">{vii}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vi" id="page_vi">{vi}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h3> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><th colspan="3">I. SONNETS</th></tr> - -<tr><td colspan="2"> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">I.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Lift up your Hearts in Gumber, laugh the Weald</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_3">3</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">II.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">I was like one that keeps the Deck by Night</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_4">4</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">III.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Rise up and do begin the Day’s Adorning</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_5">5</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">IV.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">The Winter Moon has such a quiet Car</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_6">6</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">V.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Whatever Moisture nourishes the Rose</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_7">7</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">VI.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Youth gave you to me, but I’ll not believe</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_8">8</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">VII.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Mortality is but the Stuff you wear</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_9">9</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">VIII.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Not for the Luckless Buds our Roots may bear</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_10">10</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">IX.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">That which is one they Shear and make it Twain</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_11">11</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">X.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Shall any Man for whose strong love another</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_12">12</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XI.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">They that have taken Wages of things done</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_13">13</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XII.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Beauty that Parent is to deathless Rhyme</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_14">14</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XIII.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">What are the Names for Beauty? Who shall praise</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_15">15</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XIV.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Love wooing Honour, Honour’s Love did win</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_16">16</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XV.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Your Life is like a little Winter’s Day</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_17">17</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XVI.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Now shall the certain Purpose of my Soul</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_18">18</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XVII.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Because my faltering Feet may fail to dare</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_19">19</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XVIII.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">When you to Acheron’s ugly Water come</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_20">20</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XIX.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">We will not Whisper, we have found the Place</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_viii" id="page_viii">{viii}</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_21">21</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XX.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">I went to Sleep at Dawn in Tuscany</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_22">22</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XXI.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Almighty God, whose Justice like a Sun</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_23">23</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XXII.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Mother of all my Cities once there lay</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_24">24</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XXIII.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">November is that Historied Emperor</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_25">25</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XXIV.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Hoar Time about the House betakes him Slow</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_26">26</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XXV.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">It Freezes: all across a soundless Sky</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_27">27</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XXVI.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">O my Companion, O my Sister Sleep</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_28">28</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XXVII.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">Are you the End, Despair, or the poor least</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_29">29</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XXVIII.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">But Oh! not Lovely Helen, nor the Pride</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_30">30</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XXIX.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">The World’s a Stage. The Light is in One’s Eyes</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_31">31</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XXX.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">The World’s a Stage—and I’m the Super Man</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_32">32</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="rt">XXXI.</td><td valign="top"><span class="smcap">The World’s a Stage. The trifling Entrance Fee</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_33">33</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="3"> LYRICAL, DIDACTIC AND GROTESQUE</th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">To Dives</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_37">37</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Stanzas Written on Battersea Bridge during a South-Westerly Gale</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_39">39</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The South Country</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_42">42</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Fanatic</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_45">45</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Early Morning</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_48">48</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Our Lord and Our Lady</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_49">49</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Courtesy</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_51">51</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Night</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_53">53</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Leader</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_54">54</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Bivouac</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ix" id="page_ix">{ix}</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_56">56</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">To the Balliol Men still in Africa</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_57">57</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Verses to a Lord who, in the House of Lords, said that those who Opposed the South African Adventure confused Soldiers with Money-Grubbers</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_59">59</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Rebel</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_61">61</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Prophet Lost in the Hills at Evening</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_63">63</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The End of the Road</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_65">65</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">An Oracle that Warned the Writer when on Pilgrimage</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_67">67</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Death and Last Confession of Wandering Peter</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_68">68</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Dedicatory Ode</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_70">70</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Dedication on the Gift of a Book to a Child</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_78">78</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Dedication of a Child’s Book of Imaginary Tales</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_79">79</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Homage</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_80">80</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Moon’s Funeral</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_81">81</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Happy Journalist</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_83">83</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Lines to a Don</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_85">85</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Newdigate Poem</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_88">88</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Yellow Mustard</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_93">93</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Politician or the Irish Earldom</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_94">94</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Loser</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_96">96</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="3"> SONGS</th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Noël</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_99">99</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Birds</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_101">101</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">In a Boat</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_102">102</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Song inviting the Influence of a Young Lady upon the Opening Year</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_x" id="page_x">{x}</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_104">104</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Ring</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_105">105</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Cuckoo!</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_106">106</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Little Serving Maid</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_107">107</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Auvergnat</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_110">110</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Drinking Song, on the Excellence of Burgundy Wine</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_111">111</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Drinking Dirge</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_113">113</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">West Sussex Drinking Song</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_115">115</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">A Ballad on Sociological Economics</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_117">117</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Heretics All</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_118">118</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ha’nacker Mill</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_119">119</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Tarantella</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_120">120</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Chaunty of the “Nona”</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_122">122</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">The Winged Horse</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_125">125</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Strephon’s Song (from “The Cruel Shepherdess”)</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_127">127</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="3">IV. BALLADES</th></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Short Ballade and Postscript on Consols and Boers</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_131">131</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballade of the Unanswered Question</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_134">134</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballade to Our Lady of Czestochowa</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_136">136</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballade of Hell and of Mrs Roebeck</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_138">138</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballade of Unsuccessful Men</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_140">140</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" colspan="2" class="hang"><span class="smcap">Ballade of the Heresiarchs</span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_142">142</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2">V. EPIGRAMS</th><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_147">147</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="2">VI. THE BALLAD OF VAL-ÈS-DUNES</th><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_157">157</a></td></tr> - -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I<br /><br /> -SONNETS</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span></p> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lift</span> up your hearts in Gumber, laugh the Weald<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you my mother the Valley of Arun sing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here am I homeward from my wandering<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here am I homeward and my heart is healed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You my companions whom the World has tired<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come out to greet me. I have found a face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More beautiful than Gardens; more desired<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than boys in exile love their native place.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lift up your hearts in Gumber, laugh the Weald<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you most ancient Valley of Arun sing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here am I homeward from my wandering,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here am I homeward and my heart is healed.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If I was thirsty, I have heard a spring.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">If I was dusty, I have found a field.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I was</span> like one that keeps the deck by night<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bearing the tiller up against his breast;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I was like one whose soul is centred quite<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In holding course although so hardly prest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And veers with veering shock now left now right,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And strains his foothold still and still makes play<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of bending beams until the sacred light<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shows him high lands and heralds up the day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But now such busy work of battle past<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am like one whose barque at bar at last<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes hardly heeling down the adventurous breeze;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And entering calmer seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am like one that brings his merchandise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Californian skies.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Rise</span> up and do begin the day’s adorning;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Summer dark is but the dawn of day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The last of sunset fades into the morning;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The morning calls you from the dark away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The holy mist, the white mist of the morning<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was wreathing upward on my lonely way.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The way was waiting for your own adorning<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That should complete the broad adornéd day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Rise up and do begin the day’s adorning;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The little eastern clouds are dapple grey:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There will be wind among the leaves to-day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is the very promise of the morning.<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Lux Tua Via Mea</i>: your light’s my way—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then do rise up and make it perfect day.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Winter Moon has such a quiet car<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That all the winter nights are dumb with rest.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She drives the gradual dark with drooping crest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dreams go wandering from her drowsy star<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because the nights are silent do not wake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But there shall tremble through the general earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And over you, a quickening and a birth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Sun is near the hill-tops for your sake.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The latest born of all the days shall creep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To kiss the tender eyelids of the year;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you shall wake, grown young with perfect sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And smile at the new world and make it dear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With living murmurs more than dreams are deep;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Silence is dead, my dawn, the morning’s here.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Whatever</span> moisture nourishes the Rose<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Rose of the World in laughter’s garden-bed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Souls of men on faith secure are fed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And spirits immortal keep their pleasure-close.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whatever moisture nourishes the Rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The burning Rose of the world, for me the same<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-day for me the spring without a name<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Content or Grace or Laughter overflows.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This is that water from the Fount of Gold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Water of Youth and washer out of cares<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which Raymond of Saragossa sought of old<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And finding in the mountain, unawares,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Returned to hear an ancient story told<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Bramimond, his love, beside the marble stairs.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Youth</span> gave you to me, but I’ll not believe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That Youth will, taking his quick self, take you.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Youth’s all our Truth: he cannot so deceive.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He has our graces, not our ownselves too.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He still compares with time when he’ll be spent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By human doom enhancing what we are;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Enriches us with rare experiment,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lends arms to leagured Age in Time’s rough war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Look! This Youth in us is an Old Man taking<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Boy to make him wiser than his days.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So is our old Youth our young Age’s making:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So rich in time our final debt he pays.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then with your quite young arms do you me hold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I will still be young when all the World’s grown old.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Mortality</span> is but the Stuff you wear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To show the better on the imperfect sight.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your home is surely with the changeless light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of which you are the daughter and the heir.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For as you pass, the natural life of things<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proclaims the Resurrection: as you pass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Remembered summer shines across the grass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And somewhat in me of the immortal sings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You were not made for memory, you are not<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Youth’s accident I think but heavenly more;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moulding to meaning slips my pen’s poor blot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And opening wide that long forbidden door<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where stands the Mother of God, your exemplar.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How beautiful, how beautiful you are!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VIII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Not</span> for the luckless buds our roots may bear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Now all in bloom, now seared and cankered lying<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will I entreat you, lest they should compare<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Foredoomed humanity with the fall of flowers.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hold thou with me the chaste communion rare<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And touch with life this mortal case of ours:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You’re lifted up beyond the power of dying:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I die, as bounded things die everywhere.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">You’re voiced companionship, I’m silence lonely;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’re stuff, I’m void; you’re living, I’m decay.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I fall, I think, to-night and ending only;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You rise, I know, through still advancing day.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And knowing living gift were life for me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In narrow room of rhyme I fixed it certainly.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IX</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">That</span> which is one they shear and make it twain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who would Love’s light and dark discriminate:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His pleasure is one essence with his pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Even his desire twin brother to his hate.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With him the foiled attempt is half achieving;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And being mastered, to be armed a lord;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And doubting every chance is still believing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And losing all one’s own is all reward.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I am acquainted with misfortune’s fortune,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And better than herself her dowry know:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For she that is my fortune and misfortune,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Making me hapless, makes me happier so:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In which conceit, as older men may prove,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lies manifest the very core of Love.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>X</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Shall</span> any man for whose strong love another<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has thrown away his wealth and name in one,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall he turn mocker of a more than brother<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To slight his need when his adventure’s done?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or shall a breedless boy whose mother won him<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In great men’s great concerns his little place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Turn when his farthing honours come upon him<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To mock her yeoman air and conscious grace?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then mock me as you do my narrow scope,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For you it was put out this light of mine:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wrongfully wrecked my new adventured hope,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wasted my wordy wealth, spilt my rich wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Made my square ship within a league of shore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Alas! To be entombed in seas and seen no more.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">They</span> that have taken wages of things done<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When sense abused has blocked the doors of sense,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They that have lost their heritage of the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their laughter and their holy innocence;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They turn them now to this thing, now to t’other,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For anchor hold against swift-eddying time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some to that square of earth which was their mother,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And some to noisy fame, and some to rhyme.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But I to that far morning where you stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In fullness of the body, with your hands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reposing on your walls, before your lands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all, together, making one great good:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then did I cry “For this my birth was meant.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These are my use, and this my sacrament!”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Beauty</span> that Parent is to deathless Rhyme<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was Manhood’s maker: you shall bear a Son,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till Daughters linked adown admiring time<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fulfil the mother, handing Beauty on.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You shall by breeding make Life answer yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Time’s despite, Time’s jeer that men go void;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your stamp of heaven shall be more largely set<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than my one joy, ten thousand times enjoyed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The glories of our state and its achievement,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which wait their passing, shall not pass away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I will extend our term beyond bereavement,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And launch our date into a dateless day.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For you shall make recórd, and when that’s sealed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In Beauty made immortal, all is healed.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">What</span> are the names for Beauty? Who shall praise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God’s pledge he can fulfil His creatures’ eyes?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or what strong words of what creative phrase<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Determine Beauty’s title in the skies?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I will call you Beauty Personate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ambassadorial Beauty, and again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beauty triumphant, Beauty in the Gate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beauty salvation of the souls of men.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For Beauty was not Beauty till you came<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now shall Beauty mean the sign you are;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Beacon burnt above the Dawn, a flame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like holy Lucifer the Morning Star,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who latest hangs in Heaven and is the gem<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On all the widowéd Night’s expectant Diadem.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Love</span> wooing Honour, Honour’s love did win<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And had his pleasure all a summer’s day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not understanding how the dooms begin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love wooing Honour, wooed her life away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then wandered he a full five years unrest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until, one night, this Honour that had died<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Came as he slept, in youth grown glorified<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And smiling like the Saints whom God has blest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But when he saw her on the clear night shine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Serene with more than mortal light upon her,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The boy that careless was of things divine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Small Love, turned penitent to worship Honour.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So Love can conquer Honour: when that’s past<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dead Honour risen outdoes Love at last.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Your</span> life is like a little winter’s day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose sad sun rises late to set too soon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You have just come—why will you go away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Making an evening of what should be noon.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your life is like a little flute complaining<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A long way off, beyond the willow trees:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A long way off, and nothing left remaining<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But memory of a music on the breeze.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your life is like a pitiful leave-taking<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wept in a dream before a man’s awaking,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Call with only shadows to attend:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Benediction whispered and belated<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which has no fruit beyond a consecrated,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A consecrated silence at the end.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Now</span> shall the certain purpose of my soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By blind and empty things controlled be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mine audacious course to that far goal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fall short, confessing mere mortality.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Limbs shall have movement and ignore their living,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brain wit, that he his quickness may deny.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My promised hope forswears in act of giving,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Time eats me up and makes my words a lie.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And mine unbounded dream has found a bar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I must worst deceit of best things bear.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now dawn’s but daybreak, seas but waters are,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Night darkness only, all wide heaven just air:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And you to whom these fourteen lines I tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My beauty, my desire: but not my love as well.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Because</span> my faltering feet may fail to dare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The first descendant of the steps of Hell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give me the Word in time that triumphs there.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I too must pass into the misty hollow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where all our living laughter stops: and hark!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tiny stuffless voices of the dark<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have called me, called me, till I needs must follow:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give me the Word and I’ll attempt it well.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Say it’s the little winking of an eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which in that issue is uncurtained quite;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A little sleep that helps a moment by<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the thin dawn and the large daylight.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ah! tell me more than yet was hoped of men;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Swear that’s true now, and I’ll believe it then.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVIII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> you to Acheron’s ugly water come<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where darkness is and formless mourners brood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And down the shelves of that distasteful flood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Survey the human rank in order dumb.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the pale dead go forward, tortured more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By nothingness and longing than by fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which bear their hands in suppliance with desire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With stretched desire for the ulterior shore.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then go before them like a royal ghost<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tread like Egypt or like Carthage crowned;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because in your Mortality the most<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all we may inherit has been found—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Children for memory: the Faith for pride.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Good land to leave: and young Love satisfied.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIX</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> will not whisper, we have found the place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of silence and the endless halls of sleep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that which breathes alone throughout the deep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The end and the beginning: and the face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the level brows of whose blind eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lie plenary contentment, full surcease<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of violence, and the passionless long peace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherein we lose our human lullabies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Look up and tell the immeasurable height<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the vault of the world and your dear head;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That’s death, my little sister, and the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which was our Mother beckons us to bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where large oblivion in her house is laid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For us tired children, now our games are played.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XX</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I went</span> to sleep at Dawn in Tuscany<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath a Rock and dreamt a morning dream.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I thought I stood by that baptismal stream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whereon the bounds of our redemption lie.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there, beyond, a radiance rose to take<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My soul at passing, in which light your eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So filled me I was drunk with Paradise.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then the day broadened, but I did not wake.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here’s the last edge of my long parchment furled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all was writ that you might read it so.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This sleep I swear shall last the length of day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not noise, not chance, shall drive this dream away:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not time, not treachery, not good fortune—no,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not all the weight of all the wears of the world.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Almighty</span> God, whose justice like a sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall coruscate along the floors of Heaven,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Raising what’s low, perfecting what’s undone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breaking the proud and making odd things even.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The poor of Jesus Christ along the street<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In your rain sodden, in your snows unshod,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They have nor hearth, nor sword, nor human meat,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor even the bread of men: Almighty God.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The poor of Jesus Christ whom no man hears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have waited on your vengeance much too long.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wipe out not tears but blood: our eyes bleed tears.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come smite our damnéd sophistries so strong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That thy rude hammer battering this rude wrong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ring down the abyss of twice ten thousand years.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Mother</span> of all my cities once there lay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">About your weedy wharves an orient shower<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of spice and languorous silk and all the dower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That Ocean gave you on his bridal day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now the youth and age have passed away<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all the sail superb and all the power;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your time’s a time of memory like that hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Just after sunset, wonderful and grey.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Too tired to rise and much too sad to weep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With strong arm nerveless on a nerveless knee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still to your slumbering ears the spousal deep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Murmurs his thoughts of eld eternally;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But your soul wakes not from its holy sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dreaming of dead delights beside a tideless sea.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXIII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">November</span> is that historied Emperor<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Conquered in age but foot to foot with fate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who from his refuge high has heard the roar<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of squadrons in pursuit, and now, too late,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stirrups the storm and calls the winds to war,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And arms the garrison of his last heirloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shakes the sky to its extremest shore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With battle against irrevocable doom.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Till, driven and hurled from his strong citadels,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He flies in hurrying cloud and spurs him on,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Empty of lingerings, empty of farewells<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And final benedictions and is gone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But in my garden all the trees have shed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their legacies of the light and all the flowers are dead.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXIV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Hoar</span> Time about the House betakes him slow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seeking an entry for his weariness.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in that dreadful company distress<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the sad night with silent footsteps go.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On my poor fire the brands are scarce aglow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the woods without what memories press<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, waning in the trees from less to less<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mysterious hangs the hornéd moon and low.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For now December, full of agéd care<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes in upon the year and weakly grieves;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mumbling his lost desires and his despair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with mad trembling hand still interweaves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dank sear flower-stalks tangled in his hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While round about him whirl the rotten leaves.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">It</span> freezes: all across a soundless sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The birds go home. The governing dark’s begun.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The steadfast dark that waits not for a sun;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ultimate dark wherein the race shall die.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Death with his evil finger to his lip<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leers in at human windows, turning spy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To learn the country where his rule shall lie<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When he assumes perpetual generalship.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The undefeated enemy, the chill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That shall benumb the voiceful earth at last,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is master of our moment, and has bound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The viewless wind itself. There is no sound.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It freezes. Every friendly stream is fast.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It freezes, and the graven twigs are still.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXVI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O my</span> companion, O my sister Sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The valley is all before us, bear me on.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High through the heaven of evening, hardly gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the harbour lights, beyond the steep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the land and its lost benison<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To where, majestic on the darkening deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The night comes forward from Mount Aurion.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O my companion, O my sister Sleep.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Above the surf-line, into the night-breeze;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eastward above the ever-whispering seas;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the warm airs with no more watch to keep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My day’s run out and all its dooms are graven.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O dear forerunner of Death and promise of Haven.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O my companion, O my sister Sleep.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXVII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Are</span> you the end, Despair, or the poor least<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of them that cast great shadows and are lies?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That dread the simple and destroy the wise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fail at the tomb and triumph at the feast?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You were not found on Olivet, dull beast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor in Thebaid, when the night’s agonies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dissolved to glory on the effulgent east<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Jesus Christ was in the morning skies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You did not curb the indomitable crest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Tzerna-Gora, when the Falcon-bred<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Screamed over the Adriatic, and their Lord<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went riding out, much angrier than the rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To summon at ban the living and the dead<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And break the Mahommedan with the repeated sword.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXVIII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">But</span> oh! not Lovely Helen, nor the pride<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of that most ancient Ilium matched with doom.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Men murdered Priam in his royal room<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Troy was burned with fire and Hector died.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For even Hector’s dreadful day was more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than all his breathing courage dared defend<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The armouréd light and bulwark of the war<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trailed his great story to the accustomed end.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He was the city’s buttress, Priam’s Son,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Soldier born in bivouac praises great<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And horns in double front of battle won.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet down he went: when unremembering fate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Felled him at last with all his armour on.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hector: the horseman: in the Scæan Gate.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXIX</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> world’s a stage. The light is in one’s eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Auditorium is extremely dark.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The more dishonest get the larger rise;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The more offensive make the greater mark.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The women on it prosper by their shape,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some few by their vivacity. The men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By tailoring in breeches and in cape.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The world’s a stage—I say it once again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The scenery is very much the best<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of what the wretched drama has to show,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Also the prompter happens to be dumb.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We drink behind the scenes and pass a jest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On all our folly; then, before we go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Loud cries for “Author” ... but he doesn’t come.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXX</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> world’s a stage—and I’m the Super man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And no one seems responsible for salary.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I roar my part as loudly as I can<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all I mouth I mouth it to the gallery.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I haven’t got another rhyme in “alery”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It would have made a better job, no doubt<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If I had left attempt at Rhyming out,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like Alfred Tennyson adapting Malory.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The world’s a stage, the company of which<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has very little talent and less reading:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But many a waddling heathen painted bitch<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a standing cad of gutter breeding.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We sweat to learn our book: for all our pains<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We pass. The Chucker-out alone remains.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXXI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> world’s a stage. The trifling entrance fee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is paid (by proxy) to the registrar.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Orchestra is very loud and free<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But plays no music in particular.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They do not print a programme, that I know.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The caste is large. There isn’t any plot.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The acting of the piece is far below<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The very worst of modernistic rot.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The only part about it I enjoy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is what was called in English the Foyay.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There will I stand apart awhile and toy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With thought, and set my cigarette alight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then—without returning to the play—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On with my coat and out into the night.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II<br /><br /> -LYRICAL, DIDACTIC AND GROTESQUE</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="TO_DIVES" id="TO_DIVES"></a>TO DIVES</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dives</span>, when you and I go down to Hell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where scribblers end and millionaires as well,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We shall be carrying on our separate backs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Two very large but very different packs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And as you stagger under yours, my friend,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down the dull shore where all our journeys end,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And go before me (as your rank demands)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Towards the infinite flat underlands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that dear river of forgetfulness—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Charon, a man of exquisite address<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(For, as your wife’s progenitors could tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They’re very strict on etiquette in Hell),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will, since you are a lord, observe, “My lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We cannot take these weighty things aboard!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then down they go, my wretched Dives, down—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fifteen sorts of boots you kept for town,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hat to meet the Devil in; the plain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But costly ties; the cases of champagne;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The solid watch, and seal, and chain, and charm;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The working model of a Burning Farm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(To give the little Belials); all the three<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Biscuits for Cerberus; the guarantee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From Lambeth that the Rich can never burn,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And even promising a safe return;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The admirable overcoat, designed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To cross Cocytus—very warmly lined:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet Dives, you will leave them all behind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And enter Hell as tattered and as bare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As was your father when he took the air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behind a barrow-load in Leicester Square.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then turned to me, and noting one that brings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With careless step a mist of shadowy things:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Laughter and memories, and a few regrets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some honour, and a quantity of debts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A doubt or two of sorts, a trust in God,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And (what will seem to you extremely odd)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His father’s granfer’s father’s father’s name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unspoilt, untitled, even spelt the same;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Charon, who twenty thousand times before<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has ferried Poets to the ulterior shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will estimate the weight I bear, and cry—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Comrade!” (He has himself been known to try<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His hand at Latin and Italian verse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Much in the style of Virgil—only worse)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“We let such vain imaginaries pass!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then tell me, Dives, which will look the ass—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You, or myself? Or Charon? Who can tell?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They order things so damnably in Hell.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="STANZAS_WRITTEN_ON_BATTERSEA_BRIDGE_DURING_A_SOUTH-WESTERLY_GALE" id="STANZAS_WRITTEN_ON_BATTERSEA_BRIDGE_DURING_A_SOUTH-WESTERLY_GALE"></a>STANZAS WRITTEN ON BATTERSEA BRIDGE DURING A SOUTH-WESTERLY GALE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> woods and downs have caught the mid-December,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The noisy woods and high sea-downs of home;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wind has found me and I do remember<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The strong scent of the foam.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Woods, darlings of my wandering feet, another<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Possesses you, another treads the Down;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The South West Wind that was my elder brother<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has come to me in town.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wind is shouting from the hills of morning,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I do remember and I will not stay.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll take the Hampton road without a warning<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And get me clean away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Channel is up, the little seas are leaping,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The tide is making over Arun Bar;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there’s my boat, where all the rest are sleeping<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And my companions are.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’ll board her, and apparel her, and I’ll mount her,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My boat, that was the strongest friend to me<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span>—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That brought my boyhood to its first encounter<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And taught me the wide sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now shall I drive her, roaring hard a’ weather,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Right for the salt and leave them all behind;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll quite forget the treacherous streets together<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And find—or shall we find?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is no Pilotry my soul relies on<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whereby to catch beneath my bended hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Faint and beloved along the extreme horizon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That unforgotten land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We shall not round the granite piers and paven<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To lie to wharves we know with canvas furled.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My little Boat, we shall not make the haven—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It is not of the world.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Somewhere of English forelands grandly guarded<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It stands, but not for exiles, marked and clean;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! not for us. A mist has risen and marred it:—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My youth lies in between.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So in this snare that holds me and appals me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where honour hardly lives nor loves remain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Sea compels me and my County calls me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But stronger things restrain.<br /></span> - -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">England</span>, to me that never have malingered,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor spoken falsely, nor your flattery used,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor even in my rightful garden lingered:—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What have you not refused?<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_SOUTH_COUNTRY" id="THE_SOUTH_COUNTRY"></a>THE SOUTH COUNTRY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> I am living in the Midlands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That are sodden and unkind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I light my lamp in the evening:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My work is left behind;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the great hills of the South Country<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come back into my mind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The great hills of the South Country<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They stand along the sea;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And it’s there walking in the high woods<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That I could wish to be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the men that were boys when I was a boy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Walking along with me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The men that live in North England<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I saw them for a day:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their hearts are set upon the waste fells,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their skies are fast and grey;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From their castle-walls a man may see<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The mountains far away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The men that live in West England<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They see the Severn strong,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">A-rolling on rough water brown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Light aspen leaves along.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They have the secret of the Rocks,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the oldest kind of song.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But the men that live in the South Country<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are the kindest and most wise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They get their laughter from the loud surf,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the faith in their happy eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes surely from our Sister the Spring<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When over the sea she flies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The violets suddenly bloom at her feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She blesses us with surprise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I never get between the pines<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But I smell the Sussex air;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor I never come on a belt of sand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But my home is there.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And along the sky the line of the Downs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So noble and so bare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A lost thing could I never find,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor a broken thing mend:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I fear I shall be all alone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When I get towards the end.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who will there be to comfort me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or who will be my friend?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I will gather and carefully make my friends<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the men of the Sussex Weald,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">They watch the stars from silent folds,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They stiffly plough the field.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By them and the God of the South Country<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My poor soul shall be healed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If I ever become a rich man,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or if ever I grow to be old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I will build a house with deep thatch<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To shelter me from the cold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there shall the Sussex songs be sung<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the story of Sussex told.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I will hold my house in the high wood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within a walk of the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the men that were boys when I was a boy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall sit and drink with me.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_FANATIC" id="THE_FANATIC"></a>THE FANATIC</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Last</span> night in Compton Street, Soho,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A man whom many of you know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gave up the ghost at half past nine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That evening he had been to dine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At Gressington’s—an act unwise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But not the cause of his demise.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The doctors all agree that he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was touched with cardiac atrophy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Accelerated (more or less)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By lack of proper food, distress,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Uncleanliness, and loss of sleep.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He was a man that could not keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His money (when he had the same)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because of creditors who came<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And took it from him; and he gave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So freely that he could not save.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But all the while a sort of whim<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Persistently remained with him,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Half admirable, half absurd:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To keep his word, to keep his word....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By which he did not mean what you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I would mean (of payments due<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or punctual rental of the Flat<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span>—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He was a deal too mad for that)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But—as he put it with a fine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Abandon, foolish or divine—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But “That great word which every man<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gave God before his life began.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was a sacred word, he said,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which comforted the pathless dead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And made God smile when it was shown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unforfeited, before the Throne.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And this (he said) he meant to hold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In spite of debt, and hate, and cold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And this (he said) he meant to show<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As passport to the Wards below.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He boasted of it and gave praise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To his own self through all his days.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He wrote a record to preserve<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How steadfastly he did not swerve<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From keeping it; how stiff he stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its guardian, and maintained it good.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He had two witnesses to swear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He kept it once in Berkeley Square.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Where hardly anything survives)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, through the loneliest of lives<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He kept it clean, he kept it still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down to the last extremes of ill.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So when he died, of many friends<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who came in crowds from all the ends<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of London, that it might be known<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They knew the man who died alone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some, who had thought his mood sublime<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sent him soup from time to time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Said, “Well, you cannot make them fit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The world, and there’s an end of it!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But others, wondering at him, said:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The man that kept his word is dead!”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then angrily, a certain third<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cried, “Gentlemen, he kept his word.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And as a man whom beasts surround<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tumultuous, on a little mound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stands Archer, for one dreadful hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because a Man is born to Power—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still, to daunt the pack below,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Twangs the clear purpose of his bow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till overwhelmed he dares to fall:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So stood this bulwark of us all.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He kept his word as none but he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could keep it, and as did not we.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And round him as he kept his word<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-day’s diseased and faithless herd,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A moment loud, a moment strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But foul forever, rolled along.”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_EARLY_MORNING" id="THE_EARLY_MORNING"></a>THE EARLY MORNING</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> moon on the one hand, the dawn on the other:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moon is my sister, the dawn is my brother.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moon on my left and the dawn on my right.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My brother, good morning: my sister, good night.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="OUR_LORD_AND_OUR_LADY" id="OUR_LORD_AND_OUR_LADY"></a>OUR LORD AND OUR LADY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">They</span> warned Our Lady for the Child<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That was Our blessed Lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And She took Him into the desert wild,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over the camel’s ford.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And a long song She sang to Him<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a short story told:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And She wrapped Him in a woollen cloak<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To keep Him from the cold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But when Our Lord was grown a man<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Rich they dragged Him down,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they crucified Him in Golgotha,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out and beyond the Town.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They crucified Him on Calvary,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon an April day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And because He had been her little Son<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She followed Him all the way.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our Lady stood beside the Cross,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A little space apart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when She heard Our Lord cry out<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A sword went through Her Heart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They laid Our Lord in a marble tomb,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dead, in a winding sheet.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Our Lady stands above the world<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the white Moon at Her feet.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="COURTESY" id="COURTESY"></a>COURTESY</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Of</span> Courtesy, it is much less<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than Courage of Heart or Holiness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet in my Walks it seems to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That the Grace of God is in Courtesy.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On Monks I did in Storrington fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They took me straight into their Hall;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw Three Pictures on a wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Courtesy was in them all.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The first the Annunciation;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The second the Visitation;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The third the Consolation,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of God that was Our Lady’s Son.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The first was of Saint Gabriel;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Wings a-flame from Heaven he fell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And as he went upon one knee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He shone with Heavenly Courtesy.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our Lady out of Nazareth rode—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was Her month of heavy load;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet was Her face both great and kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Courtesy was in Her Mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The third it was our Little Lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whom all the Kings in arms adored;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He was so small you could not see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His large intent of Courtesy.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Our Lord, that was Our Lady’s Son,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go bless you, People, one by one;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My Rhyme is written, my work is done.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_NIGHT" id="THE_NIGHT"></a>THE NIGHT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Most</span> holy Night, that still dost keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The keys of all the doors of sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To me when my tired eyelids close<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Give thou repose.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And let the far lament of them<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That chaunt the dead day’s requiem<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Make in my ears, who wakeful lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Soft lullaby.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let them that guard the horned moon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By my bedside their memories croon.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So shall I have new dreams and blest<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In my brief rest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fold your great wings about my face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hide dawning from my resting-place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cheat me with your false delight,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Most Holy Night.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_LEADER" id="THE_LEADER"></a>THE LEADER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> sword fell down: I heard a knell;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I thought that ease was best,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sullen men that buy and sell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Were host: and I was guest.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All unashamed I sat with swine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We shook the dice for war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The night was drunk with an evil wine—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But she went on before.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4"><i>She rode a steed of the sea-foam breed,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>All faery was her blade,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>And the armour on her tender limbs</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>Was of the moonshine made.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By God that sends the master-maids,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I know not whence she came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the sword she bore to save the soul<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Went up like an altar flame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where a broken race in a desert place<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Call on the Holy Name.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4"><i>We strained our eyes in the dim day-rise,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>We could not see them plain;</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>But two dead men from Valmy fen</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>Rode at her bridle-rein.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I hear them all, my fathers call,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I see them how they ride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where had been that rout obscene<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was an army straight with pride.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A hundred thousand marching men,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of squadrons twenty score,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And after them all the guns, the guns,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But she went on before.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4"><i>Her face was like a king’s command</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>When all the swords are drawn.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>She stretched her arms and smiled at us,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>Her head was higher than the hills.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>She led us to the endless plains.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>We lost her in the dawn.</i><br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="A_BIVOUAC" id="A_BIVOUAC"></a>A BIVOUAC</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> came without a human sound,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You came and brought my soul to me;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I only woke, and all around<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They slumbered on the firelit ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beside the guns in Burgundy.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I felt</span> the gesture of your hands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You signed my forehead with the Cross;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gesture of your holy hands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was bounteous—like the misty lands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along the Hills in Calvados.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">But</span> when I slept I saw your eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hungry as death, and very far.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw demand in your dim eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mysterious as the moons that rise<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At midnight, in the Pines of Var.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="TO_THE_BALLIOL_MEN_STILL_IN_AFRICA" id="TO_THE_BALLIOL_MEN_STILL_IN_AFRICA"></a>TO THE BALLIOL MEN STILL IN AFRICA</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Years</span> ago when I was at Balliol,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Balliol men—and I was one—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swam together in winter rivers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wrestled together under the sun.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still in the heart of us, Balliol, Balliol,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Loved already, but hardly known,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Welded us each of us into the others:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Called a levy and chose her own.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here is a House that armours a man<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the eyes of a boy and the heart of a ranger,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a laughing way in the teeth of the world<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a holy hunger and thirst for danger:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Balliol made me, Balliol fed me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whatever I had she gave me again:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the best of Balliol loved and led me.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God be with you, Balliol men.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I have said it before, and I say it again,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There was treason done, and a false word spoken,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And England under the dregs of men,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And bribes about, and a treaty broken:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But angry, lonely, hating it still,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I wished to be there in spite of the wrong.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My heart was heavy for Cumnor Hill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the hammer of galloping all day long.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Galloping outward into the weather,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hands a-ready and battle in all:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Words together and wine together<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And song together in Balliol Hall.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rare and single! Noble and few!...<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Oh! they have wasted you over the sea!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The only brothers ever I knew,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The men that laughed and quarrelled with me.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i0">Balliol made me, Balliol fed me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whatever I had she gave me again;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the best of Balliol loved and led me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God be with you, Balliol men.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>VERSES TO A LORD WHO, IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS, SAID THAT THOSE WHO -OPPOSED THE SOUTH AFRICAN ADVENTURE CONFUSED SOLDIERS WITH -MONEY-GRUBBERS</p></div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> thought because we held, my lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An ancient cause and strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That therefore we maligned the sword:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My lord, you did us wrong.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We also know the sacred height<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Up on Tugela side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where those three hundred fought with Beit<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And fair young Wernher died.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The daybreak on the failing force,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The final sabres drawn:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tall Goltman, silent on his horse,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Superb against the dawn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The little mound where Eckstein stood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And gallant Albu fell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Oppenheim, half blind with blood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went fording through the rising flood—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My Lord, we know them well.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The little empty homes forlorn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ruined synagogues that mourn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In Frankfort and Berlin;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We knew them when the peace was torn—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We of a nobler lineage born—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now by all the gods of scorn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We mean to rub them in.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_REBEL" id="THE_REBEL"></a>THE REBEL</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There</span> is a wall of which the stones<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are lies and bribes and dead men’s bones.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wrongfully this evil wall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Denies what all men made for all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shamelessly this wall surrounds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our homesteads and our native grounds.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But I will gather and I will ride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I will summon a countryside,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a man shall hear my halloa<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who never had thought the horn to follow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a man shall ride with me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who never had thought on earth to see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High Justice in her armoury.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When we find them where they stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mile of men on either hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I mean to charge from right away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And force the flanks of their array,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And press them inward from the plains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drive them clamouring down the lanes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gallop and harry and have them down,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And carry the gates and hold the town.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then shall I rest me from my ride<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With my great anger satisfied.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Only, before I eat and drink,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When I have killed them all, I think<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That I will batter their carven names,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And slit the pictures in their frames,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And burn for scent their cedar door,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And melt the gold their women wore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hack their horses at the knees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hew to death their timber trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And plough their gardens deep and through—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all these things I mean to do<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For fear perhaps my little son<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should break his hands, as I have done.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_PROPHET_LOST_IN_THE_HILLS_AT_EVENING" id="THE_PROPHET_LOST_IN_THE_HILLS_AT_EVENING"></a>THE PROPHET LOST IN THE HILLS AT EVENING</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Strong</span> God which made the topmost stars<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To circulate and keep their course,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Remember me; whom all the bars<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of sense and dreadful fate enforce.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Above me in your heights and tall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Impassable the summits freeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Below the haunted waters call<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Impassable beyond the trees.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I hunger and I have no bread.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My gourd is empty of the wine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Surely the footsteps of the dead<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are shuffling softly close to mine!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It darkens. I have lost the ford.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There is a change on all things made.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rocks have evil faces, Lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I am awfully afraid.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Remember me: the Voids of Hell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Expand enormous all around.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strong friend of souls, Emmanuel,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Redeem me from accursed ground.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The long descent of wasted days,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To these at last have led me down;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Remember that I filled with praise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The meaningless and doubtful ways<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That lead to an eternal town.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I challenged and I kept the Faith,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The bleeding path alone I trod;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It darkens. Stand about my wraith,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And harbour me—almighty God.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_END_OF_THE_ROAD" id="THE_END_OF_THE_ROAD"></a>THE END OF THE ROAD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In these boots and with this staff</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Two hundred leaguers and a half<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Walked I, went I, paced I, tripped I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Marched I, held I, skelped I, slipped I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pushed I, panted, swung and dashed I;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Picked I, forded, swam and splashed I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strolled I, climbed I, crawled and scrambled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dropped and dipped I, ranged and rambled;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plodded I, hobbled I, trudged and tramped I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in lonely spinnies camped I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in haunted pinewoods slept I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lingered, loitered, limped and crept I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clambered, halted, stepped and leapt I;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slowly sauntered, roundly strode I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ... (Oh! Patron saints and Angels<br /></span> -<span class="i8">That protect the four Evangels!<br /></span> -<span class="i8">And you Prophets vel majores<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Vel incerti, vel minores,<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Virgines ac confessores<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Chief of whose peculiar glories<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Est in Aula Regis stare<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Atque orare et exorare<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Et clamare et conclamare<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i8">Clamantes cum clamoribus<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Pro Nobis Peccatoribus.)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let me not conceal it.... <i>Rode I.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">(For who but critics could complain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of “riding” in a railway train?)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across the valley and the high-land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all the world on either hand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drinking when I had a mind to,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Singing when I felt inclined to;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor ever turned my face to home<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till I had slaked my heart at Rome.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="AN_ORACLE" id="AN_ORACLE"></a>AN ORACLE<br /><br /> -THAT WARNED THE WRITER WHEN ON PILGRIMAGE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Matutinus</span> adest ubi Vesper, et accipiens te<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saepe recusatum voces intelligit hospes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rusticus ignotas notas, ac flumina tellus<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Occupat—In sancto tum, tum, stans Aede caveto<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tonsuram Hirsuti Capitis, via namque pedestrem<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ferrea praeveniens cursum, peregrine, laborem<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pro pietate tua inceptum frustratur, amore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Antiqui Ritus alto sub Numine Romae.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="c"><i>Translation of the above</i>:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> early morning seems but eve<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they that still refuse receive:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When speech unknown men understand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And floods are crossed upon dry land.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within the Sacred Walls beware<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Shaven Head that boasts of Hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For when the road attains the rail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Pilgrim’s great attempt shall fail.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_DEATH_AND_LAST_CONFESSION_OF_WANDERING_PETER" id="THE_DEATH_AND_LAST_CONFESSION_OF_WANDERING_PETER"></a>THE DEATH AND LAST CONFESSION OF WANDERING PETER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> Peter Wanderwide was young<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He wandered everywhere he would:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all that he approved was sung,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And most of what he saw was good.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When Peter Wanderwide was thrown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By Death himself beyond Auxerre,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He chanted in heroic tone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To priests and people gathered there:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“If all that I have loved and seen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Be with me on the Judgment Day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shall be saved the crowd between<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From Satan and his foul array.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Almighty God will surely cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">‘St Michael! Who is this that stands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Ireland in his dubious eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Perigord between his hands,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>And on his arm the stirrup-thongs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in his gait the narrow seas,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in his mouth Burgundian songs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But in his heart the Pyrenees?’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“St Michael then will answer right<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(And not without angelic shame),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I seem to know his face by sight:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I cannot recollect his name ...?’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“St Peter will befriend me then,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Because my name is Peter too:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I know him for the best of men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That ever wallopped barley brew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>And though I did not know him well<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And though his soul were clogged with sin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>I</i> hold the keys of Heaven and Hell.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Be welcome, noble Peterkin.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Then shall I spread my native wings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And tread secure the heavenly floor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tell the Blessed doubtful things<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Val d’Aran and Perigord.”<br /></span> - -<span class="i8">———<br /></span> - -<span class="i0">This was the last and solemn jest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of weary Peter Wanderwide.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He spoke it with a failing zest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And having spoken it, he died.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="DEDICATORY_ODE" id="DEDICATORY_ODE"></a>DEDICATORY ODE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I mean</span> to write with all my strength<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(It lately has been sadly waning),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A ballad of enormous length—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some parts of which will need explaining.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Because (unlike the bulk of men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who write for fame or public ends),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I turn a lax and fluent pen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To talking of my private friends.<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For no one, in our long decline,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So dusty, spiteful and divided,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had quite such pleasant friends as mine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or loved them half as much as I did.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span> -<span class="i8">———<br /></span> - -<span class="i0">The Freshman ambles down the High,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In love with everything he sees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He notes the racing autumn sky.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He sniffs a lively autumn breeze.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Can this be Oxford? This the place?”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(He cries) “of which my father said<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tutoring was a damned disgrace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The creed a mummery, stuffed and dead?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Can it be here that Uncle Paul<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was driven by excessive gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To drink and debt, and, last of all,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To smoking opium in his room?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Is it from here the people come,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who talk so loud, and roll their eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And stammer? How extremely rum!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How curious! What a great surprise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Some influence of a nobler day<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than theirs (I mean than Uncle Paul’s),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has roused the sleep of their decay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And flecked with life their crumbling walls.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“O! dear undaunted boys of old,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Would that your names were carven here,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all the world in stamps of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That I might read them and revere.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Who wrought and handed down for me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This Oxford of the larger air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Laughing, and full of faith, and free,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With youth resplendent everywhere?”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then learn: thou ill-instructed, blind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Young, callow, and untutored man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their private names were....<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their club was called REPUBLICAN.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> - -<span class="i0">Where on their banks of light they lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The happy hills of Heaven between,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Gods that rule the morning sky<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are not more young, nor more serene<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Than were the intrepid Four that stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The first who dared to live their dream.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on this uncongenial land<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To found the Abbey of Theleme.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We kept the Rabelaisian plan:<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i2">We dignified the dainty cloisters<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Natural Law, the Rights of Man,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Song, Stoicism, Wine and Oysters.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The library was most inviting:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The books upon the crowded shelves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were mainly of our private writing:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We kept a school and taught ourselves.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We taught the art of writing things<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On men we still should like to throttle:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where to get the Blood of Kings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At only half a crown a bottle.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eheu Fugaces! Postume!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(An old quotation out of mode);<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My coat of dreams is stolen away<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My youth is passing down the road.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wealth of youth, we spent it well<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And decently, as very few can.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And is it lost? I cannot tell:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And what is more, I doubt if you can.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The question’s very much too wide,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And much too deep, and much too hollow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And learned men on either side<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Use arguments I cannot follow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They say that in the unchanging place,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where all we loved is always dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We meet our morning face to face<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And find at last our twentieth year....<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They say (and I am glad they say)<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It is so; and it may be so:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It may be just the other way,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I cannot tell. But this I know:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From quiet homes and first beginning,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out to the undiscovered ends,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s nothing worth the wear of winning,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But laughter and the love of friends.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i0">But something dwindles, oh! my peers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And something cheats the heart and passes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Tom that meant to shake the years<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has come to merely rattling glasses.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And He, the Father of the Flock,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is keeping Burmesans in order,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An exile on a lonely rock<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That overlooks the Chinese border.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And One (Myself I mean—no less),<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ah!—will Posterity believe it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span>—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not only don’t deserve success,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But hasn’t managed to achieve it.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not even this peculiar town<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Has ever fixed a friendship firmer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But—one is married, one’s gone down,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And one’s a Don, and one’s in Burmah.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i0">And oh! the days, the days, the days,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When all the four were off together:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The infinite deep of summer haze,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The roaring boast of autumn weather!<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i0">I will not try the reach again,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I will not set my sail alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To moor a boat bereft of men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At Yarnton’s tiny docks of stone.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But I will sit beside the fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And put my hand before my eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And trace, to fill my heart’s desire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The last of all our Odysseys.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The quiet evening kept her tryst:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath an open sky we rode,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And passed into a wandering mist<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along the perfect Evenlode.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The tender Evenlode that makes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her meadows hush to hear the sound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of waters mingling in the brakes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And binds my heart to English ground.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A lovely river, all alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She lingers in the hills and holds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A hundred little towns of stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forgotten in the western wolds.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i0">I dare to think (though meaner powers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Possess our thrones, and lesser wits<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are drinking worser wine than ours,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In what’s no longer Austerlitz)<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That surely a tremendous ghost,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The brazen-lunged, the bumper-filler,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still sings to an immortal toast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Misadventures of the Miller.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The unending seas are hardly bar<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To men with such a prepossession:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We were? Why then, by God, we <i>are</i>—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Order! I call the Club to session!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You do retain the song we set,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And how it rises, trips and scans?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You keep the sacred memory yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Republicans? Republicans?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You know the way the words were hurled,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To break the worst of fortune’s rub?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I give the toast across the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And drink it, “Gentlemen: the Club.”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="DEDICATION_ON_THE_GIFT_OF_A_BOOK_TO_A_CHILD" id="DEDICATION_ON_THE_GIFT_OF_A_BOOK_TO_A_CHILD"></a>DEDICATION ON THE GIFT OF A BOOK TO A CHILD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Child</span>! do not throw this book about!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Refrain from the unholy pleasure<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of cutting all the pictures out!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Preserve it as your chiefest treasure.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Child, have you never heard it said<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That you are heir to all the ages?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why, then, your hands were never made<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To tear these beautiful thick pages!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your little hands were made to take<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The better things and leave the worse ones:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They also may be used to shake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Massive Paws of Elder Persons.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when your prayers complete the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Darling, your little tiny hands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were also made, I think, to pray<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For men that lose their fairylands.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="DEDICATION_OF_A_CHILDS_BOOK_OF_IMAGINARY_TALES" id="DEDICATION_OF_A_CHILDS_BOOK_OF_IMAGINARY_TALES"></a>DEDICATION OF A CHILD’S BOOK OF IMAGINARY TALES<br /><br /> -WHEREIN WRONG-DOERS SUFFER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span> is it true? It is not true!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And if it was it wouldn’t do<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For people such as me and you,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who very nearly all day long<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are doing something rather wrong.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="HOMAGE" id="HOMAGE"></a>HOMAGE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There</span> is a light around your head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which only Saints of God may wear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the flowers on which you tread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In pleasaunce more than ours have fed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And supped the essential air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose summer is a-pulse with music everywhere.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">For</span> you are younger than the mornings are<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That in the mountains break;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When upland shepherds see their only star<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pale on the dawn, and make<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In his surcease the hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The early hours of all their happy circuit take.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_MOONS_FUNERAL" id="THE_MOONS_FUNERAL"></a>THE MOON’S FUNERAL</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Moon is dead. I saw her die.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She in a drifting cloud was drest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She lay along the uncertain west,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dream to see.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And very low she spake to me:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I go where none may understand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I fade into the nameless land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there must lie perpetually.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And therefore I,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And therefore loudly, loudly I<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And high<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And very piteously make cry:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The Moon is dead. I saw her die.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span> will she never rise again?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Holy Moon? Oh, never more!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps along the inhuman shore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where pale ghosts are<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the low lethean fen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She and some wide infernal star....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To us who loved her never more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Moon will never rise again.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! never more in nightly sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her eye so high shall peep and pry<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To see the great world rolling by.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For why?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Moon is dead. I saw her die.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_HAPPY_JOURNALIST" id="THE_HAPPY_JOURNALIST"></a>THE HAPPY JOURNALIST</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I love</span> to walk about at night<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By nasty lanes and corners foul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All shielded from the unfriendly light<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And independent as the owl.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By dirty grates I love to lurk;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I often stoop to take a squint<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At printers working at their work.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I muse upon the rot they print.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The beggars please me, and the mud:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The editors beneath their lamps<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As—Mr Howl demanding blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Lord Retender stealing stamps,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Mr Bing instructing liars,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His elder son composing trash;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beaufort (whose real name is Meyers)<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Refusing anything but cash.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I like to think of Mr Meyers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I like to think of Mr Bing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I like to think about the liars:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It pleases me, that sort of thing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Policemen speak to me, but I,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Remembering my civic rights,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Neglect them and do not reply.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I love to walk about at nights!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At twenty-five to four I bunch<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Across a cab I can’t afford.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I ring for breakfast after lunch.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I am as happy as a lord!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="LINES_TO_A_DON" id="LINES_TO_A_DON"></a>LINES TO A DON</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Remote</span> and ineffectual Don<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That dared attack my Chesterton,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With that poor weapon, half-impelled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unlearnt, unsteady, hardly held,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unworthy for a tilt with men—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your quavering and corroded pen;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don poor at Bed and worse at Table,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don pinched, Don starved, Don miserable;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don stuttering, Don with roving eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don nervous, Don of crudities;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don clerical, Don ordinary,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don self-absorbed and solitary;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don here-and-there, Don epileptic;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don puffed and empty, Don dyspeptic;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don middle-class, Don sycophantic,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don dull, Don brutish, Don pedantic;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don hypocritical, Don bad,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don furtive, Don three-quarters mad;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don (since a man must make an end),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don that shall never be my friend.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don different from those regal Dons!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With hearts of gold and lungs of bronze,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who shout and bang and roar and bawl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Absolute across the hall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or sail in amply bellowing gown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Enormous through the Sacred Town,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bearing from College to their homes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep cargoes of gigantic tomes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dons admirable! Dons of Might!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Uprising on my inward sight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Compact of ancient tales, and port<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sleep—and learning of a sort.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dons English, worthy of the land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dons rooted; Dons that understand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Good Dons perpetual that remain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A landmark, walling in the plain—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The horizon of my memories—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like large and comfortable trees.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don very much apart from these,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou scapegoat Don, thou Don devoted,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don to thine own damnation quoted,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perplexed to find thy trivial name<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reared in my verse to lasting shame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don dreadful, rasping Don and wearing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Repulsive Don—Don past all bearing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don of the cold and doubtful breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don despicable, Don of death;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don nasty, skimpy, silent, level;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don evil; Don that serves the devil.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don ugly—that makes fifty lines.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is a Canon which confines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Rhymed Octosyllabic Curse<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If written in Iambic Verse<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To fifty lines. I never cut;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I far prefer to end it—but<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Believe me I shall soon return.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My fires are banked, but still they burn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To write some more about the Don<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That dared attack my Chesterton.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="NEWDIGATE_POEM" id="NEWDIGATE_POEM"></a>NEWDIGATE POEM</h3> - -<div class="blockquot"><p><small>A PRIZE POEM SUBMITTED BY MR LAMBKIN, THEN SCHOLAR AND LATER FELLOW -OF BURFORD COLLEGE, TO THE EXAMINERS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD ON -THE PRESCRIBED POETIC THEME SET BY THEM IN</small> 1893, <small>“THE BENEFITS OF -THE ELECTRIC LIGHT”</small></p></div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Hail, Happy Muse, and touch the tuneful string!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The benefits conferred by Science<a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a> I sing.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Under the kind Examiners’ direction<a name="FNanchor_F_6" id="FNanchor_F_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_F_6" class="fnanchor">[F]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i0">I only write about them in connection<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With benefits which the Electric Light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Confers on us; especially at night.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These are my theme, of these my song shall rise.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My lofty head shall swell to strike the skies.<a name="FNanchor_G_7" id="FNanchor_G_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_G_7" class="fnanchor">[G]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tears of hopeless love bedew the maiden’s eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Descend, O Muse, from thy divine abode,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To Osney, on the Seven Bridges Road;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For under Osney’s solitary shade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bulk of the Electric Light is made.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here are the works;—from hence the current flows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which (so the Company’s prospectus goes)<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i4">Can furnish to Subscribers hour by hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No less than sixteen thousand candle power,<a name="FNanchor_H_8" id="FNanchor_H_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_H_8" class="fnanchor">[H]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i0">All at a thousand volts. (It is essential<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To keep the current at this high potential<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In spite of the considerable expense.)<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The Energy developed represents,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Expressed in foot-tons, the united forces<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of fifteen elephants and forty horses.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But shall my scientific detail thus<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clip the dear wings of Buoyant Pegasus?<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Shall pure statistics jar upon the ear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That pants for Lyric accents loud and clear?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall I describe the complex Dynamo<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or write about its Commutator? No!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To happier fields I lead my wanton pen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The proper study of mankind is men.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Awake, my Muse! Portray the pleasing sight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That meets us where they make Electric Light.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Behold the Electrician where he stands:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soot, oil, and verdigris are on his hands;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Large spots of grease defile his dirty clothes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The while his conversation drips with oaths.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall such a being perish in its youth?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alas! it is indeed the fatal truth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In that dull brain, beneath that hair unkempt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Familiarity has bred contempt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">We warn him of the gesture all too late:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, Heartless Jove! Oh, Adamantine Fate!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A random touch—a hand’s imprudent slip—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Terminals—a flash—a sound like “Zip!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A smell of burning fills the started Air—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Electrician is no longer there!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But let us turn with true Artistic scorn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From facts funereal and from views forlorn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Erebus and Blackest midnight born.<a name="FNanchor_I_9" id="FNanchor_I_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_I_9" class="fnanchor">[I]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i4">Arouse thee, Muse! and chaunt in accents rich<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The interesting processes by which<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Electricity is passed along:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These are my theme: to these I bend my song.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">It runs encased in wood or porous brick<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through copper wires two millimetres thick,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And insulated on their dangerous mission<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By indiarubber, silk, or composition.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here you may put with critical felicity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The following question: “What is Electricity?”<br /></span> -<span class="i4">“Molecular Activity,” say some,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Others when asked say nothing, and are dumb.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whatever be its nature, this is clear:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rapid current checked in its career,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Baulked in its race and halted in its course<a name="FNanchor_J_10" id="FNanchor_J_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_J_10" class="fnanchor">[J]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Transforms to heat and light its latent force:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i4">It needs no pedant in the lecturer’s chair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To prove that light and heat are present there.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pear-shaped vacuum globe, I understand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is far too hot to fondle with the hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While, as is patent to the meanest sight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The carbon filament is very bright.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">As for the lights they hang about the town,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some praise them highly, others run them down.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This system (technically called the Arc),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Makes some passages too light, others too dark.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But in the house the soft and constant rays<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have always met with universal praise.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For instance: if you want to read in bed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No candle burns beside your curtain’s head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far from some distant corner of the room<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The incandescent lamp dispels the gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with the largest print need hardly try<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The powers of any young and vigorous eye.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Aroint thee, Muse! Inspired the poet sings!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I cannot help observing future things!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life is a vale, its paths are dark and rough<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only because we do not know enough:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Science has discovered something more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We shall be happier than we were before.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Hail, Britain, Mistress of the Azure Main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ten thousand Fleets sweep over thee in vain!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hail, Mighty Mother of the Brave and Free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That beat Napoleon, and gave birth to me!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou that canst wrap in thine emblazoned robe<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">One quarter of the habitable globe.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy mountains, wafted by a favouring breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like mighty rocks withstand the stormy seas.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Thou art a Christian Commonwealth; and yet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be thou not all unthankful—nor forget<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As thou exultest in Imperial Might<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Benefits of the Electric Light.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_YELLOW_MUSTARD" id="THE_YELLOW_MUSTARD"></a>THE YELLOW MUSTARD</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! ye that prink it to and fro,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In pointed flounce and furbelow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What have ye known, what can ye know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That have not seen the mustard grow?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The yellow mustard is no less<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than God’s good gift to loneliness;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he was sent in gorgeous press<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To jangle keys at my distress.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I heard the throstle call again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come hither, Pain! come hither, Pain!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till all my shameless feet were fain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To wander through the summer rain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And far apart from human place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And flaming like a vast disgrace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There struck me blinding in the face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The livery of the mustard race.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i0">To see the yellow mustard grow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the town, above, below;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the purple houses, oh!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To see the yellow mustard grow!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_POLITICIAN_OR_THE_IRISH_EARLDOM" id="THE_POLITICIAN_OR_THE_IRISH_EARLDOM"></a>THE POLITICIAN OR THE IRISH EARLDOM</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A strong</span> and striking Personality,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Worth several hundred thousand pounds—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of strict political Morality—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was walking in his park-like Grounds;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When, just as these began to pall on him<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(I mean the Trees, and Things like that),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Person who had come to call on him<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Approached him, taking off his Hat.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He said, with singular veracity:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“I serve our Sea-girt Mother-Land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In no conspicuous capacity.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I am but an Attorney; and<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I do a little elementary<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Negotiation, now and then,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As Agent for a Parliamentary<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Division of the Town of N....<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Merely as one of the Electorate—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A member of the Commonweal—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before completing my Directorate,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I want to know the way you feel<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">On matters more or less debatable;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As—whether our Imperial Pride<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can treat as taxable or rateable<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Gardens of....” His host replied:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“The Ravages of Inebriety<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Alas! increasing day by day!)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are undermining all Society.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I do not hesitate to say<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My country squanders her abilities,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Observe how Montenegro treats<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her Educational Facilities....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">... As to the African defeats,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I bitterly deplored their frequency;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On Canada we are agreed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Laws protecting Public Decency<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are very, very lax indeed!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Views of most of the Nobility<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are very much the same as mine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Thingumbob’s eligibility....<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I trust that you remain to dine?”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His Lordship pressed with importunity,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As rarely he had pressed before.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i0">It gave them both an opportunity<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To know each other’s value more.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_LOSER" id="THE_LOSER"></a>THE LOSER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> lost his money first of all<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—And losing that is half the story—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And later on he tried a fall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With Fate, in things less transitory.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He lost his heart—and found it dead—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(His one and only true discovery),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And after that he lost his head,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And lost his chances of recovery.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He lost his honour bit by bit<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Until the thing was out of question.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He worried so at losing it,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He lost his sleep and his digestion.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He lost his temper—and for good—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The remnants of his reputation,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His taste in wine, his choice of food,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And then, in rapid culmination,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His certitudes, his sense of truth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His memory, his self-control,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The love that graced his early youth,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And lastly his immortal soul.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III<br /><br /> -SONGS</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="NOEL" id="NOEL"></a>NOËL</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">On</span> a winter’s night long time ago<br /></span> -<span class="i4">(<i>The bells ring loud and the bells ring low</i>),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When high howled wind, and down fell snow<br /></span> -<span class="i4">(Carillon, Carilla).<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saint Joseph he and Nostre Dame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Riding on an ass, full weary came<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From Nazareth into Bethlehem.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And the small child Jesus smile on you.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span> Bethlehem inn they stood before<br /></span> -<span class="i4">(<i>The bells ring less and the bells ring more</i>),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The landlord bade them begone from his door<br /></span> -<span class="i4">(Carillon, Carilla).<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Poor folk” (says he), “must lie where they may,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the Duke of Jewry comes this way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all his train on a Christmas Day.”<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And the small child Jesus smile on you.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Poor</span> folk that may my carol hear<br /></span> -<span class="i4">(<i>The bells ring single and the bells ring clear</i>),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See! God’s one child had hardest cheer!<br /></span> -<span class="i4">(Carillon, Carilla).<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Men grown hard on a Christmas morn;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dumb beast by and a babe forlorn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was very, very cold when our Lord was born.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And the small child Jesus smile on you.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Now</span> these were Jews as Jews must be<br /></span> -<span class="i4">(<i>The bells ring merry and the bells ring free</i>).<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Christian men in a band are we<br /></span> -<span class="i4">(Carillon, Carilla).<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Empty we go, and ill be-dight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Singing Noël on a Winter’s night.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give us to sup by the warm firelight,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And the small child Jesus smile on you.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_BIRDS" id="THE_BIRDS"></a>THE BIRDS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> Jesus Christ was four years old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The angels brought Him toys of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which no man ever had bought or sold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And yet with these He would not play.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He made Him small fowl out of clay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And blessed them till they flew away:<br /></span> -<span class="i8"><i>Tu creasti Domine</i>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Jesus Christ, Thou child so wise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bless mine hands and fill mine eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bring my soul to Paradise.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="IN_A_BOAT" id="IN_A_BOAT"></a>IN A BOAT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lady</span>! Lady!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon Heaven-height,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the harsh morning<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the mere light.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Above the spindrift<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And above the snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where no seas tumble,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And no winds blow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The twisting tides,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the perilous sands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon all sides<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are in your holy hands.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wind harries<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the cold kills;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I see your chapel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over far hills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My body is frozen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My soul is afraid:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stretch out your hands to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mother and maid.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mother of Christ,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Mother of me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save me alive<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the howl of the sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If you will Mother me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till I grow old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I will hang in your chapel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A ship of pure gold.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="SONG" id="SONG"></a>SONG</h3> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>INVITING THE INFLUENCE OF A YOUNG LADY UPON THE OPENING YEAR</p></div> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> wear the morning like your dress<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And are with mastery crowned;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whenas you walk your loveliness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Goes shining all around.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon your secret, smiling way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such new contents were found,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Dancing Loves made holiday<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On that delightful ground.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Then</span> summon April forth, and send<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Commandment through the flowers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">About our woods your grace extend<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A queen of careless hours.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For oh, not Vera veiled in rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor Dian’s sacred Ring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all her royal nymphs in train<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could so lead on the Spring.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_RING" id="THE_RING"></a>THE RING</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> I was flying before the King<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the wood of Valognes in my hiding,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Although I had not anything<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I sent a woman a golden ring.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A Ring of the Moors beyond Leon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With emerald and with diamond stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a writing no man ever had known,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And an opal standing all alone.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The shape of the ring the heart to bind:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The emerald turns from cold to kind:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The writing makes her sure to find:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the evil opal changed her mind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now when the King was dead, was he,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I came back hurriedly over the sea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the long rocks in Normandy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Bosham that is by Selsey.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we clipt each other knee to knee.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But what I had was lost to me.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="CUCKOO" id="CUCKOO"></a>CUCKOO!</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> woods so long time bare.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Cuckoo!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Up and in the wood, I know not where<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Two notes fall.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet I do not envy him at all<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His phantasy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cuckoo!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I too,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Somewhere,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have sung as merrily as he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who can dare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Small and careless lover, so to laugh at care,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And who<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can call<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cuckoo!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In woods of winter weary,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In scented woods, of winter weary, call<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cuckoo!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In woods so long time bare.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_LITTLE_SERVING_MAID" id="THE_LITTLE_SERVING_MAID"></a>THE LITTLE SERVING MAID</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There</span> was a Queen of England,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a good Queen too.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She had a house in Powis Land<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the Severn running through;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Men-folk and Women-folk<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Apprenticed to a trade;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the prettiest of all<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was a Little Serving Maid.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Oh Madam, Queen of England!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Oh will you let me go!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For there’s a Lad in London<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And he would have it so.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I would have it too, Madam,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And with him would I bide;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he will be the Groom, Madam,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I shall be the Bride!”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Oh fie to you and shame to you,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You Little Serving Maid!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And are you not astonied?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And are you not afraid?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For never was it known<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Since Yngelonde began<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That a Little Serving Maid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Should go a-meeting of a man!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Then</span> the Little Serving Maid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">She went and laid her down,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With her cross and her bede,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In her new courting gown.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she called in Mother Mary’s name<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And heavily she sighed:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I think that I have come to shame!”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And after that she died.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> good Queen of England<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her women came and ran:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The Little Serving Maid is dead<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From loving of a man!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span>”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Said the good Queen of England<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“That is ill news to hear!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Take her out and shroud her,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And lay her on a bier.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">They</span> laid her on a bier,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the court-yard all;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some came from Foresting,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And some came from Hall.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Great Lords carried her,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And proud Priests prayed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that was the end<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the Little Serving Maid.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="AUVERGNAT" id="AUVERGNAT"></a>AUVERGNAT</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There</span> was a man was half a clown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(It’s so my father tells of it).<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He saw the church in Clermont town<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And laughed to hear the bells of it.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He laughed to hear the bells that ring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Clermont Church and round of it;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He heard the verger’s daughter sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And loved her for the sound of it.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The verger’s daughter said him nay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She had the right of choice in it.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He left the town at break of day:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He hadn’t had a voice in it.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The road went up, the road went down,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there the matter ended it.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He broke his heart in Clermont town,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At Pontgibaud they mended it.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="DRINKING_SONG" id="DRINKING_SONG"></a>DRINKING SONG<br /><br /> -ON THE EXCELLENCE OF BURGUNDY WINE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">My</span> jolly fat host with your face all a-grin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come, open the door to us, let us come in.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A score of stout fellows who think it no sin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If they toast till they’re hoarse, and they drink till they spin,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Hoofed it amain,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Rain or no rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To crack your old jokes, and your bottles to drain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Such a warmth in the belly that nectar begets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As soon as his guts with its humour he wets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The miser his gold, and the student his debts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the beggar his rags and his hunger forgets.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">For there’s never a wine<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Like this tipple of thine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the great hill of Nuits to the River of Rhine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Outside you may hear the great gusts as they go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By Foy, by Duerne, and the hills of Lerraulx,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the rain he may rain, and the wind he may blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If the Devil’s above there’s good liquor below.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">So it abound,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Pass it around,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Burgundy’s Burgundy all the year round.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="DRINKING_DIRGE" id="DRINKING_DIRGE"></a>DRINKING DIRGE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A thousand</span> years ago I used to dine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In houses where they gave me such regale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dear companionship and comrades fine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That out I went alone beyond the pale;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And riding, laughed and dared the skies malign<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To show me all the undiscovered tale—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But my philosophy’s no more divine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I put my pleasure in a pint of ale.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And you, my friends, oh! pleasant friends of mine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who leave me now alone, without avail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Californian hills you gave me wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You gave me cider-drink in Longuevaille;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If after many years you come to pine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For comradeship that is an ancient tale—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’ll find me drinking beer in Dead Man’s Chine.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I put my pleasure in a pint of ale.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In many a briny boat I’ve tried the brine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From many a hidden harbour I’ve set sail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Steering towards the sunset where there shine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The distant amethystine islands pale.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There are no ports beyond the far sea-line,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor any halloa to meet the mariner’s hail;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I stand at home and slip the anchor-line.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I put my pleasure in a pint of ale.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>ENVOI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Prince</span>! Is it true when you go out to dine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You bring your bottle in a freezing pail?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why then you cannot be a friend of mine.<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>I</i> put my pleasure in a pint of ale.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="WEST_SUSSEX_DRINKING_SONG" id="WEST_SUSSEX_DRINKING_SONG"></a>WEST SUSSEX DRINKING SONG</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">They</span> sell good Beer at Haslemere<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And under Guildford Hill.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At Little Cowfold as I’ve been told<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A beggar may drink his fill:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is a good brew in Amberley too,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And by the bridge also;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the swipes they take in at Washington Inn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is the very best Beer I know.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4><i>Chorus.</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">With my here it goes, there it goes,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">All the fun’s before us:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Tipple’s Aboard and the night is young,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The door’s ajar and the Barrel is sprung,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I am singing the best song ever was sung<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And it has a rousing chorus.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If I were what I never can be,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The master or the squire:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If you gave me the hundred from here to the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which is more than I desire:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then all my crops should be barley and hops,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And did my harvest fail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’d sell every rood of mine acres I would<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For a belly-full of good Ale.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4><i>Chorus.</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">With</span> my here it goes, there it goes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All the fun’s before us:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Tipple’s aboard and the night is young,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The door’s ajar and the Barrel is sprung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am singing the best song ever was sung<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And it has a rousing Chorus.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="A_BALLAD_ON_SOCIOLOGICAL_ECONOMICS" id="A_BALLAD_ON_SOCIOLOGICAL_ECONOMICS"></a>A BALLAD ON SOCIOLOGICAL ECONOMICS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A while</span> ago it came to pass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Merry we carol it all the day),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There sat a man on the top of an ass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Heart be happy and carol be gay<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In spite of the price of hay).<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And over the down they hoofed it so<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Happy go lucky has best of fare),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The man up above and the brute below<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(And singing we all forget to care<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A man may laugh if he dare).<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Over the stubble and round the crop<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Life is short and the world is round),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The donkey beneath and the man on the top<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Oh! let good ale be found, be found,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Merry good ale and sound).<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It happened again as it happened before<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Tobacco’s a boon but ale is bliss),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moke in the ditch and the man on the floor<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(And that is the moral to this, to this<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Remarkable artifice).<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="HERETICS_ALL" id="HERETICS_ALL"></a>HERETICS ALL</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Heretics</span> all, whoever you be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Tarbes or Nimes, or over the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You never shall have good words from me.<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Caritas non conturbat me.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But Catholic men that live upon wine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are deep in the water, and frank, and fine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherever I travel I find it so,<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Benedicamus Domino</i>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On childing women that are forlorn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And men that sweat in nothing but scorn:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That is on all that ever were born,<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Miserere Domine</i>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To my poor self on my deathbed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all my dear companions dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because of the love that I bore them,<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Dona Eis Requiem</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="HANACKER_MILL" id="HANACKER_MILL"></a>HA’NACKER MILL</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sally</span> is gone that was so kindly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sally is gone from Ha’nacker Hill.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Briar grows ever since then so blindly<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ever since then the clapper is still,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the sweeps have fallen from Ha’nacker Mill<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ha’nacker Hill is in Desolation:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ruin a-top and a field unploughed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Spirits that call on a fallen nation<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Spirits that loved her calling aloud:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Spirits abroad in a windy cloud.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Spirits that call and no one answers;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ha’nacker’s down and England’s done.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wind and Thistle for pipe and dancers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And never a ploughman under the Sun.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Never a ploughman. Never a one.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="TARANTELLA" id="TARANTELLA"></a>TARANTELLA</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Do</span> you remember an Inn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Miranda?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do you remember an Inn?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the tedding and the spreading<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the straw for a bedding,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the wine that tasted of the tar?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Under the vine of the dark verandah)?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do you remember an Inn, Miranda,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do you remember an Inn?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who hadn’t got a penny,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And who weren’t paying any,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the hammer at the doors and the Din?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Hip! Hop! Hap!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the clap<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the hands to the twirl and the swirl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the girl gone chancing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glancing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dancing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Backing and advancing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Snapping of the clapper to the spin<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out and in——<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Ting, Tong, Tang of the Guitar!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do you remember an Inn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Miranda?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do you remember an Inn?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Never more;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Miranda,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Never more.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Only the high peaks hoar:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And Aragon a torrent at the door.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">No sound<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In the walls of the Halls where falls<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The tread<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of the feet of the dead to the ground<br /></span> -<span class="i4">No sound:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">But the boom<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of the far Waterfall like Doom.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_CHAUNTY_OF_THE_NONA" id="THE_CHAUNTY_OF_THE_NONA"></a>THE CHAUNTY OF THE “NONA”</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Come</span> list all ye Cullies and Doxies so dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You shall hearken to the tale of the Bold Marineer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That took ship out of Holyhead and drove her so hard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Past Bardsey, Pwlheli, Port Madoc, and Fishguard—<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Past Bardsey, Pwlheli, Port Madoc, and Fishguard</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Then</span> he dropped out of Fishguard on a calm Summer’s day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By St David’s and Strumbles and across St Bride’s Bay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Circumnavigating Skomer, that Island, around,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the heart of a Lion he threaded Jack Sound—<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>With the heart of a Lion he threaded Jack Sound</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">But</span> from out the Main Ocean there rolled a great cloud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So he clawed into Milford Haven by the Fog Blast so loud,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until he dropped anchor in a deep-wooded bay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where all night with Old Sleep and Quiet Sadness he lay—<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Where all night with Old Sleep and Quiet Sadness he lay</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Next</span> morning was a Doldrum, and he whistled for a breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which came from the N.N.W.’ard all across the high seas;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in passing St Govan’s lightship he gave them good night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But before it was morning he raised Lundy Light—<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Before it was morning he had raised Lundy Light</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Then</span> he tossed for twelve hours in that horrible place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which is known to the Mariner as the Great White Horse Race,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till with a slant about three bells, or maybe near four,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He saw white water breaking upon Loud Appledore—<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>He saw white water breaking upon Loud Appledore</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Pirates of Appledore, the Wines of Instow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But her nose is for Bideford with the tide at the flow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rattle anchor, batten hatches, and leave your falls curled.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Long Bridge of Bideford is the end of the World—<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The Long Bridge of Bideford is the end of the World</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="THE_WINGED_HORSE" id="THE_WINGED_HORSE"></a>THE WINGED HORSE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">It</span>’s ten years ago to-day you turned me out o’ doors<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To cut my feet on flinty lands and stumble down the shores,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I thought about the all-in-all, oh more than I can tell!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I caught a horse to ride upon and I rode him very well,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He had flame behind the eyes of him and wings upon his side.<br /></span> -<span class="i8">And I ride, and I ride!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I rode</span> him out of Wantage and I rode him up the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there I saw the Beacon in the morning standing still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Inkpen and Hackpen and southward and away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High through the middle airs in the strengthening of the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there I saw the channel-glint and England in her pride.<br /></span> -<span class="i8">And I ride, and I ride!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span> once a-top of Lambourne down toward the hill of Clere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw the Host of Heaven in rank and Michael with his spear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Turpin out of Gascony and Charlemagne the Lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Roland of the marches with his hand upon his sword<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the time he should have need of it, and forty more beside.<br /></span> -<span class="i8">And I ride, and I ride!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">For</span> you that took the all-in-all the things you left were three.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A loud voice for singing and keen eyes to see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a spouting well of joy within that never yet was dried!<br /></span> -<span class="i8">And I ride.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="STREPHONS_SONG" id="STREPHONS_SONG"></a>STREPHON’S SONG</h3> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>(FROM “THE CRUEL SHEPHERDESS”)</p></div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> I was not much older<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than Cupid, but bolder,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I asked of his Mother in passing her bower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What it was in their blindness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Men asked of her kindness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she said it was nought but a delicate flower:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such a delicate, delicate, delicate flower!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This morning you kissed me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By noon you dismissed me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As though such great things were the jest of one hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you left me still wondering<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If I were not too blundering<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To deal with that delicate, delicate flower:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis such a delicate, delicate, delicate flower!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For if that’s the complexion<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Ladies’ affection<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I must needs be a fool to remain in their power;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But there’s that in me burning<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which brings me returning<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To beg for the delicate, delicate flower;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To implore for that delicate, delicate flower!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV<br /><br /> -BALLADES</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="SHORT_BALLADE_AND_POSTSCRIPT_ON_CONSOLS_AND_BOERS" id="SHORT_BALLADE_AND_POSTSCRIPT_ON_CONSOLS_AND_BOERS"></a>SHORT BALLADE AND POSTSCRIPT ON CONSOLS AND BOERS</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Gigantic</span> daughter of the West<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(The phrase is Tennysonian), who<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From this unconquerable breast<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The vigorous milk of Freedom drew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—We gave it freely—shall the crest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Empire in your keeping true,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall England—I forget the rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But Consols are at 82.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Now</span> why should anyone invest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As even City people do<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(His Lordship did among the rest),<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When stocks—but what is that to you?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then, who ever could have guessed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">About the guns—and horses too!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Besides, they knew their business best,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Consols are at 82.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">It</span> serves no purpose to protest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It isn’t manners to halloo<br /></span> -<span class="i0">About the way the thing was messed—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or vaguely call a man a Jew.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A gentleman who cannot jest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Remarked that we should muddle through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(The continent was much impressed),<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Consols are at 82.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4><i>Envoi.</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span>, Botha lay at Pilgrim’s Rest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Myberg in the Great Karroo<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(A desert to the south and west),<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Consols are at 82.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><i>Postscript.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Permit</span> me—if you do not mind—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To add it would be screaming fun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If, after printing this, I find<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Them after all at 81.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or 70 or 63,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or 55 or 44,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or 39 and going free,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or 28—or even more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No matter—take no more advice<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From doubtful and intriguing men.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Refuse the stuff at any price,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And slowly watch them fall to 10.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Meanwhile I feel a certain zest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In writing once again the new<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Refrain that all is for the best,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Consols are at 82.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><i>Last Envoi.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Prince</span>, you and I were barely thirty-three,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And now I muse and wonder if it’s true,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That you were you and I myself was me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And 3 per cents were really 82!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="BALLADE_OF_THE_UNANSWERED_QUESTION" id="BALLADE_OF_THE_UNANSWERED_QUESTION"></a>BALLADE OF THE UNANSWERED QUESTION</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">What</span> dwelling hath Sir Harland Pott<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That died of drinking in Bungay?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nathaniel Goacher who was shot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Towards the end of Malplaquet?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The only thing that we can say,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(The only thing that has been said)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">About these gentlemen is, “Nay!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But where are the unanswering dead”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lord</span> Bumplepuppy, too, that got<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The knock from Messrs Dawkins’ dray?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Jonas, whom the Cachalot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Begulphed in Esdraelon Bay?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Calvinistic John McKay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who argued till his nostrils bled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dropped in apoplexy? Nay!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But where are the unanswering dead?<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span> Heliodorus too, that hot<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Defender of the Roman sway;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And He, the author of the “<i>Tot</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Mercedes dant Victoriæ</i>,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the armoured squadrons gay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That ever glory nourishèd<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all the world’s high charges? Nay!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But where are the unanswering dead?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4><i>Envoi</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Prince</span>, have you ever learnt to pray<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon your knees beside your bed?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You miserable waxwork? Nay!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But where are the unanswering dead?<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="BALLADE_TO_OUR_LADY_OF_CZESTOCHOWA" id="BALLADE_TO_OUR_LADY_OF_CZESTOCHOWA"></a>BALLADE TO OUR LADY OF CZESTOCHOWA</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lady</span> and Queen and Mystery manifold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And very Regent of the untroubled sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whom in a dream St Hilda did behold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And heard a woodland music passing by:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You shall receive me when the clouds are high<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With evening and the sheep attain the fold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This is the faith that I have held and hold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And this is that in which I mean to die.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Steep</span> are the seas and savaging and cold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In broken waters terrible to try;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And vast against the winter night the wold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And harbourless for any sail to lie.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But you shall lead me to the lights, and I<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall hymn you in a harbour story told.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This is the faith that I have held and hold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And this is that in which I mean to die.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Help</span> of the half-defeated, House of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shrine of the Sword, and Tower of Ivory;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Splendour apart, supreme and aureoled,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Battler’s vision and the World’s reply.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You shall restore me, O my last Ally,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To vengeance and the glories of the bold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This is the faith that I have held and hold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And this is that in which I mean to die.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4><i>Envoi</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Prince</span> of the degradations, bought and sold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These verses, written in your crumbling sty,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proclaim the faith that I have held and hold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And publish that in which I mean to die.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="BALLADE_OF_HELL_AND_OF_MRS_ROEBECK" id="BALLADE_OF_HELL_AND_OF_MRS_ROEBECK"></a>BALLADE OF HELL AND OF MRS ROEBECK</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I’m</span> going out to dine at Gray’s<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With Bertie Morden, Charles and Kit,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Manderly who never pays,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Jane who wins in spite of it,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Algernon who won’t admit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The truth about his curious hair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And teeth that very nearly fit:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Mrs Roebeck will be there.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span> then to-morrow someone says<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That someone else has made a hit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In one of Mister Twister’s plays.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And off we go to yawn at it;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And when it’s petered out we quit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For number 20, Taunton Square,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And smoke, and drink, and dance a bit:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Mrs Roebeck will be there.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span> so through each declining phase<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of emptied effort, jaded wit,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And day by day of London days<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Obscurely, more obscurely, lit;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Until the uncertain shadows flit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Announcing to the shuddering air<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A Darkening, and the end of it:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Mrs Roebeck will be there.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4><i>Envoi</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Prince</span>, on their iron thrones they sit,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Impassible to our despair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dreadful Guardians of the Pit:—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Mrs Roebeck will be there.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="BALLADE_OF_UNSUCCESSFUL_MEN" id="BALLADE_OF_UNSUCCESSFUL_MEN"></a>BALLADE OF UNSUCCESSFUL MEN</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> cause of all the poor in ’93:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The cause of all the world at Waterloo:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shouts of what was terrible and free<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Behind the guns of <i>Vengeance</i> and her crew:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Maid that rode so straightly and so true<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And broke the line to pieces in her pride—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They had to chuck it up; it wouldn’t do;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Devil didn’t like them, and they died.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Cæsar</span> and Alexander shall agree<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That right athwart the world their bugles blew:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the lads that marched in Lombardy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Behind the young Napoleon charging through:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All that were easy swordsmen, all that slew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Monsters, and that served our God and tried<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The temper of this world—they lost the clue.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Devil didn’t like them, and they died.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span>, the strong sons of anger and the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What darkness on the wings of battle flew?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then the great dead made answer: “Also we<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With Nelson found oblivion: Nelson, who<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When cheering out of port in spirit grew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To be one purpose with the wind and tide—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our nameless hulks are sunk and rotted through:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Devil didn’t like us and we died.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4><i>Envoi</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Prince</span>, may I venture (since it’s only you)<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To speak discreetly of The Crucified?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He was extremely unsuccessful too:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Devil didn’t like Him, and He died.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="BALLADE_OF_THE_HERESIARCHS" id="BALLADE_OF_THE_HERESIARCHS"></a>BALLADE OF THE HERESIARCHS</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">John</span> Calvin whose peculiar fad<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It was to call God murderous,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which further led that feverish cad<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To burn alive the Servetus.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The horrible Bohemian Huss,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The tedious Wycliffe, where are they?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But where is old Nestorius?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wind has blown them all away.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Kohen out of Novdograd<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who argued from the Roman Jus<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<i>Privata fasta nihil ad</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Rem nisi sint de sacribus</i>.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Hume, who made a dreadful fuss<br /></span> -<span class="i2">About the Resurrection Day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And said it was ridiculous—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wind has blown them all away.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Of</span> Smith the gallant Mormon lad<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That took of wives an over-plus:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Johanna Southcott who was mad<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And nasty Nietzsche, who was worse.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Tolstoy, the Eccentric Russ,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our strong Posterity shall say:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Lord Jesus! What are these to us?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wind has blown them all away!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4><i>Envoi</i></h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Prince</span>, should you meet upon a bus<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A man who makes a great display<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Dr Haeckel, argue thus:—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wind has blown them all away.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V<br /><br /> -EPIGRAMS</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span></p> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On His Books</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> I am dead, I hope it may be said:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On Noman, a Guest</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dear</span> Mr Noman, does it ever strike you,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The more we see of you, the less we like you?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>A Trinity</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Of</span> three in One and One in three<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My narrow mind would doubting be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till Beauty, Grace and Kindness met<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all at once were Juliet<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On Torture, a Public Singer</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Torture</span> will give a dozen pence or more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To keep a drab from bawling at his door.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The public taste is quite a different thing—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Torture is positively paid to sing.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On Paunch, a Parasite</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Paunch</span> talks against good liquor to excess,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then about his raving Patroness;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then he talks about himself. And then<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We turn the conversation on to men.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On Hygiene</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Of</span> old when folk lay sick and sorely tried<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The doctors gave them physic, and they died.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But here’s a happier age: for now we know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Both how to make men sick and keep them so.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VII</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On Lady Poltagrue, a Public Peril</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Devil, having nothing else to do,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went off to tempt My Lady Poltagrue.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My Lady, tempted by a private whim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To his extreme annoyance, tempted him.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VIII</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>The Mirror</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> mirror held your fair, my Fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A fickle moment’s space.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You looked into mine eyes, and there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ever fixed your face.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Keep rather to your looking-glass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than my more faithful eyes:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It told the truth—Alas! my lass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My constant memory lies.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IX</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>The Elm</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">This</span> is the place where Dorothea smiled.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I did not know the reason, nor did she.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But there she stood, and turned, and smiled at me:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sudden glory had bewitched the child.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The corn at harvest, and a single tree.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This is the place where Dorothea smiled.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>X</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>The Telephone</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To</span>-night in million-voicèd London I<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was lonely as the million-pointed sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until your single voice. Ah! So the Sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Peoples all heaven, although he be but one.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XI</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>The Statue</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> we are dead, some Hunting-boy will pass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And find a stone half-hidden in tall grass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And grey with age: but having seen that stone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Which was your image), ride more slowly on.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XII</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>Epitaph on the Favourite Dog of a Politician</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Here</span> lies a Dog: may every Dog that dies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lie in security—as this Dog lies.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIII</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>Epitaph on the Politician Himself</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Here</span> richly, with ridiculous display,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Politician’s corpse was laid away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIV</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>Another on the Same</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">This</span>, the last ornament among the peers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bribed, bullied, swindled and blackmailed for years:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Death’s what even Politicians fail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To bribe or swindle, bully or blackmail.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XV</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On Mundane Acquaintances</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Good</span> morning, Algernon: Good morning, Percy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Good morning, Mrs Roebeck. Christ have mercy!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVI</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On a Rose for Her Bosom</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Go</span>, lovely rose, and tell the lovelier fair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That he which loved her most was never there.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVII</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On the Little God</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Of</span> all the gods that gave me all their glories<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-day there deigns to walk with me but one.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I lead him by the hand and tell him stories.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is the Queen of Cyprus’ little son.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVIII</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On a Prophet</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Of</span> old ’twas Samuel sought the Lord: to-day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Lord runs after Samuel—so they say.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIX</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On a Dead Hostess</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Of</span> this bad world the loveliest and the best<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has smiled and said “Good Night,” and gone to rest.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XX</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On a Great Election</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> accursèd power which stands on Privilege<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(And goes with Women, and Champagne and Bridge)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Broke—and Democracy resumed her reign:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Which goes with Bridge, and Women and Champagne).<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXI</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On a Mistaken Mariner</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> whistled thrice to pass the Morning Star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thinking that near which was so very far.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So I, whenas I meet my Dearest Dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still think that far which is so very near.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXII</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On a Sleeping Friend</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lady</span>, when your lovely head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Droops to sink among the Dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the quiet places keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You that so divinely sleep;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then the dead shall blessèd be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a new solemnity,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For such Beauty, so descending,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pledges them that Death is ending.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sleep your fill—but when you wake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dawn shall over Lethe break.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXIII</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>Fatigued</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I’m </span>tired of Love: I’m still more tired of Rhyme.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Money gives me pleasure all the time.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXIV</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>On Benicia, who Wished Him Well</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Benicia</span> wished me well; I wished her well.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And what I wished her more I may not tell.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXV</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>The False Heart</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I said</span> to Heart, “How goes it?” Heart replied:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Right as a Ribstone Pippin!” But it lied.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXVI</h4> - -<p class="c"><i>Partly from the Greek</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">She</span> would be as the stars in your sight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That turn in the endless hollow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That tremble, and always follow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The quiet wheels of the Night.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI<br /><br /> -THE BALLAD OF VAL-ÈS-DUNES</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p><small>THE VICTORY OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR IN HIS YOUTH OVER THE REBELS -AT VAL-ÈS-DUNES IN THE YEAR</small> 1047</p></div> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>[This piece of verse is grossly unhistorical. Val-ès-Dunes is not -on the sea but inland. No Norman blazoned a shield or a church -window in the middle eleventh century, still less would he frame -one in silver, and I doubt gilt spurs. It was not the young Bastard -of Falaise, but the men of the King in Paris that really won the -battle. There was nothing Scandinavian left in Normandy, and -whatever there had been five generations before was slight. The -Colentin had no more Scandinavian blood than the rest. There is no -such place as Longuevaile. There is a Hauteville, but it has no bay -and had nothing to do with the Harcourts, and the Harcourts were -not of Bloodroyal—and so forth.]</p></div> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> men that lived in Longuevaile<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Came out to fight by bands.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They jangled all in welded mail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their shields were rimmed of silver pale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And blazoned like a church-vitrail:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their swords were in their hands.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the harsh raven of the Old Gods<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was on the rank sea-sands.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4"><i>There rose a wind on heath and den:</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>The sky went racing grey.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>The Bastard and his wall of men</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>Were a charger’s course away.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Old Gods of the Northern Hall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are in their narrow room.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their thrones are flanked of spearmen tall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The three that have them in their thrall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sit silently before them all,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They weave upon their loom;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And round about them as they weave<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Scalds sing doom.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Bastard out of Normandy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was angry for his wrong.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His eyes were virginal to see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For nothing in his heart had he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But a hunger for his great degree;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And his back was broad and strong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As are the oxen of the field,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That pull the ploughs along.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> saw that column of cavalry wheel,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Split outward, and deploy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">He heard, he heard the Oliphant peal.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He crooked an angry knee to feel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The scabbard against his gilded heel.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He had great joy:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he stood upright in the stirrup steel.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Because he was a boy.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>We faced their ordering, all the force,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>And there was little sound;</i><br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>But Haribert-Le-Marshall’s horse</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>Pawed heavily the ground.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">As</span> the broad ships out of Barbary<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come driving from the large,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With yards a-bend and courses free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tumbling down their decks a-lee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hurrahing of the exultant sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So drave they to the charge.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the harsh raven of the Old Gods<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was on the rank sea-marge.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Old Gods of the Northern Hall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are crownéd for the tomb.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their biers are flanked of torches tall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And through the flames that leap and fall<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">There comes a droning and a call<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the night’s womb,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the tide beneath a castle wall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Goes drumming through the gloom.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">They</span> tonsured me but Easter year,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I swore to Christ and Rome.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My name is not mine older name....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But ah! to see them as they came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With thundering and with points aflame,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I smelt foam.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my heart was like a wandering man’s,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who piles his boat on Moorna sands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And serves a slave in alien lands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then beneath a harper’s hands<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hears suddenly of home.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>For their cavalry came in a curling leaf,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>They shouted as they drave,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>And the Bastard’s line was like a reef</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>But theirs was like a wave.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VIII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">As</span> the broad ships out of Barbary<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Strike rock.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the stem shatters, and the sail flaps;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Streaming seaward; and the taut shroud snaps,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the block<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Clatters to the deck of the wreck.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So did the men of Longuevaile<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Take the shock.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IX</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Our</span> long line quivered but it did not break,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It countered and was strong.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The first bolt went through the wind with a wail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And another and a-many with a thudding on the mail;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pattered all the arrows in an April hail;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whistled the ball and thong:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I, the priest, with that began<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The singing of my song.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>X</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Press</span> inward, inward, Normandy;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Press inward, Cleres and Vaux;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Press inward, Mons and Valery;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Press inward, Yvetot.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stand hard the men of the Beechen Ford<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Oh! William of Falaise, my lord!)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Battle is a net and a struggle in a cord.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Battle is a wrestler’s throw.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The middle holding as the wings made good,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The far wings closing as the centre stood.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Battle is a mist and battle is a wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And battle is won so.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> fishermen fish in the River of Seine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They haul the long nets in.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They haul them in and they haul again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(The fishermen fish in the River of Seine)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They haul them in and they haul again,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A million glittering fin:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the hauling in of our straining ends<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That Victory did begin.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> tall son of the Seven Winds<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Galloped hot-foot from the Hither Hithe.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So strongly went he down the press,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Almost he did that day redress<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With his holping and his hardiness,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For his sword was like a scythe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Arques when the grass is high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the swaithes in order lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there’s the bailiff standing by—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A gathering of the tithe.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span> now, go forward, Normandy,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Go forward all in one.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The press was caught and trampled and it broke<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the sword and its swinger and the axe’s stroke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pouring through the gap in a whirl of smoke<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As a blinded herd will run.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so fled many and a very few<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With mounts all spent would staggering pursue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the race fell scattered as the evening grew:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The battle was over and done.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>Like birds against the reddening day</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>They dwindled one by one,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i4"><i>And I heard a trumpet far away</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6"><i>At the setting of the sun.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> stars were in the Eternal Sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It was calm in Massared;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Richard, Abbot of Leclair, and I<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a Picard Priest that held on high<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A Torch above his head;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We stumbled through the darkening land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Assoiling with anointed hand<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The dying and the dead.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XV</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">How</span> many in the tufted grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How many dead there lay.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For there was found the Fortenbras<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And young Garain of Hault, alas!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Wardens of the Breton pass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who were lords of his array,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Hugh that trusted in his glass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But came not home the day.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I saw</span> the miller of Martindall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I saw that archer die.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blunt quarrel caught him at the low white wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he tossed up his arrow to the Lord God of all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But long before the first could fall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His soul was in the sky.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> last of all the lords that sprang<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From Harcourt of the Crown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He parried with the shield and the silver rang,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the axe fell heavy on the helm with a clang<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the girths parted and the saddle swang,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And he went down:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He never more sang winter songs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In his high town.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVIII</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> his high town that Faëry is,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And stands on Harcourt bay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fisher surging through the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Takes bearing by that castle height,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And moors him harboured in the bight,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And watches for the day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But with the broadening of the light,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It vanishes away.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIX</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> his high town that Faëry is,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And stands on Harcourt Lea.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To summon him up his arrier-ban,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His writ beyond the mountains ran;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My father was his serving man,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Although the farm was free.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before the angry wars began<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He was a friend to me.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XX</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> night before the boy was born<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There came a Priest who said<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That he had seen red Aldeborn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The star of hate in Taurus’ horn,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which glared above a field of corn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And covered him with dread.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I wish to God I had not held<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The cloth in which he bled.<br /></span> -<span class="i6spc">. . . . . . <br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXI</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> Horse from Cleres and Valery,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The foot from Yvetot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the men of the Harbour Towns<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That live by fall and flow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the men of the Beechen Ford<br /></span> -<span class="i0">—Oh! William of Falaise, my lord!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the sails in Michael’s ward,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the shields of Caux,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall follow you out across the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With sword and lance and bow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Beachy and to Pevensey Bar,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To Chester through the snow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With sack and pack and camping tent,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A-grumbling as they go:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My lord is William of Falaise.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Haro!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="footnotes"><p class="cb">FOOTNOTES:</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> -</p> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">But</span> do not think I shall explain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To any great extent. Believe me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I partly write to give you pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And if you do not like me, leave me.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> -</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And</span> least of all can you complain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Reviewers, whose unholy trade is,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To puff with all your might and main<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Biographers of single ladies.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> Never mind.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> -</p> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> plan forgot (I know not how,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Perhaps the Refectory filled it),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To put a chapel in; and now<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We’re mortgaging the rest to build it.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> To be pronounced as a monosyllable in the Imperial -fashion.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_F_6" id="Footnote_F_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_F_6"><span class="label">[F]</span></a> Mr Punt, Mr Howl, and Mr Grewcock (now, alas, deceased).</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_G_7" id="Footnote_G_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_G_7"><span class="label">[G]</span></a> A neat rendering of “Sublimi feriam sidera vertice.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_H_8" id="Footnote_H_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_H_8"><span class="label">[H]</span></a> To the Examiners: These facts (of which I guarantee the -accuracy) were given me by a Director.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_I_9" id="Footnote_I_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_I_9"><span class="label">[I]</span></a> A reminiscence of Milton: “Fas est et ab hoste docere.”</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_J_10" id="Footnote_J_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_J_10"><span class="label">[J]</span></a> Lambkin told me he regretted this line, which was for the -sake of Rhyme. He would willingly have replaced it, but to his last day -could construct no substitute.</p></div> - -</div> -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets and Verse, by Hilaire Belloc - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS AND VERSE *** - -***** This file should be named 60663-h.htm or 60663-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/6/6/60663/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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