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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..9f2b709 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64565 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64565) diff --git a/old/64565-0.txt b/old/64565-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index db78a60..0000000 --- a/old/64565-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1660 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A happy New Year, and other verses, by C. E. -de la Poer Beresford - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A happy New Year, and other verses - -Author: C. E. de la Poer Beresford - -Release Date: February 15, 2021 [eBook #64565] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HAPPY NEW YEAR, AND OTHER -VERSES *** - - - - - A HAPPY NEW YEAR - - AND OTHER VERSES - - - - - A Happy New Year - AND OTHER VERSES - - BY - C. E. DE LA POER BERESFORD - - ETON COLLEGE - SPOTTISWOODE & CO., LTD. - 1913 - - - TO MY DEAR WIFE - -OLD PLACE, 1913 - - _My thanks are due to the Editors, “Blackwood’s Magazine,” “Country - Life,” “The Londonderry Sentinel,” for their kindness in allowing - me to reprint verses that have appeared in their publications._ - - - - -Contents - - - PAGE - -A Happy New Year 1 - -Cradle Song 2 - -Queen Tamar’s Castle 3 - -Ulster’s Prayer 4 - -Dark Donegal 5 - -Hy-Brasail 7 - -Bálor of the Great Blows 9 - -The Garden 11 - -A Song of Spring 12 - -The Miráge on Kizil Koom 13 - -A Dream of Samarkánd 15 - -At Santa Sophia, Constantinople 21 - -The Hill Cities 22 - -Florence from San Miniato 23 - -The Thames 24 - -In Te, Domine, spero 26 - -To Miss X. de C. on her Birthday 27 - -Londonderry City Election, 1885 28 - -Londonderry City Election, 1913 29 - -To M. S. 30 - -The Song of Timùr the Lame 31 - -Catullus, Carmina xxxi., l. 12 to end 32 - -Catullus, Carmina lxxvi. (Si qua recordanti) 33 - -The Fisherman’s Dream 34 - -The Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers at Pieters’, February, 1900 36 - -Senlac 39 - -Christmas-tide 46 - - - - -A Happy New Year. - - - To the young, to the brave and the strong, - Before whom the future outspreads - As a board all light-handed to sweep, - The unknown, and the right and the wrong, - A Happy New Year! - - To the good, to the tender and true, - Who have stood by our side on the path - Of life’s follies and troubles and cares, - The path that we all must pursue, - A Happy New Year! - - For the old, for the frail and the weak, - To whom mem’ry calls up in a dream - The never attained _might have been_, - We with love and affection bespeak - A Happy New Year! - - - - -Cradle Song. - -(_Imitated from the Russian._) - - - Sleep! Babyónka,[A] sleep! - By thy side Bábochka[B] watches. - Round the house the wind blows high, - Soars the eagle in the sky, - Hark, I hear the woodcock cry. - Sleep, my darling, sleep! - O’er thy slumbers Saints are watching. - - Sleep! Babyónka, sleep! - Bábochka will rock thy cradle. - Wind that rushes through the trees, - Eagle soaring o’er the breeze, - Woodcock whistling in the reeds,[C] - Bring my darling sleep! - Babyónka dear, the Saints are watching. - - Sleep! my darling, sleep! - Bábochka Babyónka watches. - Wind and eagle, woodcock brown, - All of them come rushing down - To the cot where baby slumbers. - They have brought Babyónka sleep. - O’er thy slumbers Saints are watching. - - - - -Queen Thamar’s Castle. - -(_Translated from Lermontof._) - - - In Dariel’s rocky gorges deep, - Where Terek’s water madly moves, - There is a castle on the steep, - The scene of Queen Tamára’s loves. - She seemed to play an angel’s part; - Black as a demon’s was her heart. - - The weary traveller from below - Looked on Tamára’s window-glow, - And gazing on the twinkling light, - Went in to sup and pass the night. - - But as the rays of rosy dawn - Gilded the mountains in the morn, - Silence fell on Tamára’s halls, - And Terek’s madly rushing wave - A mangled corpse bore to its grave. - - - - -Ulster’s Prayer. - - - O God, who once in ages past - Savedst from the fierce Red Sea - And Ramses’ chariots following fast - Thy sons who sang to Thee: - Turn Thee again, Lord of the Saints, - Unto our suppliant side, - Who humbly beg Thy help against - Those who Thy faith deride. - - ’Gainst those who that pure faith can turn - To dogma harsh and strict, - From which all who its errors spurn - Are cast off derelict; - We, as our fathers prayed before, - Fighting for faith and home, - Beseech Thee for Thy help once more - Against the wiles of Rome. - - - - -Dark Donegal. - - - The ocean is dashing - Its waves o’er the strand - That shelters Sheep Haven - With hillocks of sand. - M‘Swyne’s Gun is winding - His horn o’er the lea, - Atlantic is grinding - The dust of the sea. - - It cuts from the fields, - Lough, haven, and bay, - And dark Donegal yields - To its constant sword-play.[D] - Through infinite inlets - It pours willy-nilly, - Into Ness and Mulroy, - Sheep Haven and Swilly. - - Atlantic was born - Bluff, boisterous, coy; - It may storm at the Horn - When it coos at Mulroy. - The ocean is silent, - Or noisy or sullen; - It may sleep at Melmore, - Or rage at Rathmullan. - - The ghosts of Saldanha[E] - Still walk at Port Salon; - The bones of the Spaniards - Lie deep off the Aran. - In spite of these mem’ries, - Or because of them all, - The breeze carries gladness - Over dark Donegal. - -Dunfanaghy, September 2, 1913. - - - - -Hy-Brasail. - - - Near where Horn its dark head - Rears o’er the deep ocean, - And the sea-birds whirl round - In a constant commotion, - Where loving Atlantic - Outstretches its arms, - Four islands romantic - Lie, lost in their charms. - - The farthest is Tory, - Rough, rocky and stern, - Inishbeg, Inishbofin, - Inishdoe, as you turn - Your rapt gaze to the west, - Orange, rose-red, or grey, - Stretch, three islands at rest - In the calm of the bay. - - And beyond them, most blest - Of a realm without guile, - In the sunshine and rest - Lies Hy-Brasail, the isle - Of the angels and saints, - So lovely and dim, - Where the sea’s white foam breaks - On its far distant rim. - - The peasant who heard of - This wonderful isle - Set sail to the west - With a confident smile. - The dream of Hy-Brasail - Within his heart burned, - He was lost in the sea - And never returned. - -Londonderry, September 10, 1913. - - - - -Bálor of the Great Blows. - - - Have ye read of the past in folios at Dublin - Of Firwolgs, and of Pechts, and of red-headed Danes, - And Fomors from Tory, who people went troublin’, - Stealing woman and child, binding Irish in chains? - - Well, ’tis of these wild times and Ulster romantic, - O’erspread by dark forests through which the elk called, - And of rude pagan tribes, some dwarf, some gigantic, - That I tell in this rhyme so poor and so bald. - - In a deep gloomy glen near Muckish’s mountain, - Where the mist rolls in clouds and the waterfalls foam, - From out of the cloud-rack, as out of a fountain; - Himself saw a quare sight as he rode his horse home. - - In the glen at the mouth of a black souterrain - (Where Crocknálarágagh looks down upon Tory, - The island where Bálor of the Great Blows did reign) - Shane O’Dugan beheld what I tell in my story. - - A woman as lovely as dead Ethné the Fair, - With twelve ladies in waiting all clothed in gold, - The Chief, MacKineely, and a boy with red hair, - Came out the cave-dwelling and walked o’er the fold. - - Now the red-pate is changed into Bálor the King, - All bent on the murder of brave MacKineely; - And although through the valley his daughter’s shrieks ring, - He cuts off his head on the stone Clough-an-neely. - - Fierce King Bálor would fain kill his young grandsons too, - But the Princess resolves with her children to fly, - And the eldest grows into a young farrier, who - Thrusts a red-heated iron in Bálor’s one eye. - - The wounded King calls to his one grandson, “Asthore!” - Whilst forth from the sore wound rushes water like oil, - From Falcarragh the whole way right up to Gweedore, - Till it forms a lough three times as deep as Lough Foyle! - - - - -The Garden. - - - I know a garden sheltered from the north - And east by lichened walls and stately trees - Facing the south in rows are bursting forth - Masses of bright flowers, fertilised by bees; - In it from early morn, with spade and hoe, - A good man trenches, digs, and plants, that things may grow. - - I would my mind were like that garden fair-- - A fruitful soil touched by the spade of God! - No weeds of prejudice might grow up there, - No tares of ignorance disgrace the sod, - But Wisdom, glad of such a soil and ground, - Would plant her flowers therein--to scatter fragrance round. - -1904 - - - - -A Song of Spring. - - - It was Spring, joyous Spring, - When each bud had just unfolden, - From its bursting calyx golden, - All the greenery of Spring, - When I heard the cuckoo sing, - Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo! - - It was Spring, joyous Spring, - When the shepherd on the wold, - Having tended well the fold, - Saw the meek-eyed ewes well-sheltered - ’Gainst the hail and rain that peltered - On the downs, in the Spring! - - It was Spring, joyous Spring, - And the black thorn and the white, - Breaking forth from out the night - And the dark of Winter’s gloom, - Raced the chestnuts into bloom - With the leaves, in gentle Spring. - - It was Spring, joyous Spring, - When from bush and bough and tree - Burst a song of joy to Thee, - Who hast made the lark that singeth, - And the earth whose produce bringeth - Forth in Spring: - When I heard the cuckoo sing, - Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo! - -April, 1896. - - - - -The Miráge on Kizil Koom. - - - Where the hot sun o’er Caspian’s reedy shore - In a red ball of fire descends in gloom, - I trod the desert’s silent, sandy floor, - Called by the Turkománs the Kizil Koom. - - No grass, no flower relieves the rusty sheen, - Perhaps an antelope goes rushing through - The rare sage-brush; no water there is seen, - Save where the fell miráge distracts the view. - - And that miráge! At first a little cloud, - From which green trees and silvery lakes arise, - Where white felucca sails deceive the crowd - Of weary travellers, and fool their eyes. - - Ah! what art thou, miráge? What have I seen? - “I am the many things of which you dream” - “At morn of life, but never hold at e’en.” - “I am the hopes with which your fancies teem!” - - “I am the scholar’s prize, the high degree;” - “The sword of steel at side, the fox’s brush;” - “The little cross of bronze, the prized V.C.;” - “The thundering sound of steeds, the warrior’s rush!” - - “I am the heart’s desire, the lover bold;” - I am the silken gown, the judge’s chair - I am the battle won; the book well sold - Coronet; Ermine! Castle in the air!” - - Ah! Kizil Koom, Red Sand, what more dost say - In thy miráge to travellers o’er thy floor? - “I teach content to those who through the way - Of life well spent have passed, and dream no more.” - - - - -A Dream of Samarkánd. - - - Between the mountains of Alai - And Tian-Shan’s heavenly chain - Lies the home of the Zagatai, - Fergána’s fruitful plain. - First of the towns whose domes and wall - Deck that illustrious land - Stands the lame Timùr’s capital, - His best-loved Samarkánd. - - I stood inside a shattered room, - Stricken by earthquakes rife, - That Timùr raised above the tomb - Of Ming’s fair daughter-wife. - Daughter of China’s Bógdu-Khan, - Wife of the great Timùr, - Who ’twixt them ruled the vast inland - From Red Sea to Amùr. - - Above an arch a double dome - Bites in the clear blue sky - (Bramanté’s famous fane at Rome - Seems scarce so broad and high). - Above the dome a crescent bright - Watched sleepy Samarkánd, - Asleep to-day, but wide awake - When Timùr ruled the land. - - Sure, such a tomb was never raised - By widower to wife! - Nor Akhbar brave nor Shah Jehán - Did thus weld bricks to life. - The Tâj, in marble shining bright - By Agra’s sun-baked walls, - Must yield the palm for sheer delight - To Bibi-Khánim’s halls. - - The sun shines through the double dome, - Lighting its inner skin, - It shows the remnant of the stair - That upwards led within, - From which the muezzin, climbing slow, - To shout the evening prayer, - Could see the Rigistán below, - Shir-Dár and Tilla-Kare. - - I seemed to see the cliffs at Kesh, - Whence came the great Amìr, - From whose red rift the Zarafshán - Sends forth its waters clear. - I seemed to see the Tatar horde, - Under Toktámish brave, - Beaten and drowning in the ford - That crosses Kubán’s wave. - - I saw the Mogul army move - To conquer Hindostán; - Its serried, strong divisions prove - The master mind of man. - Ninety-two thousand fretting steeds - Rush down from hill to plain; - Timùr descends the khud by ropes, - Five times let down again. - - The Mongols march upon Attock - And cross the rivers five, - Timùr joins forces at Multán - With all his sons alive; - His armies then invest Batnir, - They come to Delhi’s towers, - Mahmud Sultán gives battle there, - Timùr his standard lowers. - - Asia, from Irtish to Ormùz - O’er-run by Timùr’s bands, - Irán, Turán and Ind had felt - The weight of Mongol hands. - Aleppo taken by the horde, - Timùr fresh laurels culls, - And covers Baghdad’s reeking sward - With pyramids of skulls. - - Now on Angóra’s fateful plain - The “Lightning” Bayazet - Urges his Turks to fight, in vain, - ’Gainst Mongol and kismet. - ’Twas told that Bayazet was caged - Just like a timid deer, - But Timùr never warfare waged - On captives of his spear. - - From all these scenes of lust and blood - I turn to Samarkánd, - Where Zarafshán’s refreshing flood - Gives life unto the land. - Here Timùr mosque and palace built - Around a sheltered pool, - Set in a field with arbours gilt, - And called it Khân-i-Gùl. - - Thousands of guests were bid to share - The great Amìr’s largesse, - The Guilds and Trades were gathered there, - The wronged received redress. - Here, in his coat of mail of steel, - Timùr, ’midst his sepoys, - From Russ, and France, and far Castille, - Received the Grand Envoys. - - Six grandsons of the Great Amìr - Wed brides of princely rank, - Nine times the brides their dresses change, - Nine times their handmaids thank. - Each time each bride is fresh arrayed, - Fall to the ground in showers - Rubies and diamonds, which the maid - Keeps as her bridal flowers! - - I see Timùr, one boot, one glove, - And with his lint-white hair, - Delighted on his chess-board move - Fifty-six pieces fair. - The blood-red ruby in his ear - Trembles before my view, - But when his rage the stone shakes there, - ’Fore God! the world shakes too. - - At last the Mogul Emperor - Invades far-off Cathay, - He starts, the tired conqueror, - Marching ten miles a day, - Crosses Syr-Dária’s solid stream, - And stops at Otrár, when - He sees the blade of Àzrael gleam - At three-score years and ten. - - Come with me to the Gùr-Amir, - Within whose simple walls - Over a six-foot block of jade - A horsehair standard falls. - Beneath the dark and polished stone - Descends a bare brick stair, - Leading to Tamerlane’s own tomb, - Nor pomp nor state is there. - - Beneath the fluted, darkened dome, - Where dimly seen in gloom, - Surrounded by an Arab text, - Hangs Timùr’s tattered plume, - Outside the simple marble rail - Engraved with Timùr’s name, - The passing pilgrim cannot fail - To muse on Timùr’s fame. - - - - -At Santa Sophia, Constantinople. - -(_A Fragment._) - - - There is the altar, there is the wall, - Disfigured by Méhemet’s hand: - We should raise the Cross of Christ in the hall - Where the Turkish banners stand; - And the tones of “Te Deum,” quenched in blood, - Should resound again in the land. - - - - -The Hill Cities. - - - All along the line of mountains - That begin at Narni’s towers, - Stand the grey and brown hill cities, - ’Midst the sunshine and the showers. - Each a tower of strength itself, - Well walled and machicolated, - Or for Ghibelline or Guelph, - Each ’twixt each interpolated; - Now for Kaiser, now for Pope, - Narni, Terni, and Spoleto. - From its crag or hilly slope - Tremi faces Montefalco, - By Topino sits Foligno, - Assisi of the stony street, - Almost at its base is Spello - Where the chalk and limestone meet. - Here the rain-clouds veil the mountain, - Here the sunbeams chase the sleet, - And the rivers fill the fountain - Grey in proud Perugia’s street. - -Perugia, April, 1912. - - - - -Florence from San Miniato. - - - Beneath my feet the smokeless city fair: - Duomo and Giotto’s noble tower arise - Like sentinels o’er Florence! In the air - Something, not mist, but silvery vapour, lies. - - Up a steep hill climbs famous Fiésole - From out the dark woods of Domenico, - Close to Arno’s bank is Santa Crocé, - Where lies at rest great Michael Angelo. - - And through the landscape, winding softly there, - Arno betwixt his buttressed banks doth run - Solemn and silent, steely bright and fair, - Towards Carrara’s rocks, and setting sun. - - - - -The Thames. - - - I love thy banks the best, O silent Thames, - At morning time, - When fogs steal o’er them, and with ruddy flames - The still weak sun - Bursts, now and then, at moments through the mist - And sudden flies, - Leaving the landscape which his beams have kissed, - Cold and forlorn; - And then, again returning to the fight, - The God of morn - Dispels the clouds, and bathes in trembling light - Thy banks so gay. - Or struggling with the clouds, now here, now there, - O’erpowers them, and ushers in the day. - - I love thy banks again, O merry Thames, - Ambient and gay, - When lowing herds graze in thy meads, or lie - With whisk of tail - In the long grass, half hidden by the glazed - And heated air, - And chew the cud half-silent or half-dazed. - How deadly still - Is the full tide of noon, when beasts and birds - Alike repose, - And from the sullen shade not e’en a bee - Or dragon-fly - Breaks the hour’s silence! Then the cirrus clouds, - Wind-chas’d and heavy, roll or stagger by. - - I love thy banks at all times, silver Thames, - But certes the least - When huge waves suddenly immerse their sides, - And from the East, - With sound of harp, or flute, and megaphones, - Young men and maids - On steamers Allah’s Holy Name invoke - In raucous tones - No Moslem knows, and call me curious names, - And drink, and smoke - Not nargiléhs, but strong cigars, whose whiff - Borne on the air, - Shocks my olfactory nerves, and makes me sick, - Sick of them all, the Thames, the whole affair! - - - - -In Te, Domine, spero. - - - ’Tis said that as the sinner dies - Around him hover shadowy forms, - Reflecting in his glassy eyes - Some cloudy visions in Death’s storms. - - When on the hard-fought battle plain - Gushes forth hot the bright red blood - From out the bullet wound’s blue stain, - With throbs that show the arterial flood; - - The shadowy forms may still be near - Just where his body stains the sod, - As sure of death but void of fear - The man commends his soul to God. - - The half-forgotten youthful days, - His father’s voice, his mother’s tears, - Come back to him as whilst he prays - Dark Azraël’s rustling wings he hears. - - Lost and forgotten, far from home - (The stretcher-bearers pass him by) - He dies alone: no, not alone, - The shadowy forms are watching nigh. - - So ends the sinner. As he dies - The shadowy forms (his own good deeds) - Are wafted onward to the skies - To plead for him in heavenly meads. - - - - -To Miss X. de C. on her Birthday. - - - O’er this your natal day may angels watch and love preside, - Your path with flowers be strewn and all betide - To make your ways below, in joy begun, - Run on through smiling fields till life be done. - - - - -Londonderry City Election, 1885. - -Chas. E. Lewis, Q.C. (C.) 1824. -Justin McCarthy (P.) 1795. - - - To the black North, to Derry fair, a great “Historian” came, - Backed by the strength of all his clan, by Parnell’s mighty name, - His was the task, by wiles or force, to wrest the Virgin Crown - From the proud city by the Foyle, of siege’s great renown. - In vain the Separatist force, for naught their trumpets blown, - Derry has shown that she prefers a “history” of her own! - -Coblentz, December 1885. - - - - -Londonderry City Election, 1913. - - Hogg (N.) 2699. -Colonel Pakenham (C.) 2642. - - - Flow, Foyle, full of tears, not water, on to the main, - Past the wreck of the Boom, past Culmore, past MacGilligan, - Take to the ocean, wind-swept and wave-tossed, - Our story of pain. - - Close gates, so heavy and ancient, brave Prentice boys, - Shut out the sea, shut off England, shut out the Union. - Shut out all links with our Empire, our trade and communion, - Our hopes and our joys! - - Blow, black from the North, cold wind from Malin Head! - Take to our comrades in Leinster, in Connacht, in Munster, - The tale of our struggle, our work, our disaster - Our honour is dead. - -January 31, 1913. - - - - -To M. S. - -(_A Fragment._) - - - Sappho, your wild songs to the wind, - The wild west wind, - Recall an island to my mind, - All mist-enshrined, - Girt round with waves that break with force, - Fearful, yet kind. - - Sappho, your sad songs to the sea, - The southern sea, - Bring back sweet mem’ries of the waves, - The waves to me, - And wild swans flying o’er the white - Sands, by the sea. - - Sappho, the finest of your songs, - “Hark to the rain!” - Sends shivering through and through my heart - Its sad refrain, - Just as a broken lute-string strikes - A soul in pain! - - - - -The Song of Timùr the Lame. - -(_Imitated from the Persian_) - - - Listen to me, my nightingale, - My darling, my light, and my rose! - I am sick of war and carnage, - I long for peace and repose. - My scimetar’s flash in the light - Is not so bright as thy glances, - And the beams ’neath thine eyelids bright - Shame the flash of my spearmen’s lances. - - - - -Catullus, Carmina xxxi., l. 12 to end. - - - “Salve, o venusta Sirmio, atque hero gaude, - Gaudete vos, O Lydiae lacus undae, - Ridete quicquid est domi cachinnorum.” - - “Hail, lovely Sirmio, and rejoice in me, - Rejoice, O tumbling Lydian waves, and see - In all my home peal out the laughter free!” - - - - -Catullus, Carmina lxxvi. (Si qua recordanti). - - - “If pleasure can to man have come - From his good deeds already done, - From sacred faith, from plight maintained, - From compact never yet profaned; - All these remain in store for thee - And fruits of thy lost love shall be. - Catullus, for long years to come - Thy breast shall be their only home!” - - * * * * * - - O gods, if ye can pity me - Or mortal agony can see, - If only once I have been pure, - Tear out this cursed plague impure, - Which creeping through my frame at rest - Has chased all gladness from my breast. - - * * * * * - - Just gods! for sake of my own weal - I pray you that this wound may heal! - - - - -The Fisherman’s Dream. - - - Where the light clouds o’er Etna’s summit sleep - And the dread winged Harpies vigil keep, - Dark as the polished stone the blue wave falls, - Weaving a canopy o’er Neptune’s halls. - - Over his work the tired fisher nods - And in his dreams beholds the ancient gods. - Whilst gentle sleep his wearied senses numbs, - Swift in his trance fair Aphrodite comes; - Light falls her footstep on the billowy wave, - Softly she smiles upon her willing slave; - Blue as the ether in the heights above, - Radiant her eyes, all beaming o’er with love; - Pink as the coral in the ocean foam, - Parted, her lips invite him to her home; - And like the algae in the deep sea trove - Wavy her tresses in the zephyrs move; - Whilst her soft whispers all his fears allay, - Thus love’s fair goddess beckons him away. - - “Come with me, fisher, leave thy dreary toil, - Fly from thy cares to Candia’s blessed soil; - ’Neath Ida’s mount far from the sun’s fierce rays, - In a cool grot we’ll pass the sweltering days, - And when the moon shines on the silver sea, - Drawn by my doves thou’lt float along with me; - Hid in my cave shalt taste all love’s delights, - Whilst joyous days succeed the tranquil nights.” - - Ah! shun her glances, danger lurketh there: - Thus did her charms full often slaves ensnare. - So young Adonis, who ne’er loved before, - Fleeing her wiles, fell to the tusked boar, - And Mars, the vengeful, direful, God of War, - By Vulcan’s net trapped, all Olympus saw! - Rather let Juno, who befriends pure loves, - Drive from thy side the siren and her doves. - Think of thy home in Baïa’s beauteous bay, - Where sits thy wife, thy children joyous play, - And of the taper by the Virgin’s shrine - Lit as a safeguard for their weal and thine. - - Frightened he wakes, he starts, he rubs his eyes, - Chased by the light the feckless phantom flies: - Vanished the temptress, all his senses seem - Once more his own; but Santos! what a dream! - -Ashbrook, 1885. - - - - -The Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers at Pieters’, February, 1900. - - - I stood on the glacis at Pieters’ - And read there the word “Inniskilling,” - Written red in the blood of soldiers as brave - As e’er took Her Majesty’s shilling. - I stood ’midst the ghosts of our children, - Whose corpses beneath me were lying; - And it seemed that I heard o’er the wind of the velt - Their voices come solemnly sighing. - - They were taught from boyhood, these heroes, - To fear neither rifle nor cannon; - They were taught first by Perry M‘Clintock, - Bob Ellis and fiery Buchanan. - They rushed like the stream from the mountain, - Or the wind o’er the Lakes of Fermanagh, - And they fell like the leaves in the cold autumn blast, - Or the drops pouring over the fountain. - - Ah! Mother of God! but I see them - Stagger. Thackeray! Davidson! more! - And who is the next, thrusting on thro’ the smoke? - It is he! ’Tis _ma bouchal asthore_! - His eye has the look of the eagle, - His shout tops the musketry’s roar, - Ah! now he’ll be in with the bay’net: - No, he falls!--He is shot by a Boer. - - We think of you children of Ulster, - All unknown, yet so splendidly brave; - And although the remains of our dear ones - Lie senseless and cold in the grave, - Their mem’ries live now and for ever, - Though their bones turn to dust ’neath the sod; - For the spirit and soul of the soldier - Rise like sweet-smelling incense to God. - - As I glanced over kopje and stone - On the scene of this terrible drama, - Past my eyes, other scenes, from the distant black North, - Rolled on like a vast panorama. - Such sights ere he gasped his last breath - Perhaps appeared to the brave Fusilier, - As at Thackeray’s word he rushed forward to death - With a bound and a heart-stirring cheer! - - The dark clouds hang over a valley, - The brown water rushes down foaming, - The light from the cabin-door shines like a spark - On the hill in the mists of the gloaming. - The heather waves sweet in the wind - That sweeps o’er the steep slopes of Sâwel; - The crooked-beaked eagle swoops down on the hind, - Whilst the cock-grouse lies low for a marvel. - - For thus, as we come to the entrance - Of that lane that knows of no turning, - Whether bullets are hissing, or rotten decks breaking, - Or fever our wasted frame burning, - The sights and the sounds of the home that we love - O’er our minds come back hurriedly streaming, - And we see in our dreams our long lost ones above, - As Azraël’s death-blade is gleaming. - - * * * * * - - I stood ’midst the ghosts of our children, - Whose corpses beneath me were lying; - And it seemed that I heard o’er the wind of the velt - Their voices come solemnly sighing. - -Petersburg, October, 1901. - - - - -Senlac. - - - Guillaume, fils naturel d’Arlette, - Fit jurer une fois à Bayeux - A Harold, le blond comte anglais, - Sur les plus précieuses réliques - Et aussi devant tous ses preux - Toute loyauté et feauté. - Harold jura qu’il l’aiderait - A prendre à lui la succession - (Enfin, donc, quand le temps viendrait) - Du roi saxon le fainéant, - Qu’il se mettrait de son côté - Et de ses forces il l’aiderait. - - Édouard le Confesseur mourut - En grande odeur de saincteté, - Le Comte Harold vite accourut - (Mil soixante-six, et cinq janvier). - Lui roi d’Angleterre fut élu - Et par Ealdred couronné. - Contre lui bientôt guerre à mort - Northumberland a déclaré; - Ne voulant point tenter cette guerre, - Qui lui allait à contre-cœur, - Du Comte Edwin et Comte Morkère - Harold épousa la jeune sœur. - - Guillaume, tout furieux, à Rouen - Prépare vite une expédition, - Appelle à lui le grand Lanfranc, - Evesque lombard, et Hildebrand, - Assemble une armée de Français, - Flamands, Italiens et Bretons, - Et des gens de tous les païs - De Pouille, et de Sicile, Normands. - Je dis moults barons, moulte canaille, - Des hommes sans nom et sans carrière, - Les longues lances, la vieille féraille, - Sous le grand drapeau de Saint-Pierre. - - Faut savoir que cette compagnie, - Ou plutôt bande d’aventuriers, - Dont oncques ne virent France de leur vie, - Furent bels et bons nommés _Français_, - Tandis que Danois et Saxons - Qu’Harold noblement commandait, - Ceux de Sussesse et Saint-Edmond, - Reçurent pour eux le nom d’_Anglais_. - Les Français traversèrent La Manche - Et descendirent en Angleterre - Près d’Hastings, pendant qu’à l’arme blanche - Harold tua Tostique, son frère. - - Parlons donc de l’armée anglaise. - Victorieuse à Stamford-le-Pont, - Elle poussa fortement vers le camp - Ou plutôt position française. - S’arrêtant à deux lieues de là, - Harold envoya des espions, - Qui lui rapportèrent la nouvelle - “Plus prêtres que soldats entre Normands.” - Rit bien et long le roi anglais: - “Ceux que vous vîtes si bien rasés - Ne sont ni prêtres ni gens mal-nés, - Ce sont de vaillans Chevaliers.” - - De Conches, de Toarz, Montgomméri - A l’extrême gauche étaient rangés; - A droite, de Fergert, Améri - Poitevins et Bretons commandaient; - Au centre, l’Evesque de Bayeux, - Grand et majestueux Odon; - Puis Guillaume, avec tous ses preux; - Ainsi se rangèrent les Normands. - Brave Taillefer, le Menestrel, - Le premier coup de sabre donnant, - Le premier tomba de sa selle, - Chantant la chanson de Roland. - - Fils-Osbert et Montgomméri - Attaquèrent sur la droite anglaise, - Avec Boulogne et Berri, - En partant de la gauche française. - De l’autre flanc, Alain Fergert, - Barons de Maine et d’Améri - Se ruèrent sur la haute terre - Retranchée de gros pilotis, - Où l’étendard au dragon d’or - Flottait dessus les écussons - Plantés en ligne, et juste derrière - Brillaient les hâches-d’armes des Saxons. - - Les hommes de Boulogne et de Poix - Suivaient le Baron d’Améri - Et donnèrent rudement maintes fois - Sur la ligne des gros pilotis. - Mais sous les coups terribles des hâches - Et testes et bras tombaient par terre; - A vrai dire n’y avait point de lâches, - Car corps-à-corps se fit la guerre. - Tout de même dans le vaste fossé - Bien des chevaliers sans chevaux - De coups de hâche furent assommés, - En tâchant de sortir de l’eau! - - Troublés, et même un peu confus, - Les écuyers aux destriers, - Voyant ainsi tuer les preux, - S’écriaient: “Fuyez donc, fuyez!” - Mais le dur évesque de Bayeux - Arriva bientôt au galop, - “Holà!” dit-il; “splendeur de Dieu! - Faites face à l’ennemi, salops!” - Donc piquant fort des éperons - Et frappant fortement de sa masse, - Poussant toujours son cheval blanc, - Le brave évesque se faisait place. - - Le terrible combat rageait - Du matin jusques après-midi; - Les Normands tous criaient, “Dex aie!” - Les Saxons criaient fort aussi. - Vu que les flêches de nos archers - N’atteignirent point à l’ennemi, - Tous derrière leurs remparts courbés, - Guillaume à ses gens commanda - De tirer haut dans l’air les flêches. - Arriva donc comme il pensa, - Même sans pratiquer de brêche! - - Le roi Harold et Gyrt, son frère, - Ensemble bravement se battaient - En haut du grand rempart de terre - De gros pilotis couronné. - Une flêche, qui semble tomber du ciel - Et dans sa chute descendante vire, - Atteignit Harold près de l’œil. - Le roi tout hardiment retire - De la blessure le bois cassé. - Il tombe, se tenant à demi - Evanoui sur son bouclier. - L’ange gardien des Saxons frémit! - - Sur toute la ligne des Français - Se fit un mouvement en arrière; - C’était le moment des Anglais, - Qui sautèrent par-dessus barrière. - Ils criaient hautement en revanche, - “A quoi bon, imbéciles, de fuir? - A moins de sauter par La Manche - Vous ne reverrez point Saint-Cyr.” - Arrive Sieur de Montgomméri, - “Frappez, François! à nous le jour; - Frappez! frappez! frappez!” il crie: - Les coups Normands redoublent d’ardeur! - - Les Saxons, eux aussi frappent fort, - Poussés sur Senlac-la-Colline, - Se battaient toujours corps-à-corps, - Quoique prévoyant leur ruine. - L’on vit d’Auviler et d’Onbac, - Saint-Clair, Fils-Ernest, Mortemer, - Poussant les premiers vers Senlac, - Fils-Ernest tombant mort à terre. - Harold trois fois blessé est mort - Et Gyrt est tué par Guillaume, - Chancelle le fameux dragon d’or, - Et tombe, le symbole du royaume. - - Fut ainsi que tomba le sort! - Guillaume rendit grâces à Dieu, - Pleura la perte de ses deux frères, - Remercia encore ses preux. - Il donna au Grand Dieu la gloire - Et fit planter les léopards - Qui flottèrent avec la victoire - Où gisait sale le dragon d’or. - D’Harold parmi tous les blessés - Fut impossible de connaître corps, - Mais Edith la Belle a trouvé - Son amant vivant, hélas! mort. - - J’ai tâché, chers et bons amis, - En réduisant ce rondelai - En termes tout simples, où il s’agit - De coups de lance, et coups d’épée, - De faire à tout le monde comprendre, - Marins, soldats, hommes, femmes, enfance, - Qu’il faut garder et pas rendre - Notre souveraine independence! - Une île n’est jamais à l’abri - D’un coup de main bien préparé: - Donc, sans négliger votre marine, - Veillez toujours sur votre armée. - - - - -Christmas-tide. - - - Silently the snowflakes fall - O’er the black and hardened ground; - Radiant crystals form a pall, - Stretching far and wide around. - - From the Ice-King’s glitt’ring halls - Bitterly the north wind blows; - Heap the logs within your walls, - All the doors and windows close. - - Many a hundred years ago, - On this very Christmas Day, - In a manger mean and low - Christ, the son of Mary, lay. - - Let our ways this Christmas-tide - Follow in His steps above! - Poor he lived and poor he died, - All His doctrine was of love. - - Ours to soothe the aching heart, - Ours to charity bestow, - Ours His knowledge to impart - To the suffering ones below! - - May that charity ne’er fail, - May those good deeds never cease, - Till our bark shall lower sail - In the haven where is peace! - -PRINTED BY -SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., ETON -COLCHESTER AND LONDON - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[A] Babyónka, baby. - -[B] Bábochka, little woman, mother. - -[C] The sandbanks in the Oka and Volga are strewn with small white -shells, and partly covered with sweet-smelling dock leaves; they swarm -with landrails and woodcock. (D. Grigorovitch.) - -[D] The Rev. William Hamilton, D.D., born in Londonderry in December -1757, Rector of Clondevaddock, on Mulroy Bay, gives several instances -of the encroachment of the sea sand on fertile and inhabited land. The -town of Bannow in Wexford was a flourishing borough in the early part -of the seventeenth century, while in his day the site was marked only -by a few ruins, appearing above heaps of barren sand. Ulster Folk Lore, -E. Andrews. - -[E] H.M.S. “Saldanha,” wrecked in Ballymastocker Bay, 1813. - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HAPPY NEW YEAR, AND OTHER -VERSES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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E. De La Poer Beresford. -</title> -<style type="text/css"> - -a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - - link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} - -a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} - -a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} - -big {font-size: 130%;} - -body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} - -.blockquot {margin:4% 10% 4% 10%;} - -.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} - -.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} - -.fint {text-align:center;text-indent:0%; -margin-top:2em;font-size:70%;} - -.footnotes {border:dotted 3px gray;margin-top:5%;clear:both;} - -.footnote {width:95%;margin:auto 3% 1% auto;font-size:0.9em;position:relative;} - -.label {position:relative;left:-.5em;top:0;text-align:left;font-size:.8em;} - -.fnanchor {vertical-align:30%;font-size:.8em;} - - h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; -font-weight:normal;} - - h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; - font-size:120%;font-weight:normal;} - - hr.full {width: 60%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; -padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} - - img {border:none;} - -.nind {text-indent:0%;} - - p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} - -p.sml {font-size:80%;margin-left:8%;} - -.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; -left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; -background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal;font-style:normal;font-weight:normal;text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} -@media print, handheld -{.pagenum - {display: none;} - } - -.pdd {padding-left:1em;text-indent:-1em;} - -.rt {text-align:right;} - -small {font-size: 80%;} - -.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} - -table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} - -div.poetry {text-align:center;} -div.poem {font-size:100%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; -display: inline-block; text-align: left;} -.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -.poem span.ispm {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em; -letter-spacing:1.25em;} - -</style> - </head> -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A happy New Year, and other verses, by C. E. de la Poer Beresford</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A happy New Year, and other verses</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: C. E. de la Poer Beresford</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 15, 2021 [eBook #64565]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HAPPY NEW YEAR, AND OTHER VERSES ***</div> -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="c">A HAPPY NEW YEAR<br /><br /> -AND OTHER VERSES<br /><br /><br /> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" -height="500" -alt="" -/></p> - -<h1><b>A Happy New Year</b><br /><small> -AND OTHER VERSES</small></h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -C. E. <span class="smcap">De La</span> POER BERESFORD<br /> -<br /><br /><br /> -ETON COLLEGE<br /> -SPOTTISWOODE & CO., LTD.<br /><br /> -1913<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -TO MY DEAR WIFE<br /> -</p> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">Old Place</span>, 1913<br /> -</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="nind"><i>My thanks are due to the Editors, “Blackwood’s Magazine,” “Country -Life,” “The Londonderry Sentinel,” for their kindness in allowing -me to reprint verses that have appeared in their publications.</i></p></div> - -<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#A_Happy_New_Year">A Happy New Year</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Cradle_Song">Cradle Song</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_2">2</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Queen_Tamars_Castle">Queen Tamara’s Castle</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_3">3</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Ulsters_Prayer">Ulster’s Prayer</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_4">4</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Dark_Donegal">Dark Donegal</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_5">5</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Hy-Brasail">Hy-Brasail</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_7">7</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Balor_of_the_Great_Blows">Bálor of the Great Blows</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_9">9</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#The_Garden">The Garden</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_11">11</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#A_Song_of_Spring">A Song of Spring</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_12">12</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#The_Mirage_on_Kizil_Koom">The Miráge on Kizil Koom</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_13">13</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#A_Dream_of_Samarkand">A Dream of Samarkánd</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_15">15</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#At_Santa_Sophia_Constantinople">At Santa Sophia, Constantinople</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_21">21</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#The_Hill_Cities">The Hill Cities</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_22">22</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Florence_from_San_Miniato">Florence from San Miniato</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_23">23</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#The_Thames">The Thames</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_24">24</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#In_Te_Domine_spero">In Te, Domine, spero</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_26">26</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#To_Miss_X_de_C_on_her_Birthday">To Miss X. de C. on her Birthday</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_27">27</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Londonderry_City_Election_1885">Londonderry City Election, 1885</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_28">28</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Londonderry_City_Election_1913">Londonderry City Election, 1913</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_29">29</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#To_M_S">To M. S.</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_30">30</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#The_Song_of_Timur_the_Lame">The Song of Timùr the Lame</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_31">31</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Catullus_Carmina_xxxi_l_12_to_end">Catullus, Carmina xxxi., l. 12 to end</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_32">32</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Catullus_Carmina_lxxvi_Si_qua_recordanti">Catullus, Carmina lxxvi. (Si qua recordanti)</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_33">33</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#The_Fishermans_Dream">The Fisherman’s Dream</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_34">34</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#The_Royal_Inniskilling_Fusiliers_at_Pieters_February_1900">The Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers at Pieters’, February, 1900</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_36">36</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Senlac">Senlac</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_39">39</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#Christmas-tide">Christmas-tide</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_46">46</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="A_Happy_New_Year" id="A_Happy_New_Year"></a>A Happy New Year.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To</span> the young, to the brave and the strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before whom the future outspreads<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As a board all light-handed to sweep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The unknown, and the right and the wrong,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A Happy New Year!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To the good, to the tender and true,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who have stood by our side on the path<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of life’s follies and troubles and cares,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The path that we all must pursue,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A Happy New Year!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For the old, for the frail and the weak,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To whom mem’ry calls up in a dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The never attained <i>might have been</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We with love and affection bespeak<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A Happy New Year!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="Cradle_Song" id="Cradle_Song"></a>Cradle Song.<br /><br /> -<small>(<i>Imitated from the Russian.</i>)</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sleep</span>! Babyónka,<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> sleep!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By thy side Bábochka<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a> watches.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Round the house the wind blows high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soars the eagle in the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark, I hear the woodcock cry.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sleep, my darling, sleep!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er thy slumbers Saints are watching.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sleep! Babyónka, sleep!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bábochka will rock thy cradle.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wind that rushes through the trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eagle soaring o’er the breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Woodcock whistling in the reeds,<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bring my darling sleep!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Babyónka dear, the Saints are watching.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sleep! my darling, sleep!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bábochka Babyónka watches.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wind and eagle, woodcock brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All of them come rushing down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the cot where baby slumbers.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They have brought Babyónka sleep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er thy slumbers Saints are watching.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="Queen_Tamars_Castle" id="Queen_Tamars_Castle"></a>Queen Tamara’s Castle.<br /><br /> -<small>(<i>Translated from Lermontof.</i>)</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> Dariel’s rocky gorges deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Terek’s water madly moves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is a castle on the steep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The scene of Queen Tamára’s loves.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She seemed to play an angel’s part;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Black as a demon’s was her heart.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The weary traveller from below<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Looked on Tamára’s window-glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gazing on the twinkling light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went in to sup and pass the night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But as the rays of rosy dawn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gilded the mountains in the morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Silence fell on Tamára’s halls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Terek’s madly rushing wave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mangled corpse bore to its grave.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="Ulsters_Prayer" id="Ulsters_Prayer"></a>Ulster’s Prayer.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O God</span>, who once in ages past<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Savedst from the fierce Red Sea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Ramses’ chariots following fast<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy sons who sang to Thee:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Turn Thee again, Lord of the Saints,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unto our suppliant side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who humbly beg Thy help against<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Those who Thy faith deride.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Gainst those who that pure faith can turn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To dogma harsh and strict,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From which all who its errors spurn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are cast off derelict;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We, as our fathers prayed before,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fighting for faith and home,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beseech Thee for Thy help once more<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Against the wiles of Rome.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="Dark_Donegal" id="Dark_Donegal"></a>Dark Donegal.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> ocean is dashing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its waves o’er the strand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That shelters Sheep Haven<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With hillocks of sand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">M‘Swyne’s Gun is winding<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His horn o’er the lea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Atlantic is grinding<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The dust of the sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It cuts from the fields,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lough, haven, and bay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dark Donegal yields<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To its constant sword-play.<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through infinite inlets<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It pours willy-nilly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into Ness and Mulroy,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sheep Haven and Swilly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Atlantic was born<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bluff, boisterous, coy;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It may storm at the Horn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When it coos at Mulroy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ocean is silent,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or noisy or sullen;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It may sleep at Melmore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or rage at Rathmullan.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The ghosts of Saldanha<a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i2">Still walk at Port Salon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bones of the Spaniards<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lie deep off the Aran.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In spite of these mem’ries,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or because of them all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The breeze carries gladness<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over dark Donegal.<br /></span> -</div> -<p class="sml"> -Dunfanaghy, September 2, 1913.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="Hy-Brasail" id="Hy-Brasail"></a>Hy-Brasail.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Near</span> where Horn its dark head<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rears o’er the deep ocean,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the sea-birds whirl round<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In a constant commotion,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where loving Atlantic<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Outstretches its arms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Four islands romantic<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lie, lost in their charms.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The farthest is Tory,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rough, rocky and stern,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Inishbeg, Inishbofin,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Inishdoe, as you turn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your rapt gaze to the west,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Orange, rose-red, or grey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stretch, three islands at rest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the calm of the bay.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And beyond them, most blest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of a realm without guile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the sunshine and rest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lies Hy-Brasail, the isle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the angels and saints,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So lovely and dim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the sea’s white foam breaks<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On its far distant rim.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The peasant who heard of<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This wonderful isle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Set sail to the west<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a confident smile.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dream of Hy-Brasail<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within his heart burned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He was lost in the sea<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And never returned.<br /></span> -</div> -<p class="sml"> -Londonderry, September 10, 1913.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="Balor_of_the_Great_Blows" id="Balor_of_the_Great_Blows"></a>Bálor of the Great Blows.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Have</span> ye read of the past in folios at Dublin<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Firwolgs, and of Pechts, and of red-headed Danes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Fomors from Tory, who people went troublin’,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stealing woman and child, binding Irish in chains?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Well, ’tis of these wild times and Ulster romantic,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’erspread by dark forests through which the elk called,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And of rude pagan tribes, some dwarf, some gigantic,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That I tell in this rhyme so poor and so bald.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In a deep gloomy glen near Muckish’s mountain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the mist rolls in clouds and the waterfalls foam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From out of the cloud-rack, as out of a fountain;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Himself saw a quare sight as he rode his horse home.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the glen at the mouth of a black souterrain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(Where Crocknálarágagh looks down upon Tory,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The island where Bálor of the Great Blows did reign)<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shane O’Dugan beheld what I tell in my story.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A woman as lovely as dead Ethné the Fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With twelve ladies in waiting all clothed in gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Chief, MacKineely, and a boy with red hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Came out the cave-dwelling and walked o’er the fold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now the red-pate is changed into Bálor the King,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All bent on the murder of brave MacKineely;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And although through the valley his daughter’s shrieks ring,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He cuts off his head on the stone Clough-an-neely.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fierce King Bálor would fain kill his young grandsons too,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But the Princess resolves with her children to fly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the eldest grows into a young farrier, who<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thrusts a red-heated iron in Bálor’s one eye.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wounded King calls to his one grandson, “Asthore!”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whilst forth from the sore wound rushes water like oil,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From Falcarragh the whole way right up to Gweedore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till it forms a lough three times as deep as Lough Foyle!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="The_Garden" id="The_Garden"></a>The Garden.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I know</span> a garden sheltered from the north<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And east by lichened walls and stately trees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Facing the south in rows are bursting forth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Masses of bright flowers, fertilised by bees;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In it from early morn, with spade and hoe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A good man trenches, digs, and plants, that things may grow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I would my mind were like that garden fair—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A fruitful soil touched by the spade of God!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No weeds of prejudice might grow up there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No tares of ignorance disgrace the sod,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Wisdom, glad of such a soil and ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Would plant her flowers therein—to scatter fragrance round.<br /></span> -</div> -<p class="sml"> -1904<br /> -</p> -</div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_Song_of_Spring" id="A_Song_of_Spring"></a>A Song of Spring.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">It</span> was Spring, joyous Spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When each bud had just unfolden,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From its bursting calyx golden,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the greenery of Spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When I heard the cuckoo sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It was Spring, joyous Spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the shepherd on the wold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Having tended well the fold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saw the meek-eyed ewes well-sheltered<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Gainst the hail and rain that peltered<br /></span> -<span class="i4">On the downs, in the Spring!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It was Spring, joyous Spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the black thorn and the white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breaking forth from out the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the dark of Winter’s gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Raced the chestnuts into bloom<br /></span> -<span class="i4">With the leaves, in gentle Spring.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It was Spring, joyous Spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When from bush and bough and tree<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Burst a song of joy to Thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who hast made the lark that singeth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the earth whose produce bringeth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forth in Spring:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When I heard the cuckoo sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!<br /></span> -</div> -<p class="sml"> -April, 1896.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="The_Mirage_on_Kizil_Koom" id="The_Mirage_on_Kizil_Koom"></a>The Miráge on Kizil Koom.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Where</span> the hot sun o’er Caspian’s reedy shore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In a red ball of fire descends in gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I trod the desert’s silent, sandy floor,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Called by the Turkománs the Kizil Koom.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No grass, no flower relieves the rusty sheen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Perhaps an antelope goes rushing through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rare sage-brush; no water there is seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Save where the fell miráge distracts the view.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And that miráge! At first a little cloud,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From which green trees and silvery lakes arise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where white felucca sails deceive the crowd<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of weary travellers, and fool their eyes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! what art thou, miráge? What have I seen?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“I am the many things of which you dream”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“At morn of life, but never hold at e’en.”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“I am the hopes with which your fancies teem!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I am the scholar’s prize, the high degree;”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“The sword of steel at side, the fox’s brush;”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The little cross of bronze, the prized V.C.;”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“The thundering sound of steeds, the warrior’s rush!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span>”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I am the heart’s desire, the lover bold;”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I am the silken gown, the judge’s chair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am the battle won; the book well sold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Coronet; Ermine! Castle in the air!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! Kizil Koom, Red Sand, what more dost say<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In thy miráge to travellers o’er thy floor?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I teach content to those who through the way<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of life well spent have passed, and dream no more.”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="A_Dream_of_Samarkand" id="A_Dream_of_Samarkand"></a>A Dream of Samarkánd.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Between</span> the mountains of Alai<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Tian-Shan’s heavenly chain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lies the home of the Zagatai,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fergána’s fruitful plain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">First of the towns whose domes and wall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Deck that illustrious land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stands the lame Timùr’s capital,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His best-loved Samarkánd.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I stood inside a shattered room,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stricken by earthquakes rife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That Timùr raised above the tomb<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Ming’s fair daughter-wife.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Daughter of China’s Bógdu-Khan,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wife of the great Timùr,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who ’twixt them ruled the vast inland<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From Red Sea to Amùr.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Above an arch a double dome<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bites in the clear blue sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Bramanté’s famous fane at Rome<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seems scarce so broad and high).<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the dome a crescent bright<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Watched sleepy Samarkánd,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Asleep to-day, but wide awake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When Timùr ruled the land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sure, such a tomb was never raised<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By widower to wife!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor Akhbar brave nor Shah Jehán<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Did thus weld bricks to life.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Tâj, in marble shining bright<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By Agra’s sun-baked walls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Must yield the palm for sheer delight<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To Bibi-Khánim’s halls.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sun shines through the double dome,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lighting its inner skin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It shows the remnant of the stair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That upwards led within,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From which the muezzin, climbing slow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To shout the evening prayer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could see the Rigistán below,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shir-Dár and Tilla-Kare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I seemed to see the cliffs at Kesh,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whence came the great Amìr,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From whose red rift the Zarafshán<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sends forth its waters clear.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I seemed to see the Tatar horde,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Under Toktámish brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beaten and drowning in the ford<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That crosses Kubán’s wave.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I saw the Mogul army move<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To conquer Hindostán;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its serried, strong divisions prove<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The master mind of man.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ninety-two thousand fretting steeds<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rush down from hill to plain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Timùr descends the khud by ropes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Five times let down again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Mongols march upon Attock<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And cross the rivers five,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Timùr joins forces at Multán<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With all his sons alive;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His armies then invest Batnir,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They come to Delhi’s towers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mahmud Sultán gives battle there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Timùr his standard lowers.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Asia, from Irtish to Ormùz<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er-run by Timùr’s bands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Irán, Turán and Ind had felt<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The weight of Mongol hands.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aleppo taken by the horde,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Timùr fresh laurels culls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And covers Baghdad’s reeking sward<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With pyramids of skulls.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now on Angóra’s fateful plain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The “Lightning” Bayazet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Urges his Turks to fight, in vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Gainst Mongol and kismet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twas told that Bayazet was caged<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Just like a timid deer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Timùr never warfare waged<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On captives of his spear.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From all these scenes of lust and blood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I turn to Samarkánd,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Zarafshán’s refreshing flood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gives life unto the land.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here Timùr mosque and palace built<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Around a sheltered pool,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Set in a field with arbours gilt,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And called it Khân-i-Gùl.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thousands of guests were bid to share<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The great Amìr’s largesse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Guilds and Trades were gathered there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wronged received redress.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here, in his coat of mail of steel,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Timùr, ’midst his sepoys,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From Russ, and France, and far Castille,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Received the Grand Envoys.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Six grandsons of the Great Amìr<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wed brides of princely rank,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nine times the brides their dresses change,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nine times their handmaids thank.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each time each bride is fresh arrayed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fall to the ground in showers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rubies and diamonds, which the maid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Keeps as her bridal flowers!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I see Timùr, one boot, one glove,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And with his lint-white hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Delighted on his chess-board move<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fifty-six pieces fair.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blood-red ruby in his ear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Trembles before my view,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But when his rage the stone shakes there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Fore God! the world shakes too.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At last the Mogul Emperor<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Invades far-off Cathay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He starts, the tired conqueror,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Marching ten miles a day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crosses Syr-Dária’s solid stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And stops at Otrár, when<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He sees the blade of Àzrael gleam<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At three-score years and ten.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come with me to the Gùr-Amir,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Within whose simple walls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over a six-foot block of jade<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A horsehair standard falls.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the dark and polished stone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Descends a bare brick stair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leading to Tamerlane’s own tomb,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor pomp nor state is there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Beneath the fluted, darkened dome,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where dimly seen in gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Surrounded by an Arab text,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hangs Timùr’s tattered plume,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Outside the simple marble rail<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Engraved with Timùr’s name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The passing pilgrim cannot fail<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To muse on Timùr’s fame.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="At_Santa_Sophia_Constantinople" id="At_Santa_Sophia_Constantinople"></a>At Santa Sophia, Constantinople.<br /><br /> -<small>(<i>A Fragment.</i>)</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There</span> is the altar, there is the wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Disfigured by Méhemet’s hand:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We should raise the Cross of Christ in the hall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the Turkish banners stand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the tones of “Te Deum,” quenched in blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Should resound again in the land.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="The_Hill_Cities" id="The_Hill_Cities"></a>The Hill Cities.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">All</span> along the line of mountains<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That begin at Narni’s towers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stand the grey and brown hill cities,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Midst the sunshine and the showers.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each a tower of strength itself,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Well walled and machicolated,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or for Ghibelline or Guelph,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Each ’twixt each interpolated;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now for Kaiser, now for Pope,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Narni, Terni, and Spoleto.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From its crag or hilly slope<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Tremi faces Montefalco,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By Topino sits Foligno,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Assisi of the stony street,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Almost at its base is Spello<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the chalk and limestone meet.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here the rain-clouds veil the mountain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here the sunbeams chase the sleet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the rivers fill the fountain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Grey in proud Perugia’s street.<br /></span> -</div> -<p class="sml"> -Perugia, April, 1912.<br /></p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="Florence_from_San_Miniato" id="Florence_from_San_Miniato"></a>Florence from San Miniato.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Beneath</span> my feet the smokeless city fair:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Duomo and Giotto’s noble tower arise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like sentinels o’er Florence! In the air<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Something, not mist, but silvery vapour, lies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Up a steep hill climbs famous Fiésole<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From out the dark woods of Domenico,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Close to Arno’s bank is Santa Crocé,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where lies at rest great Michael Angelo.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And through the landscape, winding softly there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Arno betwixt his buttressed banks doth run<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Solemn and silent, steely bright and fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Towards Carrara’s rocks, and setting sun.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="The_Thames" id="The_Thames"></a>The Thames.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I love</span> thy banks the best, O silent Thames,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">At morning time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When fogs steal o’er them, and with ruddy flames<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The still weak sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bursts, now and then, at moments through the mist<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And sudden flies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leaving the landscape which his beams have kissed,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Cold and forlorn;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then, again returning to the fight,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The God of morn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dispels the clouds, and bathes in trembling light<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Thy banks so gay.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or struggling with the clouds, now here, now there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’erpowers them, and ushers in the day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I love thy banks again, O merry Thames,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Ambient and gay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When lowing herds graze in thy meads, or lie<br /></span> -<span class="i6">With whisk of tail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the long grass, half hidden by the glazed<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And heated air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And chew the cud half-silent or half-dazed.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">How deadly still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is the full tide of noon, when beasts and birds<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Alike repose,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And from the sullen shade not e’en a bee<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Or dragon-fly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breaks the hour’s silence! Then the cirrus clouds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wind-chas’d and heavy, roll or stagger by.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I love thy banks at all times, silver Thames,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">But certes the least<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When huge waves suddenly immerse their sides,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And from the East,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With sound of harp, or flute, and megaphones,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Young men and maids<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On steamers Allah’s Holy Name invoke<br /></span> -<span class="i6">In raucous tones<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No Moslem knows, and call me curious names,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And drink, and smoke<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not nargiléhs, but strong cigars, whose whiff<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Borne on the air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shocks my olfactory nerves, and makes me sick,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sick of them all, the Thames, the whole affair!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="In_Te_Domine_spero" id="In_Te_Domine_spero"></a>In Te, Domine, spero.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis said that as the sinner dies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Around him hover shadowy forms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reflecting in his glassy eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some cloudy visions in Death’s storms.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When on the hard-fought battle plain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gushes forth hot the bright red blood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From out the bullet wound’s blue stain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With throbs that show the arterial flood;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The shadowy forms may still be near<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Just where his body stains the sod,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As sure of death but void of fear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The man commends his soul to God.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The half-forgotten youthful days,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His father’s voice, his mother’s tears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come back to him as whilst he prays<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dark Azraël’s rustling wings he hears.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lost and forgotten, far from home<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(The stretcher-bearers pass him by)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He dies alone: no, not alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The shadowy forms are watching nigh.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So ends the sinner. As he dies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The shadowy forms (his own good deeds)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are wafted onward to the skies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To plead for him in heavenly meads.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="To_Miss_X_de_C_on_her_Birthday" id="To_Miss_X_de_C_on_her_Birthday"></a>To Miss X. de C. on her Birthday.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O’er</span> this your natal day may angels watch and love preside,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your path with flowers be strewn and all betide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To make your ways below, in joy begun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Run on through smiling fields till life be done.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="Londonderry_City_Election_1885" id="Londonderry_City_Election_1885"></a>Londonderry City Election, 1885.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem" style="line-height:1.5em;"> -Chas. E. Lewis, Q.C. (C.) 1824.<br /> -Justin McCarthy (P.) 1795.<br /> -</div></div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To</span> the black North, to Derry fair, a great “Historian” came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Backed by the strength of all his clan, by Parnell’s mighty name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His was the task, by wiles or force, to wrest the Virgin Crown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the proud city by the Foyle, of siege’s great renown.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In vain the Separatist force, for naught their trumpets blown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Derry has shown that she prefers a “history” of her own!<br /></span> -</div> -<p class="sml"> -Coblentz, December 1885.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="Londonderry_City_Election_1913" id="Londonderry_City_Election_1913"></a>Londonderry City Election, 1913.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem" style="line-height:1.5em;"> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">Hogg (N.) 2699</span>.<br /> -Colonel Pakenham (C.) 2642.<br /> -</div></div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Flow</span>, Foyle, full of tears, not water, on to the main,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Past the wreck of the Boom, past Culmore, past MacGilligan,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Take to the ocean, wind-swept and wave-tossed,<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Our story of pain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Close gates, so heavy and ancient, brave Prentice boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shut out the sea, shut off England, shut out the Union.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shut out all links with our Empire, our trade and communion,<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Our hopes and our joys!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Blow, black from the North, cold wind from Malin Head!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Take to our comrades in Leinster, in Connacht, in Munster,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tale of our struggle, our work, our disaster<br /></span> -<span class="i8">Our honour is dead.<br /></span> -</div> -<p class="sml"> -January 31, 1913.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="To_M_S" id="To_M_S"></a>To M. S.<br /><br /> -<small>(<i>A Fragment.</i>)</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sappho</span>, your wild songs to the wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The wild west wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Recall an island to my mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">All mist-enshrined,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Girt round with waves that break with force,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Fearful, yet kind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sappho, your sad songs to the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The southern sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bring back sweet mem’ries of the waves,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The waves to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wild swans flying o’er the white<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Sands, by the sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sappho, the finest of your songs,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">“Hark to the rain!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sends shivering through and through my heart<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Its sad refrain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Just as a broken lute-string strikes<br /></span> -<span class="i4">A soul in pain!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="The_Song_of_Timur_the_Lame" id="The_Song_of_Timur_the_Lame"></a>The Song of Timùr the Lame.<br /><br /> -<small>(<i>Imitated from the Persian</i>)</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Listen</span> to me, my nightingale,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My darling, my light, and my rose!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am sick of war and carnage,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I long for peace and repose.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My scimetar’s flash in the light<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is not so bright as thy glances,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the beams ’neath thine eyelids bright<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shame the flash of my spearmen’s lances.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="Catullus_Carmina_xxxi_l_12_to_end" id="Catullus_Carmina_xxxi_l_12_to_end"></a>Catullus, Carmina xxxi., l. 12 to end.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Salve, o venusta Sirmio, atque hero gaude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gaudete vos, O Lydiae lacus undae,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ridete quicquid est domi cachinnorum.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Hail, lovely Sirmio, and rejoice in me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rejoice, O tumbling Lydian waves, and see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all my home peal out the laughter free!”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="Catullus_Carmina_lxxvi_Si_qua_recordanti" id="Catullus_Carmina_lxxvi_Si_qua_recordanti"></a>Catullus, Carmina lxxvi. (Si qua recordanti).</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“If pleasure can to man have come<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From his good deeds already done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From sacred faith, from plight maintained,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From compact never yet profaned;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All these remain in store for thee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fruits of thy lost love shall be.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Catullus, for long years to come<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy breast shall be their only home!”<br /></span> - -<span class="ispm">* * * *<br /></span> - -<span class="i0">O gods, if ye can pity me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or mortal agony can see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If only once I have been pure,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tear out this cursed plague impure,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which creeping through my frame at rest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has chased all gladness from my breast.<br /></span> - -<span class="ispm">* * * *<br /></span> - -<span class="i0">Just gods! for sake of my own weal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I pray you that this wound may heal!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="The_Fishermans_Dream" id="The_Fishermans_Dream"></a>The Fisherman’s Dream.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Where</span> the light clouds o’er Etna’s summit sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the dread winged Harpies vigil keep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dark as the polished stone the blue wave falls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weaving a canopy o’er Neptune’s halls.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Over his work the tired fisher nods<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in his dreams beholds the ancient gods.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whilst gentle sleep his wearied senses numbs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift in his trance fair Aphrodite comes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Light falls her footstep on the billowy wave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Softly she smiles upon her willing slave;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blue as the ether in the heights above,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Radiant her eyes, all beaming o’er with love;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pink as the coral in the ocean foam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Parted, her lips invite him to her home;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And like the algae in the deep sea trove<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wavy her tresses in the zephyrs move;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whilst her soft whispers all his fears allay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus love’s fair goddess beckons him away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Come with me, fisher, leave thy dreary toil,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fly from thy cares to Candia’s blessed soil;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Neath Ida’s mount far from the sun’s fierce rays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In a cool grot we’ll pass the sweltering days,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when the moon shines on the silver sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drawn by my doves thou’lt float along with me;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hid in my cave shalt taste all love’s delights,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whilst joyous days succeed the tranquil nights.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! shun her glances, danger lurketh there:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus did her charms full often slaves ensnare.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So young Adonis, who ne’er loved before,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fleeing her wiles, fell to the tusked boar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Mars, the vengeful, direful, God of War,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By Vulcan’s net trapped, all Olympus saw!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rather let Juno, who befriends pure loves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drive from thy side the siren and her doves.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Think of thy home in Baïa’s beauteous bay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where sits thy wife, thy children joyous play,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And of the taper by the Virgin’s shrine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lit as a safeguard for their weal and thine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Frightened he wakes, he starts, he rubs his eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chased by the light the feckless phantom flies:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vanished the temptress, all his senses seem<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Once more his own; but Santos! what a dream!<br /></span> -</div> -<p class="sml"> -Ashbrook, 1885.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="The_Royal_Inniskilling_Fusiliers_at_Pieters_February_1900" id="The_Royal_Inniskilling_Fusiliers_at_Pieters_February_1900"></a>The Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers at Pieters’, February, 1900.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I stood</span> on the glacis at Pieters’<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And read there the word “Inniskilling,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Written red in the blood of soldiers as brave<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As e’er took Her Majesty’s shilling.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I stood ’midst the ghosts of our children,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose corpses beneath me were lying;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And it seemed that I heard o’er the wind of the velt<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their voices come solemnly sighing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They were taught from boyhood, these heroes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To fear neither rifle nor cannon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They were taught first by Perry M‘Clintock,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bob Ellis and fiery Buchanan.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They rushed like the stream from the mountain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or the wind o’er the Lakes of Fermanagh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they fell like the leaves in the cold autumn blast,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or the drops pouring over the fountain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! Mother of God! but I see them<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stagger. Thackeray! Davidson! more!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And who is the next, thrusting on thro’ the smoke?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It is he! ’Tis <i>ma bouchal asthore</i>!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">His eye has the look of the eagle,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His shout tops the musketry’s roar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! now he’ll be in with the bay’net:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No, he falls!—He is shot by a Boer.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We think of you children of Ulster,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All unknown, yet so splendidly brave;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And although the remains of our dear ones<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lie senseless and cold in the grave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their mem’ries live now and for ever,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though their bones turn to dust ’neath the sod;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the spirit and soul of the soldier<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rise like sweet-smelling incense to God.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As I glanced over kopje and stone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the scene of this terrible drama,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Past my eyes, other scenes, from the distant black North,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rolled on like a vast panorama.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such sights ere he gasped his last breath<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Perhaps appeared to the brave Fusilier,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As at Thackeray’s word he rushed forward to death<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a bound and a heart-stirring cheer!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dark clouds hang over a valley,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The brown water rushes down foaming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The light from the cabin-door shines like a spark<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the hill in the mists of the gloaming.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heather waves sweet in the wind<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That sweeps o’er the steep slopes of Sâwel;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The crooked-beaked eagle swoops down on the hind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whilst the cock-grouse lies low for a marvel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For thus, as we come to the entrance<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of that lane that knows of no turning,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whether bullets are hissing, or rotten decks breaking,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or fever our wasted frame burning,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sights and the sounds of the home that we love<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er our minds come back hurriedly streaming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we see in our dreams our long lost ones above,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As Azraël’s death-blade is gleaming.<br /></span> - -<span class="ispm">* * * *<br /></span> - -<span class="i0">I stood ’midst the ghosts of our children,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose corpses beneath me were lying;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And it seemed that I heard o’er the wind of the velt<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their voices come solemnly sighing.<br /></span> -</div> -<p class="sml"> -Petersburg, October, 1901.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="Senlac" id="Senlac"></a>Senlac.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Guillaume</span>, fils naturel d’Arlette,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fit jurer une fois à Bayeux<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Harold, le blond comte anglais,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sur les plus précieuses réliques<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et aussi devant tous ses preux<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Toute loyauté et feauté.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Harold jura qu’il l’aiderait<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A prendre à lui la succession<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Enfin, donc, quand le temps viendrait)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Du roi saxon le fainéant,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Qu’il se mettrait de son côté<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et de ses forces il l’aiderait.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Édouard le Confesseur mourut<br /></span> -<span class="i0">En grande odeur de saincteté,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Le Comte Harold vite accourut<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Mil soixante-six, et cinq janvier).<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lui roi d’Angleterre fut élu<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et par Ealdred couronné.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Contre lui bientôt guerre à mort<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Northumberland a déclaré;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ne voulant point tenter cette guerre,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Qui lui allait à contre-cœur,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Du Comte Edwin et Comte Morkère<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Harold épousa la jeune sœur.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Guillaume, tout furieux, à Rouen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Prépare vite une expédition,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Appelle à lui le grand Lanfranc,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Evesque lombard, et Hildebrand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Assemble une armée de Français,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flamands, Italiens et Bretons,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et des gens de tous les païs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">De Pouille, et de Sicile, Normands.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Je dis moults barons, moulte canaille,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Des hommes sans nom et sans carrière,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Les longues lances, la vieille féraille,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sous le grand drapeau de Saint-Pierre.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Faut savoir que cette compagnie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ou plutôt bande d’aventuriers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dont oncques ne virent France de leur vie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Furent bels et bons nommés <i>Français</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tandis que Danois et Saxons<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Qu’Harold noblement commandait,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ceux de Sussesse et Saint-Edmond,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reçurent pour eux le nom d’<i>Anglais</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Les Français traversèrent La Manche<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et descendirent en Angleterre<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Près d’Hastings, pendant qu’à l’arme blanche<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Harold tua Tostique, son frère.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Parlons donc de l’armée anglaise.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Victorieuse à Stamford-le-Pont,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Elle poussa fortement vers le camp<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ou plutôt position française.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">S’arrêtant à deux lieues de là,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Harold envoya des espions,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Qui lui rapportèrent la nouvelle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Plus prêtres que soldats entre Normands.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rit bien et long le roi anglais:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Ceux que vous vîtes si bien rasés<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ne sont ni prêtres ni gens mal-nés,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ce sont de vaillans Chevaliers.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">De Conches, de Toarz, Montgomméri<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A l’extrême gauche étaient rangés;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A droite, de Fergert, Améri<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Poitevins et Bretons commandaient;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Au centre, l’Evesque de Bayeux,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grand et majestueux Odon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Puis Guillaume, avec tous ses preux;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ainsi se rangèrent les Normands.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brave Taillefer, le Menestrel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Le premier coup de sabre donnant,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Le premier tomba de sa selle,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chantant la chanson de Roland.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fils-Osbert et Montgomméri<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Attaquèrent sur la droite anglaise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Avec Boulogne et Berri,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">En partant de la gauche française.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">De l’autre flanc, Alain Fergert,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Barons de Maine et d’Améri<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Se ruèrent sur la haute terre<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Retranchée de gros pilotis,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Où l’étendard au dragon d’or<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flottait dessus les écussons<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plantés en ligne, et juste derrière<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brillaient les hâches-d’armes des Saxons.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Les hommes de Boulogne et de Poix<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Suivaient le Baron d’Améri<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et donnèrent rudement maintes fois<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sur la ligne des gros pilotis.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mais sous les coups terribles des hâches<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et testes et bras tombaient par terre;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A vrai dire n’y avait point de lâches,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Car corps-à-corps se fit la guerre.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tout de même dans le vaste fossé<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bien des chevaliers sans chevaux<br /></span> -<span class="i0">De coups de hâche furent assommés,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">En tâchant de sortir de l’eau!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Troublés, et même un peu confus,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Les écuyers aux destriers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Voyant ainsi tuer les preux,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">S’écriaient: “Fuyez donc, fuyez!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mais le dur évesque de Bayeux<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arriva bientôt au galop,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Holà!” dit-il; “splendeur de Dieu!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Faites face à l’ennemi, salops!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Donc piquant fort des éperons<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et frappant fortement de sa masse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Poussant toujours son cheval blanc,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Le brave évesque se faisait place.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Le terrible combat rageait<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Du matin jusques après-midi;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Les Normands tous criaient, “Dex aie!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Les Saxons criaient fort aussi.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vu que les flêches de nos archers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">N’atteignirent point à l’ennemi,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tous derrière leurs remparts courbés,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Guillaume à ses gens commanda<br /></span> -<span class="i0">De tirer haut dans l’air les flêches.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arriva donc comme il pensa,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Même sans pratiquer de brêche!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Le roi Harold et Gyrt, son frère,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ensemble bravement se battaient<br /></span> -<span class="i0">En haut du grand rempart de terre<br /></span> -<span class="i0">De gros pilotis couronné.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Une flêche, qui semble tomber du ciel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et dans sa chute descendante vire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Atteignit Harold près de l’œil.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Le roi tout hardiment retire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">De la blessure le bois cassé.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Il tombe, se tenant à demi<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Evanoui sur son bouclier.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">L’ange gardien des Saxons frémit!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sur toute la ligne des Français<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Se fit un mouvement en arrière;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">C’était le moment des Anglais,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Qui sautèrent par-dessus barrière.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ils criaient hautement en revanche,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“A quoi bon, imbéciles, de fuir?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A moins de sauter par La Manche<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vous ne reverrez point Saint-Cyr.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arrive Sieur de Montgomméri,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Frappez, François! à nous le jour;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Frappez! frappez! frappez!” il crie:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Les coups Normands redoublent d’ardeur!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Les Saxons, eux aussi frappent fort,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Poussés sur Senlac-la-Colline,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Se battaient toujours corps-à-corps,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quoique prévoyant leur ruine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">L’on vit d’Auviler et d’Onbac,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saint-Clair, Fils-Ernest, Mortemer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Poussant les premiers vers Senlac,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fils-Ernest tombant mort à terre.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Harold trois fois blessé est mort<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et Gyrt est tué par Guillaume,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chancelle le fameux dragon d’or,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et tombe, le symbole du royaume.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fut ainsi que tomba le sort!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Guillaume rendit grâces à Dieu,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pleura la perte de ses deux frères,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Remercia encore ses preux.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Il donna au Grand Dieu la gloire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et fit planter les léopards<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Qui flottèrent avec la victoire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Où gisait sale le dragon d’or.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">D’Harold parmi tous les blessés<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fut impossible de connaître corps,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mais Edith la Belle a trouvé<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Son amant vivant, hélas! mort.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">J’ai tâché, chers et bons amis,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">En réduisant ce rondelai<br /></span> -<span class="i0">En termes tout simples, où il s’agit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">De coups de lance, et coups d’épée,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">De faire à tout le monde comprendre,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Marins, soldats, hommes, femmes, enfance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Qu’il faut garder et pas rendre<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Notre souveraine independence!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Une île n’est jamais à l’abri<br /></span> -<span class="i0">D’un coup de main bien préparé:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Donc, sans négliger votre marine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Veillez toujours sur votre armée.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="Christmas-tide" id="Christmas-tide"></a>Christmas-tide.</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Silently</span> the snowflakes fall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O’er the black and hardened ground;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Radiant crystals form a pall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stretching far and wide around.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From the Ice-King’s glitt’ring halls<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bitterly the north wind blows;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heap the logs within your walls,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All the doors and windows close.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Many a hundred years ago,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On this very Christmas Day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In a manger mean and low<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Christ, the son of Mary, lay.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let our ways this Christmas-tide<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Follow in His steps above!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Poor he lived and poor he died,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All His doctrine was of love.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ours to soothe the aching heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ours to charity bestow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ours His knowledge to impart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the suffering ones below!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">May that charity ne’er fail,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">May those good deeds never cease,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till our bark shall lower sail<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the haven where is peace!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<p class="fint"> -PRINTED BY<br /> -SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., ETON<br /> -COLCHESTER AND LONDON<br /> -</p> - -<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> Babyónka, baby.</p></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> Bábochka, little woman, mother.</p></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> The sandbanks in the Oka and Volga are strewn with small -white shells, and partly covered with sweet-smelling dock leaves; they -swarm with landrails and woodcock. (D. Grigorovitch.)</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> The Rev. William Hamilton, D.D., born in Londonderry in -December 1757, Rector of Clondevaddock, on Mulroy Bay, gives several -instances of the encroachment of the sea sand on fertile and inhabited -land. The town of Bannow in Wexford was a flourishing borough in the -early part of the seventeenth century, while in his day the site was -marked only by a few ruins, appearing above heaps of barren sand. Ulster -Folk Lore, E. Andrews.</p></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> H.M.S. “Saldanha,” wrecked in Ballymastocker Bay, 1813.</p></div> - -</div> -<hr class="full" /> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HAPPY NEW YEAR, AND OTHER VERSES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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