essayist, poet, it. n, 18 i in London, where he TH\ ^ty on matters connected wifcia _-e- boating on the Thames, ^f' h he had always been an ardei/o tee. Much, of his writing was .ted to his outdoor life. Besides itributions to magazines, he regularly for the press, and was er of the editorial staff of 'London Graphic. Among his best i/n works are: "Shuttlecock Papers,' 1 5; "Tin Travels," 1874; "Boudoir s," (1876); "Cucumber Chroncles, ; "The Lazy Minstrel," 1887; ' ;shell Novels," 189u; "A Naughty '.," 1893. long poem, "King of trie Cradle, n !>n pages 2S-24 of "Home Book of "A iiarlow Madrigal," "A I " and "The Littu -el" are in s Victorian Anthology. .. fit, The River Rhymer [Among the verses in this collection may be found a few which have previously appeared in a volume, by the same Author, now out of print.] The River Rhymer By y. ASHBY-STERRY Author of " A Naughty Girl," " A Tale of the Thames," " The Lazy Minstrel," "Cucumber Chronicles," "Boudoir Ballads," "Shuttlecock Papers," "Tiny Travels," "Snailway Guides," "The Bystander," "Nutshell Novels," etc. etc. Now as you pass the Thames along Pray listen to the Rhymer s song ! NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 15228 The Author reserves all rights of translation and reproduction. This especially includes all musical fights. TO WILLIAM HENRY WELDON, C.V.O., F.S.A. CLARENCEUX KING OF ARMS IN MEMORY OF MANY DELIGHTFUL DAYS ABOARD HIS MOST HOSPITABLE "ATHENA" THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED BY HIS OLD FRIEND THE AUTHOR THE BILL OF LADING The Thames, let me mention, here claims your attention You'll find it depicted afloat and ashore ; Its banks and backwaters, its picturesque quarters, from Trewsbtiry Mead even down to the Nore I Likewise its dock marges, its grimy coal barges, Its steam-tugs, its -vessels from Glasgow or Goole ; Where lumpers are stirring and cranes ever whirring And liners and schuyts you may see in the Pool. Here toiling amazing and infinite lazing, 'Mid open air life, are presented to you : And moonlight excursions and endless diversions In houseboat or dinghy, in punt or canoe ! Then if you have leisure, may I have the pleasure, To ask you to kindly accompany me My banjo is ringing, pray list while I'm singing The Songs of the Thames from the Source to the Sea ! CONTENTS PART I PAGE THE SOURCE OF THE THAMES . 3 WARM WEATHER WISHES . 6 RADCOT BRIDGE . ... 8 MARLOW CHIMES . . 10 WATER FAIRIES . . 12 THE DESPOT . . 16 A TALK WITH A TURTLE . . .18 ON PATRICK'S STREAM . . . . 23 THE "RED LION" LAWN . 25 A CAPITAL CREW . . 28 THE PRAIRIES OF -IHE THAMES . 30 EASY ALL ! . . 39 DRIFTING DOWN . . . . 42 A SUMMER COMEDY . . . . 44 LALEHAM FERRY . . . . 48 HUNGERFORD BRIDGE . . 50 CECIL'S SONG . . ... 54 A RIVER NOCTURNE . . 56 MUCH RAIN . . 59 THE HAUNTED STEPS 61 CONTENTS PART II PAGE AT NEW BRIDGE . . 67 PLEASANT QUARTERS . . 70 A FAVOURITE FROCK . . 73 THE AUTUMN FLOOD . . 76 A WET SEASON . . 78 A SWING-SONG . . 81 A VERY GOOD REASON . . 83 AN IDLE IDYL . . ... 85 A RIVER RHAPSODY . . 87 IN THE OLD GARDEN . . 90 A RIVER STREET . . 92 SKINDLE'S IN OCTOBER . . 98 BLANKTON WEIR . ... 100 A LUCID INTERVAL . ... 106 THE JARGLE . . ... 108 A FAIR PUNTRESS . . . . 113 THE EARLY PLUNGE . . . 115 THE SUNBURNT DUCHESS . . .118 THE LOG OF THE "SALLY ANN" 121 PART III A LOCK LYRIC . . ... 127 BAROMETRICAL BALLAD . . . 129 A CITY SAINT . . ... 131 THE IMPARTIAL . ... 134 CONTENTS PAGE HAMBLEDEN LOCK . ... 135 A PRIVATE VIEW . ... 138 REST . . . ... 140 A SCULLER'S SNAPSHOT . ... 143 AN OPEN LETTER . ... 146 DRIFTING APART . ... 149 IN THE SHADE . . ... 151 THE HAYMAKERS . ... 154 THE PERFECT HOLIDAY . . . . 156 A SONG ON SKATES . . . 159 THE DIRGE OF THE DUMB-BARGEE . . 162 OFF GRAVESEND . ... 165 THE RIPARIAN PHILOSOPHER . . . 168 A SENSELESS BARCAROLLE . . .171 THE WATER-GIRL . . . . 173 PARADISE LOST . ... 175 PART IV HOLLAND-ON-THAMES . . . . 185 A SECRET . . ... 189 WHITE WINGS . . ... 190 A WEATHER WAIL . ... 192 NINETY IN THE SHADE . ... 194 A RHYME IN THE RAIN . ... 197 L'lNCONNUE . . ... 200 THE SKIPPER OF THE "CHATTERBOX" . . 203 CONTENTS PAGE THE FERRY GIRL . ... 206 A LAZY LAY . . ... 209 DOWN LIMEHOUSE WAY . . . 212 THE CHEETAH . . ... 217 THE FIRST WEIR . ... 220 A CASUAL CRUISE . ... 225 THE LAST WEIR . ... 227 SOUTHWARK BRIDGE . ... 230 THE TWILIGHT SONATA . ... 234 AT THE NORE . . ... 240 GOOD-BYE TO THE RIVER . . . 244 The River Rhymer PART I THE SOURCE OF THE THAMES Half-hidden in its grassy bed You'll find that slender silver thread The tiny Thames ; which, here set free, Begins its journey to the sea I 'Tis sweet in the Cotswolds to wander And muse under blue summer sky, To muse and do nothing but ponder And dream in the joy of July ! In groves where Pope strolled it is pleasant To roam, and the roamer receives A peep of the past in the present, Enshrined in a lyric of leaves ! So, when weary of town and of riot, And if for calm rest you have need You will find the most exquisite quiet In Trewsbury Mead ! THE SOURCE OF THE THAMES No sound but the lark gaily singing And magical music of trees : Which seems, in its melody, bringing A far distant song of the seas. Though shady the Hayley plantation, Though sombre the Pinbury yews, Though grateful indeed the sensation Derived from the Sapperton views You feel there's a surcease of worry, A peace that's delicious indeed, Quite free from all bustle and hurry In Trewsbury Mead ! From banks that are mossy and broken. From hollows all rugged and torn, 'Mid docks and 'mid nettles well soaken, 'Neath shade of the ash and the thorn The Thames, with a flash and a quiver, Comes glinting with silvery gleam, The tiniest thread of a river. An infinitesimal stream ! It winds amid tall nodding grasses, It hides 'neath the leaf and the weed And, almost unnoticed, it passes Through Trewsbury Mead ! THE SOURCE OF THE THAMES The silvery rillet progresses And, as it goes dancing along, Forget-me-nots, brooklime and cresses Keep time to its rhythmical song ! It gleams and it dimples and glimmers And pebbles flash bright as it flows : It sparkles, it wrinkles, it shimmers, A thousand reflections it shows ! It ripples, it babbles, it bubbles As, gathering volume and speed, It flees to the world and its troubles From Trewsbury Mead ! Now this, beyond question, the Source is Well known to the Rhymer who sings So heed not the man who endorses The right of the Cubberley Springs ! The claim of the Colne you must bar well And only regard as a joke All those who believe in the Cherwell, Or plead for the Well of Penoke : The Source is, you'll find, truly very Authorities all are agreed, From Leland to J. Ashby-Sterry In Trewsbury Mead ! WARM WEATHER WISHES WARM WEATHER WISHES From Temple windows, opened wide, I watch the barges drifting down : 'Tis blazing hot / would the tide Would bear me quickly out of town ! I WOULD I were musing 'neath celadon shade, Where leaf-lyrics whisper in Miserden glade ; Or watching the Colne, with its gleam and its glide, By Bibury stealing at still eventide ! The world I'd forget by the world be forgot Because I'm so hot ! Would I not ? Ah ! would that from here I could quickly depart And lazily lounge by the swift-running Dart ; Where ripples flash bright in the trout-haunted fall And peaches grow red on the Vicarage wall ! I'd gather the fig GX the ripe apricot, Because I'm so hot ! Would I not ? WARM WE A THER WISHES I'd love to have nothing whatever to do Than loll all day long in a basswood canoe ! To dream through the hours where the chesnuts droop low, By Ankerwycke bend where the stream runneth slow ; I'd moon in that pleasant, cool, breeze-blessed spot Because I'm so hot ! Would I not ? If only some fairy would bring in a trice A bountiful beaker of cyder and ice With soda and lemon-peel, softened, you know, By blue-blossomed borage and dry Cura?oa I candidly own I would drink the whole lot Because I'm so hot ! Would I not ? RADCOT BRIDGE RADCOT BRIDGE Violet, with the brightest eyes Gleaming with a glad surprise ; Dear, delightful and discreet, Sweetly shy and shyly sweet ; Pretty, piquant, pouting pel None who've seen her can forget Violet ! ON Radcot Bridge, I'd have you know They fought like demons years ago ! Here brave De Vere was put to flight, And left his troops in sorry plight : To-day, in place of swordly clash, The boom of bee, the fishes' plash, Is all the sound you hear, I ween, To break the silence of the scene ! And now a winsome maid I see, Who " holds the bridge " with laughing glee, Above its pointed arch she stands, And archly points with small brown hands ! RADCOT BRIDGE On rugged stonework, grim and grey, Dreams Violet, this sunny day ; She leans well forward o'er the wall. While shadows from her hat down fall Across the sweetest pair of eyes, That e'er reflected summer skies, Or stole from calm, secluded spots, The hue of blue forget-me-nots ! Her red lips smile, or pout in pique, Her dimples play at hide-and-seek And as you gaze you'll ne'er forget This picture on the parapet. MARLOW CHIMES Hear the voice of waters surly, Note the foam-rings crisp and curly See the eddies twirly-whirly, Listen to the hurly-burly Never ceasing, late or early ! OH, muse for a while by the tossing tide 'Tis good to ponder, to moon, and dream Where the dimpled waters curve and glide To ceaseless song of the swirling stream ! When to-day seems gone, and the past seems near- As thoughts revert unto bygone times While the sweet, sad music of Marlow Weir Is gaily gladdened by Marlow Chimes ! 'Mid gleam and glow, as the flood runs by, The ripples redden, the foam flies fast : The sun sinks low, and the sea-green sky To twilight deepens the day is past 1 MARLOW CHIMES While the lightsome laughter of yester year, The poem of youth with its reckless rhymes, Seem mingled with music of Marlow Weir, And find an echo in Marlow Chimes ! Ah ! where are the comrades of bygone days, And where are the joyous songs we sang ? Where the magic charm of these waterways ? When hearts were true and the glad chimes rang ! Alas ! There are few that remain to hear Though some are haunted in distant climes By the matchless music of Marlow Weir, And plaintive clangour of Marlow Chimes ! 12 WATER FAIRIES WATER FAIRIES A DUET In ev'ry glint, in ev'ry gleam You'll find that Fairies haunt the stream ! BOTH WHO can tell, if the River is haunted by ghosts, Do goblins gyrate, where the slim sedges shiver ? Are loosestrife and lilies e'er crowded by hosts Of fairies who frisk where forget-me-nots quiver ? Are there brownies who ride upon rushes and laugh ? Or pixies who play in the sunshine undaunted ? Are there spirits and imps, full of mischief and chaff ? Who can tell if the River is haunted ? BARBARA When Nature dons gayer apparel, And laughs with the smiling of Spring ; When birds are beginning to carol Tis time for the Fairies to sing ! WATER FAIRIES 13 You'll find them in bluebells abiding, When orchards with blossoms are gay, And sprites in the snowflakes are hiding, While brownies 'neath violets play ; Or under the primroses gliding, When bushes are snowy with may ! GUY In Summer they sigh in the sedges, Or soar with the lark to the sky ; They haunt and they hide in the hedges And whisper 'mid leaves in July. They ride on the ridge of the billow And boat in a bubble and sing ; They romp with the wrens in the willow, Or dream on a dragon-fly's wing ; With thistledown soft for a pillow, In poppies they slumber and swing ! BARBARA When fields with the harvest are mellow. And gleam with the gold on the sheaves, When elfins, with russet and yellow, Are tinting the fast-falling leaves 14 WATER FAIRIES When Autumn, with opulent measure (Though cynics say Autumn is sad), Distributes ,the glorious treasure With which her rich kingdom is clad Then pixies are panting with pleasure, And Fairies are gleesome and glad ! GUY They impishly sport through the Winter And dance when it's dismal and drear : When wild waters crackle and splinter The ice-floes that pause at the weir ! Down icicles, swift they come slipping, O'er lashers they flit to and fro, On thinnest of ice they go tripping Though blizzardous breezes may blow ! When frost all creation is nipping, They romp and they revel in snow ! BOTH Two can tell if they would of a fine summer's day, When fast their canoe, on a shallow, was stranded ; When they whispered and laughed, and though time sped away, They neither expressed the least wish to be landed I WATER FAIRIES 15 To the music of leaves and the song of the stream, The dragon-fly flashed and the kingfisher flaunted ; While the sun brightly shone on those moments supreme Two can tell, that the River is haunted ! 1 6 THE DESPOT THE DESPOT A rose-decked hat casts shadows, tender grey, Across the golden sunshine of her smile ; Her glance e'en cynics dare not disobey, Her dimples even iron hearts beguile : A dainty despot, on a throne of hay, Who conquers all by magic girlish wile ! PEARL, O Pearl ! Naught but a lissom English girl, So sweet and simple ; Naught but the charm of a golden curl, Of blush and dimple Pearl, O Pearl ! Sweet, ah, sweet ! Tis pleasant lolling at your feet In summer playtime ; Ah, how the moments quickly fleet In sunny haytime Sweet, ah, sweet ! THE DESPOT 17 Dream, ah, dream ! The sedges sing by swirling stream A lovely brief song ; The poplars chant in sunny gleam A lulling leaf-song Dream, ah, dream ! Stay, O stay ! We cannot dream all through the day, Demure and doubtful : When shines the sun we must make hay. When lips are poutful Stay, O stay ! i8 A TALK WITH A TURTLE A TALK WITH A TURTLE On the Lawn, at the " Ship," one may garrulous grow, As one talks to the Turtle of long, long ago O, TURTLE, lazing on the lawn, That looks just now as green as spinach, I fain would chat of days agone And those who used the " Ship " at Greenwich, The while you in the sunshine blink, And seem devoid of all sensation, Though doubtless you soup-making think A work of supererogation But as the River rolls away, Just list to me the while, I pray, I babble of a bygone day ! Up Greenwich Reach, where sun shines bright, And glitters o'er the panorama, I note the white wings taking flight, To Yarmouth or to Yokohama. ' A TALK WITH A TURTLE 19 The cattle-ship, the big Scotch boat, The billyboys by Millwall marges, With craft of every kind afloat, And fussy tugs, with strings of barges. As summer breezes softly sigh, I watch the vessels sailing by And changing tints of stream and sky ! This view recalls a time long past, Before the month of June was ended Such hours were much too good to last When hearts were young and weather splendid And then a vision will arise A vision somewhat sad, though soothful Of sweet and fathomless brown eyes, That always seemed so staunch and truthful ! Ah ! how the moments flew away, For each had then so much to say, At luncheon on that summer day ! 'Twas here the Major, crafty man Be-wigged, high-stocked and padded sinner To carry out his artful plan, The Begum asked one day to dinner. 20 A TALK WITH A TURTLE With Blanche, the author of " Mes Larmes, Absurdly French and false and flighty ; And Foker, dazzled by her charm, Along with Pen, the high and mighty. A selfish, heartless, scheming crew, His characters too well he knew, The author of " Pendennis " drew ! That evening in the " Nelson," where The dinner was, no doubt, perfection, The conduct of a certain pair, I still think open to exception : They said they found the room was hot, So sat outside on the balcony ; Then ev'rybody else forgot, And chattered con espressione ! They, heedless, whisper one to one, The twilight grows as sinks the sun, And lanterns glitter day is done ! The banquet that commemorates The World-ly birthday, oft repeated, I note where guests by Edmund Yates Were ever genially greeted ! A TALK WITH A TURTLE George Sala, I recall was there, With other " worldlings " skilled and able : Forbes, Hawley Smart, and " Bras-de-Fer " And Wilkie Collins graced the table. The fare superb, the talk was bright ; I would that I could now recite The good things said that summer night ! The little " Star," I mind was well Adapted for a partie carree ; And so thought once, sweet laughing Nell, And so did Maud, and so did Harry ! The menu ? I can't recollect That day I must have been a dreamer. But in the twilight I reflect, When homeward bound aboard the steamer, 'Twas nice, for once, I freely own And in this view I'm not alone To be without a chaperon ! A wedding banquet here must dwell, Within one's brightest recollection ; Where Bella, John and Pa, as well, Made merry o'er the choice refection ! 22 A TALK WITH A TURTLE The sparkling wine, the happy pair, With all their aged affectation ; The bland " Archbishop's " tender care, And Rumty Wilfer's smart oration ! A scene where fun and pathos blend, With all the heart and truth that lend, A charm unto " Our Mutual Friend ! " O, Turtle, wink your yellow eye ! I fear that I prevent you dozing ; Though you're unable to reply You have to listen to my prosing ! And though, within your shell, secure And sweetly silent, dear dumb creature, Your lot is meekly to endure, The sermon of this weekday preacher ! A simple fact to you he'll state, A fact you'll realize with sorrow, The turtle of to-day sad fate Becomes the soup of grim to-morrow ! Convinced of this, you'll quickly know, The world is but a fleeting show And all fades quickly here below ! ON PATRICK'S STREAM 23 ON PATRICK'S STREAM Upon the River, where sedges shiver, And willows quiver, you take your ease : Upon the River, where ripples shimmer While sunshine's dimmer beneath the trees ! Where blue skies glimmer and leaves are singing Sweet fancies bringing, in leafy lays Devoid of hurry and care and flurry A nd ceaseless worry in Summer Days ! IN Summer Days that light canoe, You soon will find can carry two ! As glimmered gleams around it play, A lazy trip you would essay, And take a laughing lass as crew ! Her voice is low, her eyes are blue, She loves to navigate with you Secluded leafy water-ways In Summer Days. The River broad you quite eschew, But Patrick's Stream meander through : 24 ON PATRICK'S STREAM How short appears the longest day ! Because you have so much to say, Half whispered in sedge-shaded bays- In Summer Days 1 In Summer Days ! Ah ! life is sweet ! For you have found a choice retreat, Where you can calmly rusticate By stream-lapped lawns, and meditate, Leaf-shaded from the broiling heat. The waters ripple cool and fleet, Your situation's bad to beat 'Neath leaves as clear as chrysoprase, In Summer Days. Perchance it would be indiscreet Your silly nothings to repeat, When, quite regardless of your fate, You revel in a tete-d-tete ! And laugh and chatter, love and laze- In Summer Days ! THE "RED LION" LAWN 25 THE "RED LION" LAWN On the velvety turf, by the side of the stream, It is pleasant to sit in the sunshine and dream ! AT Henley, away from the turmoil of town, Away from its hustle and hurry, You put on your flannels and get your hands brown, Forgetting all ennui and worry ! When Goodwood is done and the Season is o'er, "Tis pleasant the River to ply on, Or lounge on the lawn, free from trouble and bore, At the " Lion " ! 'Tis a finely toned, picturesque, sunshiny place, Recalling a dozen old stories ; With a fine British, good-natured, ruddy-hued face, Suggesting old wines and old Tories : Ah, many's the magnum of rare crusted port, Of vintage no one could cry fie on, Has been drunk by good men of the old-fashioned sort At the " Lion " ! 26 THE "RED LION" LAWN O, sweet is the exquisite lime-scented breeze Awaft o'er the Remenham reaches ! While lullabies lurk in the music of trees The concert of poplars and beeches ! Shall I go for a row, or lounge in a punt, The stream half asleep throw a fly on ? Or watch merry children feed cygnets in front Of the " Lion " ? I see drifting by such a smart little crew, Bedight in most delicate colours, In ivory-white and forget-me-not blue A couple of pretty girl-scullers. A laughing young lassie, in shortest of frocks A nice little nautical scion The good ship she steers, like a clever young " cox, Past the " Lion " ! I lazily muse and I smoke cigarettes, While rhymes I together am stringing ; I listen and nod to the dreamy duets The girls on the first floor are singing. The sunshine is hot and the summer breeze sighs, There's scarcely a cloudlet the sky on Ah ! were it but cooler, how I'd moralize At the " Lion " ! THE "RED LION" LAWN 27 But who can be thoughtful, or lecture, or preach, While Harry is flirting with Ella, Or the red lips of Rosie pout over a peach, Half hid by her snowy umbrella ? The Infant is drifting down in her canoe, The Rector his cob canters by on ; The church clock is chiming a quarter-past two, Near the " Lion " ! Shall I drop off to sleep, or moon here all day, And drowsily finish my ballad ? No ! " Luncheon is ready ! " I hear some one say ; " A lobster, a chicken, a salad " : A cool silver cup of the beadiest ale, The white table-cloth I descry on So clearly 'tis time I concluded my tale Of the " Lion " ! 28 A CAPITAL CREW A CAPITAL CREW The Crew of the Otter with wonder you'll scan, And long for my place in the trim-built randan ! There is Lucy for Sculls, for Stroke there is Loo, With Gertie for Bow, just a capital crew. As we swiftly flash by you'll no doubt envy my lot While I lounge on the cushions and act as their pilot ! A CAPITAL Crew ! What good spirits and fun ! List to the laughter ecstatic ! See how the oar-blades flash bright in the sun, Scattering spherules prismatic ! A long stroke and true, And they pull it well through, There can't be a doubt they're a Capital Crew ! Gaze upon Sculls, with her radiant smile, Notice her " smartness of feather," Excellent form and her neatness of style, See how the Crew swing together ! A CAPITAL CREW 29 For any one who, Had the luck to review, Their efforts would vote them a Capital Crew ! Bow, you may notice, is not much inclined To suffer from over-exertion : Often she pauses, I think you will find, For chatter or other diversion ! But give her the cue, Then her duty she'll do, As well as the rest of this Capital Crew ! Stroke energetic and graceful you'll own Carols 'mid rhythmical plashes, Sweet barcarolles in a sweet undertone, While the swift current she lashes ! From Cricklade to Kew, I am certain that you Could ne'er hope to find such a Capital Crew ! 30 THE PRAIRIES OF THE THAMES THE PRAIRIES OF THE THAMES Then as the River, seaward, growing wide, The Prairies you behold on either side ! FROM Cliffe churchyard there's no doubt you Enjoy a most delightful view : For from this eminence we gaze Across the meads where cattle graze ; Right o'er the plain our view's complete Of grassy swamp and shining fleet. While o'er the saltings, mud and sand We see the gleaming Thames expand ! The Lower Hope winds round the lea, The Sea Reach hastens to the sea ; The marsh, which I the Prairie call, A wondrous foreground makes for all. A wealth of colour 'twill unfold, Now grey and buff now green and gold ! THE PRAIRIES OF THE THAMES 31 The prospect is of boundless range, A scene of never-ending change ; As long cloud-shadows come and go, While sunbeams flicker to and fro ; And rays of glory freely shed On sails white, tawny, brown and red ; Or glitter as the waters glide, And gild the dimples of the tide ! Perchance you note, when gazing o'er, Thames Haven on the Essex shore : And far away all shimmered green The Isle of Canvey may be seen . . . We've done the panorama, so For lunch to the " Black Bull " we'll go ! Cold lamb, we find, awaits us there While fragrant mint-sauce scents the air With crisp fresh salad, mixed with art, And cream-anointed cherry tart ! How grateful to the pilgrim's eye Are those big tankards standing by ! Brimmed up with honest Kentish ale, Cool, beady, bright, pellucid, pale. Salt breezes, from the Nore, incite A healthy noontide appetite : Thus we enjoy our lunch with zest And take a well-earned midday rest ! 32 THE PRAIRIES OF THE THAMES Then much refreshed, we take our way Through leafy lanes this lovely day : Down hill we stroll and smoke our pipe By orchards red with apples ripe, By poplar grove, by hedge of thorn, By rippled fields of yellow corn : Down, down, we march till we attain The level of the Prairie plain. And here, half hid by laughing leaves, A frowning fortress one perceives ; Where John de Cobham lived, you know, At least five centuries ago. A castle, where brave deeds were wrought, Where in days past they fiercely fought : But now the moat is nearly dry, The drawbridge ne'er is raised on high ; No longer the portcullis falls, But rusts within its grooved walls ! Anon an ancient church one sees Which long has braved the briny breeze. 'Tis like a soldier stern and harsh Who guards the gateway of the marsh : A sentry, who, so it appears, Has been on guard four hundred years ! THE PRAIRIES OF THE THAMES 33 A faithful servant by the way, Grown, in the service, grim and grey ; And one, whom you perchance may find, A smaller marsh may call to mind ; A wider River, doubtless, he May treasure in his memory, When up the Thames, trim fore and aft, The dauntless Dutchmen sailed their craft I The church now seems neglected, and Quite lonely on the swarded strand : By Time forgot, forsook by Tide, It watches o'er the marshes wide ! The while salt breezes of the sea Come sighing in a minor key ! Beyond the Prairie you may see, Poetic in its mystery ! By River spurned, scarce owned by land, A vast expanse, bright, breezy, grand ! The Thames one scarcely can define But trace it by a thin grey line ; While ships, that in the distance pass, Seem sailing through the waving grass ; A grass that shows us many grades Of verdure in its bending blades ; And fails to hide the golden thread D 34 THE PRAIRIES OF THE THAMES That marks some wayward streamlet's bed ; Revealing in the gleaming flood, An archipelago of mud ! Here's peace with silence, wondrous sweet, A silence often incomplete ; But quaintly broken here and there, Amid the balmy autumn air, By whisper of the fluttered leaf Or plover's note so shrill and brief ; By plaintive call of heron, eke, The red-beaked sea-gull's wailing shriek. While faint wave-music seems to me To haunt the flowers of the sea ! The campion and the glasswort bright, The purslane and the crimson blite, With snowy blossoms of, alas ! The sadly libelled scurvy-grass ; Which flourish here, all in their time, Amid the ooze and salt and slime. This lonesome church I apprehend Is, after all, an old, old friend ! And as we stroll the graveyard o'er We fancy we've been here before : That hoary tower familiar seems, THE PRAIRIES OF THE THAMES 35 Now gladdened by the sunny gleams. No clock is there, so none can see How goes mankind's arch-enemy : Where golden numerals should shine Now ivy-tendrils cling and twine ! That shattered tomb we seem to know, Those tiny graves all in a row, The grassy mounds, the rustling trees, That lisp responses in the breeze I The headstones grey with lichen rime, The epitaphs obscured by Time All these we know. It seems as though We dreamed about them years ago ! We soon discover, do we not ? This is, in point of fact, the spot Where Dickens' story was begun " Great Expectations " Chapter One. Here is, indeed, the sacred pile Where Wopsle " gave it out " in style ; And on that rugged tombstone Pip Lay trembling in the convict's grip : Who fiercely said, beyond a doubt, He'd have Pip's " heart and liver out " Unless he made it worth his while To fetch " some wittles and a file " ! 36 THE PRAIRIES OF THE THAMES You'll find close handy, if you please, The village 'mid the alder trees ; The blacksmith's house you'll see near by, But sparks no more from anvil fly ! Hushed is the blast and quenched the blaze That cheered the forge in former days : No more are hammer-changes rung, And e'en " Old Clem " is left unsung ! The " Jolly Bargemen," I opine, Though trading 'neath another sign Is doubtless very much the same As 'twas when Mr. J 'aggers came ; And to the rustics talked awhile, In very best Old Bailey style ! 'Tis here, it may be truly said, " Great Expectations " should be read ! Not only can you read the tale, But live it in this peaceful vale ! So vividly one seems to see Amid the real scenery The people of that wondrous book: Joe Gargery and Pumblechook, The clever Sergeant and also Old Orlick, Biddy, Mrs. Joe I With all the fun and tragedy In Pip's romantic history ! THE PRAIRIES OF THE THAMES 37 As slowly sinks the sun to rest 'Mid glow and glory of the west, Which quickly changing doth unfold A wealth of orange, crimson, gold ! As faint rose-tinted cloudlets rise To flutter o'er the eastern skies, Across the fields we slowly pass, While shadows lengthen on the grass. Charles Dickens often came this way And trod the path we tread to-day. E'en now the spot seems unto you Half haunted by the folk he drew ; For as we pace the greensward o'er, We hear the story told once more ; Which, on the marsh, begins in glee And ends there in a tragedy ! Ah ! me, what gratitude is ours To one whose overwhelming powers, Whose subtle and distinguished art, O'erflows with sympathy and heart ! Who gilds with an eternal ray The life and folk of every day ; Who throws a glamour o'er the tide, And glorifies the country-side : Who charms the most unlikely plots 38 THE PRAIRIES OF THE THAMES And changes them to hallowed spots ! With shrines that soon become the rage And subject of a pilgrimage ! The Great Magician ! It is he, Whose humour, pathos, charity Have, by his magic, made, you see, Romance more real than History ! We've Higham reached ! The sun is down ! So here we take the train to town ; We've had a country ramble, and A pleasant peep of Dickens land ! EASY ALL! 39 EASY ALL! 'Nealh the awning you sit, and may smoke if you please, While the Thames Panorama you view at your ease ! ON board the Steamer of Salter, down stream are you quietly steaming, With bright panorama in view in sweet summer weather you're dreaming ; The day is before you and you are doing your best to get through it, You've naught in the world now to do and feel you're quite equal to do it ! For here you may sit at your ease, the while at the prospect you're gazing, And if you are anxious to laze, may take a full measure of lazing ! I'm sure you will have no desire such happy con- ditions to alter, As blithely you bask in the sun, aboard of the Steamer of Salter ! 40 EASY ALL! Of Care you take leave for the day and revel in lack of employment ; You've not the least trouble at locks they do not prevent your enjoyment ! And no one ejaculates " Time ! " and none at your " feather " is jeering, Or grumbles at absence of style, or slangs you for errors in steering ! Or talks about " trimming the boat " or ventures to hint you're a duffer In fact you're delightfully free from ills ev'ry oarsman must surfer ! Likewise you may leave, if you're bored, wherever the vessel's a halter ; For trips long or short you may take aboard of the Steamer of Salter ! Without any bustle or noise you make a delightful progression. And quietly gliding along, see pictures in endless succession : How lovely and cool is the stream, with countless reflections a-quiver, The villas embowered in trees, and lawns sloping down to the River : EASY ALL! 41 The gardens, the waterside inns, and ancient riparian churches. The groves of the elm and the beech, the poplars, the willows, the birches : The people you see at the locks and boaters should claim your attention, The girls in canoes and in punts and launches, allow me to mention, Form subjects for study and you at studies like these will not falter They add to the charm of the day, aboard of the Steamer of Saltcr ! 42 DRIFTING DOWN DRIFTING DOWN A h ! long shall I cherish, through dreary December, The flash of the oar and the perfume of hay : The twilight, the weir-song I long shall remember, That exquisite even we drifted away ! DRIFTING down in the grey-green twilight, O, the scent of the new- mown hay ! The oars drip in the mystic shy light, O, the charm of the dying day ! While fading flecks of bright opalescence But faintly freckle a saffron sky. The stream flows on with superb quiescence, The breeze is hushed to the softest sigh Drifting down in the sweet still weather, O, the fragrance of fair July 1 Love, my Love, when we drift together, O, how fleetly the moments fly 1 DRIFTING DOWN Drifting down on the dear old River, O, the music that interweaves ! The ripples run and the sedges shiver, O, the song of the lazy leaves ! And far-off sounds for the night so clear is Awake the echoes of bygone times ; The muffled roar of the distant weir is Cheered by the clang of the village chimes. Drifting down in the cloudless weather, O, how short is the summer day ! Love, my Love, when we drift together, O, how quickly we drift away ! Drifting down as the night advances, O, the calm of the starlit skies ! Eyelids droop o'er the half-shy glances, O, the light in those blue-grey eyes ! A winsome maiden is sweetly singing A dreamy song in a minor key ; Her clear low voice and its tones are bringing A mingled melody back to me. Drifting down in the clear calm weather, O, how sweet is the maiden's song ! Love, my Love, when we drift together, O, how swiftly we drift along 1 44 A SUMMER COMEDY A SUMMER COMEDY A very old story, here told between Two, A very old story that ever seems new ! ACT I AT THE MITRE A CLOUDLESS sky, a summer day, A snow-clad table in the bay, Bedecked with roses, white and red, And lunch for two young people spread. While through the window, open wide, They watch the River onward glide ; And try the lobster mayonnaise Or trifle with compote de fraises, And chatter, whisper, jest and laugh, As they the ice-bound hock-cup quaff ! They revel both in glad to-day, Be sad to-morrow what it may : A SUMMER COMEDY 45 What hope, what trust, what love, what joy Seem shared between this girl and boy ! Who find this room a snug resort In summer days at Hampton Court ! ACT II IN WILLIAM THE THIRD'S STATE BEDROOM Tis here our friends find calm retreat Ensconced within the window-seat. The fountain gleams, the gardens show A blaze of colour down below ! Here, while the summer zephyr sighs, They strive to read each others' eyes, And, fondly gazing, soon make sure Both wear their love in miniature ! 'Tis thus she fails to note, you know, The ceiling wrought by Verrio ; Or Gibbons' carvings, or the rare Ornate old clock by Daniel Quare. Nor will her friend regard at all The pictured beauties on the wall : The charms of Frances, Anne, or Jane, Sir Peter limned for him in vain ! 46 A SUMMER COMEDY He thinks the magic of Millais Alone adapted to portray The tenderness of certain eyes Reflecting sleepy summer skies Those poutful lips, those dimples eke The sweet carnation of her cheek, And subtle charm of sunny tress. Within the sombre oak recess. Though Lely's beauties here disport She holds her own at Hampton Court ! ACT III BENEATH THE LIMES The day is warm. Just now the hour Of Five clanged out from Wolsey's Tower ! And presently you see those Two Come strolling down the avenue ; That avenue of fragrant limes They planted in the Stuart times. But now you find a gentle breeze Awakes the music of the trees ; While sweet leaf-lyrics lend their aid To dreaming in the chequered shade ! A SUMMER COMEDY 47 I wonder if they either know That overhead grows mistletoe ? And if they knew, think you they'd try Old Christmas customs in July ? But this I can't divulge to you And wouldn't tell you if I knew ! They linger long, though time seems short, Beneath the limes at Hampton Court 1 48 LALEHAM FERRY LALEHAM FERRY In joyaunce of June, how the time flies away How bright, but how brief is the long summer day ! THE stream runs fleet, the air is sweet, The clouds almost bereft of blushes ; The balmy breeze scarce stirs the trees, And fails to bend the reeds and rushes, And as we glide at eventide How sweet the voice of passing maiden ! The roar of weir now far, now near The laughter in the punt, lass-laden 1 The tender song that cheers along, The brown-faced sculler in the wherry !- Gone is the sun, the day is done At Laleham Ferry ! We drift away, as fades the day The oars in the twilight shimmer The night draws nigh, the dappled sky Is ev'ry moment growing dimmer LALEHAM FERRY 49 While glinting bright, some village light Is gleaming gladly in the gloaming. The boat's made fast, we land at last, And bid adieu to River-roaming ! The trip is o'er, we step ashore With feelings the reverse of merry And with a sigh, we say good-bye At Laleham Ferry ! SO HUNGERFORD BRIDGE HUNGERFORD BRIDGE All London's off, say more or less, By Continental Mail Express ! WE'RE here at Charing Cross again, To catch the Continental Train ! Amid the hurry, noise and hustle, The bawling " By yer leave " and bustle ! Indeed, it is a varied sight, Beneath the pale, electric light. What babbling of boys and porters, And shouting of the luggage sorters ! While anxious tourists blame and bless The Continental Mail Express ! Although it's nearly Nine o'clock, Still people to the platform flock ! Now London's dull, the Season over, They flit from Charing Cross to Dover ; They take their tickets, pay their fare, They're booked right through to everywhere HUNGERFORD BRIDGE To lead a life of hopeless worry, With Bradshaw, Baedeker, and Murray. And yet they hail with eagerness The Continental Mail Express ! Just think of toil by rail and boat, And cackle at the table d'hote ; Of coin of somewhat doubtful mintage, And wine of very gruesome vintage ; Of passes steep that try the lungs, And chattering in unknown tongues ; Of Rhenish hills, Italian fountains, Of forests dark, and snowy mountains And change achieved with much distress By Continental Mail Express ! "Tis Nine o'clock, save minutes ten Here come two fur-capped, foreign men; All in a fluster at the wicket Because they cannot find the ticket ; And over there may be espied A pretty little two days' bride. How bored she'll be with six weeks' spooning How wearied with the honeymooning ! Yet lots go, leaving no address, By Continental Mail Express I 52 HUNGERFORD BRIDGE Just Nine ! The baggage is complete, The last arrival in his seat ; The porters' labours almost ended, The latest evening paper vended. A whistle blows, the guard says " Right ! " We're off due southward on our flight With panting, steamy sibilation With clank and scroop we quit the station And glad to leave, we must confess, By Continental Mail Express ! Ah ! were it daylight, what a view Would be unfolded here to you ! You'd find when eastward you were gazing The prospect was indeed amazing ! So full of light and air, I ween, That Turner might have limned the scene. The grand old River, swiftly flowing,} The Greenwich steamers, coming, going : The leafy curve of avenue From Hungerford to Waterloo ; Its graceful bridge the tideway crossing, Stray swans beneath the arches tossing. Beyond in classical array Is Chambers' pile, all silver-grey ; HUNGERFORD BRIDGE 53 With countless spires the background's teeming, Where golden vanes are ever gleaming ; And far away, where sunshine falls, You have a vision of Saint Paul's : Its matchless dome o'er all transcending A finish to the picture lending 1 All this you miss at night, I guess. By Continental Mail Express ! But o'er the latticed bridge we boom And note the glitter and the gloom ; The " Cecil " windows, glinting, glowing, The lights within the " Savoy " showing : While here and there one clearly sees Lamps gleam like glow-worms 'mid the trees ; And countless tiny flames and flashes The River mocks with golden splashes : While on the water may be seen Stray glints of scarlet and of green. We scarcely can refrain from grieving, For London and the Thames we're leaving ! As rapidly we now progress By Continental Mail Express ! 54 C EC IDS SONG CECIL'S SONG And as she pushed her punt along A laughing lassie sang this song ! MY heart is as light as a feather I'm free as a bird on the wing ! To-day in the radiant weather How merry the songs that I sing 1 I scare away sadness and sorrow, I laugh and I chatter and play, Forgetful of gloomy to-morrow In bright, sunny, laughing to-day ! The River's a rapture of beauty The skies of to-day are so blue, And pleasure seems naught but a duty- 'Tis clearly our duty to do 1 Although we may know to our sorrow, That beauty and blossom decay In dreary domain of to-morrow They bloom in the charm of to-day I CECIL'S SONG 55 O, life's full of love and of leisure This world is enchantingly fair ! To-day we have friendship and pleasure, To-morrow come foes and despair ! To guard against sadness and sorrow, I think I may venture to say, In case we may quarrel to-morrow, Let's love one another to-day I 56 A RIVER NOCTURNE A RIVER NOCTURNE The flash of the oar in the silvery light, The sweetness of song in the still summer night ! A WONDERFUL night on the River, A night just to drift and to dream, While silvery ripples a-quiver, Whirl by to the song of the stream ! The ruddy ripe lips of fair Gladys Are curving with carolling sighs, Now merry her voice and now sad is, And witching her fathomless eyes ! The ballads that bask in the billow Half whispered in winds from afar With lyrics that lurk in the willow, Are haunting her gleeful guitar ! What melody lissom white fingers Evoke as she lazily sings ; Just list as she lovingly lingers In ecstasy over the strings 1 A RIVER NOCTURNE 57 And warbles an autumn cantata To glorify sun-tinted sheaves, Or twines in a tuneful toccata A lyrical lilt of green leaves ! A medley of mirth and of sadness Re-echoes from stream and from scar : A glamour of gloom and of gladness Ring out from her magic guitar ! She's daring and often capricious Quick-changing from grave unto gay The waltz that is simply delicious, To grand solemn music gives way ; The light tarantella entrancing Is merged in the grave minuet ; Then, sweetly at Sullivan glancing, With Gounod she loves to coquet, She'll sing you the songs of the season So sung, how delightful they are ! And revels in rhymes without reason, When twanging her merry guitar ! In redolent haytime when dreaming Made glad by the silvery light, On ripples and rushes bright gleaming, In sweetness of still summer night ! 58 A RIVER NOCTURNE When wail of the weir sempiternal Is lost in the lulling of leaves, And the rhythm of rest is supernal An eloquent nocturne she weaves ! A tenderly sweet inspiration, Where melody seems to unbar A wealth of harmonic sensation That leaps from her thrilling guitar ! \ MUCH RAIN 59 MUCH RAIN It makes me mad as any hatter, To hear incessant pluvial patter BESIDE the River in the rain The sopping sky is leaden grey I watch the drops run down the pane ! Assuming the Tapleyan vein I smoke the very blackest clay, Beside the River in the rain ! With ceaseless downpour for refrain ; The while I drone a dismal lay ; I watch the drops race down the pane. I've gazed upon big fishes slain, That on the walls make brave display, Beside the River in the rain. It will not clear, 'tis very plain, The rain will last throughout the day I watch the drops flit down the pane. 60 MUCH RAIN And almost feel my boundless brain At last shows signs of giving way ; Beside the River in the rain. No longer will I here remain, No more will I consent to stay, And watch the drops flash down the pane ! I feel I'm growing quite insane, And lunacy pervades my lay Beside the River in the rain ! THE HAUNTED STEPS 61 THE HAUNTED STEPS They're scarcely changed, you'll like to know, Since Dickens limned them years ago ! DOWN the steps, so grim and grimy, Over on the Surrey side : Down the steps, so steep and slimy, Down where the dark waters glide ! Down beside the bridge of Rennie Clocks the hour of midnight call Tread we soft and muse on many Ghosts that haunt the granite wall. While the tide there swiftly flows, As the current comes and goes 'Neath London Bridge ! Now in tones, distinct, sonorous, Booms Saint Paul's a dozen times ; Followed by a fitful chorus, Echoed by belated chimes. 62 THE HAUNTED STEPS Step by step we reach the River Running coldly at our feet, Watch we then the lights a-quiver In the tideway dark and fleet. List'ning to the lapping song, As the stream speeds swift along By London Bridge ! Note we well the broken glimmer Glowing windows cast on tide ; And the gas-lamps growing dimmer, Wind blown on the other side. See we where the shadows darkle Sullen, solemn, deep and drear, Flashing gleam and ruby sparkle Of the lantern on the pier. Murmuring in a minor key, Ripples hasten to the sea Through London Bridge ! Turn then ! See this most effective Stepway from the gloomy night Rising in a long perspective, Merging into misty light ; See the countless steps ascending Damp and gleamy, while they seem, THE HAUNTED STEPS 63 Almost like the never-ending Staircase of a troubled dream ! 'Neath the arch the wavelets dash, O'er the granite buttress plash- At London Bridge. As you muse here, upward gazing, You quite easily may raise Vivid visions, most amazing Of the ghosts of bygone days ! As you gaze, you'll see in fancy, Rose, with Mr. Brownlow, and Spying on poor hapless Nancy Noah lurking where you stand ! While the tiny billows splurge Chanting 'neath the arch a dirge At London Bridge ! Since Dickens, with his pow'r magic, Limned the prologue to a scene Fearsome in its detail tragic Little here is changed, I ween. Still the steps seem steeped in sorrow, Still the waters whisper low, 64 THE HAUNTED STEPS Of the terror of to-morrow As they whispered long ago ! Still the River swirls away Babbling of a bygone day 'Neath London Bridge ! PART II AT NEW BRIDGE 67 AT NEW BRIDGE Six pointed arches span the tide, Five buttresses may be descried, Stalwart and solid : it appears They've stemmed the stream six hundred years ! So thus you scarcely need be told That New Bridge is immensely old. We pulled from Lechlade, understand The crew were glad enough to land, And at the " May Busk " pause awhile As they with lunch the time beguile. Here Celia made, we can't forget, That memorable omelette ! Likewise a picture which we may Here do our best to re-portray ! A QUAINT old kitchen in the quaint old inn, With massive rugged beams and red-tiled floor ; With ancient chimney-corner, where the fire Glows clear and gleams upon the ash-strewn hearth ! It glints on oaken press and dishes blue And sparkles 'mid the rosy copper pans ; 68 AT NEW BRIDGE It flickers on the ceiling, stained and scarred, And turns to gold the pots of battered brass : While bright vermilion gleams on fire-dogs And glorifies the ornate chimney-back ! 'Twould form a fitting subject, it would seem, For Metsu, Ostade, Teniers or De Hooghe ; A pretty scene which only serves to frame A picture even yet more beautiful ! Behold the dainty damsel standing there, With all her thought devoted to her work ! The while she gently sways the hissing pan And sings a blithesome ditty to herself. Against the background dark, in bold relief, She stands defined in all her girlish grace ! Clad in a simple grey-blue gingham frock So deftly fashioned that it half reveals As rapidly she turns from side to side The undulations of her supple form ! Her sleeves, furled high, display her shapely arms So white against the sunburn of her hands ; Those subtle hands, which equally are skilled In cooking omelettes or in twanging lutes : AT NEW BRIDGE 69 Her pretty rounded cheeks are flushed with flame, Which gleams amid her tresses closely coiffed ; It clothes with ruddy light her graceful arms, While adding lustre to those deep grey eyes ; As bending o'er the glowing fire she finds Her song is finished and the souffl6 done ! 70 PLEASANT QUARTERS PLEASANT QUARTERS Pray here behold a sketch in rhyme Of Marlow in the summer-time. BISHAM banks are fresh and fair, And Quarry Woods are green, And pure and sparkling is the air, Enchanting is the scene ! 1 love the music of the weir, As swift the stream runs down, For, O, the water's deep and clear That flows by Marlow town ! When London's getting hot and dry, And half the Season's done, To Marlow you should quickly fly, And bask there in the sun. There pleasant quarters you may find- The " Angler " or the " Crown " Will suit you well, if you're inclined To stay in Marlow town. PLEASANT QUARTERS 71 I paddle up to Harleyford, And sometimes I incline To cushions take with lunch aboard, And play with rod and line. For in a punt I love to laze And let my face get brown ; And dream away the sunny days By dear old Marlow town ! I go to luncheon at the Lawn, I muse, I sketch, I rhyme ; I headers take at early dawn, I list to " All Saints' " chime. And in the River, flashing bright, Dull Care I strive to drown And get a famous appetite At pleasant Marlow town ! So when, no longer, London life You feel you can endure, Just quit its noise, its whirl, its strife, And try the " Mario w-cure ! " You'll smooth the wrinkles on your brow And scare away each frown Feel young again once more, I vow, At quaint old Marlow town ! 72 PLEASANT QUARTERS Here Shelley dreamed and thought and wrote, And wandered o'er the leas, And sang and drifted in his boat Beneath the Bisham trees. So let me sing although I'm no Great poet of renown Of hours that much too quickly go At good old Mariow town 1 A FAVOURITE FROCK 73 A FAVOURITE FROCK I lounge on the lawn, 'ncath the sweet-scented lime. Forgetting engagements, forgetful of tim* I I sit and I smoke while the River by swirls And list to the laughter and chatter of girls. I sit here and muse as the summer breeze sighs, Though frocks and their wearers may daxtle my eyes. It seems I've discovered, at least so I think, The gem of this varied selection ; At last I have found the perfection of pink, And likewise the Pink of Perfection I THOUGH Sybil is sweet in diaphanous white, And Louie in lilac's supernal ; Though Georgie in grey is a lasting delight, And Jennie a joy sempiternal ! Though Connie's costume is most charming to view Of course I speak under correction Not even the vision of Bella in blue Can equal the Pink of Perfection ! 74 A FAVOURITE FROCK It must not remind you of raspberry ice Nor cheek of a milkmaid or cotter ; A lobster-like redness is not at all nice, Nor feverish glow of the blotter ; It should not recall a Bardolphian nose, Nor yet a pomegranate bisection There are pinks of all kinds, but only one rose May pass for the Pink of Perfection ! A strawberry crushed, almost smothered in cream, Nearly matches the colour it maybe ; The Jungfrau just flushed with the earliest beam. The hue of the palm of a baby : The faint, ruddy tone you may see in a shell, The blush in a lassie's complexion All or any of these, at a glance one can tell, Might rival the Pink of Perfection ! This frock, when it's made with most exquisite taste, And fits like a glove on the shoulder ; With yoke and full pleats and a band at the waist, Will gladden the passing beholder ! With lace and with buttons of mother o' pearl You'll say, on maturest reflection, The best of all garbs for a pretty young girl Is surely the Pink of Perfection ! A FAVOURITE FROCK 75 A graceful costume I declare it to be, Well worthy a singer's ovation ; Its delicate tone, you may easily see Will match a Malmaison carnation ! You note such a frock sitting there in the shade. And find when you've carefully eyed it, No doubt there's a winsome and merry young maid With a neat little figure inside it ! And a pair of brown eyes, which flash, I confess, Amused at your earnest inspection The frock and its wearer, you'll speedily guess, Combined, are the Pink of Perfection ! 76 THE AUTUMN FLOOD THE AUTUMN FLOOD In a big autumn flood it was once, so they say, That Twickenham Ferry was nigh swept away ! A nd the prospective diner from Petersham side Stood aghast as he gazed on the swift-rolling tide. Though his temper was short, he omitted to swear, But his grievance was voiced to a popular air ! FROM Petersham came I to Twickenham Ferry (There's plenty of mud, the stream running down !) I see not a boat, so I'm not feeling merry Though asked out to dinner at Twickenham town ; They dine at, I'm certain, a quarter to eight I gaze at the mud-banks bemoaning my fate ; There is not a skiff, or a punt, or a wherry, Or chance of my dining at Twickenham town ! But where may I ask now is Twickenham Ferry ? (There's plenty of mud, the stream running down !) I'm getting an hungered, and savage feel very They're punctual diners in Twickenham town ! THE AUTUMN FLOOD 77 I cannot get over, howe'er I may wish ; They've finished the soup, they're beginning the fish And had a few glasses of excellent sherry I would I were dining in Twickenham town ! Dear me, it is odd, where is Twickenham Ferry ? (There's plenty of mud, the stream running down .') Unless my dress suit in the torrent I bury, I cannot get over to Twickenham town I can't understand it, but something is wrong Does Twickenham Ferry exist but in song ? As likely am I to be dancing in Kerry, As dining this evening in Twickenham town ! 78 A WET SEASON A WET SEASON You'll find whene'er folks meet together, They're sure to talk about the weather ! JACK WHAT ruined every summer suit, And washed away the autumn fruit ? What slacked the strings of singer's lute ?- BERYL The Weather ! What interfered with listless laze, And winter made of summer days ? What watered all the sunny rays ? JACK The weather ! What laughed the oarsmen all to scorn, And turned on torrents night and morn ? What flattened out the standing"\:orn ? A WET SEASON 79 BERYL The Weather ! What turned the picnic into slosh, And made us don the mackintosh ? The ulster, brolly, and galosh ? JACK The Weather ! What caused us all to cough and sneeze. And likewise shiver, shake and freeze, While standing 'neath the dripping trees ? BERYL The Weather! What sullied all the dainty frocks, And spattered shoes and frills and clocks ? What gave to hats some nasty knocks ? JACK The Weather ! BERYL What sent the petticoats a-whirl, And put the fringes out of curl ? What quite disheartened ev'ry girl ? So A WET SEASON JACK The Weather ! What spoilt each flower-show and fete, And marred the lovers' tete-d-tete, What made the mildest objurgate ? BERYL The Weather ! A SWING-SONG 81 A SWING-SONG // you lie in a hammock and steadily swing 'Neath the shade of the trees you may slumber and sing If you sleepily sway, all the afternoon through, A nd do naught with intense assiduity ; A fresh phase of content 'twill confer upon you, Which philosophers call " Hammockuity " ! I LOVE to muse, it's very true, Beneath the sycamore, The distant weir to listen to, Or slumber to its roar ! 'Tis good to muse, to laugh or laze, When talk is superfluity ; 'Tis sweet in sultry summer days, To practise hammockuity ! Forgotten here, I would forget The destiny fate weaves, The while I smoke a cigarette To music of the leaves ; G 82 A SWING-SONG I wish my present lazy life A lengthy continuity ; Away from trouble, care, and strife, In happy hammockuity ! While others work, while others play, Or love, or laugh, or weep ; I watch the smoke-rings curl away, And sometimes fall asleep 1 I'd give up thought of future fame Despite such incongruity I'd forfeit riches, power, name, For blissful hammockuity ! I hate the booming busy bee Who dares to wake me up I wonder if it's time for tea, Or grateful cyder-cup ? I would I could, beneath the trees, Repose in perpetuity, And swing, and sing, and take mine ease In lasting hammockuity ! A VERY GOOD REASON 83 A VERY GOOD REASON Aboard a skiff beneath the trees, the Singer was a panter A nd asked a Wilful Maiden why she wore a Tam-o'- shanter ? She gazed upon his sunburnt face, half doubting if he chaffed her, Then, noting well his solemn mien, she answered thus, with laughter LET others wear, aboard a boat, The " Rubens " hat or bonnet ; The " Merry Widow " when afloat With ample plumes upon it; The " Beefeater " of quaint design, The " Flower-pot," or " Planter " But as for me, I more incline To wear my Tam-o'-shanter ! Let others sport the fluffy hat, The " Sailor Boy," or " Granny " ; The " Bargee," or some other that Is anything but canny. 84 A VERY GOOD REASON If petticoats be short or long, Or fuller be or scanter, Or if you think it right or wrong I'll wear my Tam-o'-shanter ! I'll wear it if it's hot or cold, Let weather what it may be ! Will this Child do " what she is told " ? Or is she quite a baby ? I do not care for my mama, Or cousin Charlie's banter ; Despite the chaff of dear papa, I'll wear my Tam-o'-shanter ! You ask me if I'll tell you why I cannot do without it ? Because it keeps me cool and dry You seem inclined to doubt it ? The reason why ? There, pray don't tease ! I'll tell you that instanter : The reason is Because I please To wear my Tam-o'-shanter 1 AN IDLE IDYL 85 AN IDLE IDYL How blithely the beauties break into a canter, A nd over the sward how their feet pit-a-pat ! The light-hearted lass in a white tam-o'-shanter, The merry young maid in a sailor-boy hat ! PANGBOURNE is pleasant in glad summer-time, And Streatley and Goring are worthy of rhyme ; The sunshine is hot and the breezes are still, The River runs swift under Basildon Hill ! To lounge in a skiff is delightful to me, I'm feeling as lazy as lazy can be ; 1 don't care to sail and I don't care to row When lucky enough to be taken in tow ! Though battered am I, like the old " Temeraire,' My tow-ers are young and my tow-ers are fair ; The one is Eleven, the other Sixteen, The merriest maidens that ever were seen. 86 AN IDLE IDYL They pull with a will and they keep the line tight, Dimpled Dolly in blue and sweet Hetty in white ; And though you may think it is not comme il faut, "Tis awfully nice to be taken in tow. I loll on the cushions, I smoke, and I dream, And list to the musical song of the stream ; The boat gurgles on by the rushes and weeds, And, crushing the lilies, scroops over the reeds. The sky is so blue and the water so clear, I'm almost too idle to think or to steer ! Let scullers delight in hot toiling, but O ! Let me have the chance to be taken in tow ! The dragon-fly flashes, the skiff glides along, The leaves whisper low, and the stream runneth strong ; But still the two maidens tramp girlfully on, I'll reward them for this when we get to the " Swan "; For then shall be rest for my excellent team, A strawberry banquet, with plenty of cream ! Believe me, good people, for I ought to know, 'Tis capital fun to be taken in tow ! A RIVER RHAPSODY 87 A RIVER RHAPSODY No one in his senses will ever deny That Henley's delicious in leafy July ! O, COME down to Henley, for London is horrid ; There's no peace or quiet to sunset from dawn. The Row is a bore, and the Park is too torrid, So come down and lounge on the " Red Lion " Lawn ! Then, come down to Henley, no time like the present, The sunshine is bright, the barometer's high O, come down at once, for Regatta-time's pleasant, Thrice pleasant is Henley in laughing July ! Now, gay are the gardens of Fawley and Phyllis, The Bolney backwaters are shaded from heat ; The rustle of poplars on Remenham Hill is, 'Mid breezes sestival, enchantingly sweet ! 88 A RIVER RHAPSODY When hay-scented meadows with oarsmen are crowded Whose bright tinted blazers gay toilettes outvie When sunshine is hot and the sky is unclouded, O, Henley is splendid in lovely July ! Ah me ! what a revel of exquisite colours, What costumes in pink and in white and in blue, By smart canoistes and by pretty girl scullers, Are sported in randan, in skiff, in canoe ! What sun-shaded lasses we see out a-punting, What fair gondoltire perchance we espy. And house-boats and launches all blossom and bunting O, Henley's a picture in merry July ! If it rains, as it may, in this climate capricious, And Beauty is shod with the gruesome galosh ; While each dainty head-dress and toilette delicious Is shrouded from view in the grim mackintosh We'll flee to the cheery " Athena " for shelter The pdtS is perfect, the Giesler is dry And think while we gaze, undismayed, at the " pelter," That Henley is joyous in dripping July ! A RIVER RHAPSODY 89 The ancient grey bridge is delightful to moon on, For ne'er such a spot for the mooner was made ; He'll spend to advantage a whole afternoon on Its footway, and loll on its quaint balustrade ! For this, of all others, the best is of places, To watch countless pictures drift dreamily by. To witness the splendour, the shouting, the races, At Henley Regatta in charming July ! When athletes are weary and hushed is the riot, When launches have vanished and house-boats are gone, When Henley once more is delightfully quiet 'Tis soothing to muse on the " Red Lion " Lawn ! When the swans hold their own and the sedges scarce shiver, As sweet summer breezes most tunefully sigh Let us laze at the ruddy-faced inn by the River, For Henley is restful in dreamy July I 90 IN THE OLD GARDEN IN THE OLD GARDEN Where secrets, sometimes, one supposes, Are softly whispered 'mid the roses ! HOT, hot glows the sunshine in laughing July, Scarce flutter the leaves in the light summer sigh : The rooks scarcely swing on the tops of the trees, While river-reeds nod to the lime-scented breeze ; A rose-leaf, a bask in the glitter and gleam, Half sleeps in a bubble afloat on the stream ; The dragon-fly hushes his day-dreamy lay, The silver trout sulks in his sedge-shaded bay While all Nature seems merged in mellifluous rhyme As they lazily loiter in strawberry time ! Sweet, sweet is the scent of the newly mown hay, Light borne by the breeze on this bright summer day ; And cool is the sound of the musical plash, Of oars that pass in the sunshine and flash ! IN THE OLD GARDEN gi 'Twixt sombre yew hedges they wander away To where the Old Garden with roses is gay : And fragrant with scent of the white and the red ; While berries loom large in the leaf-covered bed Then the largest, the ripest, the pick of the prime, Do they gather together, in strawberry time ! Light, light is the laughter that carelessly rings, And merry the carol she tenderly sings ! He murmurs a story we all of us know The while dainty dimples come fast as they go ! Her long lashes shelter those eloquent eyes _ Her laughter is lost in a tumult of sighs ! Those pretty, plump fingers, red-stained to the tips, All tremble, while pouting are rosiest lips ! And he thinks as they pause 'neath the tremulous lime, That life is worth living in strawberry time ! 92 A RIVER STREET A RIVER STREET A haven of rest a most peaceful retreat You'll doubtless attain in this old-fashioned street. O, WHEN you can no longer stand The ceaseless noise and hustle, And busy traffic of the Strand, The motor-hoot and bustle ; I pray you wander down with me A street both steep and straight, Down riverwards where you may see The fine old Water Gate ! Though scarce two minutes from the Strand Or the South Eastern Station, This is the spot for quiet and Most peaceful meditation : Where pigeons in the roadway stride And peck and preen as well, While oft is heard at eventide The tinkling muffin bell ! A RIVER STREET 93 The local atmosphere one thinks Is wondrously composing, For cats are taking forty winks, With half the street half dozing : On tip-toe you feel bound to walk And softly tread. It seems That if you don't in whispers talk, You'll wake them from their dreams ! This old-world lane, you'll find indeed, Great interest soon arouses Its ornate doorways, canopied, And time-toned Stuart houses : With narrow windows, panelled walls Not overdone with light Quaint stairways, too, and sombre halls, Well paved in black and white. This thoroughfare of olden time, You'll be the first to own is A fitting subject for a rhyme, With all its quaint balconies ; With all its varied bows and bays And hammered curves that show The ironwork of former days, The craft of long ago. 94 A RIVER STREET Now as towards the Thames we gaze While leaning on the railing, The calm repose of good old days We cannot help bewailing ! When by those crumbling time-worn stairs The stream flowed close at hand ; And watermen brought many fares At this old Gate to land. Quite in the distance you may see The Shot Tower plainly showing ; A silver gleam you'll find to be The River seaward flowing ! Gay flower-beds, lawns fresh and green, All modern, as you know, While towering in front is seen The work of Inigo ! This archway note each side arcade With lions elevated Escallops thereupon displayed And columns rusticated ; The structure, now a silver grey, The Villiers motto wears Fidei Crux coticula And Villiers arms still bears ! A RIVER STREET 95 As on the lilac-shaded shore We quietly are gazing, The Stuart times return once more Quite vividly amazing ! Once more the gilded barges glide, Likewise the bannered boat ; Again the stairs seem washed by tide And Fashion is afloat 1 A York House fete ? Ah ! now we see Bright Nelly landing straightway ; While Frances Stewart, full of glee, Comes tripping through the Gateway ! Then up the steps come gallants gay, Come soldiers, courtiers, peers, In periwigs and brave array, Come dashing Cavaliers ! Come beauties with their crinkled locks, Bedecked with jewels quaint, In picturesque, low-bosomed frocks, That Lely loved to paint ! 'Twas at the corner long ago, That dear old Pepys resided ; And watched the River ebb and flow, With craft that on it glided. 96 A RIVER STREET And " Lord ! " how often he'd espy " With very great content " The laughing lasses passing by, As on the sill he leant. Here Etty colour schemes pursued, Venetian in their arture, And in his studies from the nude Made quite a new departure. Below him Stanfield lived, and there Sea stories he'd narrate In paint, while wave, light, cloud and air He'd lovingly translate. Jean Jacques Rousseau, as records state, Once sojourned in this quarter ; And Russian Peter, called the Great, A home had by the water. Here Dutton Cook plied pen refined, And Far j eon novels wrote ; While William Burges here designed His Gothic fanes of note ! And Copperfield, up front two pair, Found lodgings snug and handy ; Where Mrs. Crupp of him took care And likewise took his brandy ! A RIVER STREET 97 At Steer forth's banquet, it was then They all were worse for wine ; But punch made folks all jolly when Micawber came to dine ! 'Twas in this house, with ceilings rare, Abutting on the shore, That William Black had chambers there In good old days of yore ! Those pleasant rooms are haunted by The brightest recollections : Of River views, of starlit sky, Of lights and weird reflections : The genial host, the quip and joke, With merry song, no lack Half veiled in curling azure smoke How clearly they come back ! How fleetly then time fled away, Though warnings now and then, That night was merging into day Were sounded by Big Ben ! SWINDLE'S IN OCTOBER SKINDLE'S IN OCTOBER Golden, tawny, crimson, brown, Fast the autumn leaves fall down ! OCTOBER is the time of year ; For no regattas interfere, The River then is fairly clear Of steaming " spindles," You then have space to moor your punt, You then can get a room in front Of Skindle's. When Taplow Woods are russet red, When half the poplar leaves are shed, When silence reigns at Maidenhead, And autumn dwindles, "Tis good to lounge upon that lawn, Though beauties of last June are gone From Skindle's. SKINDLE'S IN OCTOBER 99 We toiled in June all down to Bray, And yarns we spun for Mab and May ; O, who would think such girls as they Would turn out swindles ? But now we toil and spin for jack, And in the evening we get back To Skindle's. And after dinner passing praise 'Tis sweet to meditate and laze, To watch the ruddy logs ablaze ; And as one kindles The big post-prandial cigar, My friend, be thankful that we are At Skindle's ! ioo BLANKTON WEIR BLANKTON WEIR Voices from afar and near, Haunt the music of this weir ! 'Tis a queer old pile of timbers, all gnarled and rough and green, Both moss-o'ergrown and weed-covered, and jagged too, I ween ! 'Tis battered and 'tis spattered, all worn and knocked about, Beclamped with rusty rivets, and bepatched with timbers stout ; A tottering, trembling structure its aspect we revere This weather-beaten barrier, this quaint old Blank- ton Weir. While leaning on those withered rails, what feelings oft come back As I watch the white foam sparkling and note the current's track ; BLANKTON WEIR Ah ! what crowds of fleeting fancies come dancing through my brain ! And the good old days of Blankton, I live them o'er again ; What hopes and fears, gay smiles, sad tears, seem mirrored in the mere, While gazing on its troubled face by tell-tale Blankton Weir ! I've seen it basking 'neath the rays of summer's golden glow, When hallowed by the moonlight, gleaming ripples come and go ; When Nature starts in spring time, awakening into life; When autumn leaves are falling, and the yellow corn is rife ; 'Mid the rime and sleet of winter, when all is dull and drear, I've watched the water rushing through this tide- worn Blankton Weir. And I mind me of one even so calm and clear and bright What songs we sang, whose voices rang, that lovely summer night. BLANKTON WEIR Where are the hearty voices now who trolled the good old lays ? And where the silvery laughter that rang in bygone days ? Come back, that night of long ago ! Ah ! how the past seems near ! When hearts beat light, and eyes were bright, about old Blankton Weir. Was ever indolence so sweet, were ever days so fine, As when we lounged in that old punt and played with rod and line ? "Tis true few fish we caught there, but the good old ale we quaffed, As we chatted, too, and lunched there, and idled, dreamed, and laughed ; Then thought we only of to-day, of morrow had no fear, For sorrow scarce had tinged the stream that flowed through Blankton Weir. Those dreamy August afternoons, when in our skiff we lay, To hear the current murmuring as slow it swirled away ; BLANKTON WEIR 103 The half-hushed caw of distant rook, the old weir's plash and roar, While Someone's gentle voice, too, seems whispering there once more ; Ah ! those were days of love and trust though cynics carp and sneer When girls were girls, and hearts were hearts, about old Blankton Weir. Those brilliant sunny mornings when we tumbled out of bed, And hurried on a few rough clothes, and to the River sped ! What laughing joyaunce glorified those merry days agone, We clove the rushing current at the early flush of dawn 1 Tremendous headers took we in the waters bright and clear, And splashed and dashed and dived and swam, close by old Blankton Weir 1 Then that pleasant water-picnic, when all the girls were there. In pretty morning dresses and with freshly braided hair ; 104 BLANK TON WEIR Fair Annie, with the deep blue eyes, and rosy, laughing Nell, Dark Helen, sunny Amy, and the stately Isobel ; Ah, Lizzie, 'twas but yesterday at least 'twould so appear We plighted vows of constancy, not far from Blank- ton Weir. Those flashing eyes, those true brave hearts, are gone and few remain To mourn the loss of sunny hours that ne'er come back again ; Some married are ah ! me, how changed for they will think no more Of how they joined our chorus there, or helped to pull the oar ;