THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES NEW POEMS THE POEMS OF WILLIAM WATSON With a Photogravure Frontispiece Two Vols., Uniform in Size with this Volume Price 9$. net NEW POEMS BY WILLIAM WATSON LONDON : JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD NEW YORK : JOHN LANE COMPANY : MCMIX Printed by Ballantvne of Co. Limited Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London CONTENTS PAGE THE BLACKSMIXH 15 SONNETS TO MIRANDA 21 TO THE INVINCIBLE REPUBLIC 55 WALES : A GREETING 60 THE WOMAN WITH THE SERPENT'S TONGUE 64 ON THE CONCLUSION OF PEACE BETWEEN RUSSIA AND JAPAN 67 HEAVEN AND HELL 68 THE STREAM AND THE TARN 7O THE PLAYMATES 7I HATE 72 TAVERN SONG 74 PAST AND PRESENT 78 TO A FAIR MAIDEN WHO BADE ME SHUN WINE 79 THE FISHER 83 THE FATAL PRAYER 84 THE MOUND IN THE MEADS 85 9 807?'il lo CONTENTS PAGE TO M. W. 87 REVELATION 9O THE MOUNTAIN RAPTURE 9I THE HEART OF THE ROSE 93 THE NEWS FROM THE FIELD 94 THE KNIGHTS AND THE KING 97 THE WINTER SLEEP 98 RETRIBUTION lOO sonnet: to RICHARD WATSON GILDER lOI THE ORGY ON PARNASSUS I03 CRITICISM 107 "THINK YOU, DEMOISELLE DEMURE " I08 THE SCOTT MONUMENT, FRINGE'S STREET, EDINBURGH IO9 THE INN BY THE WOOD 1 1 1 THE CHURCHYARD IN THE WOLD 1 1 2 ON HEARING MADAME OLGA SAMAROFF PLAY II 3 SONG FROM AN UNFINISHED DRAMA 1 1 5 THE MUSCOVITE'S SONG 1 17 THOUGHTS ON REVISITING A CENTRE OF COMMERCE II9 AT A BURIAL 121 BIRTH AND DEATH 122 IN DREAMS 123 CONTENTS II PAGE VIVISECTION 124 LEOPOLD OF BELGIUM I26 THE CHUECH TO-DAY 1 28 THE LISTENERS 1 29 THE STONES OF STANTON DREW I3I MAUREEN ASTflORE 133 NEW POEMS THE BLACKSMITH 'Tis the Tamer of Iron, Who smites from the prime, And the song of whose smiting Hath thundered through time. Like a mighty Enchanter Mid demons he stands — Mid Terrors infernal, The slaves of his hands. As a pine-bough in winter, All fringed with wild hair, His arm too is shaggy. His arm too is bare. 15 I6 THE BLACKSMITH And the bars on his anvil, They struggle and groan Like a sin being fought with, That's bred in the bone ; But against them he knits his Invincible thews, The Wrestler, the Hero, The Man That Subdues. As a crag looking down on The floods in their ire, He looms through the spray of His fountains of fire. Is he human and mortal. With frailties like mine, THE BLACKSMITH 17 Or a demigod rather, Of lineage divine ? For the dread things of Nature Crouch low in his gaze ; The Fire doth his bidding ; The Iron obeys. He is Voland, great Voland, Whose furnaces roared As he fashioned for Siegfried The wonderful Sword, " Whatsoever is mighty," He sang in his glee, " Twixt hammer and anvil Is fashioned by me." B i8 THE BLACKSMITH And he made the bright blade from His rapture and joy, Being one with the Gods who Create and destroy : The Gods at whose signal The fuel was hurled On the fires of the forges Whence issued the World. SONNETS TO MIRANDA I Daughter of her whose face, and lofty name Prenuptial, of old States and Cities speak, Where lands of wine look north to peak on peak Of the overwatching Alps : through her, you claim Kinship with vanished Power, unvanished Fame ; And midst a world grown colourless and bleak I see the blood of Doges in your cheek, And in your hair the Titian tints of flame. Daughter of England too, you first drew breath Where our coy Springs to our coy Summers yield ; 21 22 SONNETS TO MIRANDA And you descend from one whose lance and shield Were with the grandsire of Elizabeth, When the Plantagenet saw the avenger Death Toward him spurring over Bosworth field. II If you had lived in that more stately time When men remembered the great Tudor queen, To noblest verse your name had wedded been And you for ever crowned with golden rhyme. If, mid Lorenzo's Florence, made sublime By Art's Re-Birth, you had moved, a Muse serene. The mightiest limners had revealed your mien To all the ages and each wondering clime. Fled are the singers that from language drew Its virgin secrets ; and in narrow space 23 24 SONNETS TO MIRANDA The mightiest limners sleep : and only He, The Eternal Artist, still creates anew That which is fairer than all song — the grace That takes the world into captivity. Ill I DARE but sing of you in such a strain As may beseem the wandering harper's tongue, Who of the glory of his Queen hath sung, Outside her castle gates in wind and rain. She, seated mid the noblest of her train. In her great halls with pictured arras hung. Hardly can know what melody hath rung Through the forgetting night, and rung in vain. He, with one word from her to whom he brings The loyal heart that she alone can sway. Would be made rich for ever ; but he sings Of queenhood too aloof, too great, to say 25 26 SONNETS TO MIRANDA " Sing on, sing on, O minstrel " — though he flings His soul to the winds that whirl his songs away. IV When, in your palace, amid whatsoe'er Is most august and noble, I see you stand, One of the greatest ladies of the land. Almost it seems as if the marvels there, The sacred things untarnishably fair That grew from painter's or from sculptor's hand. Had into warm and breathing life been fanned. By puissant spell, in that enchanted air ; — By power and mandate of the Spirit divine That, flashing forth from radiant Woman- hood, Can, with unuttered word and secret sign, 27 28 SONNETS TO MIRANDA Waken insentient stone, inanimate wood ; Ev'n as it touches to melodious mood This halting tongue and trembling heart of mine. I CAST these lyric offerings at your feet, And ask you but to fling them not away : There suffer them to rest, till even they, By happy nearness to yourself, grow sweet. He that hath shaped and wrought them holds it meet That you be sung, not in some artless way, But with such pomp and ritual as when May Sends her full choir, the throned Morn to greet. With something caught from your own lofty air, With something learned from your own high- born grace, 29 30 SONNETS TO MIRANDA Song must approach your presence ; must for- bear All light and easy accost ; and yet abase Its own proud spirit in awe and reverence there, Before the Wonder of your form and face. VI I MOVE amid your throng, I watch you hold Converse with many who are noble and fair, Yourself the noblest and the fairest there, Reigning supreme, crowned with that living gold. I talk with men whose names have been en- rolled In England's book of honour ; and I share With these one honour — your regard ; and wear Your friendship as a jewel of worth untold. And then I go from out your sphered light Into a world that still seems full of You. 31 32 SONNETS TO MIRANDA I know the stars are yonder, that possess Their ancient seats, heedless what mortals do ; But I behold in all the range of Night Only the splendour of your loveliness. VII " Man," said the chief of sophists, " is born free, And he is everywhere in chains." — Ah well. There are beneficent bonds, and, truth to tell, There is uncovetable liberty. And you too wear the shackles men decree For them of proudest station, and yet dwell Untrammelled, mistress of the citadel Of your own mind, yourself unchangeably. And I, that oftentimes have gone astray Ev'n from myself and wisest self-control. Feel, when I see your outward beauty's ray 33 C 34 SONNETS TO MIRANDA Shine cloudless, that all inward beauty too, All sweetness of the heart and mind and soul, Lady ! is gathered up and sheaved in you. VIII If I had never known your face at all, Had only heard you speak, beyond thick screen Of leaves, in an old garden, when the sheen Of morning dwelt on dial and ivied wall, I think your voice had been enough to call Yourself before me, in living vision seen, So pregnant with your Essence had it been, So charged with You, in each soft rise and fall. At least I know, that when upon the night With chanted word your voice lets loose your soul, 35 36 SONNETS TO MIRANDA I am pierced, I am pierced and cloven, with Delight That hath all Pain within it, and the whole World's tears ; all ecstasy of inward sight ; And the blind cry of all the seas that roll. IX If all the thoughts of all the minds of men At last were stilled in night for evermore ; If all the sea should fade from all the shore, And all the earth be as a dried-up fen ; Would not the Maker and Destroyer then Look backward half-remorseful, and deplore The ruined world Himself might not restore. His own creation, withered from His ken ? Or would such things as here did bear in them Intenser life-fire than the rest attain. Live on, as at their highest, in spheres untrod 37 38 SONNETS TO MIRANDA By meaner Being ? — The might of Shakespeare's brain ; The vast Compassion born at Bethlehem ; And Beauty perfect from the hands of God. X What if that fieriest Substance found of late — That cousin to the uranium of the sun — Should be a cause of all that we have done And dreamed and been ? A source of Love and Hate, Virtue and Valour — yea, and Beauty great As yours ? — And could all this be hid in one Impassioned seed through aeons, — known to none, — Hid in one God-sown seed of Life and Fate ? Thus was the Genie of the Arabian tale Sealed in a vial for a thousand years Under the ocean, till a fisher's net 39 40 SONNETS TO MIRANDA Drew forth the vial, and the fisher set The captive free, — but shrank amazed and pale, When the loosed Afreet towered against the Spheres. XI You dwell amidst a world not far below Splendour of courts, and state of queens and kings, Yet cheer the halt and maimed, with minis- terings Of Love. The scoffer says, " Yom radiant glow But mocks then hopeless gloom ! " It is not so! Rather do these thank God for her who brings Morn, and a wafture of all fragrant things, To hearts that little else of sunlight know. Far be the day when Life shall have no more Its hills and valleys, only one dead plain ! 41 42 SONNETS TO MIRANDA Myself am of the valleys, whence do soar The peaks, and proud in valleys I remain ; Yet watch the mountains from the river shore, Nor rail heights I may not hope to gain. XII A FEW more days in this unkind July, This moon of stormy countenance drear and wan, And you will have departed to put on The moors and mountains as a robe laid by, And brought forth dipped in nature's Tyrian dye. For me, here lingering where your light hath shone, A glamour will have passed, a glory gone ; A paler earth will wear a greyer sky. Yet none the less this City as of old Shall throb with feverous heart-beats day by day : 43 44 SONNETS TO MIRANDA And tower and spire shall catch the dear last ray Of suns that bid adieu with kiss of gold : Thames shall roll on, as long ago he rolled : But you — but you will then be far away. XIII I KNEW it well ; an enemy has been near. Perhaps I may have met him at your door ; Perhaps I may have stood with him before Those canvases where Beauty rises clear Of mist and shadow, and mortal forms appear Immortal, for mortality to adore. But what was that distilment he could pour Unchidden, in the porches of your ear ? * It was the kinsman of the royal Dane, No stranger at his gates, who did infuse The drops that lulled a noble heart and brain * •• And in the porches of mine ears did pour The leperous distilment." Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 5. 45 46 SONNETS TO MIRANDA To untimely silence : O the sharper pain, If it should be a kinsman in the Muse Who came to wound me — and worse still, to stain. XIV Too long I wear this mask that I have made,— Rather, this woof of silken words, where each Half shows me, half conceals : too long I teach Truth to walk delicately in rich brocade. And hide my heart, with cloth-of-gold arrayed. I loved and love you — here is simple speech ; I loved and love you, who are out of reach ; There, take my secret stripped of lace and braid. But what avails it ? You give ear to those Who buzz and flutter betwixt you and the sun ; 47 48 SONNETS TO MIRANDA And 1 am too disdainful of my foes To answer them. Their web is poorly spun, And easily I could shatter it if I chose. But I am proud as you, Magnificent One ! XV I SHOULD have cleaved to her who did not dwell In splendour, was not hostess unto kings, But lived contented among simple things. And had a heart, and loved me long and well. Her, too, I loved ; and left her — need I tell ? — For the triumphant light that round you clings; I left her for the Heaven your presence brings ; I left her also for the pangs of Hell. I hear the Midnight tolling to the sky. The human tides ebb fast, that broke in foam Far around London's great impassive Dome. 49 D 50 SONNETS TO MIRANDA Somewhere asleep the happy meadows lie, And sweet is there the savour of the loam. And now, sweet dreams, sweet Lady ! — And good-bye ! XVI Then, 'twas the fancy of a fevered mind That told me I was cast from your regard ? I felt as one that being of late bestarred With honours hath by high command resigned Each glittering badge — and now once more may bind These on his breast ! I was o'erworn and jarred ; I thought you for a moment cold and hard ; I know you now for ever just and kind. Your written word brings life, and I can see Those woodlands, and that terrace whence you gaze 51 52 SONNETS TO MIRANDA On the loved hills that were my early friends. Too soon the hour of Youth's sweet turmoil ends ; But I shall hold in perpetuity The bloom and odour of this day of days. XVII So hither you return, only to haste Away to-morrow. And I too shall bide The grandiose coming of the autumntide Far from that world which you so late have graced. You go unto your forests : you will taste The forest sweetness where the wild deer hide, That couch in bracken on the wild hill-side, And in deep glens, and the storm-haunted waste. And I shall fare through paths you have not known To such repose as here no search can find ; And I shall wander forth all day alone, 53 54 SONNETS TO MIRANDA Save that my cares will not lag far behind ; And you will have the mountains for your throne, And hearts of men, and those calm heights of mind. TO THE INVINCIBLE REPUBLIC America ! I have never breathed thy air, Have never touched thy soil or heard the speed And thunder of thy cities ; yet would I Salute thee from afar, not chiefly awed By wide domain, mere breadth of governed dust, Nor measuring thy greatness and thy power Only by numbers : rather seeing thee As mountainous heave of spirit, emotion huge. Enormous hate and anger, boundless love. And most unknown unfathomable depth Of energy divine. In peace to-day 55 56 TO THE INVINCIBLE REPUBLIC Thou sit'st between thy oceans ; but when Fate Was at thy making, and endowed thy soul With many gifts and costly, she forgot To mix with these a genius for repose ; Wherefore a sting is ever in thy blood, And in thy marrow a sublime unrest. And thus thou keepest hot the forge of life, Where man is still re-shapen and re-made With fire and clangour. And as thou art vast, So are the perils vast, that evermore In thine own house are bred ; nor least of these That fair and fell Delilah, Luxury, That shears the hero's strength away, and brings Palsy on nations. Flee her loveliness, TO THE INVINCIBLE REPUBLIC 57 For in the end her kisses are a sword. Strong sons hast thou begotten, natures rich In scorn of riches, greatly simple minds : No land in all the world hath memories Of nobler children : let it not be said That if the peerless and the stainless one. The man of Yorktown and of Valley Forge, — Or he of tragic doom, thy later born, He of the short plain word that thrilled the world And freed the bondman, — let it not be said That if to-day these radiant ones returned, They would behold thee changed beyond all thought From that austerity wherein thy youth Was nurtured, those large habitudes of soul. S8 TO THE INVINCIBLE REPUBLIC But who are we, to counsel thee or warn, In this old England whence thy fathers sailed? Here, too, hath Mammon many thrones, and here Are palaces of sloth and towers of pride. Best to forget them ! Round me is the wealth, The untainted wealth of English fields, and all The passion and sweet trouble of the Spring Is in the air ; and the remembrance comes That not alone for stem and blade, for flower And leaf, but for man also, there are times Of mighty vernal movement, seasons when Life casts away the body of this death, And a great surge of youth breaks on the world. Then are the primal fountains clamorously Unsealed; and then, perchance, are dread things born. TO THE INVINCIBLE REPUBLIC 59 Not unforetold by deep parturient pangs. But the light minds that heed no auguries, Untaught by all that heretofore hath been, Taking their ease on the blind verge of fate, See nothing, and hear nothing, till the hour Of some vast advent that makes all things new. WALES : A GREETING In that wild land beyond Sabrina's wave ; In vales full of the voice of bards long mute, From Gwent to far Demetia by the sea ; Or northward unto cloud-roof'd Gwynedd, where The mountains sit together and talk with heaven, While Mona pushing forth into the deep Looks back for ever on their musing brows : By silent mound and menhir, camp and cairn, Leaf-hidden stream, and cataract's thunderous plunge : In summer calms, or when the storming North 60 WALES : A GREETING 6i Whitens Eryri's * crest and Siabod's t cone, — Have I not roamed and lingered, from my youth, An aHen and a stranger, but amidst A people gravely kind as suavely proud ? — A people caring for old dreams and deeds. Heroic story, and far-descended song ; Honouring their poets, not in death alone, But in life also, as is meet and well ; An ancient folk, speaking an ancient speech, And cherishing in their bosoms all their past, Yet in whose fiery love of their own land No hatred of another's finds a place. Sons — daughters— of Wild Wales, whose kin- dred swayed * The Cymric name of Snowdon, pronounced Er-urr-ee. t Pr onounced Shabbod. 62 WALES : A GREET^G This island, ages ere an English word Was breathed in Britain, — let an English voice Hail and salute you here at England's heart. On Europe, east and west, the dim clouds brood, Disperse, and gather again ; and none can tell What birth they hold within them. But we know That should they break in tempest on these shores. You, that with differing blood, with differing spirit, Yet link your life with ours, with ours your fate, Will stand beside us in the hurricane. Steadfast, whatever peril may befall : Will feel no separate heartbeats from our own, Nor aught but oneness with this mighty Power, WALES : A GREETING 63 This Empire, that despite her faults and sins Loves justice, and loves mercy, and loves truth. When truly she beholds them ; and who. thus Helps to speed on, through dark and difficult ways, The ever-climbing footsteps of the world. London, June 15, 1909 THE WOMAN WITH THE SERPENT'S TONGUE She is not old, she is not young, The Woman with the Serpent's Tongue, The haggard cheek, the hungering eye, The poisoned words that wildly fly. The famished face, the fevered hand, — Who slights the worthiest in the land, Sneers at the just, contemns the brave. And blackens goodness in its grave. In truthful numbers be she sung. The Woman with the Serpent's Tongue ; Concerning whom, Fame hints at things Told but in shrugs and whisperings : 64 WOMAN WITH THE SERPENT's TONGUE 65 Ambitious from her natal hour, And scheming all her life for power ; With little left of seemly pride ; With venomed fangs she cannot hide ; Who half makes love to you to-day, To-morrow gives her guest away. Burnt up within by that strange soul She cannot slake, or yet control : Malignant-lipp'd, unkind, unsweet ; Past all example indiscreet ; Hectic, and always overstrung, — The Woman with the Serpent's Tongue. To think that such as she can mar Names that among the noblest are ! That hands like hers can touch the springs 66 WOMAN WITH THE SERPENT's TONGUE That move who knows what men and things ? That on her will their fates have hung ! — The Woman with the Serpent's Tongue. ON THE CONCLUSION OF PEACE BETWEEN RUSSIA AND JAPAN The lyre, 'tis said, in ages long ago, Grew from the tense strings of the warrior's bow. If Music once was born of hate and pain, So be she born again ! 67 HEAVEN AND HELL *' Speed not afar, thou wandering Wraith, Speed not afar, but tell If thou hast climbed the towers of heaven. Or paced the crypts of hell." " Heaven — what is heaven ? 'Tis but to see Thy good deeds branch and bloom, And know that they make sweet the earth. When thou art in thy tomb." "And hell ?"— "Tis everlastingly Thine ill deeds to behold, Each quick and warm, and multiplied An hundredfold." 68 HEAVEN AND HELL 69 " And thou thyself, dim-drifting Ghost— Liv'st thou in heaven or hell ? " " In both have I a halting place, In neither may I dwell 1 " I watch my good and evil deeds Like marching armies pour. And so 'twixt hell and heaven am torn For evermore." THE STREAM AND THE TARN The stream came plunging and leaping, And white was the crash of its glee. Whence came it, a hunter unsleeping. In headlong hunt for the sea ? From the silent tarn up yonder ! — The cloistered tarn, that abides Where the guarding mountains ponder As they gaze on the far-off tides. And there, immured from commotion, The cloistered tarn is at rest, That has only dreamed of the ocean. And the heart of pearl in its breast. 70 THE PLAYMATES The Wye and the Severn are offspring Of dark Plinlimmon's side ; And there they were nursed as playmates, And then — they were sundered wide. In ways far parted they travel, By city and castled shore ; And at last, after great adventures, They meet — very old — once more. They are kings, grown grey amid homage. And clothed with renown and pride ; But they babble of how they were playmates On dark Plinlimmon's side. 71 HATE [To certain foreign detractors] Sirs, if the truth must needs be told, We love not you that rail and scold ; And, yet, my masters, you may wait Till the Greek Calends for our hate. No spendthrifts of our hate are we ; Our hate is used with husbandry. We hold our hate too choice a thing For light and careless lavishing. We cannot, dare not, make it cheap ! For holy uses will we keep 72 HATE 73 A thing so pure, a thing so great As Heaven's benignant gift of hate. Is there no ancient, sceptred Wrong ? No torturing Power, endured too long ? Yea ; and for these our hatred shall Be cloistered and kept virginal. TAVERN SONG I When winterly weather doth pierce to the skin, Then hey ! for a bottle of wine from the bin ; And hey ! for a tankard, and ho ! for a tankard, Sing ho ! for a tankard of ale at the inn. It's hey ! for a bottle, it's ho ! for a bottle, Sing ho ! for a bottle of wine from the bin ; And it's hey ! for a tankard, it's ho ! for a tankard, Sing ho ! for a tankard of ale at the inn, 74 TAVERN SONG 75 II The squire's at the Hall with his kith and his kin ; He'll drink like a hero till daylight begin, With hey 1 for a bottle, with ho ! for a bottle, A mellow old bottle of wine from the bin. Sing hey ! for a bottle, a mellow old bottle, Si7tg ho ! for a bottle oj wine from the bin, And sing hey ! for a tankard, a right flowing tankard. Sing ho ! for a tankard of ale at the inn. HI The parson, God bless him, he says it's no sin, When winterly weather hath made the blood thin, 76 TAVERN SONG To toss off a tankard, to toss off a tankard, To toss off a tankard of ale at the inn. So it's hey ! for a bottle, a bottle, a bottle, It's ho ! for a bottle of wine from the bin. And it's hey ! for a tankard, a heart-easing tankard. It's ho ! for a tankard of ale at the inn. IV For duns and the devil he cares not a pin Who is rich in a bottle of wine from his bin, And the cream of all wisdom is quaffed from a tankard, A heart-easing tankard of ale at the inn. Then hey ! for a bottle, a mellow old bottle, Then ho ! for a bottle of wine from the bin^ TAVERN SONG 27 And hey ! for a tankard, a fair foaming tankard, And ho ! for a tankard of ale at the inn, V The lads must have lasses and woo them and win, And the business of wives is to bake and to spin, But men love a tankard, but men love a tankard. But men love a tankard of ale at the inn. Then hey ! for a bottle, then ho ! for a bottle, Sing ho ! for a bottle of wine from the bin. And it's hey ! for a tankard, a tankard, a tankard. And ho ! for a tankard of ale at the inn. PAST AND PRESENT Our fathers in the Georgian era Shone over port and old Madeira. We of this less robustious epoch Excel in dulness over cheap hock And true enough, the thin potation Suits the vet thinner conversation. 78 TO A FAIR MAIDEN WHO BADE ME SHUN WINE And must I wholly banish hence These red and golden juices, And pay my vows to Abstinence, That pallidest of Muses ? Must I impute caprice to Heaven ? Its boons, must I pass by them, As if they were perversely given Only that I should fly them ? Lady, I hold that Man grew great, And climbed to starry station. Urged evermore by delicate And fine intoxication. 79 8o TO A FAIR MAIDEN From little lordlier than the ape, Full slow had been his growing, Had not the Grape, the mighty Grape, Kept Evolution going. When through him first the vine-thrill ran, Then first his life was human ! Then burgeoned all the soul of Man, And all the heart of Woman. His grand career was now begun. And naught could stay his crescence, Who quaffed the Summer and the Sun In liquefied quintessence, — A distillation of the Day, That most divinely sated TO A FAIR MAIDEN 8i The very thirst the noontide ray Itself had generated. And so the ages broadened still, And still mankind ascended ; And wise and foolish drank their fill And vowed the world was splendid ; And poets, cool from heights serene, Or hot from passion's furnace, Found the unfailing Hippocrene In regions like Falernus. But here I pause. The theme is vast, The sacred spring abundant. One word — I hold it to the last — Makes all besides redundant : 82 TO A FAIR MAIDEN Had mortals lacked the gift of wine, O Earth's too earthless daughter, There had been no such lips as thine To grace the praise of water. THE FISHER The Fisher is a warrior Whose camp is on the foam, And he returns from victory Bringing his captives home. Home he brings his captives Beauteous to behold, Some in silver armour, Some in mail of gold. A little rest from warfare, And to-morrow again the field ! — Where the burnished legions all night long Have glimmered, and flashed, and wheeled. 83 THE FATAL PRAYER " I VANQUISH," said the youthful King, " My foes on every field ; Yet, ye strong Gods, to one vain thing How helplessly I yield ! " Behold me fall'n a slave each hour To some dark long-lashed eye ! Oh, grant me, Kings of Heaven, the power That sorcery to defy." They heard ; and from their ruthless height The dreadful gift was thrown — The armour against Beauty's might Worn by the blind alone. 84 THE MOUND IN THE MEADS This is the mound that holds the slain Who came to the meads to fight the Dane, Who came to the meads from hut and hall, Fair-haired Saxons lusty and tall. Earl and churl, and thane and thrall. For they went not back to hut and hall : On his golden bracelet swore the Dane That none should be left uncleft in twain. And this is the hillock that hides them all, This is the mound that holds the slain. 85 86 THE MOUND IN THE MEADS For the Northman spared not great or small, Him of the hut or him of the hall, Earl or churl, or thane or thrall, And this is the barrow that hides them all ; This is the mound that holds the slain. TO M. W. Kind, gentle friend, brought strangely low By cruel blow on cruel blow ; You that so helpless here have lain, Oft in the iron clutch of pain, — Your tresses drifting like the Night Over your pillow's world of white, — Since April passed with gusty roar. Till now great June is at the door : Can it be true that all these weeks You have but watched the endless freaks Of clouds that without purpose roam. Or seen the straggling rooks go home. Or caught, with half-rebellious sigh, (From thrush or blackbird trilling nigh) 87 88 TO M. W. Just for a moment, that wild thing, The very soul of very Spring ? What can I counsel ? Naught indeed : For trite and tedious is the rede That says : " Be patient and resigned. And brave in heart and braced in mind." All this, and more, you are ! And though The journey back to health be slow, You have about you on the way Kindred who tend you night and day, Strewing the path with blossoms sweet To make it softer for your feet. And you shall yet arise and see Earth in her summer majesty ; Shall see her raised to height of pride, Unboding yet of Autumntide ; TO M. W. 89 Shall see her gorgeous in the brief Pomp of the fated reddening leaf. And lastly, all her revels o'er, And she a thing of joy no more, — When she is pinched and gaunt and chill, The torpid slave of Winter's will, — In your own veins such life shall play As dances at her heart to-day. REVELATION When all the choric peal shall end, That through the fanes hath rung ; When the long lauds no more ascend From man's adoring tongue ; When whelmed are altar, priest, and creed ; When all the faiths have passed ; Perhaps, from darkening incense freed, God may emerge at last. 90 THE MOUNTAIN RAPTURE Contentment have I known in lowlands green, A quiet heart by mead and lisping rill, But joy was with me on the cloven hill, And in the pass where strife of gods hath been ; — Remembrance of that ecstasy terrene Whence leapt the cataracts ; an eternised thrill, Coeval with the paroxysm that still Writhes on the countenance of the seared ravine. These peaks that out of Earth's great passions rose, 91 92 THE MOUNTAIN RAPTURE Wearing the script of rage, the graven pang, The adamantine legend of her throes, — These are her lyric transports ! thus she sang. With wild improvisation, — thus, with clang Of fiery heavings, throbbed into repose. THE HEART OF THE ROSE The Poet talked with the happy Rose, And oft did the Rose repeat How all her care was but to be fair, And all her task to be sweet. Ah, rash was the Rose — the tragic Rose ! She hath bared to the poet her heart ! And now he can take it, and crush and break it, And rich in its attar depart. 93 THE NEWS FROM THE FIELD [ballad] The King to the battle, the Queen to her bower. She sits with her maidens and chides the slow hour. There cometh no message all day from the King, And she chides the slow hour for the weight of its wing. She climbs to the turret and scans the far ways ; She walks in green alleys, by pleasaunce and maze ; By cool-plashing fountain, by arbour and lawn ; By the dial so patient from dawn unto dawn. 94 THE NEWS FROM THE FIELD 95 On the terrace a bat flutters wavering by ; The sun is gone down off the steps of the sky; And the peacock hath trailed his long splen- dours away In the lull of the world at the droop of the day. The birds to their perches, the Queen to her bower : Her damsels make music to while the slow hour. But she sits in their midst unregarding and mute : She heeds not the cithern, she hears not the lute. 96 THE NEWS FROM THE FIELD And hark, there are hoofs, — how they clatter and ring I A message, a message is come from the King. Who bringeth the tidings, at last, and so late ? A riderless charger, that neighs at the gate. THE KNIGHTS AND THE KING The Knights rode up with gifts for the King, And one was a golden sword, And one was a suit of golden mail, And one was a golden Word. He has buckled the shining armour on, He has girt the sword at his side ; He has flung at his feet the golden Word, And trampled it in his pride. The armour is pierced with many spears. And the brand is breaking in twain ; But the Word has risen in storm and fire. To vanquish and to reign. 97 G THE WINTER SLEEP A MAIDEN o'erwearied With dance and song, The Earth, The Earth, The Earth sleeps long. And her dreams are all Of one mad sweet thing- The kisses, The kisses, The kisses of Spring. 98 THE WINTER SLEEP 99 Awake, O maiden, For joy draws near. Thy lover, Thy lover, Thy lover is here. RETRIBUTION We shape our deeds and then are shapen by them. To some frail heart a cruel gift we bring, Turn from our acts away, and think to fly them : Ah, theirs the stronger wing ! They come upon our peace with sound of weeping, They find us though we hide in clefts and caves. They are with us waking, they are with us sleeping, And rend us in our graves, lOO SONNET TO RICHARD WATSON GILDER Take, Poet, take these thanks too long deferred — You that have made me richer year by year, Acro?s the vast and desert waters drear Wafting your marriage-chimes of thought and word, Your true-born, truthful songs. Not April bird Utters abroad his wisdom morning-clear From fuller heart. Still sing with note sincere And English pure as English air hath heard. And so, though all the fops of style misuse Our great brave language — tricking out with beads lOI 102 TO RICHARD WATSON GILDER This noble vesture that no frippery needs — Help still to save, while Time around him strews Old shards of empire, and much dust of creeds, The honour and the glory of the muse. THE ORGY ON PARNASSUS [Lines written in my copy of Tennyson] You phrase-tormenting fantastic chorus, With strangest words at your beck and call ; Who tumble your thoughts in a heap before us ; — Here was a bard shall outlast you all. You prance on language, you force, you strain it, You rack and you rive it, you twist it and maul. Form, you abhor it, and taste, you disdain it, — And here was a bard shall outlast you all. 103 104 THE ORGY ON PARNASSUS Prosody gasps in your tortured numbers, Your metres that writhe, your rhythms that sprawl ; And you make him turn in his marble slumbers, The golden-tongued, who outsings you all. Think you 'tis thus, in uncouth contortion. That Song lives throned above thrones that fall ? Her handmaids are order and just proportion, And measure and grace, that survive you all. Are these and their kin proscribed and banished ? Serenely the exiles await recall. THE ORGY ON PARNASSUS 105 To-morrow return, and find you vanished, You and your antics and airs and all. You may flout convention and scout tradition, With courage as great as your art is small, Where the kings of mind, with [august sub- mission. Have bowed to the laws that outlast you all ;— But brief is the life of your mannered pages ; Your jargon, your attitudes, soon they pall: You posture before the scornful ages. And here was a voice shall outlive you all. io6 THE ORGY ON PARNASSUS For in vain is the praise of discord sounded Under the Muse's mountain wall. With ritual old she is there surrounded ; Her great decorum rebukes you all: Her hill is not taken by storm or leaguer ; The cliffs are sheer as the peaks are tall. She foils in the clefts a pursuit too eager, And breathlessly followed eludes you all. She is won as a bride, with reverent wooing, Not haled by the hair, a captor's thrall : Such barbarous love is its own undoing ; And here was a bard shall outlast you all. CRITICISM There were three critics ; Slip and Slop And Slapdash were their names ; And all three said : " Your mission, sir ? Your message ? and your aims ? " " Kind gentlemen, to tell the truth, Nor colour fact with fable. My chief concern is just to write As well as I am able. Mere honest work my mission is. My message, and my aim." " A man of words," said Slip and Slop ; And Slapdash said the same. 107 Think you, demoiselle demure, That to be cold is to be pure ? Pure is the snow — till mixed with mire- But 'tis not half so pure as fire. io8 THE SCOTT MONUMENT, PRINCE'S STREET, EDINBURGH Here sits he throned, where men and gods behold His domelike brow — a good man simply great ; Here in this highway proud, that arrow- straight Cleaves at one stroke the new world from the old. On this side, Commerce, Fashion, Progress, Gold; On that, the Castle Hill, the Canongate, A thousand years of war and love and hate There palpably upstanding fierce and bold. 109 no THE SCOTT MONUMENT Here sits he throned ; beneath him, full and fast, The tides of Modern Life impetuous run. O Scotland, was it well and meetly done ? For see ! he sits with back turned on the Past— He whose imperial edict bade it last While yon grey ramparts kindle to the sun. THE INN BY THE WOOD The rank raw mist clung close like a hood, But warm was the hearth at the Inn by the Wood ; And I supped right well, and the ale was good, And comely the Maid of the Inn by the Wood. Though the rank raw mist clung close like a hood, The logs burned bright at the Inn by the Wood ; And a fair fat sirloin before me stood. And I supped like a King at the Inn by the Wood. Ill THE CHURCHYARD IN THE WOLD I WANDERED far in the wold, And after the heat and glare I came at eve to a churchyard old : The yew-trees seemed at prayer. And around me was dust in dust, And the fleeting light, and Repose — And the infinite pathos of human trust In a God whom no man knows. 112 ON HEARING MADAME OLGA SAMAROFF PLAY What hopes and fears, what tragical delight, What lonely rapture, what immortal pain, Through those two hands have flowed, nor thrilled in vain The listening spirit and air its depth and height ! Lovelier and sweeter from those hands of might The great strange soul of Schumann breathes again ; Through those two hands the over-peopled brain 113 H 114 ON HEARING MADAME OLGA SAMAROFF Of Chopin floods with dreams the impassioned night. Yea, and he too, Beethoven the divine. Still shakes men's bosoms with his bosom's throes, O fair Enchantress, through those hands of thine ; And yet perchance forgets at last his woes, Happy at last, to think that hands like those Have poured out to the world his heart's red wine. SONG FROM AN UNFINISHED DRAMA Hope, the great explorer, Love whom none can bind, Youth that looks before her, Age that looks behind, Joy with brow like Summer's, Care with wintry pate. Masquers are and mummers At Life's gate. Pow'r with narrow forehead. Wealth with niggard palm. Wisdom old, whose hoar head Vaunts a barren calm ; "5 Ii6 SONG FROM AN UNFINISHED DRAMA Haughty overcomers, In their pomp and state ;— Masquers all and mummers At Death's gate ! THE MUSCOVITE'S SONG TO THE GREAT BELL IN THE CAMPANILE OF IVAN VELIKY Toll, thou mighty Moscow Bell ; Mighty news to nations tell. Old things perish — toll their knell. Toll, thou mighty Kremlin Bell. Toll, thou far-resounding Bell. Toll the captive from his cell. Toll for them that faithful fell. Toll, thou mighty Moscow Bell. Toll, thou hollow-booming Bell. Strong is Wrong, and 'stablisht well. 117 ii8 THE Muscovite's song Stubborn are the forts of Hell ; Toll their fall, thou thunderous Bell. Toll with vast and billowy swell, Toll, thou mighty Kremlin Bell. Long do men in darkness dwell : Toll the Dawn, O Moscow Bell. THOUGHTS On revisiting a centre of commerce where a vast cathedral church is being erected City of merchants, lords of trade and gold, Traffickers great as they that bought and sold When ships of Tarshish came to Tyre of old ; City of festering streets by Misery trod, Where half-fed half-clad children swarm unshod, While thou dost rear thy splendid fane to God. O rich in fruits and grains and oils and ores, And all things that the feastful Earth outpours, Yet lacking leechcraft for thy leprous sores ! 119 120 THOUGHTS Heal thee betimes, and cleanse thee, lest in ire He whom thou mock'st with pomp of arch and spire Come on thee sleeping, with a scythe of fire. Let nave and transept rest awhile ; but when Thou hast done His work who lived and died for men, Then build His temple on high, — not, not till then. AT A BURIAL Lord of all Light and Darkness, Lord of all Life and Death, Behold, we lay in earth to-day The flesh that perisheth. Take to Thyself whatever may Be not as dust and breath — Lord of all Light and Darkness, Lord of all Life and Death. 121 BIRTH AND DEATH 'TwAS in another's pangs I hither came ; 'Tis in mine own that I anon depart. O Birth, thou doorway hung with swords of flame, How Uke to Death thou art ! 122 IN DREAMS In dreams the exile cometh home ; In dreams the lost is found ; In dreams the captive's feet may roam The world around. In dreams thou may'st a monarch be. And sit upon a throne. Give thanks, that this befalleth thee In dreams alone. 123 VIVISECTION Wild nature not by kindness won, because So seldom wooed that way ; — thou melodist, That singest only the eternal songs. And changeless through the ages, conquerest Time ; Thou white-wing'd joy, skimming the white- lipp'd sea ; Thou antlered forest lord : nor ye alone — The eminent and splendid ones of Earth — But creatures nearer to Man's daily walk ; Thou timorous fugitive, obscurely housed In populous labyrinth under hillock and holm; Thou noble hound, with thy immortal gift Of loving whom thou servest ; dear allies, 124 VIVISECTION I2S Friends, and co-heritors of Life with me ; What Power devised and fashioned you I know not ; I know not, for my faith hath failed me sore ; But this I know : whatevef natural rights Be mine, are yours no less, by native dower : If none entitled is to bind nie down, And rend, and mar, and rack, and break, and flay me. None hath a title so to ravage you, Saving such title as defames alike Him that bestows and him that uses it. This is the thing I know and doubt not of ; And this none taught me, but I drank it deep From the pure well-spring of my mother's breasts, Nor shall it die within me till I die. LEOPOLD OF BELGIUM Khalifs and Khans have we beheld, who trod The people as one neck beneath their heel ; Whose revel was the woe they could not feel, Whose pastime was the dripping scourge and rod ; Who shook swift death on thousands with a nod, And made mankind as stubble to their steel ; Who slew for Faith and Heaven, in dreadful zeal To pleasure Him whom they mistook for God. 126 LEOPOLD OF BELGIUM "7 No zeal, no Faith inspired this Leopold, Nor any madness of half-splendid birth. Merely he loosed the hounds that rend and slay That he might have his fill of loathsome gold. Embalm him. Time ! Forget him not, O Earth ! Trumpet his name, and flood his deeds with day. THE CHURCH TO-DAY Outwardly splendid as of old — Inwardly sparkless, void and cold — Her force and fire all spent and gone — Like the dead moon, she still shines on. 128 THE LISTENERS A PARABLE The face of day is haggard, The eye of day is blear, And troubled is the earth. For the storm steals near ; But the kine are in the grass-land, Grazing without fear, And busily the mill-wheel Hums by the weir. The kine are in the grass-land. Grazing without fear. But the shepherd in the mountains And the sheep-dogs hear i2g I 130 THE LISTENERS The mutter of the thunder, The first low thunder, The rumble of the thunder On the moor and the mere. THE STONES OF STANTON DREW Bland was the Morn, no speck or flaw Troubling her mien and hue, When, mid the April fields, I saw The Stones of Stanton Drew. Clear-hearted in the golden air The eternal lyrist flew ; But dark and full of silence were The Stones of Stanton Drew. Isled and estranged from every mood Of all that lived and grew, Deep in forgotten Time they stood — The Stones of Stanton Drew. 131 132 THE STONES OF STANTON DREW How many ages have gone by Since last a mortal knew Who set you there, and when, and why, O Stones of Stanton Drew ? All sunlit was the Earth I trod. The Heaven was frankest blue ; But secret as the thoughts of God The Stones of Stanton Drew. MAUREEN ASTHORE My lovely wife, who yestermorn didst bring Thy youth and sweetness all to me alone — Thine eyes of innocence and heart of spring- And madest them mine own ; My Bride from Erin — thou in whom I wed Not only thee but surely her as well — Her of the ancient tears, the glories dead, The undying charm and spell, — Maureen my Love ! we wore her triple leaf,- At the altar steps her triple leaf we wore : We must not in our joy forget her grief, Maureen Asthore. August 12, 1909 133 THE POEMS OF WILLIAM WATSON Edited and arranged, with an Introduction, by J. A. SPENDER. In 2 Volumes. With Portrait and many new Poems. Crown 8vo, gs. net. Timet.—" William Watson is, above all things, an artist who is proud of his calling and conscientious in every syllable that he writes. To appreciate his work you must take it as a whole, for he is in a line with the high priests of poetry, reared, like Ion, in the shadow of Delphic presences and memories, and weighing every word of his iitterance before it is given to the world." Athmaum. — " His poetry is a ' criticism of life,' and, viewed as such, it is magnificent in its lucidity, its elegance, its dignity. We revere and admire Mr. Watson's pursuit of a splendid ideal ; and we are sure that his artistic self-mastery will be rewarded by a secure place in the ranks of our poets. ... We may express our belief that Mr. Watson will keep his high and honourable station when many showier but shallower reputations have withered away, and must figure in any representative anthology of English^ poetry. . . . ' Wordsworth's Grave,' in our judgment, is Mr. Watson's masterpiece . . .. its music is graver and deeper, its language is purer and clearer than the frigid droning and fugitive beauties of the • Elegy in a Country Churchyard.' " Westminster Gazette. — " It is remarkable that when Mr. Watson's poetry directly invites comparison with the poetry of preceding masters his equality always, his incomparable superiority often, becomes instantly apparent. ... No discerning critic could doubt that there are more elements of permanence in Mr. Watson's poems than in those of any of his present contemporaries. . . i A very treasury of jewelled aphorisms, as profound and subtle in wisdom and truth as they are consummately felicitous in expression." Bookman. — " From the very first in these columns we have pleaded by sober argument, not by hysterical praise. Mr. Watson's right to the fore- most place among our living poets. The book is ... a collection of works of art, like a cabinet of gems." Spectator. — " The two volumes will be welcomed by the poet's numerous admirers. There is a pleasure in the possession of a complete edition of a great writer's works. . . . We must apologise for quoting so copiously, but the book is so full of beautiful things that in his pleasure at seeing them all together the critic is irresistibly tempted to take them out and remind his readers of them separately." St. James's Gazette. — " The publication of these volumes confers a distinct benefit on contemporary thought, contemporary poetry, and on English literature in a wider sense." Mr. William Archer (in the Morning Leader). — " Among the critics of the nineties enamoured of this or that phase of eccentricity, affectation, or excess, Mr. Watson had to pay dearly for his austere fidelity to his ideal of pure and perfect form. But these days are past ; detraction now hides its diminished head ; the poet ... is clearly seen to be of the great race." By WILLIAM WATSON Selected Pokms. Fcap. 8vo. Cloth, 3s. 6d. net. Leather, 5S. net. The Prince's Quest, and other Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. Lachrym.^ Musarum. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. The Eloping Angels : a Caprice. Square i6mo. 3s. 6d. net. Odes and other Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. The Father of the Forest, and other Poems. With Photogravure Portrait of the Author. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. The Purple East : a Series of Sonnets on England's Desertion of Armenia. With a Frontispiece after G. F. Watts, R.A. Fcap. 8vo. Wrapper, is. net. The Year of Shame. With an Introduction by the Bishop of Hereford. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net. The Hope of the World, and other Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. Excursions in Criticism : being some Prose Recrea- tions of a Rhymer. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. Ode on the Day of the Coronation of King Edward VII. Small 4to. 2s. 6d. net. For England : Poems written during Estrangement. Fcap. 8vo. 23. 6d. net. The Tomb of Burns. With Nine Illustrations by D. G. Cameron. Demv i6mo. 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