diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:15:28 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:15:28 -0700 |
| commit | 956b07e79f1926cad4b27e32b5582d7a9b967698 (patch) | |
| tree | 2add0c99dfd9a9f102beb429d7a333e1736d59e1 /651-0.txt | |
Diffstat (limited to '651-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 651-0.txt | 3245 |
1 files changed, 3245 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/651-0.txt b/651-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..534e636 --- /dev/null +++ b/651-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3245 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Phantasmagoria, by Lewis Carroll, Illustrated +by Arthur B. Frost + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Phantasmagoria + and Other Poems + + +Author: Lewis Carroll + + + +Release Date: March 28, 2013 [eBook #651] +[This file was first posted on September 17, 1996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHANTASMAGORIA*** + + +Transcribed from the 1911 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + PHANTASMAGORIA + AND OTHER POEMS + + + * * * * * + + BY + LEWIS CARROLL + + * * * * * + + _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_ + BY + ARTHUR B. FROST + + * * * * * + + MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED + ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON + 1911 + + * * * * * + + RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED + BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E., + AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. + + _First published in_ 1869. + + * * * * * + + Inscribed to a dear Child: + in memory of golden summer hours + and whispers of a summer sea. + + * * * * * + + Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task, + Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well + Rest on the friendly knee, intent to ask + The tale one loves to tell. + + Rude scoffer of the seething outer strife, + Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright, + Deem, if thou wilt, such hours a waste of life, + Empty of all delight! + + Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy + Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguilded. + Ah, happy he who owns the tenderest joy, + The heart-love of a child! + + Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more! + Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days, + Albeit bright memories of the sunlit shore + Yet haunt my dreaming gaze. + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +PHANTASMAGORIA, in Seven Cantos:— + I. The Trystyng 1 + II. Hys Fyve Rules 10 + III. Scarmoges 18 + IV. Hys Nouryture 26 + V. Byckerment 34 + VI. Dyscomfyture 44 + VII. Sad Souvenaunce 53 +ECHOES 58 +A SEA DIRGE 59 +YE CARPETTE KNYGHTE 64 +HIAWATHA’S PHOTOGRAPHING 66 +MELANCHOLETTA 78 +A VALENTINE 84 +THE THREE VOICES:— + The First Voice 87 + The Second Voice 98 + The Third Voice 109 +TÈMA CON VARIAZIÒNI 118 +A GAME OF FIVES 120 +POETA FIT, NON NASCITUR 123 +SIZE AND TEARS 131 +ATALANTA IN CAMDEN-TOWN 136 +THE LANG COORTIN’ 140 +FOUR RIDDLES 152 +FAME’S PENNY-TRUMPET 163 + + + + +PHANTASMAGORIA + + +CANTO I +The Trystyng + + + ONE winter night, at half-past nine, + Cold, tired, and cross, and muddy, + I had come home, too late to dine, + And supper, with cigars and wine, + Was waiting in the study. + + There was a strangeness in the room, + And Something white and wavy + Was standing near me in the gloom— + _I_ took it for the carpet-broom + Left by that careless slavey. + + But presently the Thing began + To shiver and to sneeze: + On which I said “Come, come, my man! + That’s a most inconsiderate plan. + Less noise there, if you please!” + + [Picture: The Thing standing by chair] + + “I’ve caught a cold,” the Thing replies, + “Out there upon the landing.” + I turned to look in some surprise, + And there, before my very eyes, + A little Ghost was standing! + + He trembled when he caught my eye, + And got behind a chair. + “How came you here,” I said, “and why? + I never saw a thing so shy. + Come out! Don’t shiver there!” + + He said “I’d gladly tell you how, + And also tell you why; + But” (here he gave a little bow) + “You’re in so bad a temper now, + You’d think it all a lie. + + “And as to being in a fright, + Allow me to remark + That Ghosts have just as good a right + In every way, to fear the light, + As Men to fear the dark.” + + “No plea,” said I, “can well excuse + Such cowardice in you: + For Ghosts can visit when they choose, + Whereas we Humans ca’n’t refuse + To grant the interview.” + + He said “A flutter of alarm + Is not unnatural, is it? + I really feared you meant some harm: + But, now I see that you are calm, + Let me explain my visit. + + “Houses are classed, I beg to state, + According to the number + Of Ghosts that they accommodate: + (The Tenant merely counts as _weight_, + With Coals and other lumber). + + “This is a ‘one-ghost’ house, and you + When you arrived last summer, + May have remarked a Spectre who + Was doing all that Ghosts can do + To welcome the new-comer. + + “In Villas this is always done— + However cheaply rented: + For, though of course there’s less of fun + When there is only room for one, + Ghosts have to be contented. + + “That Spectre left you on the Third— + Since then you’ve not been haunted: + For, as he never sent us word, + ’Twas quite by accident we heard + That any one was wanted. + + “A Spectre has first choice, by right, + In filling up a vacancy; + Then Phantom, Goblin, Elf, and Sprite— + If all these fail them, they invite + The nicest Ghoul that they can see. + + “The Spectres said the place was low, + And that you kept bad wine: + So, as a Phantom had to go, + And I was first, of course, you know, + I couldn’t well decline.” + + “No doubt,” said I, “they settled who + Was fittest to be sent + Yet still to choose a brat like you, + To haunt a man of forty-two, + Was no great compliment!” + + “I’m not so young, Sir,” he replied, + “As you might think. The fact is, + In caverns by the water-side, + And other places that I’ve tried, + I’ve had a lot of practice: + + “But I have never taken yet + A strict domestic part, + And in my flurry I forget + The Five Good Rules of Etiquette + We have to know by heart.” + + My sympathies were warming fast + Towards the little fellow: + He was so utterly aghast + At having found a Man at last, + And looked so scared and yellow. + + [Picture: In caverns by the water-side] + + “At least,” I said, “I’m glad to find + A Ghost is not a _dumb_ thing! + But pray sit down: you’ll feel inclined + (If, like myself, you have not dined) + To take a snack of something: + + “Though, certainly, you don’t appear + A thing to offer _food_ to! + And then I shall be glad to hear— + If you will say them loud and clear— + The Rules that you allude to.” + + “Thanks! You shall hear them by and by. + This _is_ a piece of luck!” + “What may I offer you?” said I. + “Well, since you _are_ so kind, I’ll try + A little bit of duck. + + “_One_ slice! And may I ask you for + Another drop of gravy?” + I sat and looked at him in awe, + For certainly I never saw + A thing so white and wavy. + + And still he seemed to grow more white, + More vapoury, and wavier— + Seen in the dim and flickering light, + As he proceeded to recite + His “Maxims of Behaviour.” + + [Picture: The Phantom dines] + + + +CANTO II +Hys Fyve Rules + + + “MY First—but don’t suppose,” he said, + “I’m setting you a riddle— + Is—if your Victim be in bed, + Don’t touch the curtains at his head, + But take them in the middle, + + “And wave them slowly in and out, + While drawing them asunder; + And in a minute’s time, no doubt, + He’ll raise his head and look about + With eyes of wrath and wonder. + + “And here you must on no pretence + Make the first observation. + Wait for the Victim to commence: + No Ghost of any common sense + Begins a conversation. + + [Picture: Ghostly border] “If he should say ‘_How came you here_?’ + (The way that _you_ began, Sir,) + In such a case your course is clear— + ‘_On the bat’s back_, _my little dear_!’ + Is the appropriate answer. + + “If after this he says no more, + You’d best perhaps curtail your + Exertions—go and shake the door, + And then, if he begins to snore, + You’ll know the thing’s a failure. + + “By day, if he should be alone— + At home or on a walk— + You merely give a hollow groan, + To indicate the kind of tone + In which you mean to talk. + + “But if you find him with his friends, + The thing is rather harder. + In such a case success depends + On picking up some candle-ends, + Or butter, in the larder. + + “With this you make a kind of slide + (It answers best with suet), + On which you must contrive to glide, + And swing yourself from side to side— + One soon learns how to do it. + + [Picture: And swing yourself from side to side] + + “The Second tells us what is right + In ceremonious calls:— + ‘_First burn a blue or crimson light_’ + (A thing I quite forgot to-night), + ‘_Then scratch the door or walls_.’” + + I said “You’ll visit _here_ no more, + If you attempt the Guy. + I’ll have no bonfires on _my_ floor— + And, as for scratching at the door, + I’d like to see you try!” + + “The Third was written to protect + The interests of the Victim, + And tells us, as I recollect, + _To treat him with a grave respect_, + _And not to contradict him_.” + + “That’s plain,” said I, “as Tare and Tret, + To any comprehension: + I only wish _some_ Ghosts I’ve met + Would not so _constantly_ forget + The maxim that you mention!” + + “Perhaps,” he said, “_you_ first transgressed + The laws of hospitality: + All Ghosts instinctively detest + The Man that fails to treat his guest + With proper cordiality. + + [Picture: And then you’re sure to catch it . . .] + + “If you address a Ghost as ‘Thing!’ + Or strike him with a hatchet, + He is permitted by the King + To drop all _formal_ parleying— + And then you’re _sure_ to catch it! + + “The Fourth prohibits trespassing + Where other Ghosts are quartered: + And those convicted of the thing + (Unless when pardoned by the King) + Must instantly be slaughtered. + + “That simply means ‘be cut up small’: + Ghosts soon unite anew. + The process scarcely hurts at all— + Not more than when _you_ ’re what you call + ‘Cut up’ by a Review. + + “The Fifth is one you may prefer + That I should quote entire:— + _The King must be addressed as_ ‘_Sir_.’ + _This_, _from a simple courtier_, + _Is all the Laws require_: + + “_But_, _should you wish to do the thing_ + _With out-and-out politeness_, + _Accost him as_ ‘_My Goblin King_! + _And always use_, _in answering_, + _The phrase_ ‘_Your Royal Whiteness_!’ + + “I’m getting rather hoarse, I fear, + After so much reciting: + So, if you don’t object, my dear, + We’ll try a glass of bitter beer— + I think it looks inviting.” + + [Picture: We’ll try a glass of bitter beer] + + + +CANTO III +Scarmoges + + + “AND did you really walk,” said I, + “On such a wretched night? + I always fancied Ghosts could fly— + If not exactly in the sky, + Yet at a fairish height.” + + “It’s very well,” said he, “for Kings + To soar above the earth: + But Phantoms often find that wings— + Like many other pleasant things— + Cost more than they are worth. + + “Spectres of course are rich, and so + Can buy them from the Elves: + But _we_ prefer to keep below— + They’re stupid company, you know, + For any but themselves: + + “For, though they claim to be exempt + From pride, they treat a Phantom + As something quite beneath contempt— + Just as no Turkey ever dreamt + Of noticing a Bantam.” + + [Picture: The phantom] + + “They seem too proud,” said I, “to go + To houses such as mine. + Pray, how did they contrive to know + So quickly that ‘the place was low,’ + And that I ‘kept bad wine’?” + + “Inspector Kobold came to you—” + The little Ghost began. + Here I broke in—“Inspector who? + Inspecting Ghosts is something new! + Explain yourself, my man!” + + “His name is Kobold,” said my guest: + “One of the Spectre order: + You’ll very often see him dressed + In a yellow gown, a crimson vest, + And a night-cap with a border. + + “He tried the Brocken business first, + But caught a sort of chill; + So came to England to be nursed, + And here it took the form of _thirst_, + Which he complains of still. + + [Picture: And here it took the form of thirst] + + “Port-wine, he says, when rich and sound, + Warms his old bones like nectar: + And as the inns, where it is found, + Are his especial hunting-ground, + We call him the _Inn-Spectre_.” + + I bore it—bore it like a man— + This agonizing witticism! + And nothing could be sweeter than + My temper, till the Ghost began + Some most provoking criticism. + + “Cooks need not be indulged in waste; + Yet still you’d better teach them + Dishes should have _some sort_ of taste. + Pray, why are all the cruets placed + Where nobody can reach them? + + “That man of yours will never earn + His living as a waiter! + Is that queer _thing_ supposed to burn? + (It’s far too dismal a concern + To call a Moderator). + + “The duck was tender, but the peas + Were very much too old: + And just remember, if you please, + The _next_ time you have toasted cheese, + Don’t let them send it cold. + + “You’d find the bread improved, I think, + By getting better flour: + And have you anything to drink + That looks a _little_ less like ink, + And isn’t _quite_ so sour?” + + Then, peering round with curious eyes, + He muttered “Goodness gracious!” + And so went on to criticise— + “Your room’s an inconvenient size: + It’s neither snug nor spacious. + + “That narrow window, I expect, + Serves but to let the dusk in—” + “But please,” said I, “to recollect + ’Twas fashioned by an architect + Who pinned his faith on Ruskin!” + + “I don’t care who he was, Sir, or + On whom he pinned his faith! + Constructed by whatever law, + So poor a job I never saw, + As I’m a living Wraith! + + “What a re-markable cigar! + How much are they a dozen?” + I growled “No matter what they are! + You’re getting as familiar + As if you were my cousin! + + “Now that’s a thing _I will not stand_, + And so I tell you flat.” + “Aha,” said he, “we’re getting grand!” + (Taking a bottle in his hand) + “I’ll soon arrange for _that_!” + + And here he took a careful aim, + And gaily cried “Here goes!” + I tried to dodge it as it came, + But somehow caught it, all the same, + Exactly on my nose. + + And I remember nothing more + That I can clearly fix, + Till I was sitting on the floor, + Repeating “Two and five are four, + But _five and two_ are six.” + + What really passed I never learned, + Nor guessed: I only know + That, when at last my sense returned, + The lamp, neglected, dimly burned— + The fire was getting low— + + Through driving mists I seemed to see + A Thing that smirked and smiled: + And found that he was giving me + A lesson in Biography, + As if I were a child. + + + +CANTO IV +Hys Nouryture + + + “OH, when I was a little Ghost, + A merry time had we! + Each seated on his favourite post, + We chumped and chawed the buttered toast + They gave us for our tea.” + + [Picture: We chumped and chawed the buttered toast] + + “That story is in print!” I cried. + “Don’t say it’s not, because + It’s known as well as Bradshaw’s Guide!” + (The Ghost uneasily replied + He hardly thought it was). + + “It’s not in Nursery Rhymes? And yet + I almost think it is— + ‘Three little Ghosteses’ were set + ‘On posteses,’ you know, and ate + Their ‘buttered toasteses.’ + + “I have the book; so if you doubt it—” + I turned to search the shelf. + “Don’t stir!” he cried. “We’ll do without it: + I now remember all about it; + I wrote the thing myself. + + “It came out in a ‘Monthly,’ or + At least my agent said it did: + Some literary swell, who saw + It, thought it seemed adapted for + The Magazine he edited. + + “My father was a Brownie, Sir; + My mother was a Fairy. + The notion had occurred to her, + The children would be happier, + If they were taught to vary. + + “The notion soon became a craze; + And, when it once began, she + Brought us all out in different ways— + One was a Pixy, two were Fays, + Another was a Banshee; + + “The Fetch and Kelpie went to school + And gave a lot of trouble; + Next came a Poltergeist and Ghoul, + And then two Trolls (which broke the rule), + A Goblin, and a Double— + + “(If that’s a snuff-box on the shelf,” + He added with a yawn, + “I’ll take a pinch)—next came an Elf, + And then a Phantom (that’s myself), + And last, a Leprechaun. + + [Picture: I stood and watched them in the hall] “One day, some + Spectres chanced to call, + Dressed in the usual white: + I stood and watched them in the hall, + And couldn’t make them out at all, + They seemed so strange a sight. + + “I wondered what on earth they were, + That looked all head and sack; + But Mother told me not to stare, + And then she twitched me by the hair, + And punched me in the back. + + “Since then I’ve often wished that I + Had been a Spectre born. + But what’s the use?” (He heaved a sigh.) + “_They_ are the ghost-nobility, + And look on _us_ with scorn. + + “My phantom-life was soon begun: + When I was barely six, + I went out with an older one— + And just at first I thought it fun, + And learned a lot of tricks. + + “I’ve haunted dungeons, castles, towers— + Wherever I was sent: + I’ve often sat and howled for hours, + Drenched to the skin with driving showers, + Upon a battlement. + + “It’s quite old-fashioned now to groan + When you begin to speak: + This is the newest thing in tone—” + And here (it chilled me to the bone) + He gave an _awful_ squeak. + + “Perhaps,” he added, “to _your_ ear + That sounds an easy thing? + Try it yourself, my little dear! + It took _me_ something like a year, + With constant practising. + + “And when you’ve learned to squeak, my man, + And caught the double sob, + You’re pretty much where you began: + Just try and gibber if you can! + That’s something _like_ a job! + + “_I’ve_ tried it, and can only say + I’m sure you couldn’t do it, e- + ven if you practised night and day, + Unless you have a turn that way, + And natural ingenuity. + + “Shakspeare I think it is who treats + Of Ghosts, in days of old, + Who ‘gibbered in the Roman streets,’ + Dressed, if you recollect, in sheets— + They must have found it cold. + + “I’ve often spent ten pounds on stuff, + In dressing as a Double; + But, though it answers as a puff, + It never has effect enough + To make it worth the trouble. + + [Picture: In dressing as a Double] + + “Long bills soon quenched the little thirst + I had for being funny. + The setting-up is always worst: + Such heaps of things you want at first, + One must be made of money! + + “For instance, take a Haunted Tower, + With skull, cross-bones, and sheet; + Blue lights to burn (say) two an hour, + Condensing lens of extra power, + And set of chains complete: + + “What with the things you have to hire— + The fitting on the robe— + And testing all the coloured fire— + The outfit of itself would tire + The patience of a Job! + + “And then they’re so fastidious, + The Haunted-House Committee: + I’ve often known them make a fuss + Because a Ghost was French, or Russ, + Or even from the City! + + “Some dialects are objected to— + For one, the _Irish_ brogue is: + And then, for all you have to do, + One pound a week they offer you, + And find yourself in Bogies!” + + + +CANTO V +Byckerment + + + “DON’T they consult the ‘Victims,’ though?” + I said. “They should, by rights, + Give them a chance—because, you know, + The tastes of people differ so, + Especially in Sprites.” + + The Phantom shook his head and smiled. + “Consult them? Not a bit! + ’Twould be a job to drive one wild, + To satisfy one single child— + There’d be no end to it!” + + “Of course you can’t leave _children_ free,” + Said I, “to pick and choose: + But, in the case of men like me, + I think ‘Mine Host’ might fairly be + Allowed to state his views.” + + He said “It really wouldn’t pay— + Folk are so full of fancies. + We visit for a single day, + And whether then we go, or stay, + Depends on circumstances. + + “And, though we don’t consult ‘Mine Host’ + Before the thing’s arranged, + Still, if he often quits his post, + Or is not a well-mannered Ghost, + Then you can have him changed. + + “But if the host’s a man like you— + I mean a man of sense; + And if the house is not too new—” + “Why, what has _that_,” said I, “to do + With Ghost’s convenience?” + + “A new house does not suit, you know— + It’s such a job to trim it: + But, after twenty years or so, + The wainscotings begin to go, + So twenty is the limit.” + + “To trim” was not a phrase I could + Remember having heard: + “Perhaps,” I said, “you’ll be so good + As tell me what is understood + Exactly by that word?” + + [Picture: The wainscotings begin to go] + + “It means the loosening all the doors,” + The Ghost replied, and laughed: + “It means the drilling holes by scores + In all the skirting-boards and floors, + To make a thorough draught. + + “You’ll sometimes find that one or two + Are all you really need + To let the wind come whistling through— + But _here_ there’ll be a lot to do!” + I faintly gasped “Indeed! + + “If I’d been rather later, I’ll + Be bound,” I added, trying + (Most unsuccessfully) to smile, + “You’d have been busy all this while, + Trimming and beautifying?” + + “Why, no,” said he; “perhaps I should + Have stayed another minute— + But still no Ghost, that’s any good, + Without an introduction would + Have ventured to begin it. + + “The proper thing, as you were late, + Was certainly to go: + But, with the roads in such a state, + I got the Knight-Mayor’s leave to wait + For half an hour or so.” + + “Who’s the Knight-Mayor?” I cried. Instead + Of answering my question, + “Well, if you don’t know _that_,” he said, + “Either you never go to bed, + Or you’ve a grand digestion! + + “He goes about and sits on folk + That eat too much at night: + His duties are to pinch, and poke, + And squeeze them till they nearly choke.” + (I said “It serves them right!”) + + “And folk who sup on things like these—” + He muttered, “eggs and bacon— + Lobster—and duck—and toasted cheese— + If they don’t get an awful squeeze, + I’m very much mistaken! + + “He is immensely fat, and so + Well suits the occupation: + In point of fact, if you must know, + We used to call him years ago, + _The Mayor and Corporation_! + + [Picture: He goes about and sits on folk] + + “The day he was elected Mayor + I _know_ that every Sprite meant + To vote for _me_, but did not dare— + He was so frantic with despair + And furious with excitement. + + [Picture: He ran to tell the King] + + “When it was over, for a whim, + He ran to tell the King; + And being the reverse of slim, + A two-mile trot was not for him + A very easy thing. + + “So, to reward him for his run + (As it was baking hot, + And he was over twenty stone), + The King proceeded, half in fun, + To knight him on the spot.” + + “’Twas a great liberty to take!” + (I fired up like a rocket). + “He did it just for punning’s sake: + ‘The man,’ says Johnson, ‘that would make + A pun, would pick a pocket!’” + + “A man,” said he, “is not a King.” + I argued for a while, + And did my best to prove the thing— + The Phantom merely listening + With a contemptuous smile. + + At last, when, breath and patience spent, + I had recourse to smoking— + “Your _aim_,” he said, “is excellent: + But—when you call it _argument_— + Of course you’re only joking?” + + [Picture: The phantom sitting on chair] + + Stung by his cold and snaky eye, + I roused myself at length + To say “At least I do defy + The veriest sceptic to deny + That union is strength!” + + “That’s true enough,” said he, “yet stay—” + I listened in all meekness— + “_Union_ is strength, I’m bound to say; + In fact, the thing’s as clear as day; + But _onions_ are a weakness.” + + + +CANTO VI +Dyscomfyture + + + AS one who strives a hill to climb, + Who never climbed before: + Who finds it, in a little time, + Grow every moment less sublime, + And votes the thing a bore: + + Yet, having once begun to try, + Dares not desert his quest, + But, climbing, ever keeps his eye + On one small hut against the sky + Wherein he hopes to rest: + + Who climbs till nerve and force are spent, + With many a puff and pant: + Who still, as rises the ascent, + In language grows more violent, + Although in breath more scant: + + Who, climbing, gains at length the place + That crowns the upward track. + And, entering with unsteady pace, + Receives a buffet in the face + That lands him on his back: + + [Picture: Decorative border of man climbing hall] And feels himself, + like one in sleep, + Glide swiftly down again, + A helpless weight, from steep to steep, + Till, with a headlong giddy sweep, + He drops upon the plain— + + So I, that had resolved to bring + Conviction to a ghost, + And found it quite a different thing + From any human arguing, + Yet dared not quit my post + + But, keeping still the end in view + To which I hoped to come, + I strove to prove the matter true + By putting everything I knew + Into an axiom: + + Commencing every single phrase + With ‘therefore’ or ‘because,’ + I blindly reeled, a hundred ways, + About the syllogistic maze, + Unconscious where I was. + + Quoth he “That’s regular clap-trap: + Don’t bluster any more. + Now _do_ be cool and take a nap! + Such a ridiculous old chap + Was never seen before! + + “You’re like a man I used to meet, + Who got one day so furious + In arguing, the simple heat + Scorched both his slippers off his feet!” + I said “_That’s very curious_!” + + [Picture: Scorched both his slippers off his feet] + + “Well, it _is_ curious, I agree, + And sounds perhaps like fibs: + But still it’s true as true can be— + As sure as your name’s Tibbs,” said he. + I said “My name’s _not_ Tibbs.” + + “_Not_ Tibbs!” he cried—his tone became + A shade or two less hearty— + “Why, no,” said I. “My proper name + Is Tibbets—” “Tibbets?” “Aye, the same.” + “Why, then YOU’RE NOT THE PARTY!” + + With that he struck the board a blow + That shivered half the glasses. + “Why couldn’t you have told me so + Three quarters of an hour ago, + You prince of all the asses? + + “To walk four miles through mud and rain, + To spend the night in smoking, + And then to find that it’s in vain— + And I’ve to do it all again— + It’s really _too_ provoking! + + “Don’t talk!” he cried, as I began + To mutter some excuse. + “Who can have patience with a man + That’s got no more discretion than + An idiotic goose? + + [Picture: To walk four miles through mud and rain] + + “To keep me waiting here, instead + Of telling me at once + That this was not the house!” he said. + “There, that’ll do—be off to bed! + Don’t gape like that, you dunce!” + + “It’s very fine to throw the blame + On _me_ in such a fashion! + Why didn’t you enquire my name + The very minute that you came?” + I answered in a passion. + + “Of course it worries you a bit + To come so far on foot— + But how was _I_ to blame for it?” + “Well, well!” said he. “I must admit + That isn’t badly put. + + “And certainly you’ve given me + The best of wine and victual— + Excuse my violence,” said he, + “But accidents like this, you see, + They put one out a little. + + “’Twas _my_ fault after all, I find— + Shake hands, old Turnip-top!” + The name was hardly to my mind, + But, as no doubt he meant it kind, + I let the matter drop. + + “Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night! + When I am gone, perhaps + They’ll send you some inferior Sprite, + Who’ll keep you in a constant fright + And spoil your soundest naps. + + “Tell him you’ll stand no sort of trick; + Then, if he leers and chuckles, + You just be handy with a stick + (Mind that it’s pretty hard and thick) + And rap him on the knuckles! + + “Then carelessly remark ‘Old coon! + Perhaps you’re not aware + That, if you don’t behave, you’ll soon + Be chuckling to another tune— + And so you’d best take care!’ + + “That’s the right way to cure a Sprite + Of such like goings-on— + But gracious me! It’s getting light! + Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!” + A nod, and he was gone. + + [Picture: The ghost] + + + +CANTO VII +Sad Souvenaunce + + + [Picture: Or can I have been drinking] + + “WHAT’S this?” I pondered. “Have I slept? + Or can I have been drinking?” + But soon a gentler feeling crept + Upon me, and I sat and wept + An hour or so, like winking. + + “No need for Bones to hurry so!” + I sobbed. “In fact, I doubt + If it was worth his while to go— + And who is Tibbs, I’d like to know, + To make such work about? + + “If Tibbs is anything like me, + It’s _possible_,” I said, + “He won’t be over-pleased to be + Dropped in upon at half-past three, + After he’s snug in bed. + + “And if Bones plagues him anyhow— + Squeaking and all the rest of it, + As he was doing here just now— + _I_ prophesy there’ll be a row, + And Tibbs will have the best of it!” + + [Picture: And Tibbs will have the best of it] + + Then, as my tears could never bring + The friendly Phantom back, + It seemed to me the proper thing + To mix another glass, and sing + The following Coronach. + + ‘_And art thou gone_, _beloved Ghost_? + _Best of Familiars_! + _Nay then_, _farewell_, _my duckling roast_, + _Farewell_, _farewell_, _my tea and toast_, + _My meerschaum and cigars_! + + _The hues of life are dull and gray_, + _The sweets of life insipid_, + _When_ thou, _my charmer_, _art away_— + _Old Brick_, _or rather_, _let me say_, + _Old Parallelepiped_!’ + + Instead of singing Verse the Third, + I ceased—abruptly, rather: + But, after such a splendid word + I felt that it would be absurd + To try it any farther. + + So with a yawn I went my way + To seek the welcome downy, + And slept, and dreamed till break of day + Of Poltergeist and Fetch and Fay + And Leprechaun and Brownie! + + For years I’ve not been visited + By any kind of Sprite; + Yet still they echo in my head, + Those parting words, so kindly said, + “Old Turnip-top, good-night!” + + [Picture: The ghost] + + + + +ECHOES + + + LADY Clara Vere de Vere + Was eight years old, she said: + Every ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread. + + She took her little porringer: + Of me she shall not win renown: + For the baseness of its nature shall have strength to drag her down. + + “Sisters and brothers, little Maid? + There stands the Inspector at thy door: + Like a dog, he hunts for boys who know not two and two are four.” + + “Kind words are more than coronets,” + She said, and wondering looked at me: + “It is the dead unhappy night, and I must hurry home to tea.” + + + + +A SEA DIRGE + + + [Picture: The sea, beach and children] + + THERE are certain things—as, a spider, a ghost, + The income-tax, gout, an umbrella for three— + That I hate, but the thing that I hate the most + Is a thing they call the Sea. + + Pour some salt water over the floor— + Ugly I’m sure you’ll allow it to be: + Suppose it extended a mile or more, + _That’s_ very like the Sea. + + Beat a dog till it howls outright— + Cruel, but all very well for a spree: + Suppose that he did so day and night, + _That_ would be like the Sea. + + I had a vision of nursery-maids; + Tens of thousands passed by me— + All leading children with wooden spades, + And this was by the Sea. + + Who invented those spades of wood? + Who was it cut them out of the tree? + None, I think, but an idiot could— + Or one that loved the Sea. + + It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float + With ‘thoughts as boundless, and souls as free’: + But, suppose you are very unwell in the boat, + How do you like the Sea? + + [Picture: And this was by the sea] + + There is an insect that people avoid + (Whence is derived the verb ‘to flee’). + Where have you been by it most annoyed? + In lodgings by the Sea. + + If you like your coffee with sand for dregs, + A decided hint of salt in your tea, + And a fishy taste in the very eggs— + By all means choose the Sea. + + And if, with these dainties to drink and eat, + You prefer not a vestige of grass or tree, + And a chronic state of wet in your feet, + Then—I recommend the Sea. + + For _I_ have friends who dwell by the coast— + Pleasant friends they are to me! + It is when I am with them I wonder most + That anyone likes the Sea. + + They take me a walk: though tired and stiff, + To climb the heights I madly agree; + And, after a tumble or so from the cliff, + They kindly suggest the Sea. + + I try the rocks, and I think it cool + That they laugh with such an excess of glee, + As I heavily slip into every pool + That skirts the cold cold Sea. + + [Picture: As I heavily slip into every pool] + + + + +Ye Carpette Knyghte + + + I have a horse—a ryghte good horse— + Ne doe Y envye those + Who scoure ye playne yn headye course + Tyll soddayne on theyre nose + They lyghte wyth unexpected force + Yt ys—a horse of clothes. + + I have a saddel—“Say’st thou soe? + Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?” + I sayde not that—I answere “Noe”— + Yt lacketh such, I woote: + Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe! + Parte of ye fleecye brute. + + I have a bytte—a ryghte good bytte— + As shall bee seene yn tyme. + Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte; + Yts use ys more sublyme. + Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt? + Yt ys—thys bytte of rhyme. + + [Picture: I have a horse] + + + + +HIAWATHA’S PHOTOGRAPHING + + +[In an age of imitation, I can claim no special merit for this slight +attempt at doing what is known to be so easy. Any fairly practised +writer, with the slightest ear for rhythm, could compose, for hours +together, in the easy running metre of ‘The Song of Hiawatha.’ Having, +then, distinctly stated that I challenge no attention in the following +little poem to its merely verbal jingle, I must beg the candid reader to +confine his criticism to its treatment of the subject.] + + FROM his shoulder Hiawatha + Took the camera of rosewood, + Made of sliding, folding rosewood; + Neatly put it all together. + In its case it lay compactly, + Folded into nearly nothing; + But he opened out the hinges, + Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges, + Till it looked all squares and oblongs, + Like a complicated figure + In the Second Book of Euclid. + + [Picture: The camera] + + This he perched upon a tripod— + Crouched beneath its dusky cover— + Stretched his hand, enforcing silence— + Said, “Be motionless, I beg you!” + Mystic, awful was the process. + All the family in order + Sat before him for their pictures: + Each in turn, as he was taken, + Volunteered his own suggestions, + His ingenious suggestions. + First the Governor, the Father: + He suggested velvet curtains + Looped about a massy pillar; + And the corner of a table, + Of a rosewood dining-table. + He would hold a scroll of something, + Hold it firmly in his left-hand; + He would keep his right-hand buried + (Like Napoleon) in his waistcoat; + He would contemplate the distance + With a look of pensive meaning, + As of ducks that die ill tempests. + Grand, heroic was the notion: + Yet the picture failed entirely: + Failed, because he moved a little, + Moved, because he couldn’t help it. + + [Picture: First the Governor, the Father] + + Next, his better half took courage; + _She_ would have her picture taken. + She came dressed beyond description, + Dressed in jewels and in satin + Far too gorgeous for an empress. + Gracefully she sat down sideways, + With a simper scarcely human, + Holding in her hand a bouquet + Rather larger than a cabbage. + All the while that she was sitting, + Still the lady chattered, chattered, + Like a monkey in the forest. + “Am I sitting still?” she asked him. + “Is my face enough in profile? + Shall I hold the bouquet higher? + Will it came into the picture?” + And the picture failed completely. + + [Picture: Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab] + + Next the Son, the Stunning-Cantab: + He suggested curves of beauty, + Curves pervading all his figure, + Which the eye might follow onward, + Till they centered in the breast-pin, + Centered in the golden breast-pin. + He had learnt it all from Ruskin + (Author of ‘The Stones of Venice,’ + ‘Seven Lamps of Architecture,’ + ‘Modern Painters,’ and some others); + And perhaps he had not fully + Understood his author’s meaning; + But, whatever was the reason, + All was fruitless, as the picture + Ended in an utter failure. + + [Picture: Next to him the eldest daughter] + + Next to him the eldest daughter: + She suggested very little, + Only asked if he would take her + With her look of ‘passive beauty.’ + Her idea of passive beauty + Was a squinting of the left-eye, + Was a drooping of the right-eye, + Was a smile that went up sideways + To the corner of the nostrils. + Hiawatha, when she asked him, + Took no notice of the question, + Looked as if he hadn’t heard it; + But, when pointedly appealed to, + Smiled in his peculiar manner, + Coughed and said it ‘didn’t matter,’ + Bit his lip and changed the subject. + Nor in this was he mistaken, + As the picture failed completely. + So in turn the other sisters. + + [Picture: Last, the youngest son was taken] + + Last, the youngest son was taken: + Very rough and thick his hair was, + Very round and red his face was, + Very dusty was his jacket, + Very fidgety his manner. + And his overbearing sisters + Called him names he disapproved of: + Called him Johnny, ‘Daddy’s Darling,’ + Called him Jacky, ‘Scrubby School-boy.’ + And, so awful was the picture, + In comparison the others + Seemed, to one’s bewildered fancy, + To have partially succeeded. + Finally my Hiawatha + Tumbled all the tribe together, + (‘Grouped’ is not the right expression), + And, as happy chance would have it + Did at last obtain a picture + Where the faces all succeeded: + Each came out a perfect likeness. + Then they joined and all abused it, + Unrestrainedly abused it, + As the worst and ugliest picture + They could possibly have dreamed of. + ‘Giving one such strange expressions— + Sullen, stupid, pert expressions. + Really any one would take us + (Any one that did not know us) + For the most unpleasant people!’ + (Hiawatha seemed to think so, + Seemed to think it not unlikely). + All together rang their voices, + Angry, loud, discordant voices, + As of dogs that howl in concert, + As of cats that wail in chorus. + But my Hiawatha’s patience, + His politeness and his patience, + Unaccountably had vanished, + And he left that happy party. + Neither did he leave them slowly, + With the calm deliberation, + The intense deliberation + Of a photographic artist: + But he left them in a hurry, + Left them in a mighty hurry, + Stating that he would not stand it, + Stating in emphatic language + What he’d be before he’d stand it. + Hurriedly he packed his boxes: + Hurriedly the porter trundled + On a barrow all his boxes: + Hurriedly he took his ticket: + Hurriedly the train received him: + Thus departed Hiawatha. + + [Picture: Thus departed Hiawatha] + + + + +MELANCHOLETTA + + + WITH saddest music all day long + She soothed her secret sorrow: + At night she sighed “I fear ’twas wrong + Such cheerful words to borrow. + Dearest, a sweeter, sadder song + I’ll sing to thee to-morrow.” + + I thanked her, but I could not say + That I was glad to hear it: + I left the house at break of day, + And did not venture near it + Till time, I hoped, had worn away + Her grief, for nought could cheer it! + + [Picture: At night she signed] + + My dismal sister! Couldst thou know + The wretched home thou keepest! + Thy brother, drowned in daily woe, + Is thankful when thou sleepest; + For if I laugh, however low, + When thou’rt awake, thou weepest! + + I took my sister t’other day + (Excuse the slang expression) + To Sadler’s Wells to see the play + In hopes the new impression + Might in her thoughts, from grave to gay + Effect some slight digression. + + I asked three gay young dogs from town + To join us in our folly, + Whose mirth, I thought, might serve to drown + My sister’s melancholy: + The lively Jones, the sportive Brown, + And Robinson the jolly. + + The maid announced the meal in tones + That I myself had taught her, + Meant to allay my sister’s moans + Like oil on troubled water: + I rushed to Jones, the lively Jones, + And begged him to escort her. + + Vainly he strove, with ready wit, + To joke about the weather— + To ventilate the last ‘_on dit_’— + To quote the price of leather— + She groaned “Here I and Sorrow sit: + Let us lament together!” + + I urged “You’re wasting time, you know: + Delay will spoil the venison.” + “My heart is wasted with my woe! + There is no rest—in Venice, on + The Bridge of Sighs!” she quoted low + From Byron and from Tennyson. + + I need not tell of soup and fish + In solemn silence swallowed, + The sobs that ushered in each dish, + And its departure followed, + Nor yet my suicidal wish + To _be_ the cheese I hollowed. + + Some desperate attempts were made + To start a conversation; + “Madam,” the sportive Brown essayed, + “Which kind of recreation, + Hunting or fishing, have you made + Your special occupation?” + + Her lips curved downwards instantly, + As if of india-rubber. + “Hounds _in full cry_ I like,” said she: + (Oh how I longed to snub her!) + “Of fish, a whale’s the one for me, + _It is so full of blubber_!” + + The night’s performance was “King John.” + “It’s dull,” she wept, “and so-so!” + Awhile I let her tears flow on, + She said they soothed her woe so! + At length the curtain rose upon + ‘Bombastes Furioso.’ + + In vain we roared; in vain we tried + To rouse her into laughter: + Her pensive glances wandered wide + From orchestra to rafter— + “_Tier upon tier_!” she said, and sighed; + And silence followed after. + + [Picture: Sighing at the table] + + + + +A VALENTINE + + +[Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to see him +when he came, but didn’t seem to miss him if he stayed away.] + + And cannot pleasures, while they last, + Be actual unless, when past, + They leave us shuddering and aghast, + With anguish smarting? + And cannot friends be firm and fast, + And yet bear parting? + + And must I then, at Friendship’s call, + Calmly resign the little all + (Trifling, I grant, it is and small) + I have of gladness, + And lend my being to the thrall + Of gloom and sadness? + + And think you that I should be dumb, + And full _dolorum omnium_, + Excepting when _you_ choose to come + And share my dinner? + At other times be sour and glum + And daily thinner? + + Must he then only live to weep, + Who’d prove his friendship true and deep + By day a lonely shadow creep, + At night-time languish, + Oft raising in his broken sleep + The moan of anguish? + + The lover, if for certain days + His fair one be denied his gaze, + Sinks not in grief and wild amaze, + But, wiser wooer, + He spends the time in writing lays, + And posts them to her. + + And if the verse flow free and fast, + Till even the poet is aghast, + A touching Valentine at last + The post shall carry, + When thirteen days are gone and past + Of February. + + Farewell, dear friend, and when we meet, + In desert waste or crowded street, + Perhaps before this week shall fleet, + Perhaps to-morrow. + I trust to find _your_ heart the seat + Of wasting sorrow. + + + + +THE THREE VOICES + + +The First Voice + + + HE trilled a carol fresh and free, + He laughed aloud for very glee: + There came a breeze from off the sea: + + [Picture: There came a breeze from off the sea] + + It passed athwart the glooming flat— + It fanned his forehead as he sat— + It lightly bore away his hat, + + All to the feet of one who stood + Like maid enchanted in a wood, + Frowning as darkly as she could. + + With huge umbrella, lank and brown, + Unerringly she pinned it down, + Right through the centre of the crown. + + Then, with an aspect cold and grim, + Regardless of its battered rim, + She took it up and gave it him. + + A while like one in dreams he stood, + Then faltered forth his gratitude + In words just short of being rude: + + For it had lost its shape and shine, + And it had cost him four-and-nine, + And he was going out to dine. + + [Picture: Unerringly she pinned it down] + + “To dine!” she sneered in acid tone. + “To bend thy being to a bone + Clothed in a radiance not its own!” + + The tear-drop trickled to his chin: + There was a meaning in her grin + That made him feel on fire within. + + “Term it not ‘radiance,’” said he: + “’Tis solid nutriment to me. + Dinner is Dinner: Tea is Tea.” + + And she “Yea so? Yet wherefore cease? + Let thy scant knowledge find increase. + Say ‘Men are Men, and Geese are Geese.’” + + He moaned: he knew not what to say. + The thought “That I could get away!” + Strove with the thought “But I must stay. + + “To dine!” she shrieked in dragon-wrath. + “To swallow wines all foam and froth! + To simper at a table-cloth! + + “Say, can thy noble spirit stoop + To join the gormandising troup + Who find a solace in the soup? + + “Canst thou desire or pie or puff? + Thy well-bred manners were enough, + Without such gross material stuff.” + + “Yet well-bred men,” he faintly said, + “Are not willing to be fed: + Nor are they well without the bread.” + + Her visage scorched him ere she spoke: + “There are,” she said, “a kind of folk + Who have no horror of a joke. + + “Such wretches live: they take their share + Of common earth and common air: + We come across them here and there: + + “We grant them—there is no escape— + A sort of semi-human shape + Suggestive of the man-like Ape.” + + “In all such theories,” said he, + “One fixed exception there must be. + That is, the Present Company.” + + Baffled, she gave a wolfish bark: + He, aiming blindly in the dark, + With random shaft had pierced the mark. + + She felt that her defeat was plain, + Yet madly strove with might and main + To get the upper hand again. + + Fixing her eyes upon the beach, + As though unconscious of his speech, + She said “Each gives to more than each.” + + He could not answer yea or nay: + He faltered “Gifts may pass away.” + Yet knew not what he meant to say. + + “If that be so,” she straight replied, + “Each heart with each doth coincide. + What boots it? For the world is wide.” + + [Picture: He faltered “Gifts may pass away”] + + “The world is but a Thought,” said he: + “The vast unfathomable sea + Is but a Notion—unto me.” + + And darkly fell her answer dread + Upon his unresisting head, + Like half a hundredweight of lead. + + “The Good and Great must ever shun + That reckless and abandoned one + Who stoops to perpetrate a pun. + + “The man that smokes—that reads the _Times_— + That goes to Christmas Pantomimes— + Is capable of _any_ crimes!” + + He felt it was his turn to speak, + And, with a shamed and crimson cheek, + Moaned “This is harder than Bezique!” + + But when she asked him “Wherefore so?” + He felt his very whiskers glow, + And frankly owned “I do not know.” + + [Picture: This is harder than Bezique!] + + While, like broad waves of golden grain, + Or sunlit hues on cloistered pane, + His colour came and went again. + + Pitying his obvious distress, + Yet with a tinge of bitterness, + She said “The More exceeds the Less.” + + “A truth of such undoubted weight,” + He urged, “and so extreme in date, + It were superfluous to state.” + + Roused into sudden passion, she + In tone of cold malignity: + “To others, yea: but not to thee.” + + But when she saw him quail and quake, + And when he urged “For pity’s sake!” + Once more in gentle tones she spake. + + “Thought in the mind doth still abide + That is by Intellect supplied, + And within that Idea doth hide: + + “And he, that yearns the truth to know, + Still further inwardly may go, + And find Idea from Notion flow: + + “And thus the chain, that sages sought, + Is to a glorious circle wrought, + For Notion hath its source in Thought.” + + So passed they on with even pace: + Yet gradually one might trace + A shadow growing on his face. + + [Picture: A shadow growing on his face] + + + +The Second Voice + + + [Picture: They walked beside the wave-worn beach] + + They walked beside the wave-worn beach; + Her tongue was very apt to teach, + And now and then he did beseech + + She would abate her dulcet tone, + Because the talk was all her own, + And he was dull as any drone. + + She urged “No cheese is made of chalk”: + And ceaseless flowed her dreary talk, + Tuned to the footfall of a walk. + + Her voice was very full and rich, + And, when at length she asked him “Which?” + It mounted to its highest pitch. + + He a bewildered answer gave, + Drowned in the sullen moaning wave, + Lost in the echoes of the cave. + + He answered her he knew not what: + Like shaft from bow at random shot, + He spoke, but she regarded not. + + She waited not for his reply, + But with a downward leaden eye + Went on as if he were not by + + Sound argument and grave defence, + Strange questions raised on “Why?” and “Whence?” + And wildly tangled evidence. + + When he, with racked and whirling brain, + Feebly implored her to explain, + She simply said it all again. + + Wrenched with an agony intense, + He spake, neglecting Sound and Sense, + And careless of all consequence: + + “Mind—I believe—is Essence—Ent— + Abstract—that is—an Accident— + Which we—that is to say—I meant—” + + When, with quick breath and cheeks all flushed, + At length his speech was somewhat hushed, + She looked at him, and he was crushed. + + It needed not her calm reply: + She fixed him with a stony eye, + And he could neither fight nor fly. + + While she dissected, word by word, + His speech, half guessed at and half heard, + As might a cat a little bird. + + [Picture: He spake, neglecting Sound and Sense] + + Then, having wholly overthrown + His views, and stripped them to the bone, + Proceeded to unfold her own. + + “Shall Man be Man? And shall he miss + Of other thoughts no thought but this, + Harmonious dews of sober bliss? + + “What boots it? Shall his fevered eye + Through towering nothingness descry + The grisly phantom hurry by? + + “And hear dumb shrieks that fill the air; + See mouths that gape, and eyes that stare + And redden in the dusky glare? + + “The meadows breathing amber light, + The darkness toppling from the height, + The feathery train of granite Night? + + “Shall he, grown gray among his peers, + Through the thick curtain of his tears + Catch glimpses of his earlier years, + + [Picture: Shall Man be Man?] + + “And hear the sounds he knew of yore, + Old shufflings on the sanded floor, + Old knuckles tapping at the door? + + “Yet still before him as he flies + One pallid form shall ever rise, + And, bodying forth in glassy eyes + + “The vision of a vanished good, + Low peering through the tangled wood, + Shall freeze the current of his blood.” + + Still from each fact, with skill uncouth + And savage rapture, like a tooth + She wrenched some slow reluctant truth. + + Till, like a silent water-mill, + When summer suns have dried the rill, + She reached a full stop, and was still. + + Dead calm succeeded to the fuss, + As when the loaded omnibus + Has reached the railway terminus: + + When, for the tumult of the street, + Is heard the engine’s stifled beat, + The velvet tread of porters’ feet. + + With glance that ever sought the ground, + She moved her lips without a sound, + And every now and then she frowned. + + He gazed upon the sleeping sea, + And joyed in its tranquillity, + And in that silence dead, but she + + To muse a little space did seem, + Then, like the echo of a dream, + Harked back upon her threadbare theme. + + Still an attentive ear he lent + But could not fathom what she meant: + She was not deep, nor eloquent. + + He marked the ripple on the sand: + The even swaying of her hand + Was all that he could understand. + + He saw in dreams a drawing-room, + Where thirteen wretches sat in gloom, + Waiting—he thought he knew for whom: + + He saw them drooping here and there, + Each feebly huddled on a chair, + In attitudes of blank despair: + + Oysters were not more mute than they, + For all their brains were pumped away, + And they had nothing more to say— + + Save one, who groaned “Three hours are gone!” + Who shrieked “We’ll wait no longer, John! + Tell them to set the dinner on!” + + The vision passed: the ghosts were fled: + He saw once more that woman dread: + He heard once more the words she said. + + He left her, and he turned aside: + He sat and watched the coming tide + Across the shores so newly dried. + + [Picture: He sat and watched the coming tide] + + He wondered at the waters clear, + The breeze that whispered in his ear, + The billows heaving far and near, + + And why he had so long preferred + To hang upon her every word: + “In truth,” he said, “it was absurd.” + + [Picture: He sits] + + + +The Third Voice + + + [Picture: Quick tears were raining down his face] + + Not long this transport held its place: + Within a little moment’s space + Quick tears were raining down his face + + His heart stood still, aghast with fear; + A wordless voice, nor far nor near, + He seemed to hear and not to hear. + + “Tears kindle not the doubtful spark. + If so, why not? Of this remark + The bearings are profoundly dark.” + + “Her speech,” he said, “hath caused this pain. + Easier I count it to explain + The jargon of the howling main, + + “Or, stretched beside some babbling brook, + To con, with inexpressive look, + An unintelligible book.” + + Low spake the voice within his head, + In words imagined more than said, + Soundless as ghost’s intended tread: + + “If thou art duller than before, + Why quittedst thou the voice of lore? + Why not endure, expecting more?” + + “Rather than that,” he groaned aghast, + “I’d writhe in depths of cavern vast, + Some loathly vampire’s rich repast.” + + [Picture: He groaned aghast] + + “’Twere hard,” it answered, “themes immense + To coop within the narrow fence + That rings _thy_ scant intelligence.” + + “Not so,” he urged, “nor once alone: + But there was something in her tone + That chilled me to the very bone. + + “Her style was anything but clear, + And most unpleasantly severe; + Her epithets were very queer. + + “And yet, so grand were her replies, + I could not choose but deem her wise; + I did not dare to criticise; + + “Nor did I leave her, till she went + So deep in tangled argument + That all my powers of thought were spent.” + + A little whisper inly slid, + “Yet truth is truth: you know you did.” + A little wink beneath the lid. + + And, sickened with excess of dread, + Prone to the dust he bent his head, + And lay like one three-quarters dead + + The whisper left him—like a breeze + Lost in the depths of leafy trees— + Left him by no means at his ease. + + Once more he weltered in despair, + With hands, through denser-matted hair, + More tightly clenched than then they were. + + When, bathed in Dawn of living red, + Majestic frowned the mountain head, + “Tell me my fault,” was all he said. + + When, at high Noon, the blazing sky + Scorched in his head each haggard eye, + Then keenest rose his weary cry. + + And when at Eve the unpitying sun + Smiled grimly on the solemn fun, + “Alack,” he sighed, “what _have_ I done?” + + [Picture: Tortured, unaided, and alone] + + But saddest, darkest was the sight, + When the cold grasp of leaden Night + Dashed him to earth, and held him tight. + + Tortured, unaided, and alone, + Thunders were silence to his groan, + Bagpipes sweet music to its tone: + + “What? Ever thus, in dismal round, + Shall Pain and Mystery profound + Pursue me like a sleepless hound, + + “With crimson-dashed and eager jaws, + Me, still in ignorance of the cause, + Unknowing what I broke of laws?” + + The whisper to his ear did seem + Like echoed flow of silent stream, + Or shadow of forgotten dream, + + The whisper trembling in the wind: + “Her fate with thine was intertwined,” + So spake it in his inner mind: + + [Picture: a scared dullard, gibbering low] + + “Each orbed on each a baleful star: + Each proved the other’s blight and bar: + Each unto each were best, most far: + + “Yea, each to each was worse than foe: + Thou, a scared dullard, gibbering low, + AND SHE, AN AVALANCHE OF WOE!” + + + + +TÈMA CON VARIAZIÒNI + + +[Why is it that Poetry has never yet been subjected to that process of +Dilution which has proved so advantageous to her sister-art Music? The +Diluter gives us first a few notes of some well-known Air, then a dozen +bars of his own, then a few more notes of the Air, and so on alternately: +thus saving the listener, if not from all risk of recognising the melody +at all, at least from the too-exciting transports which it might produce +in a more concentrated form. The process is termed “setting” by +Composers, and any one, that has ever experienced the emotion of being +unexpectedly set down in a heap of mortar, will recognise the +truthfulness of this happy phrase. + +For truly, just as the genuine Epicure lingers lovingly over a morsel of +supreme Venison—whose every fibre seems to murmur “Excelsior!”—yet +swallows, ere returning to the toothsome dainty, great mouthfuls of +oatmeal-porridge and winkles: and just as the perfect Connoisseur in +Claret permits himself but one delicate sip, and then tosses off a pint +or more of boarding-school beer: so also— + + I NEVER loved a dear Gazelle— + _Nor anything that cost me much_: + _High prices profit those who sell_, + _But why should I be fond of such_? + + To glad me with his soft black eye + _My son comes trotting home from school_; + _He’s had a fight but can’t tell why_— + _He always was a little fool_! + + But, when he came to know me well, + _He kicked me out_, _her testy Sire_: + _And when I stained my hair_, _that Belle_ + _Might note the change_, _and thus admire_ + + And love me, it was sure to dye + _A muddy green or staring blue_: + _Whilst one might trace_, _with half an eye_, + _The still triumphant carrot through_. + + + + +A GAME OF FIVES + + + [Picture: Five little girls] + + FIVE little girls, of Five, Four, Three, Two, One: + Rolling on the hearthrug, full of tricks and fun. + + Five rosy girls, in years from Ten to Six: + Sitting down to lessons—no more time for tricks. + + Five growing girls, from Fifteen to Eleven: + Music, Drawing, Languages, and food enough for seven! + + [Picture: Now tell me which you mean] + + Five winsome girls, from Twenty to Sixteen: + Each young man that calls, I say “Now tell me which you _mean_!” + + Five dashing girls, the youngest Twenty-one: + But, if nobody proposes, what is there to be done? + + Five showy girls—but Thirty is an age + When girls may be _engaging_, but they somehow don’t _engage_. + + Five dressy girls, of Thirty-one or more: + So gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before! + + * * * * + + Five _passé_ girls—Their age? Well, never mind! + We jog along together, like the rest of human kind: + But the quondam “careless bachelor” begins to think he knows + The answer to that ancient problem “how the money goes”! + + + + +POETA FIT, NON NASCITUR + + + [Picture: Child on old man’s knee] + + “How shall I be a poet? + How shall I write in rhyme? + You told me once ‘the very wish + Partook of the sublime.’ + Then tell me how! Don’t put me off + With your ‘another time’!” + + The old man smiled to see him, + To hear his sudden sally; + He liked the lad to speak his mind + Enthusiastically; + And thought “There’s no hum-drum in him, + Nor any shilly-shally.” + + “And would you be a poet + Before you’ve been to school? + Ah, well! I hardly thought you + So absolute a fool. + First learn to be spasmodic— + A very simple rule. + + “For first you write a sentence, + And then you chop it small; + Then mix the bits, and sort them out + Just as they chance to fall: + The order of the phrases makes + No difference at all. + + “Then, if you’d be impressive, + Remember what I say, + That abstract qualities begin + With capitals alway: + The True, the Good, the Beautiful— + Those are the things that pay! + + “Next, when you are describing + A shape, or sound, or tint; + Don’t state the matter plainly, + But put it in a hint; + And learn to look at all things + With a sort of mental squint.” + + “For instance, if I wished, Sir, + Of mutton-pies to tell, + Should I say ‘dreams of fleecy flocks + Pent in a wheaten cell’?” + “Why, yes,” the old man said: “that phrase + Would answer very well. + + “Then fourthly, there are epithets + That suit with any word— + As well as Harvey’s Reading Sauce + With fish, or flesh, or bird— + Of these, ‘wild,’ ‘lonely,’ ‘weary,’ ‘strange,’ + Are much to be preferred.” + + “And will it do, O will it do + To take them in a lump— + As ‘the wild man went his weary way + To a strange and lonely pump’?” + “Nay, nay! You must not hastily + To such conclusions jump. + + [Picture: The wild man went his weary way] + + “Such epithets, like pepper, + Give zest to what you write; + And, if you strew them sparely, + They whet the appetite: + But if you lay them on too thick, + You spoil the matter quite! + + “Last, as to the arrangement: + Your reader, you should show him, + Must take what information he + Can get, and look for no im- + mature disclosure of the drift + And purpose of your poem. + + “Therefore, to test his patience— + How much he can endure— + Mention no places, names, or dates, + And evermore be sure + Throughout the poem to be found + Consistently obscure. + + “First fix upon the limit + To which it shall extend: + Then fill it up with ‘Padding’ + (Beg some of any friend): + Your great SENSATION-STANZA + You place towards the end.” + + “And what is a Sensation, + Grandfather, tell me, pray? + I think I never heard the word + So used before to-day: + Be kind enough to mention one + ‘_Exempli gratiâ_.’” + + And the old man, looking sadly + Across the garden-lawn, + Where here and there a dew-drop + Yet glittered in the dawn, + Said “Go to the Adelphi, + And see the ‘Colleen Bawn.’ + + “The word is due to Boucicault— + The theory is his, + Where Life becomes a Spasm, + And History a Whiz: + If that is not Sensation, + I don’t know what it is. + + “Now try your hand, ere Fancy + Have lost its present glow—” + “And then,” his grandson added, + “We’ll publish it, you know: + Green cloth—gold-lettered at the back— + In duodecimo!” + + Then proudly smiled that old man + To see the eager lad + Rush madly for his pen and ink + And for his blotting-pad— + But, when he thought of _publishing_, + His face grew stern and sad. + + [Picture: His face grew stern and sad] + + + + +SIZE AND TEARS + + + [Picture: When on the sandy shore I sit] + + WHEN on the sandy shore I sit, + Beside the salt sea-wave, + And fall into a weeping fit + Because I dare not shave— + A little whisper at my ear + Enquires the reason of my fear. + + I answer “If that ruffian Jones + Should recognise me here, + He’d bellow out my name in tones + Offensive to the ear: + He chaffs me so on being stout + (A thing that always puts me out).” + + Ah me! I see him on the cliff! + Farewell, farewell to hope, + If he should look this way, and if + He’s got his telescope! + To whatsoever place I flee, + My odious rival follows me! + + For every night, and everywhere, + I meet him out at dinner; + And when I’ve found some charming fair, + And vowed to die or win her, + The wretch (he’s thin and I am stout) + Is sure to come and cut me out! + + [Picture: He’s thin and I am stout] + + The girls (just like them!) all agree + To praise J. Jones, Esquire: + I ask them what on earth they see + About him to admire? + They cry “He is so sleek and slim, + It’s quite a treat to look at him!” + + They vanish in tobacco smoke, + Those visionary maids— + I feel a sharp and sudden poke + Between the shoulder-blades— + “Why, Brown, my boy! Your growing stout!” + (I told you he would find me out!) + + “My growth is not _your_ business, Sir!” + “No more it is, my boy! + But if it’s _yours_, as I infer, + Why, Brown, I give you joy! + A man, whose business prospers so, + Is just the sort of man to know! + + “It’s hardly safe, though, talking here— + I’d best get out of reach: + For such a weight as yours, I fear, + Must shortly sink the beach!”— + Insult me thus because I’m stout! + I vow I’ll go and call him out! + + [Picture: For such a weight as yours . . .] + + + + +ATALANTA IN CAMDEN-TOWN + + + Ay, ’twas here, on this spot, + In that summer of yore, + Atalanta did not + Vote my presence a bore, + Nor reply to my tenderest talk “She had + heard all that nonsense before.” + + She’d the brooch I had bought + And the necklace and sash on, + And her heart, as I thought, + Was alive to my passion; + And she’d done up her hair in the style that + the Empress had brought into fashion. + + I had been to the play + With my pearl of a Peri— + But, for all I could say, + She declared she was weary, + That “the place was so crowded and hot, and + she couldn’t abide that Dundreary.” + + [Picture: On this spot . . .] + + Then I thought “Lucky boy! + ’Tis for _you_ that she whimpers!” + And I noted with joy + Those sensational simpers: + And I said “This is scrumptious!”—a + phrase I had learned from the Devonshire shrimpers. + + And I vowed “’Twill be said + I’m a fortunate fellow, + When the breakfast is spread, + When the topers are mellow, + When the foam of the bride-cake is white, + and the fierce orange-blossoms are yellow!” + + O that languishing yawn! + O those eloquent eyes! + I was drunk with the dawn + Of a splendid surmise— + I was stung by a look, I was slain by a tear, + by a tempest of sighs. + + Then I whispered “I see + The sweet secret thou keepest. + And the yearning for _ME_ + That thou wistfully weepest! + And the question is ‘License or Banns?’, + though undoubtedly Banns are the cheapest.” + + “Be my Hero,” said I, + “And let _me_ be Leander!” + But I lost her reply— + Something ending with “gander”— + For the omnibus rattled so loud that no + mortal could quite understand her. + + + + +THE LANG COORTIN’ + + + The ladye she stood at her lattice high, + Wi’ her doggie at her feet; + Thorough the lattice she can spy + The passers in the street, + + “There’s one that standeth at the door, + And tirleth at the pin: + Now speak and say, my popinjay, + If I sall let him in.” + + Then up and spake the popinjay + That flew abune her head: + “Gae let him in that tirls the pin: + He cometh thee to wed.” + + O when he cam’ the parlour in, + A woeful man was he! + “And dinna ye ken your lover agen, + Sae well that loveth thee?” + + [Picture: The popinjay] + + “And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir, + That have been sae lang away? + And how wad I ken ye loved me, Sir? + Ye never telled me sae.” + + Said—“Ladye dear,” and the salt, salt tear + Cam’ rinnin’ doon his cheek, + “I have sent the tokens of my love + This many and many a week. + + “O didna ye get the rings, Ladye, + The rings o’ the gowd sae fine? + I wot that I have sent to thee + Four score, four score and nine.” + + “They cam’ to me,” said that fair ladye. + “Wow, they were flimsie things!” + Said—“that chain o’ gowd, my doggie to howd, + It is made o’ thae self-same rings.” + + “And didna ye get the locks, the locks, + The locks o’ my ain black hair, + Whilk I sent by post, whilk I sent by box, + Whilk I sent by the carrier?” + + “They cam’ to me,” said that fair ladye; + “And I prithee send nae mair!” + Said—“that cushion sae red, for my doggie’s head, + It is stuffed wi’ thae locks o’ hair.” + + “And didna ye get the letter, Ladye, + Tied wi’ a silken string, + Whilk I sent to thee frae the far countrie, + A message of love to bring?” + + “It cam’ to me frae the far countrie + Wi’ its silken string and a’; + But it wasna prepaid,” said that high-born maid, + “Sae I gar’d them tak’ it awa’.” + + “O ever alack that ye sent it back, + It was written sae clerkly and well! + Now the message it brought, and the boon that it sought, + I must even say it mysel’.” + + Then up and spake the popinjay, + Sae wisely counselled he. + “Now say it in the proper way: + Gae doon upon thy knee!” + + The lover he turned baith red and pale, + Went doon upon his knee: + “O Ladye, hear the waesome tale + That must be told to thee! + + “For five lang years, and five lang years, + I coorted thee by looks; + By nods and winks, by smiles and tears, + As I had read in books. + + “For ten lang years, O weary hours! + I coorted thee by signs; + By sending game, by sending flowers, + By sending Valentines. + + “For five lang years, and five lang years, + I have dwelt in the far countrie, + Till that thy mind should be inclined + Mair tenderly to me. + + “Now thirty years are gane and past, + I am come frae a foreign land: + I am come to tell thee my love at last— + O Ladye, gie me thy hand!” + + The ladye she turned not pale nor red, + But she smiled a pitiful smile: + “Sic’ a coortin’ as yours, my man,” she said + “Takes a lang and a weary while!” + + [Picture: And out and laughed the popinjay] + + And out and laughed the popinjay, + A laugh of bitter scorn: + “A coortin’ done in sic’ a way, + It ought not to be borne!” + + Wi’ that the doggie barked aloud, + And up and doon he ran, + And tugged and strained his chain o’ gowd, + All for to bite the man. + + “O hush thee, gentle popinjay! + O hush thee, doggie dear! + There is a word I fain wad say, + It needeth he should hear!” + + Aye louder screamed that ladye fair + To drown her doggie’s bark: + Ever the lover shouted mair + To make that ladye hark: + + Shrill and more shrill the popinjay + Upraised his angry squall: + I trow the doggie’s voice that day + Was louder than them all! + + [Picture: O hush thee, gentle gentle popinjay!] + + The serving-men and serving-maids + Sat by the kitchen fire: + They heard sic’ a din the parlour within + As made them much admire. + + Out spake the boy in buttons + (I ween he wasna thin), + “Now wha will tae the parlour gae, + And stay this deadlie din?” + + And they have taen a kerchief, + Casted their kevils in, + For wha will tae the parlour gae, + And stay that deadlie din. + + When on that boy the kevil fell + To stay the fearsome noise, + “Gae in,” they cried, “whate’er betide, + Thou prince of button-boys!” + + Syne, he has taen a supple cane + To swinge that dog sae fat: + The doggie yowled, the doggie howled + The louder aye for that. + + [Picture: The doggie ceased his noise] + + Syne, he has taen a mutton-bane— + The doggie ceased his noise, + And followed doon the kitchen stair + That prince of button-boys! + + Then sadly spake that ladye fair, + Wi’ a frown upon her brow: + “O dearer to me is my sma’ doggie + Than a dozen sic’ as thou! + + “Nae use, nae use for sighs and tears: + Nae use at all to fret: + Sin’ ye’ve bided sae well for thirty years, + Ye may bide a wee langer yet!” + + Sadly, sadly he crossed the floor + And tirlëd at the pin: + Sadly went he through the door + Where sadly he cam’ in. + + “O gin I had a popinjay + To fly abune my head, + To tell me what I ought to say, + I had by this been wed. + + “O gin I find anither ladye,” + He said wi’ sighs and tears, + “I wot my coortin’ sall not be + Anither thirty years + + “For gin I find a ladye gay, + Exactly to my taste, + I’ll pop the question, aye or nay, + In twenty years at maist.” + + [Picture: Sadly went he through the door] + + + + +FOUR RIDDLES + + +[THESE consist of two Double Acrostics and two Charades. + +No. I. was written at the request of some young friends, who had gone to +a ball at an Oxford Commemoration—and also as a specimen of what might be +done by making the Double Acrostic _a connected poem_ instead of what it +has hitherto been, a string of disjointed stanzas, on every conceivable +subject, and about as interesting to read straight through as a page of a +Cyclopædia. The first two stanzas describe the two main words, and each +subsequent stanza one of the cross “lights.” + +No. II. was written after seeing Miss Ellen Terry perform in the play of +“Hamlet.” In this case the first stanza describes the two main words. + +No. III. was written after seeing Miss Marion Terry perform in Mr. +Gilbert’s play of “Pygmalion and Galatea.” The three stanzas +respectively describe “My First,” “My Second,” and “My Whole.”] + + I + + THERE was an ancient City, stricken down + With a strange frenzy, and for many a day + They paced from morn to eve the crowded town, + And danced the night away. + + I asked the cause: the aged man grew sad: + They pointed to a building gray and tall, + And hoarsely answered “Step inside, my lad, + And then you’ll see it all.” + + * * * * * + + Yet what are all such gaieties to me + Whose thoughts are full of indices and surds? + + _x_2 + 7_x_ + 53 = 11/3 + + But something whispered “It will soon be done: + Bands cannot always play, nor ladies smile: + Endure with patience the distasteful fun + For just a little while!” + + A change came o’er my Vision—it was night: + We clove a pathway through a frantic throng: + The steeds, wild-plunging, filled us with affright: + The chariots whirled along. + + Within a marble hall a river ran— + A living tide, half muslin and half cloth: + And here one mourned a broken wreath or fan, + Yet swallowed down her wrath; + + And here one offered to a thirsty fair + (His words half-drowned amid those thunders tuneful) + Some frozen viand (there were many there), + A tooth-ache in each spoonful. + + There comes a happy pause, for human strength + Will not endure to dance without cessation; + And every one must reach the point at length + Of absolute prostration. + + At such a moment ladies learn to give, + To partners who would urge them over-much, + A flat and yet decided negative— + Photographers love such. + + There comes a welcome summons—hope revives, + And fading eyes grow bright, and pulses quicken: + Incessant pop the corks, and busy knives + Dispense the tongue and chicken. + + Flushed with new life, the crowd flows back again: + And all is tangled talk and mazy motion— + Much like a waving field of golden grain, + Or a tempestuous ocean. + + And thus they give the time, that Nature meant + For peaceful sleep and meditative snores, + To ceaseless din and mindless merriment + And waste of shoes and floors. + + And One (we name him not) that flies the flowers, + That dreads the dances, and that shuns the salads, + They doom to pass in solitude the hours, + Writing acrostic-ballads. + + How late it grows! The hour is surely past + That should have warned us with its double knock? + The twilight wanes, and morning comes at last— + “Oh, Uncle, what’s o’clock?” + + The Uncle gravely nods, and wisely winks. + It _may_ mean much, but how is one to know? + He opens his mouth—yet out of it, methinks, + No words of wisdom flow. + + + +II + + + EMPRESS of Art, for thee I twine + This wreath with all too slender skill. + Forgive my Muse each halting line, + And for the deed accept the will! + + * * * * * + + O day of tears! Whence comes this spectre grim, + Parting, like Death’s cold river, souls that love? + Is not he bound to thee, as thou to him, + By vows, unwhispered here, yet heard above? + + And still it lives, that keen and heavenward flame, + Lives in his eye, and trembles in his tone: + And these wild words of fury but proclaim + A heart that beats for thee, for thee alone! + + But all is lost: that mighty mind o’erthrown, + Like sweet bells jangled, piteous sight to see! + “Doubt that the stars are fire,” so runs his moan, + “Doubt Truth herself, but not my love for thee!” + + A sadder vision yet: thine aged sire + Shaming his hoary locks with treacherous wile! + And dost thou now doubt Truth to be a liar? + And wilt thou die, that hast forgot to smile? + + Nay, get thee hence! Leave all thy winsome ways + And the faint fragrance of thy scattered flowers: + In holy silence wait the appointed days, + And weep away the leaden-footed hours. + + + +III. + + + THE air is bright with hues of light + And rich with laughter and with singing: + Young hearts beat high in ecstasy, + And banners wave, and bells are ringing: + But silence falls with fading day, + And there’s an end to mirth and play. + Ah, well-a-day + + Rest your old bones, ye wrinkled crones! + The kettle sings, the firelight dances. + Deep be it quaffed, the magic draught + That fills the soul with golden fancies! + For Youth and Pleasance will not stay, + And ye are withered, worn, and gray. + Ah, well-a-day! + + O fair cold face! O form of grace, + For human passion madly yearning! + O weary air of dumb despair, + From marble won, to marble turning! + “Leave us not thus!” we fondly pray. + “We cannot let thee pass away!” + Ah, well-a-day! + + + +IV. + + + MY First is singular at best: + More plural is my Second: + My Third is far the pluralest— + So plural-plural, I protest + It scarcely can be reckoned! + + My First is followed by a bird: + My Second by believers + In magic art: my simple Third + Follows, too often, hopes absurd + And plausible deceivers. + + My First to get at wisdom tries— + A failure melancholy! + My Second men revered as wise: + My Third from heights of wisdom flies + To depths of frantic folly. + + My First is ageing day by day: + My Second’s age is ended: + My Third enjoys an age, they say, + That never seems to fade away, + Through centuries extended. + + My Whole? I need a poet’s pen + To paint her myriad phases: + The monarch, and the slave, of men— + A mountain-summit, and a den + Of dark and deadly mazes— + + A flashing light—a fleeting shade— + Beginning, end, and middle + Of all that human art hath made + Or wit devised! Go, seek _her_ aid, + If you would read my riddle! + + + + +FAME’S PENNY-TRUMPET + + +[Affectionately dedicated to all “original researchers” who pant for +“endowment.”] + + BLOW, blow your trumpets till they crack, + Ye little men of little souls! + And bid them huddle at your back— + Gold-sucking leeches, shoals on shoals! + + Fill all the air with hungry wails— + “Reward us, ere we think or write! + Without your Gold mere Knowledge fails + To sate the swinish appetite!” + + And, where great Plato paced serene, + Or Newton paused with wistful eye, + Rush to the chace with hoofs unclean + And Babel-clamour of the sty + + Be yours the pay: be theirs the praise: + We will not rob them of their due, + Nor vex the ghosts of other days + By naming them along with you. + + They sought and found undying fame: + They toiled not for reward nor thanks: + Their cheeks are hot with honest shame + For you, the modern mountebanks! + + Who preach of Justice—plead with tears + That Love and Mercy should abound— + While marking with complacent ears + The moaning of some tortured hound: + + Who prate of Wisdom—nay, forbear, + Lest Wisdom turn on you in wrath, + Trampling, with heel that will not spare, + The vermin that beset her path! + + Go, throng each other’s drawing-rooms, + Ye idols of a petty clique: + Strut your brief hour in borrowed plumes, + And make your penny-trumpets squeak. + + [Picture: Go, throng each other’s drawing-rooms] + + Deck your dull talk with pilfered shreds + Of learning from a nobler time, + And oil each other’s little heads + With mutual Flattery’s golden slime: + + And when the topmost height ye gain, + And stand in Glory’s ether clear, + And grasp the prize of all your pain— + So many hundred pounds a year— + + Then let Fame’s banner be unfurled! + Sing Pæans for a victory won! + Ye tapers, that would light the world, + And cast a shadow on the Sun— + + Who still shall pour His rays sublime, + One crystal flood, from East to West, + When _ye_ have burned your little time + And feebly flickered into rest! + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHANTASMAGORIA*** + + +******* This file should be named 651-0.txt or 651-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/5/651 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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 the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |