m>h &^^ m. k."Sx w^ M m LIBRARY ^ UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE THIS EDITION IS LIMITED TO 50O COPIES The designs for the title-page and cover are by Selwyn Itnage OLD AND NEW 'V OLD AND NEW a collection of poem5 by ERNEST RADFORD /■/' T-FISHERUN\xnN LONDON \8p mmm mmm R43(3'4 Edinburgh : T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty PREFACE Translations from Heine and other verses. Cambridge, 1882. Measured SteJ)S. London, 1884. Chajnbers Twain. London, 1890. These three volumes were issued at my expense. They can hardly be said to have been 'published' in the more liberal sense of the word. Therefore I feel no shame in accepting an invitation to reprint what I believe to be the best of them, and I am even eager to do so, as it gives me an opportunity of revising my work. From these — from the two books of ' The Rhymers' Club,' and from a pile of new verses, I have taken the poems which Vlll PREFACE form the present 'collection.' I have only to acknowledge the kindness which permits me to reprint the verses on p. 94 and p. 122 . . . Now am I nd of dull care. The delight of the poet who discovers in a friend so reckless a publisher can be better imagined than described. E. R. CONTENTS PART I FROM THE VOLUME OF 1 88 2 White Lies, PAGE 3 Reader to Novelist, 5 The Answer, 7 Cambridge Rowing, 1874-78, An Exhortation, 8 12 Now and Then, 16 Spring-Time, . Limits, . 18 20 Too Hard, 21 Charon, 22 In the ' Long,' . Cambridge Lodgings, 1877. Moral Fragments, 24 27 29 X CONTENTS Valentine, .... Introspection, .... Art and Religion in Cambridge, 1874-78, PAGE 32 34 n PART II LIGHT VERSE Willy, 41 Idyll of the British Museum, . 43 Dartmoor, . . . . . 44 My Lady Nicotine, . . . . 45 ' Old Boys' at Amersham Hall, . 46 Lost Friends, .... . 48 In Chambers, . . . . . 49 Triolet, ..... 52 My Pretty Maid, . . . . 53 Interjections, I. II. ill. IV. v., . 54 Incident of the Office, . 59 Latter-day Song, 61 The Book of the Rhymers' Club, 62 Malice, ..... 63 After Heine, .... . 64 ' Some Emotions and a Moral,' . 65 Abominations, .... . 67 By Gerard Dow, 68 CONTENTS XI PAGE Feb. 14, . . . . . ■ 69 A Xmas Card, . 70 A Presiding Examiner, 71 Jeremiah at the Cheshire Cheese, 73 Shelley at Oxford, 74 Preferences, 75 Love and Death, 76 Suburban, 79 Pseudonym Library, . 80 PART III TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY Mother Earth and the New Woman, For an Ideal, . Song in the Labour Movement, Envoy, . Plymouth Harbour — A Song, Unworthy, Marguerite, My Love : where art thou ? In Account with Time, Anniversary, A Dream, 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 94 95 96 XH CONTENTS PAGE With Flowers, ...... 97 In June, . 98 Great Expectations, 99 To a Sweet Singer, 100 Edelweiss, lOI Of Me, . 102 Day and Night, 103 When, . 104 Lost, 105 An Acknowledgment, . 106 A Dole, . 107 Homeward Bound, 108 Pictures by Florence Small — I. Autumn, 109 II. The Poem, 109 An Unfinished Portrait, no To William Thompson, III A Birthday, 112 Friends, 113 In a Bachelor's Garden, 114 A Science of History, . 115 Question, 116 Twice Dead, 117 Magdalene, 1x8 CONTENTS Xlll PAGE Alma Mater, . . . . . .120 In the British Museum, 122 Remember, . 123 Question, . 124 Gifts, . . 125 Ever and a Day, 126 G. D. R., 1879, 1889, . 127 W. H. Widgery, . 128 To Joseph Skipsey, 129 Of Quiet, 130 R. A. Ledward, Sculptor, 131 For an Urn, i 132 Art's Extremes, , • ^33 The Protest of Spring, 134 Let Rest, 135 Life — Life, 136 Triolet, .... 137 The Undersong, 138 PART IV PRENTICE WORK — TRANSLATIONS ; MOSTLY FROM HEINE An Elegy, Chambers Twain, 141 142 XIV CONTENTS From ' Quickborn ' — Klaus Groth : — De See is vuller Water, . An Heben trecht de Mulken, Ada, Ade, de Summer Geit, PAGE 143 144 145 From Heine's ' Buch der Lieder ' : — Die Bergstimme, . Im Wunderschonen Monat Mai, Auf Flugeln des Gesanges, Du Liebst mich Nicht, Ich Grolle Nicht, Ja, du bist Elend, . Und Wussten's die Blumen, die Kleinen Vergiftet sind meiner Lieder, Am Kreuzweg wird Begraben, Wenn ich an deinem Hause, Wie kannst du ruhig Schlafen, . Das ist ein Schlechtes Wetter, . Mensch, Verspotte nicht den Teufel, Das Herz ist mir Bedruckt, Herz, mein Herz, sei nicht Beklommen, Du bist wie eine Blume, . Diesen Liebenswurd'gen Jungling, 149 ISO 151 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 1 60 161 162 163 164 165 166 CONTENTS XV An deine schneeweisse Schulter, Bist du wirklich mir so feindlich, In den kussen welche Luge, From Heine's ' Neue Gedichte ' : — Sag mir wer einst die Uhren Erfund, Wie Neubegierig die Mowe, Das Fraulein, stand am thure Mit Schwarzen Segeln, Wie Schandlich du Gehandelt, . Das meer erstrahlt im Sonnenschein, Ich halte ihr die Augen zu, Wo? PAGE 1 68 169 170 175 176 177 178 179 180 Postscript— In praise of Robert Burns, 181 PART I FROM THE VOLUME OF 1882 A cold-blooded, laggard, worrying hunt after rhymes which can be made serviceable. . . .' O. W. Holmes : ' Over the Teacups.^ WHITE LIES Could I be young as I once was young — Young, body and heart, again : Could you but be fair as you once were fair (But wishing, ah me! is vain) ; There were happiness now that we missed somehow In days that ended in pain. Could I but love as once I loved In old old days that are sped : Could you but be true as I thought you true Ere trust in my heart was dead ; There were still to know, in place of woe. Ah me, what a joy instead ! But I may not love as I loved in youth, Nor trust as I trusted then ; 4 WHITE LIES Nor beauty is yours, nor the little of truth That you brought to the sons of men : There is nothing to mend, and here must end My song— but I loved you then ! READER TO NOVELIST I HOLD it not the wisest plan To make your hero out a man For ever in tlie right, And so alarmingly endowed With virtue that an average cloud (Or, if you better like it, spout) Of envy, defamation, spite Can scarce obscure, and can't put out. His flickerinof candle-liorht Your novel-writer, not content With average stature, 5 feet 9, And morals such as have to serve Mere men of God's design, Seeks grand, chryselephantine, men Whose strength is as the strength of ten, Of beauty half divine. 6 READER TO NOVELIST Dear novelist, unto me list ; I 'd sooner death than with a breath Of mine Malign This paragon of excellence This ' moral porcupine.' But think how short is actual life, Docked by old Time's pruning-knife, How long your last romance is ! And think how brief would ho. your course Had you the brilliant chances You give your hero every day To fall before resistless force, Or slighted love, or dull remorse, Or suicidal fancies. The modern novel, I submit. There 's very much too much of it. And all, I think, because You give your hero such physique, He's tougher than the toughest Greek, (You couldn't kill him in a week !) He scoffs at Nature's laws. And then again, so fair a vein His whole existence hallows. It were insane to rack one's brain READER TO NOVELIST In hope to lure this creature pure Beyond his moral shallows, Or catch him in one little sin, Precursor of the gallows. • • • • • For human nature's daily food He 's much too strong and much too good. THE ANSWER Suppose, dear Reader, I should choose. By old tradition undeterred, Some hero from the common herd And ask the public to peruse The story of a life that moved For ever in a midway track, With little record at the back Of Vice detected, Virtue proved (As may be thine), were it a thing To marvel at if in an hour. Lulled by its soporific power, I found thee, reader, slumbering? 8 CAMBRIDGE ROWING, 1874-8 It's vastly engaging When a snowstorm is ramne, And a hurricane shrieks Thro' shadowy breeks, To loaf by the river And grumble and shiver Until the boat-captain, His 'ulster' well wrapt in, Appears on the scene. And when we are ready. The ' ship ' isn't steady, The water is ' heady,' The * work ' is oppressive. The captain aggressive. And swearing like mad By everything bad — - Eternally slanging The writer for ' hano^ing,' For 'sugaring,' 'cocking,' Or ' knifing,' or ' rocking ' — CAMBRIDGE ROWING, 1 874-8 9 And when a boat-captain, His dignity wrapt in. Develops his views Bad language ensues. I '11 endeavour to paint. In portraiture faint, The pleasures of rowing ; Commencing by showing The style of oration The youth of this nation Requires to inflame His yearning for Fame, And will offer it thee In paraphrase free. Replacing by dashes Such language as clashes With prevalent notion Of verbal emotion. (captain's address from the towing-path.) Get her ready ! Forward ! Row ! Keep her steady ! Let her go ! Now she 's strollino- ! Sit iip ! Bow ! lO CAMBRIDGE ROWING, 1874-8 You are rolling Like a cow ! Now then, d n it ! Blazes, Two ! Try to lamn it On, man, do\ Feel your stretchers ! Curse you, Three ! (Can't you splash it Over me ?) Swing together Every oar ! Off the feather Sooner, Four! \ Keep your backs up ! / Look alive ! Where d 'you hope to Go to. Five ? (Go to Heaven ? Go to H— 11 !) Six, you 're cocking ! Seven, you 're late ! Shocking, shocking, Ghastly Eight !^ ^ Referring, of course, to the whole crew, and not to the ' stroke ' of the boat. CAMBRIDGE ROWING, 1874-8 II Keep it going ! Never saw D-mnder rowing ! E-A-S-Y all. Why should I continue ? 'Tis surely not in you To list any longer To language no stronger Than dash it, or d n it, And yet if I cram it With oaths better suited To please the polluted I fear some ill fame May attach to m.y name ; For I often aspire In poetry higher, And care not to venture Incurring the censure Of scandalised readers In eloquent 'leaders,' For I shrewdly suspect They would rise and reject And spurn and resent all. With anger prodigious. My songs sentimental, My epics religious. 12 AN EXHORTATION ' The spectacle of an entire nation grovelling in content- ment is an exasperating thing.' — Mark Twain. So many battles still unfought, So many eager to be taught, So many preachers prone to preach, That mere plenitude of thought Strikes poverty on speech ? Or tell me, fellow Interchangers,^ Must we henceforth meet as strangfers ? See with mutual resentment Nothing mutual in our views ? Do you ' grovel in contentment ' ? Is there nothinof to make better ? Is there nothing to abuse ? Is not the army * standing' ? Is not monarchy a sham ? Is not Beaconsfield in office ? Do not tin tacks in the jam ^ These lines were first circulated in manuscript in a magazine called T/ie Interchange. AN EXHORTATION I3 Arouse your indignation ? Nor the nauseating dram- Drinking habits of the country (Making bumpkins into brutes) ? Nor the age of Mrs. Grundy ? Nor the price of shoddy suits ? Does not a cry of ' Woman's Rights ' Arouse a righteous ire To rectify her wicked wrongs, And wickeder attire ? While sermons may be preached that sticks Have hammered out of stones, Are 'cruelty to animals,' And pictures by Burne Jones, And ' universal suffrage ' (Including man and beast). Iniquities in needlework, And ' horrors in the East ' Themes that can move no flexile quill To quiver in the least ? While vice is rampant through the land. And china lovers swear That real old ' Chelsea ' can't be had, Nor true blue crockery ware, That ' Dresden's ' unreliable, And ' Wedgwood ' even rare, 14 AN EXHORTATION Should any hand be idle That might propel a quill ? Should any pulse be placid ? Should any tongue be still ? Till decency and order reign Where drunkenness has been, Till curious old mezzotints On Morris-papered walls are seen (Replacing noxious German prints And poisoned arsenic green), Till that far-distant, longed-for day When savages shall think That Christian creed, and Christian oaths. And Christian stores of left-off clothes, And Christian measles. Christian drink. Are better than their heathen oaths, Their meagre scantity of clothes, Their unfermented drink. Until, in short, some longed-for day When, happy in success, We 've taught all men to clothe themselves, And taught ourselves to dress. Till all the nations feel as we On English soil to-day. That 'tis ' sinful ' to be worsted In a ' great and wicked ' fray : AN EXHORTATION 15 But to Spend a little money, And waste a lot of life, Is a ' noble undertaking ' In a small unrighteous strife. Till Mr. Gaze, and Mr. Cook, Have cleared the space betwixt us. And every hungry soul may look On the Madonna of 'San Sixtus ' Until on all her eyes have dwelt So loving, sweet, so sad-serene, And each, assisted by their light. His heart just once has seen And felt — far better than before Yet very very mean. — Till Love is re-established In Mrs. Grundy's rules. Till bloodshed is abolished And ' young ladies' boarding-schools,' Till all who pine in woful want May roll in wilful waste. Till every one is very good And everything in 'taste.' — • Should any hand be idle That might propel a quill ? Should any pulse be placid ? Should any tongue be still ? l6 NOW AND THEN Once there was no heaven Other than I knew In the hmitless world beyond The fathomless blue Of eyes that were wistful and wondrous \/ And loving and true. Was the flame too fierce to be lasting ? The setting too rich for the jewel ? Was it pleasant forecasting the glances Of eyes too kind to be cruel ? Was the setting too rich for the jewel — (Thy face too fair in the view) ? Was it pleasant, beloved, blasting A hope that was new With words — a low murmur of music On lips too sweet to be true ? NOW AND THEN 17 The tale is the tale oft told : Poor theme for a man to bemoan ! The eyes are the ' wondrous ' eyes of old, The ' loving ' heart a heart as cold — The self-same stone : And the lips that have lied Are the lips that sighed In low sweet undertone. B i8 S PRI NG-T I ME Where chestnuts overhang the stream Our boat shall lie ; here may we dream An hour away, and Care may wait. Ah ! sweet — Ah ! sweet Thus for one hour to deviate From the rude pathway marked by Fate. Our home is here : the skylark flings His music down, and tiniest things Beat the still air with labouring wings. Ah ! sweet the odours, Sweet the song ; Sweet to forget, these scenes among, The jarring discords of the throng. SPRING-TIME 19 Now glide we onward ever slow, And now, In the opal afterglow, Listen, a voice sings clear and low. Ah ! sweet the singer ; Sweet the strain ! Ah when, ah when, tired heart and brain, Will that song gladden thee again ? 20 LIMITS Ah, Ladies, that some fairy band Would turn a barren offering Of thanks into a richer thing ! The cunning of an artist's hand, The tuneful harp to sing, — These are not mine, nor mine the power In graceful phrase, with studied art. To tell how in a saddened hour. As rain upon a thirsty flower. Kind wishes cheer the heart. Alas, dear friends ! could we but train Upon a furrowed legal brow The Muse's sacred laurel bough — Ah, then I might not strive in vain (Beating an irresponsive brain) To waft in fitting measures now The breath of kindness back again ! I 21 TOO HARD ' The days will be long,' she murmured : Her tears on his bosom fell. ' But a little while,' he answered, As loth to say Farewell. So the Farewell was not spoken : Her lover crossed the main, And the days were long while she waited, And watched till he came again. Too hard to be spoken at parting ! Her lover came back, and they tell How they met, and how sweetly he uttered (After long days of waiting) Farewell. 22 CHARON Charon, thy craft more slowly wends On peaceful Cam from shore to shore, And in thy locks the silver blends With larger freedom than of yore. Thy bended form has little grace (Nimble thou wert in earlier days), And Time has sadly marred a face That few may love and none can praise. We quail before thy searching glance ; Nay, bold boat-captains fear thine eye, And tremble, Charon, if perchance They have no little ' trifle ' by. Thou hast a son, a stalwart lad, Some sixty summers he or more, Who, when thy rheumatism 's bad. Deftly manoeuvreth the oar. CHARON 23 And thou art yet but ninety-six — Talk not of leaving us till he (Thy namesake, Charon, on the Styx) Bequeaths his pole to thee. 24 IN THE 'LONG' Youth of the 'Varsity, Flower of the land, Here in a far city- Dreary I stand, And pledge thee, and wring (like a ' fresh- man ') ^ thy hand. Time-honoured Colleges ! Classical halls ! Seeking for knowledge is The last thing that palls Under the nurturing shade of thy walls! Dwellers in Trinity — Tempest-tossed Cam — Dons of Divinity — ' Little-sfo ' cram Alike are deserving of prostrate salaam. 1 A way of demonstrating affection not encouraged in Cam- bridge. IN THE 'long' 25 Up in an attic all Corner and slope, Men mathematical Gloomily grope, Of far away Fellowship, fostering hope. Burning to head all lists, Lavish of oil. Prizemen and medallists Ceaselessly toil, Burning, eternally burning for spoil. Slumbering lazily Under the trees, Ofttimes I hazily Ponder of these Sweet youths in their labours for ' Honours' decrees. '& Oft in the ' Vac.,' as I Catch the perfumes Of mingling tobaccos, I Dream of my ' rooms ' Haunted by ' bedmakers,' beetles, and glooms. 26 IN THE 'long' Of faces congenial Time-honoured jokes, Of servient menial Sedative smokes Of bountiful 'butteries,' obdurate 'oaks.' « ■ • • • Youth of the 'Varsity, Flower of the land, Now in a far city Dreary I stand And pledge thee, and wring like a freshman thy hand. 27 CAMBRIDGE LODGINGS, 1877 ' I ASK not for cleanliness, care not for light, I crave not a wide-spreading view ; But I 7nust have my curtains of purple and white. My table-cloth yellow and blue.' * I 'm sure, sir, you '11 find they are much to your mind. For here is no wide-spreading view ; Neither cleanly nor light, nor excessive in height — My curtains, moreover, are purple and white. My table-cloth yellow and blue.' 'But I must have a carpet of orange and green. And then, I decidedly think 'Twould add to the general effect of the scene Were the furniture covered in ultramarine, Gamboge and magenta and pink.' 28 CAMBRIDGE LODGINGS, 1877 ' Oh then, sir, my rooms, if I rightly assume, Will suit as to colours, I think ; There 's an oleograph of a 'uge Magdalene All over gamboge, sir, and ultramarine, My furniture covers is pink. ' And as for magenta — but pray, sir, to enter And look at the picturs and that : That there s in the Bible, sir, ' 'sputin' with doctors,' And that's 'Httle Alick,'^ sir (one of the proctors). And Longfield, the favourite bat, And a dozen actresses, in beautiful dresses, And a puppy ^<^vourin' a rat. * And a great many more, sir, the rent, sir, is ^20.' * My excellent woman, on questions of rent I Assure you 'tis painful to dwell : Your curtains and carpet, recherchd and chaste ; Your pictures, selected with knowledge and taste. Will suit me remarkably well.' ^ A disreputable vendor of ' dawgs.' 29 MORAL FRAGMENTS For money, or for money's worth, On this unpleasant little earth Most men will sell their souls away ; Their bodies too : to barter clay (Unprofitable merchandise) For glittering gold, were surely wise ! Says Rochefoucauld : ' True wisdom brings True knowledge of the price of things ' : We 're very wise to-day. We 're very wise ; I think we know The price of all things here below. We know that Vice and Virtue join In having both their price in coin. I knew of Virtue very young, Have heard at least his praises sung ; I learned, at quite an early date, To loathe the very name of Vice, And circumspectly estimate How much of ofoodness would suffice. 30 MORAL FRAGMENTS I learned from pastors, now with Shem, That Heaven's gates seemed wide to them ; I learned from pastors, now with Ham, How small a Vice may serve to damn. But I digress, my gentle song Becomes inordinately long. Revenons a nos moutons. • • • . The thought to-day occurs to me To write yet once a diary, And therein duly to rehearse, In careful prose, or careless verse, All that may happen day by day. Or wise, or witty, grave or gay : For I, in speculation bold, A pessimistic doctrine hold. And would empirically decide Whether this view be justified By facts observed, or whether men. Who should know better, now and then (Being philosophers) have tried, In sheer malignity, to make My spiritual sponsors quake. To spoil my happiness, to crush The flower of young Hope, and brush MORAL FRAGMENTS 3I The bloom from Faith's pure cheek. And should It prove that I have been misled By cynics (a malignant brood), And all my thinking on this head Was false in drift, and in the letter, And miserably misapplied, All you will say is, ' All the better.' Behold then, courteous spectator, (Reader, I mean) the raison d'etre Of this my diary. Its aim Is purely scientific : I disclaim All joy in any earthly things Save such as touch the secret springs Of human progress. . . . 32 VALENTINE Not mine the painter's skill to trace With pencil free, in flowing line, And nice detail, a perfect face ; A figure cast in mould Divine, Moved with a woman's grace. The poet, in his sorrow blest, May tell with quivering quill Some tender tale of broken rest, And gentle eyes with teardrops fill, And pity fills the breast. Nor is his labour all in vain If heartfelt sighs his bosom wring, And lower notes, and sadder strain, Show distant ages wondering A larger love, a deeper pain. VALENTINE 33 A heavy task ; but heavier yet Is grief that finds not any song — His joy short-lived, and long regret, Who bears his burden in the throng, And seeks in silence to forget. 34 INTROSPECTION Through weary hours I 've pondered o'er A something- which to write upon ; I Ve lain in frenzy on the floor, And striven to let my fancy soar, And nothing can I light upon ! Now shall I write in prose or verse ? Or whereunto my powers bring ? Shall I in tragic vein rehearse A mother's grief, a father's curse ? Or tender tale more softly sing ? Or shall I examine my mind With the night-light of ' Introspection ' ? And then, having made from its innermost part (Where some have a lumber-room, others a heart), Of personal failings selection, INTROSPECTION 35 I Explain to the world in the cleverest novels How the normal mind abnormally grovels. t The world of to-day wants ' knowledge of self— The old true poets are all on the shelf; And he may aspire to bays Who gives to the world without any apology, In metre, a volume of simple psychology. I hope that it will not be long Ere man knows enough of himself, And seeks somethinof better in song. And yet, till the rage passes over, A poet may live in clover, And I willingly join the throng. — • • « • • ' Man, know thyself! ' All ye who are groping in college or school. For love or for glory or pelf, Henceforward must follow a different rule : ('Tis well for a man to know he 's a fool) Ineffable bathos ! Study * thyself 36 INTROSPECTION 'Tis not from his books, 'tis not from his friends (Thank God !), nor his paltriest neighbour, That a man will secure these desirable ends — This ' knowledge of life ' that makes ample amends For the life that is lost in the labour. Then turn from thy friends : shun Poetry, Art;— Be vain disputations avoided ; Examine, dear reader, thine innermost part ; And soon you will think you have fathomed your heart. And know that you haven't enjoyed it. Z1 ART AND RELIGION IN CAMBRIDGE, 1874-78 Rock me to sleep ! mine eyes have seen Conflicting shades of blue and green ! Creator of each subtle sense — God, Harmony Divine ! What agonies acute, intense, Are his who thro' life's long suspense Aspires to taste Divine ! Rock me to sleep ! the True, the Chaste, The Beautiful, the Good, — All these, with fretting haste, By man uncultured, boorish, rude, Are eagerly pursued, Whilst Thy great gift, the sense of Taste, Lies neglected, unpursued. 38 ART AND RELIGION IN CAMBRIDGE Rock me to sleep ! take, take away Thy servant's sense of sight ! Till earth again, in Thine own day, Becomes a ' harmony in gray ' — Take me to Thee : Let angels lay On aching eyeballs, Night. PART II LIGHT VERSE Many of the following pieces are taken from my second book. CRITICAL NOTICES OF ' MEASURED STEPS.' i. ' The best things in this tiny book owe little to academies . . . the faculty to receive enjoyment is united with the faculty to convey it.' — The Academy. ii. 'This volume of idiotic drivel is printed at the author's expense, but we think the few pounds gained by the publisher in the operation will not repay him for the discredit of having his name on the title-page.' — American Bookseller. 41 WI LLY They were talking of love, oh, so wisely ! How we slaved for that charity tea ! Of love in its 'higher relations,' And * Platonic ' affection, dear me ! But poor little I was too flighty. Contrived on too heedless a plan, Too vain (so they said) and too trifling To know aught of the ideal man. They talked, and oh ! I grew sleepy ; And the sun streamed in on the pane ; And I hardly seemed wanted, and somehow I found myself down in the lane. And then, oh then, I met Willy : He popped from the hedge with his gun : ' So delightful,' he said, ' to meet you here, Of all people under the sun.' 42 WILLY Yes, would you believe it, 'twas Willy, And his two little dogs, 'Smalls' and ' Mods ' ; I faltered, ' Aunt Susie will miss me,' But Willy just said, ' What 's the odds ! ' And he said — but, oh that I can't tell you ! But he kissed me before he began : He 's over six feet, and he 's lovely, If he isn't an ' ideal ' man. My eyes were tight shut, and he kissed me. And ' Mods ' gave a warning bow-bow ; And I screamed, and thought, ' Was my hair tidy While Willy recorded his vow ? ' Then I slipped to my corner demurely, And patted and smoothed down my hair. And wondered if any one noticed, And made up my mind not to care ; For I still shut my eyes and saw Willy, While we slaved for that charity tea. And talked of love's ' higher relations,' And * Platonic ' affection, dear me ! 43 IDYLL OF THE BRITISH MUSEUM She moved, admiring students said, Amid the marbles like their queen ; He bore, a little high, his head, Aware of God-like mien. 'Tis afternoon-: the long slant rays Make hot the dim Egyptian room ; Our queen her little luncheon lays On a low sculptured tomb. And now the lad (his dark curls float As if from hers their gold to win) Draws from a worn-out velvet coat A paint-smeared sandwich tin. Love spreads the feast ; their lips have met So grace is said, and lingered o'er ! Grey gods, ye smiled ! Nor look ye yet All grimly serious as before. 44 DARTMOOR Miss ' Meg' stood pawing at the door, As she would question, ' Wherefore tarry ? Brave old Dartmoor I '11 put you o'er, Young master, like old Harry.' Then up I took my little crook Ere Time was any older, And Hell-to-split we frolicked it O'er fern and furze and boulder. 45 MY LADY NICOTINE ' Fair friend of Mine, the lips that taught The trick of blowing rings Must answer for the lawless thought Of kissinor that it brings.' • , • • • • What wonder that Love's last recruit For fear of Hope deferred Proceeded then and there to suit The action to the word ! 46 'OLD BOYS' AT AMERSHAM HALL I LONG have nursed, an old boy I, A gouty leg upon the pillow ; Yet was I in the days gone by No mean performer with the willow ; And so was asked (no doubt my years Secured for me the invitation) To travel down to X., good sirs, And play the rising generation. I came, I saw, I fielded ' point ' ; Till Buggins yninmius, by Jingo, Knocked my forefinger out of joint, And chirruped, 'Hold it, Old Flamingo It made me hop ! A substitute I signalled with the wounded digit, And that young Buggins (little brute) Ran on like a demented midgit. *OLD boys' at AMERSHAM HALL 47 ' Retired hurt,' I sat and told Of ancient days when there was cricket, And Birrell slogged, and Spokey bowled, And Winterbotham kept the wicket. Ripe legends — (much improved upon) — I babbled of the great * Matrics,' And how I caught, at long ' long on,' A ball Jim Parry hit for six. I did indeed ; * Lost ball ' was cried ; The hero o'er his bat was bending ; When overhead, supremely ' skied,' I saw that awful ball descendinof. And ran, like any acrobat (Three hundred yards if ever man did), And cleared the fence, and had him pat Two inches from the ground, left-handed ! I paused, and heard, it touched my pride (It was unfeeling and improper), A fat boy, nicknamed ' Full-inside,' Gasp out — ' Jemima, wot a wopper ! ' 48 LOST FRIENDS Dear comrades ! though ye figure not in Lowndes, (Thy costlier brethren long have left their home), How are ye ravished from me, tome by tome. For fewer shillings than ye cost me pounds ! Shades of unthrifty authors! Hark, it sounds ! My portal tells (a tedious metronome) Of sullen duns who onewhile forced to roam Kit Marlowe, Savage, Johnson, Goldsmith : Zounds ! Dim days of quiet pleasure that are fled ! Once, snugly harboured, dallying by turns With new and old, in such pure peace I read As one who (want unknowing) idly learns. Now in yon gaping casement widely spread Stand Shakespeare only, Landor, Lamb and Burns. 49 IN CHAMBERS There now, he's coming, tramp, tramp, tramp ! Those seventy-two accursed stairs ! Certain and slow, I know the scamp, And in a minute (if my prayers Cannot prevent) — it's too late now — He 's at it ; kicking round the scraper : God ! And must I suffer so To get a clammy paper ? Ah well, ah well ! One day I know (I 've watched and waited two years now) A lighter foot, with step less slow. Will touch the stair, and then somehow 1 shall be certain as the day That that quick step is not to stop Like all the rest (confound the fop !) Down there at Jones's, just half-way, D 50 IN CHAMBERS * I shall be by the fire suppose,' — With my Chaucer in hand, as beseemeth youth. And the smoke will be curling about my nose As I dream, in veriest truth, That Law is no more, and the Junior Bar In Courts of Love all hold a brief. And the fairest of witnesses flock from afar To debate of the ' Flower and the Leaf.' And then, ah then, on the wind-swept stair Of this drear old Temple a voice will be heard ! The rush of a dress, the trill of an air. The scent of a rose, and the note of a bird ! And then, ah then ! The book will fly, Dear grand old bard at thy grand old bust ; And I shall be there in the wink of an eye- She's coming, you gibbering fool !— she must. So you needn't sit there, with your world- wise air. And prattle Propriety out of a book. * No lady would sing on a public stair ' } You ass ! My girl sings ^z/^rj/where ! And is coining, by hook or by crook ! IN CHAMBERS 51 You grinning old reprobate ! Stop your turn turn — * No lady ' — hang ladies ! Mine will not be long. I know not her face, but I know she will come ! A flutter, a rush, a scent, and a song. 52 TRIOLET If you never write verses yourself, Dear reader, I leave it with you. You will grant a half inch of your shelf I f you never write verses yourself. I was praised by some lenient elf, I was damned by a heavy Review, I 'm a bit of a critic myself. But, reader, I leave it with you. 53 MY PRETTY MAID Where are you going to, my pretty maid ? ' I 'm going to publish, sir,' she said. Perhaps you 've a fortune, my pretty maid ? ' My verse is my fortune, sir,' she said. Then you 'd better not try it, my pretty maid. There 's an item for printing, and when it is paid. There's 'Commission on sales ' — O innocent maid! In your rural retreat, have you heard of THE TRADE ? Oh, ivhcre are you going to, my pretty maid ? 54 INTERJECTIONS ' C'gar lights, yer honour ? C'gar Hghts ? ' May God forget you in your need. Ay, damn you ; if folk git ther rights, * C'gar lights, yer honour ? C'gar lights ? ' Ther childern shan't starve in the nights For wantin' the price of yer weed ! ' C'gar lights, yer honour ? C'gar lights ? ' May God iorgG.tyou in your need. 55 II ' Fine Vilets ! Fresh Vilets ! Come buy ! Ah, rich man, I would not be you. All springtime it haunts me, that cry : ' Fine Vilets ! Fresh Vilets ! Come buy ! ' Whose loss, if she tell me a lie ? 'They're starvin', my God, sir, it's true.' ' Fine Vilets ! Fresh Vilets ! Come buy ! ' Ah, rich man, I would not be you. 56 III ' Ices ! Programmes ! Lemonade ! ' 'E thinks 'e's a H Irving, my eye! Why, puss, you bin crying ? afraid ? ' Ices ! Programmes ! Lemonade ! ' The fust time you sin a piece played ? It 's putty, but, Pussy, dont cry. ' Ices ! Programmes ! Lemonade ! ' 'E thinks 'e s a Hirving, my eye ! 57 IV ' Down 'Oborn, sir ? Circus ? Bank, Bank ! ' Yer's a huproar, my bloomin', Hoff side ! A flower, Miss ? Ah, thankee, Miss, thank— * Down 'Oborn, sir ? Circus ? Bank, Bank ! ' •Igher up ! 'Ullo, Bill ! Wot a prank ! If that 'ere old carcase 'ant shied ! * Down 'Oborn, sir ? Circus ? Bank, Bank ! ' Yer's a huproar, my bloomin' ! Hoff side ! ( 58 ' 'Ot P'taties ! All ot. sir ! All 'ot ! ' 'Ere s a swell in a welveteen coat ! 'E 's a hartist, a hauthor — a wot ? "Ot P'taties! All ot. sir! All ot!' Ah, there now 's a beauty you 've got ! (Them writin's don't keep 'im afloat) ' 'Ot P'taties ! All 'ot, sir ! All 'ot ! ' 'Ere 's a swell in a welveteen coat ! 59 INCIDENT OF THE OFFICE I WAS sitting and was wondering What was business ever for, When there came a rush of petticoats With a flutter to the door. And a lady entered, flying In a way to make you grin (There were steps she did not notice, For the doorway opens in). She stopped against the stove-pipe With a disconcerted air, And panted, and I asked her Had she not observed the stair ? And did she come on business ? Or would she like a bun ? And she, at first, said nothing For business she had done. 6o INCIDENT OF THE OFFICE Then, speaking very rapidly, She answered, ' No, indeed ! I have, in fact, no business. But I lately chanced to read ' In the P.M.G. a poem. And they tell me — am I right ? — You are the gifted author. And so I thought I might — * I mean, you know, that seeing Your name upon the door, You would excuse my asking Have you written any more ? ' Then I rose, and thundered, * Madam ! ' And said sternly, ' God forbid ! You are under some delusion. Madam, Vanish ! ' and she did. And still I sit a-wondering What was business ever for ; And I sigh for lady visitors, But they come not any more. 6i LATTER-DAY SONG Had * Robbie ' Burns espied thy lips He'd have kissed them, that I know. We modern men dare no such quips, But slowlier go. And wind about with ill grimace For tardier shows of scantier grace. Could ' Robbie ' see the laughing eyes That glint from out their lashes so. They 'd have no time for shy surprise ('Twixt 'Robbie's' kisses, don't you know) With laughter low. He 'd kiss, and kiss, and whisper — Oh ! Sweet words no living bard can show. 62 THE BOOK OF THE RHYMERS' CLUB VOL. II. Had you increased our number, What sweetness might have been Uprising as from slumber We bards, in all thirteen, Amassed this muck and lumber — Sad work without a Queen ! Had you increased our number, What sweetness might have been ! I 63 MALICE Who brought us together that day, Gentle AHce? Whole hours at thy feet I lay : Who brought us together that day ? Now, friendly and frank, let us say It was Malice Who brought us together that day, Gentle Alice. 64 AFTER HEINE In penning this epistle You find perhaps rehef : But a notice of dismissal, My darling, should be brief. 65 'SOME EMOTIONS AND A MORAL' Yes, yes, you did : with smirk and smile, And smooth persuasion, make it plain — You oily thing of sin and guile — That all my hair would grow again. • • • • • Once Love hid in my golden locks : He stole behind me where I lay, And, oh ! the recollection shocks. His kiss met my kiss just half way. And, oh ! with arms thrown back I made A frame that his face closely held. And he a tenderness betrayed That my poor tresses had compelled. £ 66 'some emotions and a moral' Oh, what of bliss surpasses this ? For one sweet hour to know the pain Of utter love, of kiss on kiss Descending in a golden rain ! Ah, one such hour, within my power, A golden shower of kisses fell ; And breast to breast — but, oh ! the rest— I must not, dare not, cannot tell. • • • • • And now, ah now, my heart it bleeds — From dreams to stony truths I pass To see the tale of Time's misdeeds Recorded in a hateful crlass. O stern surveyor ! 'neath thy ban I trembling to my knees am brought : My heart is breaking ; nothing can Repair the havoc thou hast wrought. 67 ABOMINATIONS No. I of a Proposed Scries Of irremediable ills The vilest is the beastly board That booms the fame of B m's Pills Were I of public help assured, I 'd rid the land of all such ills : I 'd hang the man ; I 'd burn the board That booms the fame of B m's Pills. 68 BY GERARD DOW True, true, very true ; but you see It's useless to argue with me. Ascetical scruples ? Fiddle-dee-dee ! She 's there, in the Dresden gallery— ' A girl with a candle ' — 19c — And any one, worthy to loosen her sandal. Would give, though a belted earl, His total possessions to blow out her candle, I tell you, and kiss that girl ! 69 FEB. 14 In boyhood's hour my facile pen Sped lightest love in smoothest lines Ah, many a bosom cherished then My easy, artful Valentines. But now, ah now, my aching breast Knows deeper love by surer signs Of pain that they have never guessed Who kissed those artful Valentines. 70 I A XMAS CARD ' Now may the fair goddess Fortune fall deep in love with thee.' Ah, kindest friend, kind words that cheer A path too desolate and drear, When troubled thoughts importune For timid Joy to venture near ! Ah, blest indeed if it might be That Fortune were in love with me, As I in love with Fortune. 71 A PRESIDING EXAMINER Emerging from the darkness Of London's sullen frown, I, simulating Majesty, Appeared in hood and gown ; Commissioned to examine, According to the Rule, In all that they could cram in. The boys of my old school. I sat in my imposing seat. The papers from me flew : As though my learning were complete. And I all knowledge knew. t»' But oh ! despite the hood and gown, Despite the high respect Paid to a mild official frown, Yet had I to reflect 72 A PRESIDING EXAMINER That 'neath a borrowed mortar-board Mere ghosts of knowledge dwelt; That false was my pretended hoard, Ah me, how poor I felt ! Ah, boys ! despite my College, I am a learned man ! I 've loads of sorry knowledge Not set in any plan. My wisdom, hard in earning, I 'd give it all to know Again what I was learning Now twenty years ago. 7Z JEREMIAH AT THE CHESHIRE CHEESE O Heart of man ! What ills torment, what passions tear The heart of man ! We Rhymers, gathered in a clan, Disconsolate, aghast, declare Thy burden is too hard to bear O Heart of man ! 74 SHELLEY AT OXFORD 181I AND 1893 THE MASTER SPEAKS ' The rebel of eighty years ago Is the hero of to-day.' In this memorial none will know The rebel of eighty years ago. We Oxford dons, however slow, Are now at last compelled to say ' The rebel of eighty years ago Is the hero of to-day.' 75 PREFERENCES * Nay,' said the husband, ' give him this^ (In manifest alarm). * This is her proper Hkeness, that Has but a sudden charm. * A look that flashes into light, And quickly dies away. May blind sorne passer ; as for me, I love the looks that stay.' And I but said, what could I say ? (Not meaning any harm) They're yours, dear friend, the looks that stay; Spare then to me, she surely may, A glance of sudden charm. 76 LOVE AND DEATH FROM ^SOP Love on a summer day, Faint with heat, And tired of play, Came to a grotto fair, And courted slumber there. And flung his darts away. This was, the Fable saith, The very cave of Death, But this Love did not know. As he had sped a shaft With more than common craft, Once, in his sleep, he laughed, At dawn he rose to go. Love was at parting fain To have his darts again : — LOVE AND DEATH "]"] O Love, beware, beware, The shafts of Death are there, Of mortal man the bane. But Love cared not a stiver ; Intent on human hearts. He gathered to his quiver His own with Death's black darts ; And glorious in the morning He winged his golden way ; Fair maidens had forewarning That Love was on the way. Strong men, their labour scorning. Did nothing all that day, For dallying with a maiden Is neither work nor play. Old men and women saddened In the dragging of the years, All on a sudden gladdened To laughter and to tears. Love was on earth again. Intending ill to none, (He wotted not of pain, Blind creature of the sun). yS LOVE AND DEATH Not knowing what he did, And restless, till 'twas done, Both young and old He rushed amid And shot his arrows Every one. And some cried out, ' 'Tis Death he deals,' — And surely Death did come. But others cried, ' 'Tis Love, 'tis Love ' — And Love there was for some. 79 SUBURBAN He leaned upon the narrow wall That set the limit to his ground, And marvelled (thinking of it all) That he such happiness had found. There long he sat in perfect peace ; He smoked. his pipe, he thanked his stars (His stars, unnumbered in the lease). And blest the subterranean cars That bore him nightly back to win The home where he had left a heart, Not trusted in the Devil's din Of London's damned money mart. 8o PSEUDONYM LIBRARY Fisher Unwin publishes, Price one-and-six, In the ' Pseudonym ' Library, M'selle Ixe. PubHshers are constantly Up to such tricks ; This is their latest, M'selle Ixe. He who sits reading it Hopelessly sticks In this pseudonymous M'selle Ixe. But the ' get up ' of it Everything licks : — Buy it, ye Bibliacs, M'selle Ixe ! PSEUDONYM LIBRARY 8l He who gets discount Has straw for his tricks ; If you want to lose fourpence, Pay one-and-six. I 1 M PART III TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY I I i 85 MOTHER EARTH AND THE NEW WOMAN Love in my arms lies weeping, His tiny limbs upcurled : Art thou so soon, my darling, Aweary of the world ? Come, come, a baby's troubles Are easily redressed : Drink deep, drink deep, my darling, God gives thee of his best. Ah, now about my bosom The tiny hands have curled ! To thee, to thee, my darling. The bosom is the world. Love in my arms lies weeping. O God ! dear God ! recall Thy children to my breast, for here Is nourishment for all. 86 FOR AN IDEAL I LOOKED out over the ocean And saw a maiden stand Where billow and cloud commingled In a vanishing golden land. I passed out over the ocean, And held the Sun- Maiden's hand, And lost for ever the treasure Of Love in my Fatherland. M 87 SONG IN THE LABOUR MOVEMENT The voice of Labour soundeth shrill — Mere clamour of a tuneless throng — To you who barter at your will The very Life that maketh Song. O you whose sluggard hours are spent The Rule -of Mammon to prolong, What know ye of the stern intent Of hosted Labour marching strong ? When we have righted what is wrong, Great singing shall your ears entreat : Meanwhile in movement there is song, And music in the pulse of feet ! 88 ENVOY Dearest, I have put my life In a tiny book of song ; If I speak with halting voice, Yet may broken words prolong The memory of the golden hour When we were given each to each, And in silence, wanting words. Perfect love found perfect speech. 89 PLYMOUTH HARBOUR A SONG Oh, what know they of harbours Who toss not on the sea ! They tell of fairer havens, But none so fair there be As Plymouth town outstretching Her quiet arms to me ; Her breast's broad welcome spreading From Mewstone to Penlee. Ah, with this home-thought, darling. Come crowding thoughts of thee. Oh, what know they of harbours Who toss not on the sea ! 90 UNWORTHY Am I not worthy of thee ? O my child, Come close, come close, and nurse upon thy breast My aching brow ! Let thy sweet hands be pressed Cool, cool on these hot eyelids till the wild, Ungoverned tumult of my brain is stilled. Close, close, till that sound dies within my ears. And I may cease from questioning with tears Why God has made me love thee ; O my child ! 91 MARGUERITE LovETH he, or loveth not, All these idle years ? An he love me, Laughter ; An he love not. Tears. Loveth he, or loveth not ? Flower, canst thou tell ? Thou shalt deck my bosom An he love me well. Loveth he, or loveth not ? Oh, but life were sweet ! Say, ah say, * He loves thee,' Gentle Maro^uerite ! 92 MY LOVE : WHERE ART THOU ? My Love, where art thou ? Crowding waves Press ever on the strait confine Of the still spirit-haunted shore Where my soul waiteth thine. My Love, where art thou ? Once, ah once, Thy vision in the clamorous mart Had drawn me surely from the throng To a chamber set apart Where weaving from its finest strand My spirit fashioned for thy shrine A veil to shroud thee from a gaze Raised unabashed to thine. ; MY love: where art thou? 93 But now, where art thou ? Say not, lost ! The sanctuary of thought is bare : The shrine where stood thy picture shows The wan face of Despair. Not ' lost ' — the low sweet voice that bade Me wait the lapse of dragging years : Not ' lost ' — my vision in the throng Now dimly seen through tears. 94 IN ACCOUNT WITH TIMRi Time cannot grudge to me The few glad hours I spend — Glad hours of rare companionship — In converse with my friend. My friend thus counsels me : * Be it with Time agreed That thou wilt in my company Seek rest when thou hast need.' Sweet words (if words could soften The pain of parting) — ' May I come indeed as often As I have need ? ' I say. * Time cannot grudge to me The sure release from pain I have in thy sweet ministry Of solace to my brain.' > Reprinted from The Bookinait. 95 ANNIVERSARY These five years. Ah, they have shown us one thing plain, These five years. Joy has a deeper spring than tears : Love knows a harbour shut to pain : Dearest, they are not spent in vain, These five years. 96 I A DREAM Night brought a dream of love — A fond sweet dream of thee ; Thy heart beat warm upon my heart ; Thy dear arms circled me. Alas ! but dawn now shows A cheerless couch to me. 'Twas sleep beguiled an empty heart ; My vacant arms sought thee. 97 WITH FLOWERS I KNOW not how in any wise, Dearest, my aching love to show ; If flowers have voices these will speak, These flowers I gave you Lonor ao^o. o o And they will whisper, ' Day and Night He sheddeth tears of joy to know He has not lost, not lost, not lost The love you gave him Long ago.' 98 IN JUNE Ah, Love, I lack thy kisses In the warm sweet breath of June I am lonely amid lovers — Love, come soon. A blue sea stretches waveless 'Neath a blue blue sky this June : I am panting for thy love, Love — Love, come soon. 99 GREAT EXPECTATIONS Athwart the shadowed path Of Life wherein we tread, How often Beauty hath A ray of sunHght shed ! If on my shadowed path She throws her Hght to-day, I forth shall go with heart aglow. Rejoicing on my way. lOO TO A SWEET SINGER 4 My heart was full the while I wrote ^ The song you sang yestreen. That it would fill so sweet a throat I could not have foreseen. So lonof as Love is in the land, He rules by right divine : So lone will there be fresh demand Of voices sweet as thine. lOI EDELWEISS Above the line Of thawless snows On yonder height One flower Qrrows. And in my bosom Winter-bound Lives one such flower Which thou hast found. I02 OF ME Think, Love, of me. Far from thy side to-night, Think, Love, of me. So shall I absent see, Pictured upon the night, Thy dear face set in light. Think, Love, of me. i I03 DAY AND NIGHT I HELD her hand To-day, And whispered a word, And she heard ; And I did not work, And she did not play. To-day. •r- I touched her Hps To-night ; And none knew, but we two, The deHght ; And I shall not sleep. And she will not sleep. To-night. I04 WHEN When laughing Joy robs Sorrow Of all her load of thought, The harp and voice may borrow A sweetness yet untaught. To be merry, till the morrow Dawns with its memories fraught, And the tired thief Brings back to Grief Her heavy load of thought. I05 LOST Something has gone. O Life ! great giver as thou art, Something has gone. Not Love, for Love, as years roll on, Plays evermore a fuller part. But from- the treasure of my heart Something has gone. io6 AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT Fair flowers ! the hand I fain would kiss, That so among you Hghtly moved, To gather this — and this — and this — The while you nodded and approved. In culling leaves so rare of scent, It was (was it not ?) her intent To grace a friendship old as ours With fragrance passing that of flowers ? 4 I I07 A DOLE The bread I eat Fills me to-day with shame. Lo, here I fling it to the street : Not money.: just the bread I eat. O comrades, for your lofty claim Take, take from me, in Freedom's name. The bread I eat. io8 HOMEWARD BOUND In the low pathway of the sun, Far-shadowed on the golden fern, And robed in purple twilight, one Stood and awaited his return ; And shone upon him unforeseen As he with heavy step drew near : Ah, then was greeting sweet between Us two old lovers — Sister dear ! I I09 PICTURES BY FLORENCE SMALL I._AUTUMN O Autumn leaves ! Bind in thy tresses, maiden fair, These Autumn leaves. See Hope fulfilled in ranged sheaves : See in dead Nature Love's despair : For brooding joy, for russet care. These Autumn leaves. II.— THE POEM Her brow upon thy pages bent. Thy volume. Poet, in her hands ; She knows not, she so innocent, How like a pictured maid she stands. Sing, Singer, to thy heart's content ! Paint, Painter ! shall he rival thee ? Twin arts have equal graces lent : So art thou, Maiden, fair — and free. I lO AN UNFINISHED PORTRAIT How shines the gold amid the brown Of heavy tresses tumbHng down, In Art's despite! How Nature blends her red and white ! Ah, happy painter, it is thine That ' sweet disorder ' to confine : If thou shouldst order it aright, Ah, what delight ! I 1 1 1 K TO WILLIAM THOMPSON {Dedication to Chambers Twai^i) Old friend, it was my earliest thought That your name should be written here; For sooth, if Friendship counts for aught, I hold no. living man so dear. Yet o'er my pages now I look, And am, for very shame, deterred : Of Love unending tells the book. But of our Friendship not a word. I 12 A BIRTHDAY Dear sister, with an Idle line, There comes no dainty thing To grace thy dress, to deck thy hair ; These may some other bring. Love, of an essence volatile, Will oft elude the string That bindeth sure the decent gift Of formal offering. So in no cumbering parcel tied, But swift, on his own wing, Love, faring forth to gain thy side, Has only love to bring. 113 FRIENDS Hands clasped a moment on the strand : The one must stay, the other go : There is not any sign to show That friends have parted, hand from hand. The years roll on ; the two friends stand : The welcome spoken, speech is slow ; Still is there not a sio^n to show Friend dead to friend, as hand strikes hand. H 114 IN A BACHELOR'S GARDEN It seems, ah me ! but yesterday She pkicked, half jesting was she not ? And blushed (so near my heart they lay) Yon flowers that plead — ' Forget-me- not.' Ah, aQfeinof heart ! old memories thronof ! Again, meseems, her kiss strikes hot : Her voice, long mute, bursts into song Who planted that Forget-me-not. 115 A SCIENCE OF HISTORY Think you it would be good indeed (Surveying on the walls of Time The hurried finger trace) to climb The heights of Fancy, and to read The import of the coming years ? Or would the load be heavier yet ? A paler grief unheeded, wet The Rock of Destiny with tears ? Tl6 QUESTION To one who long a worldly gain In worldly paths has sought, May aught of better worth remain, Save peradventure caught jfl On cobwebs in the brain, :^^ Some fraement of untainted thought ? 117 TWICE DEAD The spirit ever hath desire To pierce, thro' forms of Friendship, higher, And somewhere gain its promised part Of true communion, heart with heart. Ah, friend of Youth ! thy fresh-cut grave Is warmer than the hand you gave : Else were not (strangers many years) Lost friend, lost friend ! these tears, these tears. ii8 M AGD A LE N E ' You are a beautiful woman,' he said. Oh, a long night followed that day. The whole long night rang rang in my head His words, and his look as I lay I could not forget. I lay weeping, and fl vowed — ^^ * I will hold hereafter in trust This Beauty of mine : I will live and be proud, Not humbled, as now, in the dust' We met, as one meets men, any way, I 've met, it may be, men by the score. And talked about nothing, as any one may When one has to spend ten minutes or more. MAGDALENE II9 Then parted — a light matter parting with men ? But the eyes of this man were aflame in his head — He gave a great hand, and was silent, and then, ' You are a beautiful woman,' he said. 120 ALMA MATER Lady, my thanks : this night my dream Is of a pathway stretching fair Throuo-h meadows bordering a stream, And flowers, thy gift, spring everywhere. By Grandchester, by Trumpington, Our quiet Cam-side pacing slow, At eve I pass, still musing on The unseen years, as years ago. My flower-dream annulling time Gives back the garnered hours to me ; Gives back a perished trick of rhyme That hardly shapes these words to thee ; Gives crowding thoughts of earlier days : — Lost friend, whose love I ask in vain, I walk the old oft-trodden ways Thy hand within mine arm again. ALMA MATER 121 Ah, the old days ! The sun sank there : Ah, the old days ! Thus sped the hours But dream-born seems the perfumed air, And of the dream my path of flowers. 122 IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM^ Dead sage, dead priest, unheard ye call Up from the valleys where ye sleep : Love's clarion soundeth over all ; His fires glow from steep to steep. Professor, I have little store Of learning you may fitly seek, I covet no Department's lore — Egyptian, Syriac, or Greek. But oft I tread these halls alone, And mark where, treasured with the rest, There lies a stone, no common stone. ' A fragment ' — of a * woman's breast.' Profess, Professor, all you know ! I ask, among the spoils you heap, Has Time a greater thing to show ? Have we a holler thing to keep ? ^ Reprinted from The Speaker. 1 123 REMEMBER Remember, love, how Burns would bring His verses to the ingle-side, And bid his dear-loved Jeanie sing. And by that test abide. Then what her ear determined true Her lips gave ringing to the night ; And Burns was glad, and surely knew That he had sung aright. Dear love, for me play such a part ; If I sing truly thou canst tell : I bring my verses to thy heart ; If any enter, it is well. 124 QUESTION The inmost tenant of my heart, Dearest, thou knowest well thou art ; But love alone can solve a doubt If I love thee, Love, out and out. 125 GIFTS Take back the song you sang, Love : Take back the gift you brought : Take back the word you gave, Love : Let me only keep the thought ■r- That you knew not what you said. Love You deemed a song was naught : You brought a gift to me. Love ; And knew not what you brought. 126 EVER AND A DAY He murmured, ' Love, for ever!' She whispered, ' and a day ? ' And I, whose pain ends never, Saw her stand in her bride's array, And knew that her love was for ever. And his false love for a day. -yi' k 127 G. D. R. 1879 Dearest sister, Sorrow dwells In the home as sound in shells That whisper evermore Along a silent shore : Evermore, and mournfully, The fathered sadness of the sea. 1889 A voice unheard these many years ; A face long summers shut from sight ; That face I saw, that voice to-night Gave quiet in a world of fears. Sister, ten years may serve for tears ; In twice ten years I shall not miss His very look, the ring of his Great voice abideth in mine ears. 128 W. H. WIDGERY ' He worketh still,' Superior to Death's smart, He worketh still. What his spent years could not fulfil I shall endeavour for my part, For ever, living in my heart, He worketh still. 129 TO JOSEPH SK IPSEY With the Book of the Rhymers' Club If I herein have phrased a thought In words that jar not on your ear, I shall be happy : Love has wrought So in my heart that words are naught To me at all, if insincere. Unless with sacred meanings fraucfht Words are but words. To * perfect praise ' Is the sole aim of Art : the Thoufrht Of daily bread, too dearly boughr. Deters no poet — Time repays. OF QUIET Tired brain, there is a place of rest On the broad bosom of the Land, Where quiet will reward the quest Of Quiet ; and the iron hand Of Toil upon the rolling hills Will be unheard. — Ah, there shall we Find quiet in the tumbling rills ; Or in the tumult of the sea. The quiet that my dream fulfils Of Ouiet— achinor tho' it be. 131 R. A. LEDWARD, SCULPTOR Mark how with loving hand he wrought Here on the dial that counts the hours Thy sad great figure, winged Time, Set heavy-hearted 'mid the flowers. Ah. even while he wrought did he Close a great bargain with the years The sooner with these flowers to be That for their nurture have thy tears. 132 FOR AX URN She chose to die. Grave here beneath our helpless flowers ' She chose to die.' Alas ! the sun forsook her sky What while he daddened other bowers : She tasted life — a few sad hours ; And chose to die. T ^ •-» ART'S EXTREMES Proudly the father, Lowly the wife, Bends o'er a child sleeping, Dearer than life. Pride speaks in the father. Love is mute in the wife, — ' Did ever a painter Paint like Life ? ' • . « • Heavy the footfall, Laboured the breath ; One quitteth the chamber Held bv Death. His craze is estrano^ed, All strangely he saith — ' Was there ever a sculptor Wrought like Death ? ' f 134 THE PROTEST OF SPRING O Spring ! Say not that She is dead. Green month of bursting flower and^leaf Say not that She is dead. For joy of Hfe thy tears are shed ; Naught, naught to thee are mine of grief ; April ! FHng wide thy disbeUef That She is dead. 135 LET REST What art was lavished on the bower ; What nameless beauty hers for dower ; What perfect moments made the hour ! • ■ • • • They steal like death from room to room ; They stifle sobs that break the gloom ; They keep the silence of the tomb. Bring up old friends to view the bed ; Bring up, with slow, mock-solemn tread. The hired transport of the dead. Let rest the gold that holds her hair ; Let rest the ring none else might wear ; Let rest the strong man weeping there. i3< LIFE — LIFE Life, life, if murmuring there be Of low estate, or scanty pelf. The plaint upgoeth not from me. Thy toys lie broken on the shelf — Love swept them with an idle breath Life, life ! Love overmastereth thee : Grant gentle passage unto death. ^ZJ TRIOLET Lo, thy poor ring is broken ! These kisses bind for aye. Let but this word be spoken, Now thy poor ring is broken : ' True love outlasts his token, Yet cannot choose but stay.' Lo, thy poor ring is broken ! These kisses bind for aye. 138 THE UNDERSONG To-day shall be no song, Love, Here quiet now with thee ; No song holds all my love, Love, So sinofinor shall not be. Let my hands frame thy face, Love ; Take this kiss for thy brow ; And these for thy tired lids, Love ; Ah ! tears, not singing, now. Lay thy cheek to my cheek, Love ; Rest thy dear hand in mine ; Let thy heart search my heart, Love. If it indeed be thine. And let there be no song, Love, Save only this that tells How deep, beneath all singing, Song in the heart upwells. PART IV PRENTICE WORK— TRANSLATIONS ; MOSTLY ,. FROM HEINE APPRECIATIONS ' It would be good for Mr. Radford, and better for Heine, if he would cease to attempt the impossible and traduce the exquisite German lyrics.' — American Traveller. ' In some translations from Heine Mr. Radford displays a very uncommon grasp of the inner meanings of poetry which almost defies adequate interpretation into Enghsh.' — Scotsman. ' A fresh crop of hopeless failures in attempts to translate Heine. ' — Scottish Review. * He succeeds far better in his original verses than in his transla- tions of Heine, which are unpolished and inaccurate. Humour is certainly not Mr. Radford's strong point.' — Manchester Examiner. ' Even the uninitiated can see at a glance that here is the per- fection of translation.' — Literary World. * Of course in a free country any man may make a fool of him- self if he likes, but this liberty ought to be restrained when impious hands are laid on a poet like Heine.' (And so on ad nauseam. ) 141 AN ELEGY Th. Gautier To mark where lies thy treasured dust No pile is set, Poor Clemence, in thy morn by death Untimely met. Thou sleepest at the hillock's foot In lowliest state, And one pale willow o'er thy grave Bends desolate. Thy name by rain and snow outworn No more is read On yon black-wooded cross which guards Thy cheerless bed. But Love, who aye remembereth, comes Where no foot nears, And bringeth flowers, and keepeth troth. And sheddeth tears. 142 CHAMBERS TWAIN Hermann Neumann The heart hath chambers twain, Wherein Dwell Joy and Pain. Joy in his chamber stirs, While Pain Sleeps on in hers. O Joy, refrain, refrain ! Speak low — speak low- You may awaken Pain. 143 DE SEE IS VULLER WATER (From Quickborn — Klaus Groth) The sea is full of water ; The heart is full of blood ; Whenas the moon appeareth Upmounts and falls the flood ; ■r* So, love, when thou art near me Upwelleth my heart's blood, As mounts and falls the ocean, As ebbs and flows the flood. 144 AN HEBEN TRECHT DE MULKEN (From Quickborn—K-LMSS Groth) The sky is overclouded, Grey billows lash the shore : world so vast and lonesome ! O heart all bruised and sore ! Does the sun shine brightly yonder ? Do bright smiles deck the land ? 1 see but grey and cheerless The mist roll up the strand. 145 ADE, ADE, DE SUMMER GEIT (From Quickborn — KLAUS Groth) Farewell, farewell, now Summer 's sped, Till wakes the coming year ! Farewell, farewell, the leaves are dead : Farewell, my heart is sere. I sang all through the happy time Of Summer ; now 'tis done, My flight is for another clime, Still southward with the sun. K FROM HEINE'S 'BUCH DER LIEDER' 149 'DIE BERGSTIMME' All sadly through the wild ravine The warrior slowly drave : 'Ah, now am I nearer my darling's arms, Or nearer the silent grave ? ' And the mountain answer eave — ' To the grave.' Still further the warrior rideth, A sigh breaks from his breast : ' And must I then enter the grave so soon ? Ah, well, in the grave there is rest ' ; And again — from the mountain's crest — ' There is rest.' The warrior's brow was troubled ; A tear on his bronzed cheek fell : ' If rest there is none in the world for me The rest of the grave will be well ' ; And the voice from the mountain fell : ' Will be well.' 150 IM WUNDERSCHONEN MONAT MAI ' All in the merry month of May, Spring's drift of blossom bringing, I cherished in my heart of hearts The flower of love upspringing. All in the merry month of May, When every bird was singing, I spake from out my heart of hearts Of soft desire upspringing. 151 'AUF FLUGELN DES GESANGES ^ Away ! to the shore of the Ganges. Away ! on the pinions of song, To a bower in green leafage entangled, Deep hid from the throng. There love is a garden with flowers That bloom in the pale moonshine ; The lotus-flowers dream of their sister ; Ah ! let them not pine. There violets are whispering softly (Their eyes to the pale stars climb) ; There roses are softly retelling Sweet tales of old time. Darts by, and pauses, and listens, The wary mild-eyed gazelle ; And the far-heard Ganges quiets The spirit as a spell 152 'AUF FLUGELN DES GESANGES Ah, there will we lie embowered 'Neath the tall palm's spreading crest There, Love, will be endless pleasure, And there will be rest. 153 'DU LIEBST MICH NICHT' Thou lovest me not, thou lovest me not, But that is a Httle thing ; So I find but grace to see thy face I am happy as a king. Thou hatest, hatest me outright ! Dear pouting lips that smiled ! They are sweet lips still, and their kisses will Console me, sweetest child. 154 'ICH GROLLE NICHT' I MUST endure : tho' my sad heart should break, O Love for ever lost ! I must endure. And thou mayest shine in diamonds bedight — They shed no lustre o'er thy bosom's night. I 've known it lonof. In dreams that troubled rest I saw night chambered in thy loveless breast ; Saw serpents feeding in its inmost part, And saw, lost Love, how thou wert sick at heart. 155 'JA, DU BIST ELEND' Yes, thou art wretched, and I must endure ; Love, we shall both be wretched until death. When these sick hearts shall break, there is one cure : Love, we shall both be wretched until death. I see thy lips that wreathed are with scorn ; I see thy bright eyes flashing haughtily, And thy proud bosom statelily upborne, — Yet art thou wretched — wretched. Love, as I. Thy scorning lips are twitched with stifled pain ; Tear-dimmed thine eyes as jewels at a breath. Thy proud breast hides its agony in vain, — Love, we shall both be wretched until death. 156 'UND WUSSTEX'S DIE BLUMEN, DIE KLEINEN' Did the wee flowers know what sadness Lay hid in my wounded heart, They would shed soft tears till weeping Made sorrow depart. Did the nightingales know it, darling, This sorrow endured so long, They would sing full-throated to comfort A sufferinor heart with son^. The bright stars, did they know it, In pity of my woe Would fall from their places in heaven And shine in my breast below. They none of them know it, darling : The wound, and the heartache, and woe ; The hand that stabbed, and the weapon, One only can know. 57 VERGIFTET SIND MEINER LIEDER' My songs are poisoned, dearest : How other could they be? You poured, you know, the poison In the loving-cup for me, •r My songs are poisoned, dearest: How other could they be ? There are serpents in my bosom ; Yes, serpents, Love, with thee. 158 'AM KREUZWEG WIRD BEGRABEN' The cross-roads mark his resting Who found no rest till the end ; And thereby is a blue flower springing Called ' The poor-devil's friend.' I stood in the night by the cross-roads, And sighed for his rest in the end ; While the flower in the moonshine shivered Called * The poor-devil's friend.' 159 'WENN ICH AN DEINEM HAUSE' I PASS at morn the cottaee, And thy trellised window see, And am glad at heart, my darling, If I gain but a glimpse of thee. Thy great brown eyes regard me With timid questioning now — ' Who art thou, and what comfort, Sad stranger, lackest thou ? ' I am a German singer. In Germany renowned. Where the noblest names are numbered, There my name will be found. And what I lack, lack many In my land more than gold ; Where they tell of saddest sorrows My sorrow will be told. i6o 'WIE KANNST DU RUHIG SCHLAFEN' And can you sleep so sweetly And know me living still ? Nor dream that my pain may awake again And break my heart and will ? Do you know the old-time story, How once a dead man drave At the darkest hour to his lady's bower And dragged her to the grave ? Believe me, my child-angel, In slumber now afar, I 'm living still, and am stronger yet Than any dead men are. i6i DAS 1ST EIN SCHLECHTES WETTER' Without, it is snowing and blowing And raining — a perfect sheet ! Within, I sit and glower On a dark forsaken street. Where on the pavement glimmers A sinofle flickering liaht, As a little old woman totters With weak steps through the night. I fancy she 's out buying The butter, eggs, and flour, To make a cake for a darling Big daughter to devour ; Who lies in the armchair musing, And blinks in the light, and dreams, While over her face the loosened hair In golden splendour streams. l62 'MENSCH, VERSPOTTE NICHT DEN TEUFEL' Friend, conciliate the Devil, Brief, ah ! brief the course we run ; And the Everlasting Blazes Is no fable pulpit-spun. Friend, discharge the debt thou owest 'Tis a weary course we run ; And you '11 often have to borrow, As before you 've often done. i63 DAS HERZ 1ST MIR BEDRUCKT' My heart is troubled, and I think With longing of the olden time When in a pleasant world men dwelt, And life ran peacefully as rhyme. But now is this all overset, And all is strain and stress instead : The Lord above, He is no more ; Down under is the Devil dead. And all is rotten, mean, and vain, Sad, sullen, and of joy bereft : There were no halting-place for Pain, But that a little love is left. 1 64 'HERZ, MEIN HERZ, SEI NICHT BEKLOMMEN' Heart, my heart, yield not to sadness; Be submissive to thy fate ; Spring shall restore thee — only wait — All that winter takes from gladness. Think but how much there still is left thee Think but how fair the v/orld is still ; Heart, my heart, befall what will Love shall never be bereft thee. i65 'DU BIST WIE EINE BLUME ' Thou art like unto a flower, As fresh, as pure, as fair ; I gaze on thee, and sadness Steals o'er me unaware. I fain would lay all gently My hands on thy head in prayer, That God may keep thee ever As fresh, as pure, as fair. 1 66 DIESEN LIEBENSWURD'GEN JUNGLING' Frankly, this young man I honour : He exhibits graces rare. Often has he stood me oysters, Also Rhine-wine and Hqueur. And his clothes so nicely fit him ; And his tie proclaims the swell ; And he looks in every morning. Hoping I am pretty well : Talks about my ' reputation,' And my wit, and grace of style, And he 'd do, if I would let him, Oh, a thousand things the while ! 'DIESEN LIEBENSWURD'GEN JUNGLING ' 1 67 And at night, in rooms surrounded By the fairest of the fair, He declaims my ' Heavenly ' poems With a soft abstracted air. Truly, is not this refreshing ? Such young men as him I praise Are not common ; they are growing Rare and rarer nowadays. i68 *AN DEINE SCHNEEWEISSE SCHULTER' Laid on thy snow-white shoulder My head is at rest. I Hsten — and know the unquiet Desire of thy breast. The strapping hussars have stormed it, And entered without strife : And, to-morrow, the woman will leave me That I love as my life. What tho' in the morning she leave me, To-nieht she is mine. My head is at rest on her bosom, And her snow-white arms entwine. 169 'BIST DU WIRKLICH MIR SO FEINDLICH' And art thou indeed so unloving ? And art thou for ever estranged ? I '11 bemoan to the world my treatment, Now thou art chanofed. Ye thankless red lips ! tell me — Can you utter such words in dispraise Of him who kissed you so fondly In happier days ? 170 'IN DEN KUSSEN WELCHE LUGE' Ah, what lies the kisses cover ! In their seeming, ah, what bhss ! Sweet it is to lure a lover, Sweeter his delusion is ! Spite thy protestations, fairest, I can tell what thou 'It receive ; I '11 believe in all thou swearest : All I swear to thou 'It believe. FROM HEINE'S 'NEUE GEDICHTE' 17 t 'SAG MIR WER EINST DIE UHREN ERFUND' Who was it that found out Time, I pray ? The days of the week, and the hours of the day ? Ah, that was a sorrowful cold-stricken wieht Who, wrapt in thought on a winter's night, Sat counting the hours by the stealthy 'pick' Of the mice, and the woodworm's slow ' tick, tick.' Who was it that found out kisses, I pray ? A youth with the lips of a god, they say ; Who kissed, and kissed, and went on his way ; And all in the merriest month of May When everywhere fresh flowers were spring- ing, And sunshine laughed and birds were sing- ing. 174 WIE NEUBEGIERIG DIE MOWE ' Ah, Love ! the seagulls hover, And are watching ever near As wishful to discover. When thy sweet lips press mine ear, What the sweet low voice has murmured That thrills me so with bliss, And if love's secret passeth In a whisper or a kiss ? Ah, Love ! what should I answer ? There is none can answer this — Adroitly intermingled Are the whisper and the kiss. 175 DAS FRAULEIN, STAND AM THURE' On the shore there stands a maiden : The toil of the day is done, She orazes, and sig-hs for trouble At the setting of the sun. The performance is old as the ages ! Thou sorrowest, daughter, in vain He dies every night on the billow To rise in the mornins: ao-ain. 176 'MIT SCHWARZEN SEGELN ' With black wings spread my vessel flies Far over the troubled sea ; Thou knowest I am sick at heart, And still thou grievest me. Thy heart is faithless as the wind That ever will be free : With black wings spread my vessel flies Far over the troubled sea. 177 'WIE SCHANDLICH DU GEHANDELT' I HIDE from mankind only What I have borne from thee, And tell it to the fishes Far-faring on the sea. Upon the dry land only You may cherish your good name A world of waves is playing With the story of your shame. M 178 DAS MEER ERSTRAHLT IM SONNENSCHEIN' The sea in the golden sunshine Herself might golden be ; My brothers, when I come to die, Oh ! bury me in the sea. The ocean's measured lapse and swell Was ever dear to me ; Oft has it cooled my passion ; Ah ! old-time friends are we. 179 'ICH HALTE IHR DIE AUGEN ZU' I HELD her eyes and kissed her, And kissed her mouth the while : Now must she try unceasingly My reason to beguile. From closing night to morning light With ever some new wile : — * What need to hold my eyes, love, To kiss my mouth the while ? ' I answer not — no skill I 've got These things to reconcile : — I held her eyes and kissed her. And kissed her mouth the while. i8o WO? Where shall one all travel-weary Courting rest at last recline ? In the south beneath a palm-tree ? Under lindens by the Rhine ? Shall I lie upon the desert, Covered by a stranger's hand ? Or find restinof where the billows Sweep an undiscovered strand ? Onwards ever. Heaven hanging His pall about me — there as here While, for torches, stars at midnight Overhead are burning clear. POSTSCRIPT IN PRAISE OF ROBERT BURNS i i83 IN PRAISE OF ROBERT BURNS * I could write a capital satire on the world on the back of that Bible ; but first of all I must think of supplying myself with food.' — Lavengro. My hero Burns is wholly pure at heart ? His truly rural moral code is not At one with ours. If urban folks depart From the strait gate of virtue, they have got None but themselves to blame for it : one learns So very young so nicely what to hide ! My lady friend who looks askant at Burns Remarks that Mrs. Grundy's skirts are wide ; And Mrs. Grundy says that sex asserts Itself so often, in the strangest ways, She is obliged to wear the fullest skirts To screen her darlings from the public gaze. 184 IN PRAISE OF ROBERT BURNS The modern garb effectually conceals The form of woman. How on earth she goes, A little tipsy pyramid on wheels, About her daily business, goodness knows. It was against monstrosities like these That Carlyle's far-resounding bolts were hurled : We live and move (in clothes but half at ease) And have our Beinsf in a ' naked world.' I say again that I in Burns delight, I mean to make his life and work the text Of some eioi'ht hundred verses : I shall write Of all within my knowledge that has vext The souls of workers in this land of ours. I say at once, to make my meaning plain, When we have killed the filthy beast that glowers On all our doings. Love will breathe again : And not till then. I do not mention names : The animal in question is of course I IN PRAISE OF ROBERT BURNS 185 No Stranger to us : when the Devil claims His own, we shall without the least remorse Abandon him, and tell him he may go To Blazes with his beastly money-bags. And learn to play with bosom friends below The game called 'Retribution' when Time flags. So much for the god Mammon. To return ; I 've written so far, you will understand, By way of practice : if I want to earn A living by it, I must lick the hand Of some one high in office — some one hired To make the business of a paper pay. (The trick of self-effacement once acquired One never loses, its professors say.) If God indeed helps those who help them- selves, He must have lost all sense of Rieht and Wrong — While under His direction Adam delves, No Child of Nature will attempt a song. l86 IN PRAISE OF ROBERT BURNS If in ten dozen books of verse that claim | To be called poetry you find But one pure song deserving of the name, Then take the writer in your arms and blind Him with fond kisses. On that fateful day Talk not of money, lest you do him wrong. Put up your purse. Let Love in his own way Do honour to the singer and the song. Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers ta Her Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press ^ DATE DUE r ' ' 1 . ) ma GAYLORD PRINTED IN U.S.A. '^V'f, NIVERSITY OF CA, RIVERSIDE LIBRARY 3 1210 01285 2362 KffiJi' 1, ■ ;c 1 ,' ' '■ '^.. ■■■■»■ I iimi^^K r