J l\ A2437A5 1897 A- A = ^^-. c~> I) = n = JD n = JD 5 = i^^ o h — ^^ ^ 1 = -^— m JJ 1 = ■ J> ^^ -C 9 — =^ 3> 2 = f — _, 8 RbbS K. W. MACKPiNNA mjWERSlTV OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE VERSES VERSES BY ROBERT W. MACKENNA, M.A. ("DAVID LOCKHART") EDINBURGH : WILLIAM BRYCE, 54 LOTHIAN STREET LONDON : SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT cS: CO. LTD. Zo tbc STUDENTS OF MY TIME AT EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY 1892-1897 " Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought." SHELLEY. PREFACE Most of the following verses have appeared al intervals during the last fow years in the pages of The Student, and are now collected at the request of a large number of the readers of that magazi7ie. Written, for the greater part, in the odd moments of a busy course, and as a relaxation from more arduous occupations, they were never intended for dissemination outside student circles, and make no pretensions to literary merit. The melancholy note which pervades some of them is explained by the fact that they were composed under the shadow of impeiiding examinations. None of them are, in ajiy sense, autobiographical. The first part of the book contains verses on themes of general interest ; the second is devoted to productions peculiarly medical, the allusions in which can be appreciated only by those who have had a professional training. It has been thought better 7iot to append a glossary of medical terms, as those for whom the verses are interided will understand the refereiices without it; while with such an aid the uninitiated could understand only in part. K. W. MACKENNA. Edinburgh, October i8g^. CONTENTS PAGE Spenser in Ireland . 11 The Isle of Calypso 17 The Secret of the Sea 20 The Enigma of Life 22 Dead ! 23 Magdalene . 24 The Rose and the Leaf 26 The Thrush 27 Across the Years . 28 Friends 29 Failures 30 On the Moor 31 The River . 33 Faces in the Street 34 At Eventide 35 Yesterday, To-day and To-morrow 36 With a Rose . . . . 38 " A Little Child shall lead Them " 39 On the Wings of the Dying Year 40 9 10 CONTENTS CARMINA CADAFERIS Prologue " ViRGINIBUS PuERISQUE " " For Valour " An Epitaph . Ars Longa : Vita Brevis Man . In the Blues Monumentum ^re Perennius The Land of "Laughing-Gas" Cetacean William . The Song of "The Second" 44 45 46 49 50 51 52 56 58 60 61 VERSES Spenser in Ireland (ENGLISH CLASS PRIZE POEM, EDINBURGH UNIVERSITY, 1 895) The share of Life cuts deeply through the path Which mortals fashion for themselves to tread ; Man dreams of harvest, but the aftermath Is all he garners for his children's bread. Time changes everything ; to-morrow's dead Are those who lived and loved but yesterday ; And they, whose trembling feet are sometimes led Up Fortune's golden ladder, with dismay Feel the bright rungs too oft beneath them sink away. * II 12 SPENSER IN IRELAND Colin the gentle, in the ashen shade, Trilled on his oaten pipe a simple song Of life and love, such as the Mantuan made The fragrant groves of Italy among. And at the Muse's shrine his censer swung Odorous of incense, sweetly redolent Of wayside flowers, that all about them flung In rich profusion shafts of sweetest scent, That to the vagrant air a subtle fragrance lent. But Fortune called him from his gracious task. And led him o'er the crisped ocean ways To a fair land that, like a bird, doth bask Amid the weltering waters, where the maze Of discord winds forever, and the days Ebb to the babble of incessant strife ; Thither she led him, and amid the frays Of nations plunged him, into dangers rife. Where War's wild fury cast a bloodstain on his life. SPENSER IN IRELAND 13 And then the quiet seeker after Truth — The courtier shining in his sovereign's eyes — Saw gi'isly Mars shoot out his bloody tooth, And heard the wail of children upward rise Trembling to God ; or shuddered at the cries That burst from broken hearts, and desolate Homes where the body of a father lies Drenched in his blood, and at the woeful fate Of Avives and children shed a tear compassionate. The blaze of War was quenched, the purple cloud Blown into tatters by the wanton wind. Murder was stifled in his swarthy shroud. And the fierce clang of battle left behind ; Then Cynthia, to her suitors ever kind. Gifted her poet with a castle fair, O'er whose grey walls the pensive ivy twined In sombre loveliness, while here and there A trailing branch of flowers shed fragrance through the air. 14 SPENSER IN IRELAND There, in the evening stillness, Avhen the moon — A silver sickle in an ebon sky — Flashed o'er the drifting clouds, and, from her swoon Of darkness, Night awoke in brilliancy. The poet, gazing with his dreamy eye Through the wide mullioned casement, saw the plain Peopled with knights, or, in his fantasy. Watched Gloriana and her faery train Holding their court within the forest's leafy fane. Or through his drooping eyelids, half awake. Saw a gay sloop shoot outwards from the shore. And of itself glide through the placid lake. Sweeping the water-lilies from before Like a white-bosomed, stately swan, while o'er Its rounded prow the laughing waters flung An arch of foam, and, as the maids of yore Sewed on their tapestry tales of love and wrong. He wove his di-eams into a web of living song. SPENSER IN IRELAND 15 And then the " Shepherd of the Ocean " * came Wet from his flock, and by the reedy marge Of winipling Mulla saw the poet frame And fashion melodies, or heard the large Full-throated measures from his lips discharge Their freight of gold ; or underneath a sky Dappled with cloudlets, in their painted barge Out on the mere, with thoughts in harmony. They twain would muse upon Life's mutability. All things are mutable ! Above the hills That girdled the horizon rose the hand Of red Rebellion, and the mountain rills Blushed with the blood of many a slaughtered band ; And Rage and Rapine reeled across the land In a wild fury, and the poet's bowei', Plundered and kindled, by the breezes fanned. Crumbled to ashes, and a tender flower Whose bud had scarcely ope'd was blighted in that hour. * Sir Walter Raleigh. 16 SPENSER IN IRELAND Outcast, forsaken, o'er the sea he fled ; Oh that thus Cohn should come home again ! Shattered his dreams of Fortune, for his bread Almost dependent on his fellow-men, He drooped, as droops a blasted tree, and then Passed into silence. Life had been a game Played in the dark with Destiny ; yet, when His days were perfected, he left to fame A wealth of precious song and an undying name. THE ISLE OF CALYPSO 17 The Isle of Calypso FROM THE GREEK Straightway did Hermes bind beneath his feet His golden-gleaming sandals^ heaven-wrought, Which bear him o'er the sea and o'er the land That knows no limit, swiftly as the wind. His wand he took, wherewith he lulls the eyes Of whom he will, or backward draws again The veil of sleep, and, clasping in his hand This sceptre, forth he fled along, and from The cloud-capped peak Pierian his flight He bent precipitant towards the deep. Then, as the seamew skimming o'er the wave Seeketh her food among the awful bays Of the unfruitful ocean, dipping oft Her spacious pinions in the billow's crest, Did Hermes speed aci'oss the swelling tide. But when he reached the isle that beacons far Across the main, from out the azure sea He rose, and sped across the land until B 18 THE ISLE OF CALYPSO The vaulted cave, wherein the lovely nymph Of braided tresses dwelleth, loomed in view. The nymph he found within ; upon the hearth A fire blazed brightly, while afar the isle Was redolent of cedars smoothly cleft And of the burning cypress. And the nymph Warbled melodious as she plied the loom And shot her golden shuttle through the web. Around the spacious grot was blossoming A grove luxuriant, where poplar black. Alder and fragrant cypress did attune Their trembling leaves. There many a long-winged bird. Falcons and owls and shrieking cormorants That haunt the ocean, built their lofty nests. And all about the hollow cave there trailed A mantling vine with luscious fruit bedecked : While from one fount four lucid runnels welled, And wimpled each its devious bed along : And downy meads of violet and thyme, Kissed by the waters, shed their fragrance there. THE ISLE OF CALYPSO 19 So fair the sight a never-dying god That thither came might joy within his heart. There stood the messenger, the Argicide, And gazed with wonder over all the scene ; Then, when his raptured soul had drunk its fill Of Nature's loveliness, his way he went Into the spacious cave. The graceful nymph Failed not to know him, for the deathless gods Well know their fellows even though apart They have their dwellings ; then the goddess spread Before the herald food ambrosial. And mixed the ruby nectar, while he ate. And with her banquet well was satisfied. 20 THE SECRET OF THE SEA The Secret of the Sea The back of the sea is scarred by the lash Of the angry wind ; And the tumbling billows plunge and splash At the foot of the iron crags, or dash Up the shingly banks in a foaming sheet, With a low harsh hiss, as the breakers meet And the pebbles grind. A maiden stands on the crest of the shore. In the dark, alone ; And her wind -tossed tresses round her pour In a wayward stream ; while the seagulls soar Above her, and wheel, and dip, and rise, And startle the night with their eerie cries And their frightened moan. She looks through the mist of her tear-damp eyes O'er the boiling sea. And a prayer steals up from her heart, and flies On trembling wings to the wind-vexed skies, — " Father ! my loved one safely keep. Bring him back o'er the face of the pathless deep. Bring him back to me ! " THE SECRET OF THE SEA 21 The wind shrieks over the sandy dunes In its wild career ; But the wail of the sea into silence swoons. While a wave in a hollow gullet croons, — " He is dead ! In the darkness of ocean's breast Thy lover is rocked to unending rest " ; — But she cannot hear. 22 THE ENIGMA OF LIFE The Enigma of Life Day bursts in glory o'er the purple liills^ And all the earth in dewy robes is drest ; Grey night glides down, and all the land is laid Asleep within the slumbrous lap of rest. So o'er the margin of the years our lives Leap into being, slowly climb the hill, With trembling footsteps stumble down the slope. Then pass into the shade, and all is still. And the loved hand, that warmly clasped our own In sweetest friendshij), cold and nerveless lies ; Hushed is the voice that whispered tenderly, And quenched the light of love that filled the eyes. And dust returns to dust, and dear ones dead Are laid for ever 'neath the flower-strewn sod ; Yet why stand idly weeping, if our lives Are passing moments in the Life of God ? DEAD ! 23 Dead ! Dead ! In the bleakness of a withered love Her soul has starved. A year ago there was No happier smile than hers, no sweeter face, But now the dew of death is on her brow. And Daisy sleeps. She gave her heart to him, And with her maiden faithfulness she loved And trusted him. But he played with her heart. And, when his sport was done, tossed it away. And in the silence of her breast it broke. She drooped and faded, and when Autumn flung His russet mantle o'er the leafy woods. And the red foliage fluttered from the trees. She died. Heap flowei's upon her grave, for she Is dead ! Nought but a memory ! a mere Dream-face that cometh from the bygone days ! A sweet sad dream ! My Daisy, come again ! O God ! / loved her too, and she is dead. 24 MAGDALENE Magdalene Only a woman lost to shame, Cold and unlovely she lies dead ; One of the fallen over whom No tears of holy grief are shed ; Yet once, perhaps^ her childish voice Thrilled some fond mother's heart with glee. As with her infsint hands she filled Her lap with flowers less pure than she. A few short years ! a winsome maid ! A villain with his arts of hell Weaving his lies, and she, poor child, Loving too much, had faith, and fell : Fell, as the petals of a flower Drop in the dust ; and then, disgrace, Anger, reproaches : till she fled From her relentless father's face. Fled from her home ! and never knew How sad i-emorse wept o'er her name : O God, that man unsullied goes. While weaker woman bears the shame ! MAGDALENE 25 Heartsore and weary, friendless, starved (Hunger is virtue's winding-sheet). She sank, until in tears she trod Her Passion Path * along the street. Women less tempted swept along, And on her heartless glances cast. Or drew their righteous robes aside. Lest she should touch them as she passed. How often, when her memory turned Its pages, did she steal away Into the darkness, where her heart Bled in its own Gethsemane ? God only knows ! But when the thread Of each man's life is gathered up. And the last Magdalene has drained Down to the dregs her bitter cup, Perhaps, while she stands fearlessly Brave before Him who made her just, God in His righteous wrath shall crush Man, her betrayer, into dust. * Via Dolorosa. 26 THE ROSE AND THE LEAF The Rose and the Leaf A ROSEBUD nestled on a leaf, And hid its blushes in the shade, While to the sun-kissed flower the leaf Sweet whispers of devotion made ; But, in the dusk of morning time. Came heedlessly a passer-by And plucked the dew-impearled rose, And left the lonely leaf to die. I loved her : she was fair to see. Tender and true and nobly good. She turned my days to gladness by The sweetness of her womanhood. ***** Death sought the garden of my heart, And found my rosebud hidden there ; He took her to himself, and I Am left alone in my despair. THE THRUSH 27 The Thrush Out on the leafy hawthorn in the brake The speckled throstle pipes his sober lay. No honeyed flood, such as the nightingale Pours from his throbbing throat in the hushed night When the pale moon floats o'er the drifted banks Of fleecy cloud, rolls from his swelling breast. His is an humbler lay, yet sweeter far Than that weird siren-song that rent the soul Of him who dared, as olden minstrels tell, The swinge of surges on the Scyllan shoal. He warbles to his mate of Spring, who steals, Wet from the wintry woods in mantle green, Over the dewy meads, and how the flowers Dapple the fields where'er her lily feet Have pressed their mould. No melancholy note Frets his mellifluous voicings, all his joy Flows in his song. Quaver, and trill and shake, Blent into dulcet harmony, float out Upon the listening air ; but darkness falls O'er the green woodland and the distant glade ; And the sweet singer ends his melody. 28 ACROSS THE YEARS Across the Years What music trembles through the night Beneath the cold eternal sky, As if some spirit cheered its flight With notes of dulcet melody ? ****■)(. The pent-up music of a soul. That died with half its sous unsung, Across the silent years doth roll In liquid beauty from its tongue. And love-lit eyes peer through the gloom That fills the valley of the Past, And, like a blush, the rosy bloom Of youth on withered cheeks is cast ; And hand clasps hand within the veil Of hallowed thoughts made sweet by tears. And hearts throb sadly at the tale The song sings of forgotten years. FRIENDS 29 Friends — — A friend is a priceless jewel, Better than all that an Empi*ess wears ; Gold is but dust in the eyes of those Who know that the love of a friend is theirs. 30 FAILURES Failures With ready hands^ our wreaths of bay We shower upon the heads of those, Who proudly up the golden way Of Fame, with echoing feet, have trod ; While ill-starred brothers lying near Amid the dust we pass in haste, Too blind to know that failure here May be success with God. ON THE MOOR On the Moor The grey mist lifts from off the purple heather, Wet with a myriad diamond drops of dew^ Over God's giant hills the sun is leaping, Impetuous to climb the arch of blue. While here and there a trembling coil of smoke Marks the white shielings of the moorland folk. High overhead a dauntless lark is tossing From his sweet throat a wild, wild madrigal, Whose cunning notes cleave, like a shaft, the silence. And make the voiceless moor-wind musical : Why should such melody awake i*egret, O heart of mine ? Why can I not forget ? Twenty long years ago, on such a morning. Bright with the promise of the coming day, We parted here ; she, smothering her anger, Bent her dear head, and softly stole away : Passed out of sight : sweet flower of womanhood. Misunderstanding, and misunderstood. 32 ON THE MOOR Cold in my pride^ I sought the restless city, Where, in the clamour of the crowded street, Sick of remembrance, weary of forgetting Her whom in fantasy I loved to meet, Idly I dreamed ; she never came again, And hungry hope sank slowly into pain. Under the stalwart palm-trees she is sleeping In the quiet bosom of the tranquil West: No heather waves, no lark above is piping The sinless melody she loved the best : But the sad waves, stopped in their eager race, Lap murmurous about her resting-place. Around the moments of our deepest anguish In after-days the sweetest memories cling : We fret ourselves, but cannot read the mystery- Life without Sorrow were a joyless thing : God grant that, when we fall amid the strife. Heaven may be sweeter for the pain of Life. THE RIVER 33 The River All is still. The stars are dimples On the cheek of Night ; Down the glade the river wimples As it fades from sight ; And its music, faint and dying, Ripples far away. While the night wind, soft-replying. Wakens memory. 34 FACES IN THE STREET Faces in the Street Aimless I wander through the city streets. An unknown unit in the throng and press. Where each man is a little island girt By his own narrow sea of selfishness. Held in the tangle of the crowd I watch The changing faces, as they come and go Like wayward spindrift that the wilful wind. Wildly incessant, chases to and fro. Haggard with hate or bitter with despair Onward they sweep, a long unbroken train ; Lips ripe for laughter, faces glad with youth, Eyes lit with love, or cold with proud disdain. Sometimes a face sweet with a glad content. And holy with a faith that wavers not. Steals on my gaze out of the tedious crowd With the crisp freshness of a flower unsought. Dreaming, I turn to watch it, and, as though The chains that bind me down to earth were riven. My heart leaps from the dust of common things, And rises for a moment nearer heaven. AT EVENTIDE 35 At Eventide Pale Evening, brooding o'er the earth In robes of dewy fragrance drest, Weeps o'er the flowery meads and drops A tear upon the Hly's breast. 36 YESTERDAY, TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW Yesterday, To-day and To-morrow We look into our hearts, and turning over The fragrant rose-leaves of old memories. Sigh for the dreams whose ghostly incompleteness Haunts, shadow-like, our yesterdays ; And childishly we think that, if before us The vanished years lay heaped like burnished gold. Each moment we should fill with brave endeavour, Not with elusive visions as of old. With hands of faith we grasp the vacant future. To-day we plan, to-morrow we shall build : The ashes of the morrow fall around us With our ambitions unfulfilled ; And giant hopes, whose summits challenge heaven. We chase tlirough leagues of unproductive years, But never grasp them, while within our footprints The poppy-flower of Indolence appears. What are our wild-tongued boasts of godlike wisdom. If we are blind and cannot understand How, in the narrow present, past and future Shoulder to shoulder stand ? YESTERDAY, TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW 37 Yesterday is twin-brother with To-morrow, The past is built out of our dead To-days, The future is the present framed in distance And beautiful with vast uncertainties. To-day is with us. Let us cease repining For lost occasions and for things undone ; And let the future hoard its gracious secrets Until the morrow is begun ; So let us mould into the little moments Great deeds, whose nobleness shall perfect praise, And, striving ever, make the too-brief present The brightest jewel in our crown of days. 38 WITH A ROSE With a Rose Dearest ! I pritliee take this flower And wear it near thy heart, That it may know the happiness Of being where thou art ; The dewdrops to its petals cling, And in the starlight shine, Yet is its witching loveliness Not half so sweet as thine. " A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM " 39 " A Little Child shall lead Them " The world may call it maudlin sentiment, But, when I look into a child's great eyes, I see, as in the mirror of the years. The gentle Nazarene in beauty rise. And say, — I learned it at my mother's knee — "Suffer the little ones to come to Me." 40 ON THE WINGS OF THE DYING YEAR On the Wings of the Dying Year A STILLNESS broods on the earth like the heavy shadow of death, And only a single star looks down from the sable sky. And on weary wings the year, like a wounded bird, sweeps past To sink in the fathomless mists of time, to swoon in the dark and die. For the lily is dead in the field, and the blush of the rose has paled. And hushed are the wild love-notes that the throstle piped in the spring : For the autumn leaves have dropped on the bier of the bygone days. And the snow floats down like a plume that falls from an angel's spotless wing. What of the rosy dreams, and the golden hopes that shone, As we stood, in the dusk of the dawn, on the brink of the fathomless year ? ON THE WINGS OF THE DYING YEAR 41 The dreams, like a morning cloud, have passed into nothingness, And instead of the joy of a hojie fulfilled, we have only the scald of a tear. Thus hath it ever been ; for the path of the sons of men Is laid in a darkened vale, where the briars of sorrow abound : For silver is wooed from the rock by the biting breath of the fire. And only by tribulation and pain can the heai-t of a man be found. But out of the dust shall rise, like the Phoenix, another year. And the torch of the Dawn shall light the hills of the East once more. And the blossom shall cling to the boughs, and the air shall be full of song. And the mui*murous waves of the sea shall beat their ceaseless tune on the shore. 42 ON THE WINGS OF THE DYING YEAR For the tale repeats itself, and the soul of man is the same, Though the countless aeons comCj and the myriad cycles go ; But the year that dawns may bring, as a gem in her hidden store, Eden the long-lost back to the earth ; we may hope, but we cannot know. Carmina Cadaveris : VERSES FROM THE DISSECTING-ROOM ELSEWHERE. Dc mortuis nil nisi — Bones. 44 PROLOGUE Prologue My Muse, That erst on buoyant wings O'er leagues of flowery land hath flown, Aside her ornate mantle flings Over the grave of former things, And, ghoul-like, pecks a bone. "VIRGINIBUS PUERISQUE" 45 "Virglnibus Puerisque " Touch not ! These songs were never meant For eyes so innocent as thine, They reek of the dissecting-room, Of blood and bones, of weeds and wine ; A streamlet of unholy gore Runs crimson over every page. Bones talk, and half-dissected "stiffs " Shake their thin limbs in futile rage ; No, no ! Such gruesome words and deeds Are only meet for sterner man. They 're far too coarse for one who loves The watered milk of Afinie Swan. 46 "FOR VALOUR" "For Valour" (AFTF.R KIPLING— a LONG WAY) Perhaps you think I ain't o' much account, — A bloomin' corp in a dissectin'-room,^ — But when you 've heard the story I 'm agoin' to recount, You 'II be sayin' I 'm deservin' of a tomb With the honourable dead, Who for hearth and home have bled, While here I am a-lyin' in this butcher's shop instead. I 've seen a bit o' sei'vice in my time. And I owns a stock o' very decent sears. For I 've followed Britain's standard into many a furrin' clime. And I 've fighted through a half-a-dozen wars ; But here I am to-day. In this unexpected way, A-learnin' raw recruits to know a man's Anatomy. I was in the Rooshian War o' '54, And I 've laid among the trenches night and day, "FOR VALOUR" 47 With the shells a-bustin' round us, while, above the cannon's roar, You could hear the shrapnel hurtle on its way. And the pewter bullets sing. As they passed us on the wing, A song that kind of made you feel they 'd know the way to sting. You '11 have heard about the gallant Light Brigade, — How it rode into the bloomin' jaws of hell, — I was in it, but a Rooshian who was skilly at his trade Jabbed a bay'net in my belly and I fell. But I pulled him to the ground, And I felt in dooty bound To make cat's-meat of the innards of the sanguinary hound. But the place where I got pulpefied the worst Was in Injy, when the Mutiny was on ; We was marchin' up to Delhi, where the rebels rallied first. And nearly half the journey we had gone. When we innercently strayed Into an ambuscade. That the dirty heathen scuts had gone and treacherously laid. 48 "FOR VALOUR" With a screechin', fit to wake the shrouded dead, Down upon us from the hills the heathen raced, Each with fifteen feet o' turban round his cofFee- coloured head And an inch or two of kharki round his waist. Half-a-dozen made for me, And I jolly well could see That my chances were as rummy as they possibly could be. I don't remember much about the fight. But, when my battered senses came again. Half-a-dozen ribs was broken, and I 'd lost the j^ower of sight, And my left leg was a-hangin' by the skin ; But, what's a pint of blood When it's for your country's good.f* And the surgeon patched me up again as neatly as he could. I never got a medal nor a clasp, And perhaps the world never heard my name. But the three essentials of a British soldier I could grasp, — Do your dooty, kill your man, and take the blame ; AN EPITAPH 49 And though I ain't V.C.^ I think you will agree That I should have had a better fate nor this awaitin' me. An Epitaph There's a maxim in Latin you'll frequently see Engraven on storied tomb-stones, But anatomists hold it should properly be De mortuis nil nisi — Bones. 50 ARS LONGA: VITA BREVIS Ars longa : Vita brevis Working man Doctor says, Called Dan. " Bad case." Saturday, Empty bed, Gets his pay. Daniel dead. Public-house, Drama ends. Big carouse. No friends. Chucked out, Winter gloom. Knocks about. Dissecting-room Falls asleej), Fragrant whiff, Snow deep. Fresh stiff. Pleurisy, Students view R.I.E. Subject new. MAN 51 Man " In the world there is nothing great but man ; in man there is nothing great but mind." {In the World) Man, in his moment of arrogant pride, Forgetting his lowly estate, Vaunteth himself as a god, and boasts That he alone is great. (Jn the Dissecting-roovi) But niaii is less than the meanest flower That quivers with life in the light. When the lock-gate lifts and the spirit ebbs Into the Infinite. 52 IN THE BLUES In the Blues With shallow sobs the fire has flickered out, Midnight has boomed dull from the distant Tron, Ghostly the wind moans round the chimney-tops, And all my hopes of getting through are gone ; — Cold feet drive many men to suicide. And, musing thus, I lay my books aside. " To be or not to be ? " Life is a medley Played on a lute with many broken strings, Half sweet, half sorrowful, whose notes return Back to the chaos whence their being springs. And I am weary as a little child On whose long play the summer sun has smiled. So, shall I end it all ? Oh ! it were sweet To silence all the discord and forget Life's blows, life's tempests, and the torturing hate Of men, their sorrows and their ceaseless fret : — The hunger of a hope unsatisfied : — Bitter the Second, — welcome suicide ! Strychnine ? Well, No ! It 's hardly good enough. Of course it does its duty, but, you see. IN THE BLUES 53 It knots the muscles in tetanic spasms, And death is heralded by agony : Besides, it makes one's face convulsive, while I should prefer, when dead, to wear a smile. And then there 's Prussic Acid. Well, it 's quick And very merciful : only a cry, A short shrill heart-shriek like a wounded deer's, And then you reel and fall and gasp and die. No, thank you ! It 's too common : — what you get The villain using in a Novelette. No more of drugs ! I '11 try another plan : I 've got a Colt's revolver hidden in My writing-desk, with it I 'd do the deed Were I not anxious to avoid a din ; I would ! I 'd bang a bullet thi-ough my heart. Were it less noisy and less void of Ai't. I 've got it ! Let me cut a radial, And, as my bounding life-stream flows away, I '11 trace a pulse-wave for friend Rutherford, And, dying, write a brief epitome Of all my symptoms ; thus I '11 leave a name Honoured by Science, though obscured by Shame. 54 IN THE BLUES Ay, ay ! To-morrow, when the punctual gun Roars its loud message from the Castle Rock, From 'Varsity and Hospital I know Students will pour, and listen with a shock, As newsboys rush on them from every side With "'Spatck and Ne7rs, — A Student's Suicide." The papers go like wildfire. I can see. In fancy, half-a-dozen round one page : — '^ Who is it ? "— " Smith ? "— " The Dicken.i ! "— "When?" and "How.?" "Poor beggar!" — "Was he stony}" — "What's his age .'' " " I knew him well !" — " He was a chum of mine !" — *'I was his dresser when he worked in Nine." And so they '11 talk, scattered in little groups, (For tapping strictured feelings gives relief) ; And then they '11 go about their work again. For students haven't time for idle grief. And when a fellow shuffles off the scene Things just go on as though he had not been. Of course, there 's bound to be a " Sectio," And Littlejohn will crack his usual jest ; IN THE BLUES 55 And then The Student 's sure to have a " par," About my "sad removal/' — and the rest ; And you can bet your boots, the S.R.C. Will send my folks a vote of sympathy. Whew ! I 'd forgotten ! What about my girl ? — Leal-hearted lassie with the violet eyes, — I know she 'II cut up awful ; why, she weeps Even when a thirty-second cousin dies. Dear little thing ! — Some sorrows are but brief. She 'd perish in the desert of her grief. I shouldn't like that either. It were cruel To rob the earth of such a flower as she ; Besides, on second thoughts, I hardly know How the old world could prosper wanting vie, So meantime, so to speak, I '11 go on bail. And maybe, after all, I shall not fail. 56 MONUMENTUM /ERE PERENNIUS Monumentum ^re Perennius I ONCE was a tramp, and I wandered about Through the country with rollicking glee : I boozed and I begged, I never did more, (For half-an-hour's work made my hands very sore, And ours is the land of the free). But I never once thought that / and Mt/self Were any one other than Me. But now that, a subject, I 'm riven and carved By embryo medical men, I find that in life I was only a sham, For a poor bit of patchwork is all that I am, An extract of others, for when My skin is peeled off me I see I'm a fraud — The jackdaw in feathers again. When alive I was frequently called to the bar As Thomas Brown, nlicus- Jones, Etcet'ra, ad lib. ; but I never once thought How plural I was, till up here I was brought Where I learn that even my bones And my nerves and my vessels are named after men. Who have quarried from me their tombstones. MONUMENTUM ^RE PERENNIUS 51 There's Scarpa. s Triangle, there's Hunters Canal, Both of which you will find in my thigh ; With Arnold's Foramen — the size of a pin — The Membrane of Reissner, the Zonule of Zinn, Which is somewhere, I think, in my eye ; And the Valve of Vieussens and Jacohsons Nerve, And the Lobulus Spigelii. A bee in one's bonnet is quite bad enough, So at least it is frequently said ; But what do you think of a fellow who wears The sheath of a Huxley round each of his hairs, While the fissures of Sylvius spread Through his brain, and Rolando and Mr. Monro Have permanent homes in his head. From what I have said, though I might have said more, I think you will easily see That I 'm hardly myself, for, to come to an end, I am only a polyglot kind of compend. Of Anatomist's Biographie, For with Poupart and Alcock and Galen and Nuck There is hardly a corner for Me. 58 THE LAND OF "LAUGHING-GAS" The Land of " Laughing-Gas " I BREATHED a whifF of luughing-gas and soared Through a dense bank of clouds, and found myself In a fan- land. The drowsy zephyrs clung To the thick drifts of pearly blossom, which Breathed incense from the branches ; here and there, A bird poured forth a honeyed jet of song. The weary bees, clad in their dusty coats Of spangled mail, sick of the scented breath Of balmy flowers, dozed in the chalices Of honeysuckles, poppies, hyacinths. The rivers lay asleep beneath the sun ; The sloop-like leaves of water-lilies hid Their cup-shaped flowei'S, that floated lazily A-dream upon the bosom of the waves. Down to the runnel's margent ran a mead Of fragrant thyme and purple pimpernel, Where in the coolness of a sheltered vale, Lulled by the slumbrous music of the winds And by a lute-like voice that sang of rest. THE LAND OF "LAUGHING-GAS" 59 I stretched myself upon a velvet slope Of marish moss^ and, sinking down, I heard The lute-like voice grow fainter, fainter still, Distant and dream-like, lose itself in space, — And I awoke upon the dentist's chair. 60 CETACEAN WILLIAM Cetacean William Sir William stood beside a whale, And scanned its g^reasy hide. And watched while Mr Simpson plunged A scalpel in its side. The knight, he smiled, and clasped his hands Beneath his broad coat-tails — "All men have hobbies, it is said, And mine, — well, mine is whales. " The whale is very interesting, Without dubiety, And makes a first-rate paper for The Royal Society. " And when its bones have been exposed, In process of dissection. We '11 macerate and mount them for My world-renowned collection." THE SONG OF "THE SECOND" 6l The Song of " The Second " With forehead swathed in a bandage, With eyes as heavy as lead, I sit at work in my dreary " digs " When I ought to be in my bed. Grind, grind, grind ! And I turn the leaves with a sigh. For the session has almost come to an end, And " The Second " is drawing nigh. Work, work, work. Through the dismal winter day. And grind, grind, grind At my Cunningham, Ellis and Gray, As I try to follow out The vessels and nerves of my part. Till, muddled, I dream that the crural ring Is a functionless valve in the heart. Grind, grind, grind, When the too-brief day is dead, Till my epigastric region fills With an awful sinking dread. 62 THE SONG OF "THE SECOND" And my red corpuscles pale, And a dark speck dims my sight, But I rub my eyes and comfort myself, — " It is only a leucocyte." O Fraser and Rutherford ! Be merciful once, 1 pray. For I 'm lost in a terrible wilderness Of rhubarb and scammony : And my doses get worse and worse The more that I try to cram, Till I give magnesii sulph. by the grain, And strychnine is safe by the drachm. Castor and Croton Oil, Cannabis Indica, Hales and Brunner and Lieberkuhn, Jalap, Myristica ; Bowman and Flogel's Line, Stratum Malpighii, Jacobson's Nerve and Cholesterin, Tensores Tympani. THE SONG OF "THE SECOND" 6.3 Sometimes my head drops down Asleep on my wasted hands. But only to dream of the drugs that come From Brunton and other lands : Dream, dream, dream Of physiological fact. Till I ride the cardiac cycle round The cross pyramidal tract. Cram, cram, cram. Till my brain is ready to burst ; Ah, surely, of all man's possible ills " The Second " is far the woi'st ! For the Caudate Nucleus Is a twist in the devil's tail. And every other word on the page Whispers, — " You 're going to fail. Ruta graveolens. Plasma, and lymph, and chyle, Hydrochloride of haematin, And the sodium salts of bile ; 64 THE SONG OF ''THE SECOND" Ancient anatomy tips, " Bodfi " and " Parish Priest," Wantonly dance in my cerebral cells, "Specimen," "Salasap," "Beast." Work, work, work, I 've only a fortnight more : Work, though I half expect I '11 be spun, as I was before : For I cannot remember a fact Of the thousand and one I have read. So I 11 hopelessly put my lectures away, And I '11 go to my slumberless bed. W. II. WHITE AND CO. LTD., RIVERSIDE PRESS, EDINBURGH DATE DUE 1 GAYUORD PRINTED IN U.S.A. UC SOUTHFRN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 551 192 8 !i',}!?P,§/,Ty QF CA, 3 lii,. 3 1210 01285 0614 -i-^