y THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES COLLECTED POEMS o. MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO COLLECTED POEMS BY HORACE SMITH MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON 1908 Glasgow: printed at the university press- bv robert maclehose and co. ltd. PREFACE. I RENEW m)- thanks to all my critics for their kindness and cordiality. I hope that my many friends will not miss in this " collection " any favourite verses. I have done my best to eliminate what seemed to me hardly worth preserving. With those who demand in poetry something difficult of interpretation or abnormal in sentiment or incident, I shall fail to make myself interesting. Nor can I hope to satisfy the demands of scholars who either insist upon a perfect manipulation of verse, or an audacious violation of all rules. But with those who really possess what Gait called " the nerve of poetry," I feel that I am safe to please. H. S. Ivy Bank, Beckenham, September, 1908. 867063 CONTENTS POEMS. PAGE Strife '. . . I Naples, 1828 3 Towyn, North Wales 5 Ode to Summer -----..- 6 Serenade -.-...... g The Knight of the Forest 10 Love Triumphant - - - - - - - ic Autumn -----.... 15 Church-Stretton 18 Church-Stretton (Revisited), 1893 19 February . - - 20 The Mystery - - 21 Song 23 Lullaby- - - - - 24 Isle of Wight — Spring, 1S91 25 The Right Hon. George Denman - - - - 28 viii CONTENTS. PAGE Farewell - 29 The Queen ----..... tj "In such a Night" 32 The Rainbow.— Grasmere 33 Yesterday— A Song ""'--- - 35 Sullington, 1900 • ,5 The Evening of Life 40 A Day in Spring .2 The Fisherman's Rest *» Dreams -----.... ^^y Course of True Love 51 Love Stanzas ----.... g. Spring 67 Return of Spring 70 Peasants' Thanksgiving after Storm - - - - 72 A Bit of Colour 75 Martyrs of the Netherlands 7S Grindelwald gj In North Wales 83 The Song of the Sea 84 The Nightingale and the Lark 87 Charm ---------- 88 CONTEiVTS. ix POEMS PUBLISHED i860. PAGE Orpheus and the Sirens - - - - - - 91 Queen Philippa 94 The Light of Summer Sunset ... - 97 Alma Mater loi Pilate's Wife's Dream 104 HYMNS AND PSALMS. Christmas Hymn 121 Hymn for Palm Sunday, or Advent - - - - 123 Easter Hymn 124 Hymn of the Ascension 125 Hymn for Whitsunday 127 Hymn of the Holy Trinity - - - ■ - - 128 A Hymn of Prayer and Praise 130 The Lord, My Strength 131 The Wilderness 132 Bethlehem 132 Morning Hymn - - - ■ - - - - I33 Evening Hymn .----.. 134 Safe in the Arms of God ! 135 X CONTENTS. PAGE Psalm LV. 136 ,, LVII. 137 ,, cxiii. - - 139 ,, CXXVI. 140 ,, CXLVIII. 141 LIGHTER VERSES. After Horace. -Lib. i., Carm. ix. . . . - 145 My Boating Song I47 Letter from the Town Mouse to the Country Mouse - 150 Young England I55 To the Rev. A. A. in the Country from his Friend in London '59 The Curate to his Slippers 160 Never say Die 161 At the "Cock"' Tavern 163 Impromptu in the Assize Court, Nottingham - - 164 Wordsworthian Impressions in Court - - - - 165 The Briefless One -167 To the Wine Treasurer of the Circuit Mess - - 169 The HoHdays 17° My Guide, Philosopher and Friend - - - - 172 CONTENTS. xi I'AGE Old Nursery Rhymes 174 The Lay of the Bimetallisl iSo To a Scorcher 181 Lines by an Enamoured Under-Graduate - - - 182 They and We 183 The Cab Strike, 1896 1S4 After Goldsmith 185 A Lost Ballad of Policeman X 186 Laudator Temporis Acti • 190 The One Horse Shay 194 POEMS POEMS. STRIFE.i Lo, on the height of the mountain the sunshine and cloud are contending ! Baffled, we gaze at the contest, — dimly our work understand, — Larches and pines and great rocks dashed down in the tempest descending, — Altruist, Optimist, Pessimist — lend us a hand ! You, with your faith in the future, to fears and forebodings a stranger; You, with your heart full of pity, longing your love to expand ; You, with your subtle acumen, to warn and to guard us from danger ; Optimist, Altruist, Pessimist — lend us a hand ! 1 Written near Honister Crag. A 2 STRIFE. Lo, at the foot of the mountain the rocks in con- fusion lie scattered, Hoar with the growth of the ages, wreckage encumbers the land. Many brave souls — many feeble, destroyed in the ruin and shattered, — Pessimist, Altruist, Optimist — lend us a hand ! Here, 'neath the rock Sisyphean, shoulder to shoulder we rally. Here, on the barren hillside, toil we a resolute band ; Now, lest the weight overwhelm us, and plunge us deep down in the valley. Altruist, Optimist, Pessimist — lend us a hand ! NAPLES. NAPLES, 1828. Liberation of Italy, p. 47, by Countess Caesaresco. Emilio? Yes! I killed him. Strange! Alas, I killed him though I loved him — loved him best ? How can I tell? Both were my lost one's sons. I loved Diego better than my life — Better than his, Emilio's life. Hold ! Hold ! I know not whether it is well to live : To die is to be happy. Let me think ! Let me remember : — I am old and fond. What was it the King said? "Both, both must die." Oh, terrible ! Father, mother, no one left, — None but these two brave boys. " They must not die," I cried aloud : " Not both. Let me — me die ! " He, cruel, devilish, shouted : " Both or one ! Choose thou the fairest." Oh, my God, my God, Could'st thou not see a woman's agony ? Oh, blessed Virgin, is there none that hear A woman's cry for pity ? " Choose," he cried. Diego has his father's eyes — my son Who died for Italy — Emilio — ah ! Emilio, I have killed thee. Let me speak ! 4 NAPLES. " Choose one, or both shall die." " Let me, for both," I cried. He laughed : " Who cares to take your life ? But these young vipers bite : so take your choice." I am not mad. I killed Emilio. My brain is set a-fire. See, they stand Locked in a last embrace ! " Oh, mother dear. Let us both die together ! " See, his eyes Are turned on me — the dark boy there — he speaks ! Emilio is silent ; his fair locks Hiding his moist blue eyes. I cannot look. " Away with them, away with them ! " Hark ! There ! I hear the rattle of the trooper's arms. " Diego ! Save him — save ! " Then came the end — I know no more. I killed Emilio. " Diego ? — yes, he died in battle. So Should all men die. I will not w^eep for him. Viva ritalia ! Would that I could die For my own land ! A woman old and weak. My life or death recks not. Diego died A glorious death — all pain and terror drowned In one great roar of victory. He fell. The foe, the foe slew him ; and God shall slay The slayers. But Emilio, — it was I That slew- my darling. Slay me, God, slay me, Me, me, the murderer of Emilio ! " TOH^YN, NORTH WALES. TOWYN, NORTH WALES. Tired of the blustering waves, and ceaseless moan Of high tempestuous winds, we sought the hills A league away inland. The slender rills. That wandered down the mountains all alone, Tinkled a "noiseless noise" through fern and stone Into the placid lake, upon whose breast The giant form of Cader lay at rest In tranquil splendour. When the day was done, Leaving our quiet valley for the strand, — Again the swish of waves, and winds that blow The fluttering foam-flakes, rocking to and fro The feathered tamarisk braving the salt sea. What though in midst of tempest we may be, Not far away there lies a peaceful land. ODE TO SUMMER^. ODE TO SUMMER. Gone are the smiles, gone are the tears of Spring ! The blush, the bloom, has passed away. The earth no more is gay. The birds have ceased their random songs to sing ; Hush'd is the nightingale ; And hill and dale Sleep silent through the day. 'Neath the fierce blinding light, The cornflow'r blue, and poppy fiery bright In the hot cornfields deck the yellowing blade. The drowsy kine are hiding in the shade. Or in the rippling shallows dreaming stand ; And vapours shimmer on the burning land. II. Gone are the smiles, gone are the tears of Spring ! Weary I watch the pillowy clouds asleep Upon the everlasting blue serene ; ODE TO SUMMER. \Vearily watch the flies on glittering wing, Poising among the flowers ; bees which keep Their miUion murmurings in the odorous Hmes, Though hardly to be seen ; Wearily watch the swifts a hundred times Whirl, interspers'd in many a mazy round The livelong day, high up in heaven profound ; Nor ever light, nor rest a wearied wing, Nor cease from their shrill twittering — Late-comers, and soon-leavers of our climes. III. Calm season of repose and peaceful thought ! Patient renewer of the bodily frame, And soother of the soul ! All things are brought By thee, in quiet, to their perfect end. And full fruition. Who shall call thee tame? Each season has its own peculiar charm — Can its own message to the spirit send. Yet not the same. The hard-faced Winter has a heart can warm At want, and care, and suffering ; The joyous welcome of advancing Spring Can cheer the toilsome traveller's return ; 8 ODE TO SUMMER. And Autumn, lingering out a long farewell, Can make the bosom swell With thoughts that burn, So sweetly sad. So sadly sweet. As half to cheat. And wile us into being glad. IV. But you, fair Summer, stay with us, oh stay. As long time as you may ! Dear, unaffected Summer, with your honest smile, Oh stay with us awhile ! A constant friend, an ever-welcome guest. Giving a strength, a confidence supreme, A hope, a faith, a warmth within the breast, A light, a joy, an influence rare That shall endure, though sunshine be withdrawn, Through Autumn's fading dream. And through the night of Winter, to the dawn Of love and light, and all things sweet and fair. SERENADE. SERENADE. MORNING. I HAVE been dreaming only — Only dreaming of thee, All through the dark night lonely, Longing the light to see. Here, where the dewdrop shimmers, Sinking into the lawn, — Here, where the last star glimmers. Dying away at dawn. Trembling, I come to greet thee, — Lo, as the star and dew, Though it were death to meet thee, Strike me dead too ! lo THE KNIGHT OF THE FOREST. THE KNIGHT OF THE FOREST. High in the heaven flamed the burning sun, Piercing the green leaves of the wood ; and smote Grey trunks of beech, and silver stems of birch, Wild arms of oak ; and, dappling the soft sward, Glittered on lakes of rippling hyacinth. Pink campion, stitchworth, purple bugloss, backed With bowers of May, mocking the Winter snows. The birds had hush'd their singing. 'Twas midday. And hot as Summer. All the latent life Of the wild wood lay sleeping in the heat. A hundred odours breathed through the warm air, Deliciously oppressive. Not a sound Stirred in the thicket ; only here and there A trickling streamlet wandered through the flowers, Making a murmur scarcely audible, And hushed upon the humming of a bee. Bright butterflies came suddenly to sight, And went so swiftly, that a man might think The flowers had parted with their souls. A cloud Of nimble gnats danced in each column of light, Cleaving the foliage. 'Twas a day to dream THE KNIGHT OF THE FOREST. i i Of love and idleness. Oh, then to die Seems sweeter than to strive ! — A gentle knight Was riding through the forest all alone. White was his steed, and silver white his plume, And white his burnish'd armour, greaves, and casque ; But golden all the hair, like falling fire, From underneath the helm flowed on the neck And massy shoulders ; silver the bridle rein, And silver shone the bugle by his side ; And silver flowers were wreathed upon the sheath Of the silver-hafted sword. His vizor raised, Showed a fair face and youthful, with blue eyes, — Blue as the bluebells which they looked upon, — Lips pink as campion, shaded by the down Of coming manhood ; like a rosebud, he, Seeming a part of all the lovely day That danced and played around him. Listlessly He seemed to ride, as in a dream, and let The rein hang loosely. As he rode he sang : — " Roses, roses, white and red, Scatter them over my true love's bed ; Then, if she waken, they shall be Gifts to remind her of love and me. 12 THE KNIGHT OF THE FOREST. " Roses, roses, red and white. Scatter them over my bed at night ; Then, if I waken, I shall see Sweets that shall tell me of love and thee. " Roses, roses, wild and sweet, Sweet as the kisses when lovers meet ! Ah ! when they waken, shall they see Roses, roses, or miserie?" So sang he, as he rode with loosen'd rein ; Then, on a sudden start or stumble, lo ! — He raised his eyes, and in his path beheld A lady mounted on a night-black steed. Twice twenty silver bells, which music made To every motion, hung from the arched neck Of her wild palfrey. Crimson velvet, trimmed With goldsmith's subtlest work and ivory. Adorned the saddle. All her dress was white — A flowing skirt, which let one little foot Show in the stirrup. From the slender waist The form, voluptuous, swelled to the white neck, The breast scarce hidden, and the movement free And unabashed. Soft plumes of snowy white Waved o'er her cap, beneath whose shade there glowed Eyes of a fiery black, dark-pencilled brows THE KNIGHT OF THE FOREST. 13 And lashes ; but pure white the skin, and red The flushing of the cheeks and pouting lips Luxurious. In her right hand she held Her bow, and in her belt bright arrows shone. Her left hand held the reins, and kept in leash Three nimble greyhounds, while three dogs of scent Followed her horse's heels. So fair the sight. His eyes seemed blinded as he looked on her. Shivering with terror, and with ears thrown back, The knight's horse motionless stood, head crouched, Distended nostrils, flinging flakes of foam On stiffening limbs. The lady onward came ; Then reined her steed, and bowed a smiling face. Saying, " Sir Knight, how came ye in this wood ? " But he, amazed, bent to his saddle bow — " Fair vision, if thou cam'st from Heaven, speak ! Bid me to be thy slave ; thee to obey I will be bound 'gainst all the world in arms." "Wilt thou be bound, indeed, fair youth," she said; " Those who are slaves to me must give up all To do my bidding, — truth, and fame, and right, Love of their kind, high purposes, and deeds Of daring, and the hope of brighter w'orlds : — All these they must forego, nor flinch nor turn ; Can'st thou do this for me ? " 14 THE KNIGHT OF THE f OR EST. She, bending down, Half coyly, from her palfrey, threw one arm Over his shoulder, while her other hand Sought his, which held the bridle. Her hot breath Burned on his cheek, and her bright eyes shot fire Into his o^\Tl. His right arm round her waist. Held her full breast to his, and their lips met In a wild whirl of passion, " Love, my love. Here let us rest within this wood so fair." E'en as he spoke, A darkness gathered over the wild wood, Stillness and stifling gloom, as though the air Was haunted by approaching horror, stricken dumb And motionless with fear ; until the storm Burst furious, crashing through the heaving trees. Moaning, while gleams of light through torrent showers Incessant flashed. Rolling and cracking peals Of thunder shook the forest. Serpents and toads And lissome lizards hurried across the paths. All creatures of the midnight, bats and owls, Bewildered beat the branches. The song birds Fled far, affrighted. All the flowers dropped Under the pelting storm. Long time the rage And fury of the tempest lasted ; till It spent itself, aweary of its work : And in the east, lo ! the faint blush of dawn LOVE TRIUMPHANT. 15 LOVE TRIUMPHANT. The reed may be dead in the dry river bed ; The_ grass be athirst for rain ; The tempest may break over mountain and lake ; The flood sweep over the plain ; The lightning may flash, and the thunder crash, And wild waves trample the shore ; The stars may all rush together, and crush The earth in a wild uproar ; All Nature aghast hear the trumpet's blast Clang loud through the riven sky ; But Love stands fast, and for ever shall last, Though the world and all should die. 1 6 AUTUMN. AUTUMN. Here, while the Autumn winds are sadly sighing, — Here, while the yellow leaves are falling, dying, — Here sit I thinking how the years are flying, Fying away. Too soon the child finds evil days attending; Too soon the youth with care and age is bending; Too soon the old man's labours have an ending; — Ah, well-a-day ! What have we done? What good for future ages? What evil wrought ? What mark on History's pages ? What trace will last? — Oblivion for our wages. Deaths and decays ! Hope still. The loudest of triumphal noises Reach not the sky; but gently pleading voices One sigh may send, at which all Heaven rejoices — Paeans of praise. AUTUMN. 17 Loud blow the winds — the yellow leaves are dying. Far, far away the swallows now are flying; Here with the Si)ring they homeward will be hieing Back to their nest. Work while thou may'st — befriended or forsaken, Lulled in calm seas, or tempest-overtaken, — Still to the last work on with faith unshaken — Then leave the rest. 1 8 CHURCH-STRETTON. CHURCH-STRETTON. Too soon to be forgotten, as a dream ! Alas, how fleeting are all human joys ! Here, in great London's harsh and hurrying noise, I scarce can call to mind the little stream, Now dimmed in shadow, now in sunny gleam, Whispering and tinkling past the Carding Mill, Through fern, and heather, rock, and folded hill, Down to the village, — far too small I deem To bear the name of "Town," sequestered spot, Church-Stretton !— Yet when all is still, at night, A vision strikes upon my inward sight : — Tumbling and foaming from the rocky steep Which pours the Light Spout, on with many a leap Thou dashest downward, though I see thee not. CHURCH-STRETTON (REVISITED). 19 CHURCH-STRETTON (REVISITED), 1893. Oh for the splendour of the dawning day, — Th' unsullied freshness of the morning air ! Poor trickling stream, how feebly now thy way Is traced, half-hidden, through thy channel bare, Who late so lustily would splash and play, A noisy torrent ! Yet, behold how fair — Yea, fairer for the loss of joys that were. Seems now the vale. With gorse the hills are gay In a resplendent beauty. Not in vain Th' alchemic sun has laboured ; for, behold ! What though the sultry months vouchsafe no rain, Nor silver streams, the hills are turned to gold : New beauty starts to life, where dies the old, And for the loss there comes a glorious gain. 20 FEBRUARY. FEBRUARY. But yesterday the west winds blew ; The daisies peeped, the grasses grew ; The hopeful thrush his love was telling ; Too soon the lilac buds were swelling; And all the woods in purple hue. Ah me ! these bitter winds and chill This eager tenderness may kill ; And yet, in spite of frost returning, Oh, somewhere, hid from our discerning, The heart of Spring is beating still. Our fondest hopes, untimely fair, Perchance may feel the nipping air; Yet, far from human vision hiding, In the great heart of God abiding. The power of Life and Love is there. THE MYSTERY. 21 THE MYSTERY. Complexity of motion, warring force, Vast unimaginable worlds, fierce strife Of matter and of spirit, death and life, Sudden destruction, and decay's slow course. Evil and sin, the demon of remorse. Inevitable parting, fruitless pain. Wild bursts of passion, habit's tightening chain, — Mysterious all, and haunted by a curse ! — Confused and unintelligible rout Of some mad war, waged in a darkness dim. Lit only by wild gleams from depths of doubt, Where none dare stand upright, but crouch and grope. Still through the night trim thou the lamp of hope. Wait on till morn, — wait patiently for Him ! II. Purpureal splendours of the evening sky. The rosy dawn, the everlasting hills, The myriad-spangled ocean, glittering rills. 2 2 THE MYSTERY. The song of birds, the emerald grass, the high Blue of the vaulted heaven, the soft sigh Of heavy-scented airs, when the calm night Is flooded with the moon's mysterious light. Thoughts of past ages, lore of times gone by. Wonders to come, art, knowledge, deathless fame, Fond dreams of hope, or satisfied desire, Sweet intercommuning of souls, the flame Of love supreme, the crowning bliss of all ! When life seems sweetest, save us or we fall ! Save, Lord, oh, save us, though it be by fire ! SONG. 23 SONG. Fain would I speak one word, A tender tear to start ; Fain would I strike one chord, To gladden a lonely heart. That tear should swell, as a stream Rolls down from the mountains high ; That chord expand, as a morning beam Comes broadening over the sky. 24 LULLABY. LULLABY. Sleep, little baby, sleep, love, sleep ! Evening is coming, and night is nigh ; Under the lattice the little birds cheep, All will be sleeping by and by. Sleep, little baby, sleep. Sleep, little baby, sleep, love, sleep ! Darkness is creeping along the sky ; Stars at the casement glimmer and peep. Slowly the moon comes sailing by. Sleep, little baby, sleep. Sleep, little baby, sleep, love, sleep ! Sleep till the dawn has awakened the sky Under the lattice the little birds cheep. All will be waking by and by. Sleep, little baby, sleep. ISLE OF WIGHT— SPRING. 25 ISLE OF WIGHT— SPRING, 1891. I KNOW not what the cause may be, Or whether there be one or many ; But this year's Spring has seemed to me More exquisite than any. What happy days we spent together In that fair Isle of primrose flowers ! How brilliant was the April weather ! What glorious sunshine and what showers ! I think the leaves peeped out and in At every change from cold to heat ; The grass threw off a livelier sheen From dewdrops sparkling at our feet. What wealth of early bloom was there — The wind-flow'r and the primrose pale, On bank or copse, and orchis rare, And cowslip covering Wroxhall dale. And, oh, the splendour of the sea, — The blue belt glimmering soft and far. 26 ISLE OF WIGHT— SPRING. Through many a tumbled rock and tree Strewn 'neath the overhanging scar ! 'Tis twenty years and more, since here, As man and wife we sought this Isle, Dear to us both, O wife most dear, And we can greet it with a smile. And I had late begun to fret And sicken at the sordid town — The crime, the guilt, and, loathlier yet. The helpless, hopeless sinking down ; The want, the misery, the woe, The stubborn heart which will not turn ; The tears which will or will not flow; The shame which does or does not burn. And Winter's frosts had proved unkind, With darkest gloom and deadliest cold; A time which will be brought to mind. And talked of, when our boys are old. And thus the contrast seemed to wake New vigour in the heart and brain ; Sea, land, and sky conspired to make The jaded spirit young again ; ISLE OF WIGHT— SPRING. 27 Or hopes for growing girl or boy, Or thankfulness for things that be, Or sweet content in wedded joy, Set all the world to harmony. And so I know not if it be That there are causes one or many. But this year's Spring still seems to me More exquisite than any. 28 THE RIGHT HON. GEORGE DEN MAN. THE RIGHT HON. GEORGE DENMAN.i 1896. AN UNRHYMED SONNET. " Not a great lawyer " : — Well, that may be so : I care not greatly for that parrot-cry ; Here is his portrait on my study wall. Integrity and Dignity sit there, A wise Experience and Thoughtfulness, — Firm to rebuke the Wrong, uphold the Right. Perhaps I trace a wearied, far-off look About the eyes. Nay, you are wrong, my friend, I am not much imposed upon by robes. Forget the office — think but of the man, Kindly and cultured, stately, gracious, true. Robed or unrobed, a man to be beloved. Come now, I'll cap your sneer with one plain word — "There sits a truly noble Englishman." 1 By permission of the Editor of Punch. FAREWELL. 29 FAREWELL. Farewell ! Not all unwilling to depart I stand upon the margin of the shore. Forgive me : I am sorrowful at heart To say the words, "No more." No more ! Yet would I strike another key. Nor here, nor now can I foresee the end ; But from afar I trust to watch and see The way that all things tend. We are but little grains of sand, all lost In the great tumult of the onward roll Of the vast universe, through fire and frost Still rushing to its goal ; Yet somehow, somewhere greater things are wrought Than million constellations can achieve, Where one immortal soul conceives a thought Which God ordains shall live. For, though at times the tide is slow and slack. And ebb and flow succeed in equal turns, — The land upon the western shores yields back What on the east it earns ; 30 FAREWELL. Empires decline, great cities fall away, Others arise, forgetful of their fate ; Religions and philosophies decay. And leave a name — a date, — Not all in vain (believe it) is the fight ! Courage, march onward, onward evermore ' Though dust and smoke obscure the doubtful light, And loud the conflict roar. Still shall the rapt soul see with straining eyes God's angel in the front of the affray ; And, through the night of battle, shall arise The dawning of God's day. THE QUEEN. 31 THE QUEEN.i (The last ?nonth of the Jubilee Year.) Great Empress — for that name thou deign'st to wear — Queen of unnumber'd hearts and half the world ! — Where'er thy royal standard is unfurl'd The tyrant quails, the slave forgets his fear. The simple love thee, and the wise revere. Within thy realm are none so poor-forlorn But thou wilt share their sorrow without scorn — Thou, in thy lofty station, without peer ! Time cannot stop, alas, the ebbing tide ! God keep thee here awhile ; then make thy fame A beacon unbedimm'd, till men be fir'd To nobler aims, and to a faith more wide. Age after age shall live thy glorious name. While Honour lasts, and Virtue is admir'd. 1 By the kind permission of the Editor of The Speaker. 32 ''IN SUCH A NIGHT." "IN SUCH A NIGHT." A WARM air wafts the scent of flow'rs, but not a leaf is stirred ; The brook is sliding slowly on, but not a sound is heard ; Deep slumbrous gloom obscures the dell ; but look, look up on high ! — A thousand stars of heaven, love, are shining in the sky. I cannot see the crimson rose, I scarce can see the white ; The honey-suckle must be near, though hidden from the sight \ The Mary-lilies gleam like ghosts ; the bats go flitting by, And all the stars of heaven, love, are shining in the sky. I cannot see thy face, belov'd, — the roses that are there, The lilies of thy brow and neck, the lustre of thy hair. It is enough to hold thy hand, enough that thou art nigh. While all the stars of heaven, love, are shining in the sky. THE RAINBOW.— GRASMERE. 33 THE RAINBOW.— GRASMERE. A show'ry morning — not a day we thought For long excursion — But the afternoon, Though stormy, seemed to tempt us out of doors To try our luck, encountering foul or fair. And so our party, starting, took the path To Easedale Tarn. Before we reached the fall Of Sour Milk Ghyll a storm of wind and rain Rush'd from the mountains, forcing us to crouch Beneath a corner of a wood ; and there We sheltered somewhat from the sweeping show'r. But I, impatient, saw, or thought I saw, The coming sunshine light the topmost peaks ; So started in advance of all our troop Along the steep and slippery path, my head Bent down, picking my way through pools and stones. And little torrents running across the path. Then on a sudden, I was bathed in light ; And, looking up, beheld the whirling clouds Ablaze ; and turning round I saw the huge Seat Sandal in a glory as of Heaven. That moment I beheld two travellers Some yards below me toiling up the steep. c 34 THE RAINBOW,— GRASMERE. " Look there ! Look there ! " I shouted, and they turned, And stood entranced as I did. Broad belts of violet, orange, blue, and red Trembled across Seat Sandal's heaving breast. Which glowed in golden green beyond the bow. Above were storm and darkness ; and beneath The valley and the lake were drenched in rain. Helm Crag frowned still in shadow, and the Ghyll Roared with its torrent waters. More and more. The dazzling splendour of the blending hues, Pulsing with light ineffable, seemed to swell From earth and man up to the heavens and God. Awhile we gazed till all the pageant passed. And then, in silence, recommenced our toil. Strangers once more. Yet I must think, perchance, Some bond still held us ; and would fain believe. That there are times when we are wrought upon To dream a dream of heaven, and to have A foretaste of the wonder and the joy To be revealed hereafter; and which, seen, \Vill to our souls recall these glimpses here. YESTERDAY— A SONG. 35 YESTERDAY— A SONG. Little bird singing, what do you say — Little bird up in the bough? Sing me the song that you sang yesterday. What are you singing now? " Never quite sad ; and never quite gay ; — My notes are none of them new. The song is the same that I sang yesterday Seems it not so to vou ? " 36 SULLINGTON. SULLINGTON, 1900. Full sore perplexed with diverse schemes, And various views and fancies, Wild visionary changing dreams. And dubious doubts, and chances. Our holiday we could not fit To our resources narrow. At length, to put an end to it. Outspoke my "winsom marrow": " Oh ! brawling streams are fair to see, And glassy lakes are fairer, But, if you'll be advised by me. Our happiness lies nearer : Let ^^'ales and Scotland be forgot. And Westmoreland forsaken. We'll take the Rectory,— Why not?— Which twice before we've taken." Oh, what a happy time we spent. All met at last together. While summer all her radiance lent, — Her wealth of glorious weather. For six long weeks we roamed and played. As suited inclination, SULLINGTON. 37 Each wish fulfilled, in sun or shade, A jovial " Long Vacation." Full simple were our daily joys, And yet we wished none other, — Four bonny girls, four stalwart boys, The Poet and the Mother; And special friends would come to cheer Still more our merry party ; And neighbours, whether far or near, Would find a welcome hearty. ^Vhat cool delicious breezes came From down and ocean blended ! ^Vhat blazing gold and crimson flame Flashed, when the sun descended ! The downs like silken billows rolled, With flitting lights and shadows, Rising above the green and gold Of cornfields and of meadows. How rich the roofs of barn and shed With moss and lichen covered, Where pigs and poultry scratched and fed. And pigeons flapped and hovered The tiny church, the ancient yew. Of storm and time defiant ; 38 SULLINGTON. To left and right his arms he threw— Was never such a giant ! The Rectory, so stout and plain, With room enough inside it, — Long may its walls and roof remain, Nor evil e'er betide it ; Long may its noble elm trees wave Their heads of Prince's feathers. And iron firs of Scotland brave All sorts of English weathers ; May peaches ripen on the wall. Well pinched by cunning fingers ; And rosy apples tumbling fall, While still the autumn lingers ; May lovers tread the lovers' walk, — A wild umbrageous tangle, — And hear the doves in loving talk. And rooks in angry wrangle ; Long may the lawm o'erlook the weald. Three counties fair surveying; And Nature still her harvest yield. The lab'rer's toil repaying; Long may the downs give back the cry Of foxhound or of harrier ; SULLINGTON. 39 And to Old England's foes for aye Present a frowning barrier. But all good things must have an end : Our holiday is over ; The sheep to sheltered quarters wend, And stacked are corn and clover. And we must leave this scene at last, And pleasure change for duty, The Summer's gone ; the year has past Its full meridian beauty. A richer hue the landscape takes, Touched by the magic Power That fires the flaming beech, and makes The birch a golden shower. Warms all the heath with tawny fern, With crimson stripes the bramble, Makes hawthorn glow, and hedges burn. Where brionies romp and ramble. Ah, me ! ah, me ! the glory dies, And wintry nights are nearing ; Vet we'll remember summer skies. And hours so dear and cheering. Our hearts shall still beat warm and true Whatever be the weather. Though Sussex days and Sussex ways Are all gone by together. 40 THE EVENING OF LIFE. THE EVENING OF LIFE. Lean on my arm : you are weary, Wand'ring so far on the way ! Hearts may be valiant and cheery, Limbs may be loath to obey. See, the last upland is swelling ; 'Neath it our valley lies still ; •Peacefully folding our dwelling Under the brow of the hill. II. Red is the west, and the shadows Deepen, and darken, and die. Mingling the path with the meadows, Merging the land in the sky. Yonder the starlings are veering Home to the copse by the mill, — Tops of the woodlands appearing Over the brow of the hill. THE EVENING OF LIFE. 41 III. Reapers their labours are ending, Toiling is brought to a close; Cattle to shelter are wending, All things are seeking repose. Many long years have gone o'er us,- Some may be left to us still : There is a home, love, before us Over the brow of the hill. 42 A DAY IN SPRING. A DAY IN SPRING. Breeze of the Spring — delicious air — Spirit whose breath makes all things fair; To Thee the flowers their incense swing, To Thee the birds their praises sing I To Thee they pour, so fresh and strong. The random snatches of their song; The brook an endless task has found, Linking their notes with murmurous sound. O glorious oak in golden blaze ! O elm tree in an emerald haze ! O blinding light of myriad flowers ! grass so cool, so sweet with showers ! So bright, so sweet, so strange ye seem, 1 fear lest all should prove a dream ; So fair this earth of ours to-day, I tremble lest it pass away. Why is such music every year Poured into ears that will not hear? — A DAY JN SPRI^'G. 43 Such beauty every Spring set free, Lavished on eyes that will not see? Unheard, unseen, yet felt divine, All that we hear or see is Thine ; To Thee our frozen hearts we bring. Turn Thou their Winter into Spring. 44 THE FISHERMAN'S REST. THE FISHERMAN'S REST. A HARD lot has the fisherman, both day and night to toil, When skies are dull and dreary, and waters seethe and boil ; When fish are scarce, and buyers few, and wife and child at home. And danger on the sandy bar, and death within the foam. 'Tis weary work when winds are still, or when they wildly rave ; Nor in the deep can any sleep as in a quiet grave. 'Tis oh, to reach some distant shore, and there at peace to be, Where the never-dying breezes murmur softly from the sea.^ II. A sad life has the fisherwife, from morn to eve to wait ; To watch the distant ocean line from early until late. 1 This last line is a paraphrase from a line in Homer. THE FISHERMAN'S REST. 45 'Tis hard to starve, and hard to hear the baby's wailing cry, While breakers roar along the shore, and storms are loud and high. 'Tis fearful mid the flying foam and through the blinding rain To gaze, and fear the day is near, when w^atching will be vain. 'Tis oh, to reach some distant shore, and there at peace to be, Where the never-dying breezes murmur softly from the sea. III. There night and day the breezes play, and all the waters lie One breadth of rest from east to west, 'neath God's own tranquil eye. There at His word the nets are throwTi (there is no night-long toil). And all the vessels well-nigh sink with heaps of glittering spoil. There wife and child in plenty dwell, fed by His tender hand ; 46 THE FISHERMAN'S REST. And o'er the tide good angels guide the vessels to the land. 'Tis oh, to reach that sacred shore in peace for aye to be, Where the never-dying breezes murmur softly from the sea. DREAMS. 47 DREAMS. Dream of the Poet ! A land where Beauty and Love ever reign Gently o'er loving vassals, — no strife, no hunger, no pain ; Where the warriors are ever so noble, the women ever so fair, And the children are always children, with never a shadow of care ; Where the aged are sweet as the children, and, or ever their labours are past, Fade away like the glory of sunset, the loveliest flushing the last ; Where lion, and leopard, and wolf, with fawn and with antelope play ; Where the butterfly flits o'er the flow'rs, but the grub never injures the spray ; Where fruits fall ripe mid the blossom, but never a bruise or a speck, — Endless profusion and plenty ; perpetual growth without check ; — 48 DREAMS. The rose has no thorn, and the nettle no sting; and the beautiful snake Uncoils its venomless folds to the rabbit that plays in the brake ; The body rejoices in health ; the mind and the spirit are free ; — This is the dream of the Poet ! Oh, would that such things might be ! II. Dream of the Seer ! A land ever governed by Order and Law ; Guided by reason the people, unbiased, and sound, without flaw ; Willing the thing that is wisest, and doing the thing that is right ; Seeking the good of each other, no malice, no envy, no spite, Violence, wrong, nor oppression ; but each man at work for the rest ; Seeing the possible clearly, and finding the absolute best ; Growing in wisdom and knowledge ; increasing in virtue and grace, DREAMS. 49 Step after step; till, at length, they attain to the ultimate race, Having dominion o'er all things, and swaying all things to their will ; — This is the dream of the Seer !— Ah me, and he dreams of it still ! III. Dream of the Weary ! A land of ineffable calmness profound ; — Winds only whisper, and waters can scarcely mur- mur a sound ; Clouds hardly move o'er the heavens ; and smoothly the rivulets run ; Ocean is quiet, except where it quivers in light of the sun ; Labourers toil not in reaping; mariners ply not the oar, And the call of the warlike drum and trumpet are heard no more ; Noise and confusion are silenced, and striving and envying cease; Tears never fall from the eyes ; and at last — at last, there is peace ; D 50 DREAMS. Sorrow and sighing are over ; sleep cometh down as the dew ; — This is the dream of the Weary ! Ah, when will the dream be true ? IV. Doing is better than dreaming ; — look not behind nor before ! Do : and, when doing is ended, dreams shall be dreams no more. COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. I. Though I cannot tell you why, Yet my heart is weary ; Cloudless is the happy sky, But my days are dreary. Not the shadow of a sorrow Falleth anywhere ; — Welcome, thou unknown to-morrow, Whether joy or care ! Happy as the day is long, Hark, the sweet birds singing ! Ceaseless is the fount of song In their hearts upspringing. Life to them is never dreary, Piping 'neath a tranquil sky ; But my heart, my heart is weary, And I know not why. II. If Love were in his actions free. Oh then, my love, I'd stay with thee ; 52 COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. But Love, once caught in chains, they say. Can never, never fly away. If I might think that Love can see, 'Twere bUss for aye to gaze on thee; But, love, you know that Love is bhnd. Or sees what he may never find. If it were true that Love is wise, I'd learn his w^isdom in thine eyes ; But there's a saying, old and true. That Love is fond when eyes are blue. If Love could live on love alone. Then might I claim thee for mine own; But some affinity in things Makes Love and Riches both have wings. If Love for evermore would stay. Then at thy feet myself I'd lay; But Love is apt to change, and then Hearts broken never piece again. III. Lady, if my idle lays Call thee fair or witty. Thou wilt scorn the empty praise,— Theme of every ditty. COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 53 This alone shall be my song, — This alone may move thee ; — Day or night, in dark or light, I only live to love thee. Should I swear to win renown, Future fame foretelling; Thou would'st answer with a frown, — "Love is not for selling." This alone shall be my song, — This alone may move thee ; — Day or night, in dark or light, I only live to love thee. Should'st thou then reject my prayer, — All my hopes dissever; I should languish in despair. But forget thee never; Left alone, should fade and pale, Like yon moon above thee. Hiding light in clouds of night, Lost, because I love thee. IV. The lover is wandering down by the stream, — Wearily, O so wearily ! — 54 COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. Hopes and fears make a tedious dream, — Drearily, O so drearily ! — " What will she say, if she come to me, Yea, or nay, 'neath the Trysting Tree?" The maiden is loitering down the dull lane, — Wearily, O so wearily ! — " For, oh, if he comes not, hasting is vain," — Drearily, O so drearily ! — " Yet I would not be late, for fear he should be Waiting alone 'neath the Trysting Tree." They have met, while the birds in the branches sing,— Merrily, O so merrily ! — They have met ; in each others' arms they cling, — Cheerily, O so cheerily ! — Oh, Life and Love, how sweet ye can be, When true lovers meet 'neath the Trysting Tree ! Lo, by thy circle attended, Pass onward, O Queen of the Night ! Thousands will worship thy splendour. Dazzling the sight. COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 55 Fair little star of the gloaming, Timidly shining apart, — Come let me hold thee, and fold thee Unto my heart ! VI. What time I went to meet my love, Her gentle heart to gain, The skies were dark with storm above, And fringed with streaks of rain ; The roaring wood was tossed about, As 'twere an angry main. The stream was black with coming storms; The distance coldly blue; The hills half hid their scowling forms. And sulkily withdrew ; — Sweet Nature frowned with jealous brow. Deeming I was not true. I met the maid I went to seek, We wandered down the dell; I guessed the words she could not speak. From eyes that spoke full well. I held her to my heart — ah me, What need the tale to tell ! 56 COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. Then turned I back. The wood andfwold Were steeped in crimson dye ; In fold on fold the landscape rolled Warm purple to the sky ; The wet leaves twinkled in the trees With trembling ecstasy. The silver stream was turned about, And glittered round the reeds, While many a trout dipped in and out, And flashed between the weeds ; And Nature's face glowed as a man's When doing noble deeds. Behold all things are dear to me, — The earth is fairer grown; I needs must love all things that be, In loving thee alone ; For all the world is summed in thee, And thou art all mine own. VII. Alas, what a tyrant Love must be ! He neither will hold, nor set me free. Often I struggle to fly in vain ; Often I lie and hug my cham. COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 57 Backwards and forwards sways my mind, Like a reed that is rocked by the idle wind. Often I feel that I love thee ; Sometimes I doubt if thou lov'st me. Often I think thou lov'st me well ; But, which is the truth, love, none can tell. Backwards and forwards sways my mind, Like a reed that is rocked by the idle wind. Thou art so gentle, pure, and fair. That, breathe in thy presence, I scarcely dare. Ah, but I feel, when my lips touch thine. Thy love is as nothing matched with mine. O reed, blown about by the idle wind, When shalt thou rest and comfort find. VIII. When the roses bloom. Lay them where I'm sleeping ; Throw them on my tomb, Sorrowing and weeping. In their fragrance they shall be Emblems of my love for thee. When the roses fade, Leave them there to perish. 58 COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. All is mortal made, E'en what most we cherish. In their fading they shall be Emblems of thy love for me. When the roses die, Let them rot forsaken. What is dead shall lie Never more to waken ; Yet, remember, love shall last When this life is overpast. IX. The world is false as it is fair, Ah, wherefore then believe it? And why should men so full of care Be ever loth to leave it? Oh, let my cofifin be of lead. Pile high the mould above me ; And let them never know I'm dead, If there be any love me. X. The frost that has lasted for many a day, And the ice that nightly freezes, COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 59 Are thawing and vanishing swiftly away In the warmth of the western breezes ; And I love to look on the melting snow, Down-pouring from roof and rafter, For the streams that flow are a sign I know Of the sunshine that comes after. The gloom that has lasted for many a day. And the grief which the chill-blood freezes. Will soften when Hope on the heart shall play. Like the warmth of the western breezes ; And the streams that flow are a sign I know Of the sunshine that comes after; For the dull heart clears with a shower of tears, And breaks into song and laughter. XI. Sweetly, sweetly over the sea The moon is shining clear; And oh, how happy I could be. If my true love was here ; For then my heart would dance for glee. Like the tide in the silver ray ; But now I could lay me down in the sea. For the waves to wash me away. 6o COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. XII. Under the porch ! — Gleamed her white dress in shade Through the half-opened door ; Then came her little face Nearer my o\vn, Under the porch. Under the trees ! — Shadow and sunlight played Over the grassy floor, Over the rosy face, Close to my own. Under the trees. Under the stars ! — Oh the wild love we made ! Oh the fond vows we swore ! Oh the pale tender face ! — My own, my own ! Under the stars ! XIII. Sweet she was and gentle, Fair as fair could be ; Sang the village maidens, — " Lily fair is she ! " COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 6i Came a change upon her, Wonderful to see ; All the young men whispered, — " Lo, a rose is she ! " Shout aloud her praises ! — There's but one who knows, How my little lily Changed into a rose. XIV. When the wind is in the west, The lark above his nest Sings a roundelay of joy to his little love at rest ; And higher, higher springing. He sets the heavens ringing. With the thrilling of his singing. When the wind is in the west. When the wind is in the west, I love my lassie best ; For then she comes and lays her little head upon my breast; While stars in heaven are thronging. And the nightingale prolonging His lay of love and longing. When the wind is in the west. 62 COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. XV. O little streamlet Flashing along, Merrily dancing, And singing a song ; Bright and refreshing, Limpid and sweet ; Fearlessly rushing The river to meet : — As bright, and as brave. As pure, and as free. So may our lives, love. Flow down to the sea. O stately river Moving along, Calm, yet resistless, Placid, yet strong ; Grandly majestic Thy mighty tides sweep. Bearing great navies Away to the deep : — As strong, and as calm, As grand, and as free, So may our lives, love, Flow down to the sea. LOVE STANZAS. 63 LOVE STANZAS. How shall my verse a fitting image find Thy faultless beauty fairly to disclose, Whose every look, whose every motion shows A lovely form and mind ? Oh, nought on earth will I compare with thee. No rose, or bluebell mocking summer skies ; But some celestial flow'r, which angel eyes Untired for ever see. Where Nature hath essayed her utmost skill, Words but obscure the charms they would portray ; We gaze in silence, feeling what we may, But, worshipping, are still. II. I liken my own heart unto a lake, Which owns no image but thy perfect form, Alike in glorious sunshine or in storm, Or when the rain clouds break. 64 LOVE STANZAS. The deepest pool is darkest ; and my love Grows, deepening every moment that I live, And darkening, for that death must one day give Thee to the blest above. Ah stay, and make me blest until I die. In Heaven, love, all are pure, — then haste not there ! Sweet angels, do not murmur at my prayer, Nor beckon toward the sky. Oh, to be linked like two-fold stars of night. To cling together closely, as we move Revolving round one common centre, Love, And blending light in light, 'Scaping the heart-break of a last embrace, And, slowly setting at the western goal. Still linked together, seeking, as one soul. The realms of cloudless space ! III. After long trouble, peace at length I find. Again I look into those deep blue eyes. Two pools, reed-fringed, reflecting summer skies, Unruffled by the wind. LOVE STANZAS. 65 Again I hold the hand I love the best. Weary with tossing on the waves of life, At length I reach, in safety from the strife, The haven of my rest ; E'en as a ship, that all the stormy day Has laboured with the fierceness of the gale, At^ eve securely furls the fluttering sail. Moored in the quiet bay. Then let the noisy world roar as it will ; Thou art encompassed by eternal peace. In this calm bay the breezes fall and cease, And all the waves are still. IV. I dreamt of thee as dead. A chill grey cloud Was drifting o'er the town. The windy street Was black with cold. A bitter driving sleet Beat on my face. A crowd Of men and women, with a vacant stare On stony faces, passed in mourning dressed. The bells were tolling ; and the people pressed On to the house of prayer. Methought the nation mourned the nation's Head. Men whispered each to each. All work had end. And all the blinds were drawn, as though a friend In every house lay dead. 66 LOVE STANZAS. I wandered far into the fields alone. The birds remembered not their happier notes ; But doleful dirges trembled from their throats. I heard the doves make moan. A mournful rushing of the river waves, — A weary moaning of the barren wood, — I wandered to a village church, and stood Amid a crowd of graves. Two men, who turned the sod and heaved the soil, I watched, as one who feels not what he sees ; Then idly asked, who there should sleep in peace, Resting from grief and toil. And one, I thought, looked up and slowly spoke ; But, when he shaped his lips to speak the name I hold more dear to me than life or fame, I cried aloud, and woke. Oh, joy to hold again in mine thy hand, — To find the dream so sweet, so dear a lie ! — I seem as one who lays him down to die In sight of his own land ; Who, weak with wounds, and feeble as he is, Raised on the deck, one moment feasts his eyes On England's happy shore, then sinking dies, Borne down with too much bliss. S/VxVA'G. 67 SPRING. 'Tis a morning sweet and fair, Delicate perfume in the air Is softly wafted everywhere; While the cool south-western breeze VVoos their beauty from the trees, Breathes new lustre as it passes O'er the gently bending grasses ; While the woods are ringing With the small birds singing, Hidden in the boughs above. Each one warbling to its love. "I woo, I woo," sighs the tender dove From the depths of his ivied tree ; "Be true, be true," sings his patient love, "And I will be true to thee." "Sweet, sweet," is the chaffinch tale; And "love, love, love," sings the nightingale. Then free and strong Is the blackbird's song ; And the thrush that sings from the tallest tree Falls in love with his own sweet melody; And joyfully thrilling, and sweetly clear. The song of the lark rings into my ear; 68 SPRING. For he springs to the skies with joy elate, And he hovers to earth to seek his mate, Singing in madness Of ecstasy and gladness. Till his song is over, Drowned amid the clover. Now the meads are bright with flowers, Ghttering with new-fallen showers; In a thousand brilliant hues Woods and fields appearing; Young lambs bleating for their ewes, Careful shepherds shearing; Lowing herds fresh pastures seeking; Everything of plenty speaking ; Orchards into blossom breaking; Land and sea to joy awaking; Vistas of the dappled glades. Quiet nooks and cooling shades; Murmurs of the streamlet's flow, Where the whispering rushes grow; Fragrant odours fill the air; Heavy-laden bees. Humming, soothe the listening ear Round the lilac trees. SPRING. 69 Hope and Joy, a wedded pair, Shed an influence everywhere ; — Hope, the husband, brave to bear, Joy, the wife, serene to cheer; Hope to sow, and Joy to reap ; Hope to gain, and Joy to keep ; Hope to plan, contrive, achieve, Joy to welcome and receive ; Reigning both in splendour royal Over subjects lief and loyal. 7© • RETURN OF SPRING. RETURN OF SPRING. Now Winter's reign has passed away ; And buds appear on every spray; The sweet birds sing in hedge and tree Their melodies of careless glee ; For all the wood is green again, And green the vale and hill ; And only in this heart of mine The winter lingers still. The lambs about the meadows skip; And in the stream the swallows dip; The winds, that blow from south and west, Woo all the flowers that love them best ; For all the wood is green again. And green the vale and hill; And only in this heart of mine The winter lingers still. O heart of mine, that seems so glad ! O heart of mine, that seems so sad ! RETURN OF SPRING. 7 1 Ah, wherefore, as in days of yore. Steals not the joy into the core ; For all the wood is green again, And green the vale and hill; And only in this heart of mine The winter lingers still. 7 2 PEASANTS' THANKSGIVING AFTER STORM PEASANTS' THANKSGIVING AFTER STORM.i The groaning forest bending Heaves like an angry main ; The rain and hail descending O'erflows each dyke and drain ; Through black clouds tempest-driven The rapid lightnings flash, And round the vaulted heaven Loud thunders crack and crash. O Lord God, the tempest. Thy wrathful word obeying, Dismaying us praying, hath brought destruction near; We shrink from Thine anger, Thy majesty appalling, Down falling and calling upon Thy name in fear. II. The yellow corn is lying Down-beaten by the rain, It seems as though 'twere dying, And ne'er would rise again; iThe Chorus is suggested by the Music in the last movement of Beethoven's "Pastoral Symphony." PEASANTS' THANKSGIVING AFTER STORM. 73 'Tis oh, for breezes blowing Beneath the sunny skies, Before the time of mowing, To give it strength to rise. O Lord God, in anger, Thy goodness ne'er for- getting. Our fretting, regretting, we meekly own Thy sway; Forsake us not wholly, but in Thy mercy hear us. Be near us to cheer us, when heart and hope give wa)-. III. Now all the storm has ended, The clouds are rolled away. And, girt with brilliance splendid. Descends the light of day ; Afar the thunder growling Slinks back into the night. Like some wild creature prowling. Scared by the morning light. O Thou, who in tempest hast dreadly passed before us. Restore us, and o'er us Thy bow of mercy throw ; We own, Lord, Thy goodness, with trembling lips adoring. Imploring, and pouring the praises that we owe. 74 PEASANTS' THANKSGIVING AFTER STORM. IV. The blue sky widens o'er us, The air is calm and sweet, The birds in happy chorus Come forth the sun to greet ; While mists like incense stealing O'er all the landscape swim, And, with the full heart's feeling, Our happy eyes are dim. O Lord God, whose favours are far beyond our finding, Close binding and winding our hearts around Thine owTi, We own. Lord, Thy bounty. Thy tender love caressing, Confessing Thy blessing, so plenteously bestown. Our days are full of fighting, Our lives are full of care, And evil thoughts benighting Steal on us unaware; — FEASANTS' THANKSGIVING AFTER STORM. 75 The tempests gather o'er us ; — Ah, God, for faith to see The shining lands before us, Where we at peace shall be ! O Lord God of Heaven, we cannot truly love Thee, But move Thee, and prove Thee with all our wild unrest ; 'Tis oh, for that new land, in peace for aye abiding, Confiding, and hiding our troubles in Thy breast. 76 A BIT OF COLOUR. A BIT OF COLOUR. Grey was the morn, all things were grey, 'Twas Winter more than Spring ; A bleak east wind swept o'er the land, And sobered everything. Grey was the sky, the fields were grey, The hills, the woods, the trees — Distance and foregromid — all the scene Was grey in the grey breeze. Grey cushions, and a grey skin rug, A dark grey wicker trap. Grey were the ladies' hats and cloaks, And grey my coat and cap ; A narrow, lonely, grey old lane ; And lo, on a grey gate. Just by the side of a grey wood, A sooty sweep there sat ! .-/ BIT OF COLOUR, 77 With grimy chin, 'twixt grimy hands He sat and whistled shrill ; And in his sooty cap he wore A yellow daffodil. And often, when the days are dull, I seem to see him still — The jamity air, the sooty face. And the yellow daffodil. 78 MARTYRS OF THE NETHERLANDS. MARTYRS OF THE NETHERLANDS.^ Their hands fast bound in heavy chains, And doomed to death by fire, Two fair-haired youths stood up between Their mother and their sire. " What demon rites do ye perform ? Your vile misdeeds reveal ; Or from your lips the rack shall drag The truth ye would conceal." The younger saint, untaught to fear, Their daily duty told. In child-like, simple words he spoke. In innocency bold. " We fall upon our knees to God ; And pray with tears, that He For evermore will keep our souls From sinful passions free ; "We pray that He will bless our King With store of prosperous days ; That all our governors may be Preserved in all their ways. iSee Motley's Dutch Republic, Vol. i., p. 292. MAKTYKS OF THE NETHERLANDS. 79 " We pray no other prayers than these ; No other rites have we." The hard-faced judges wept to hear Such brave simplicity. They dragged them from the judgment-hall, The father and a son, Still praying, "even unto death, O God, Thy will be done ! "We are content, so Thou art pleased Our sacrifice to take ; O heavenly Father, take the gift For holy Jesu's sake ! " "Ye lie," exclaimed the savage monks, Who piled the fatal fire ; "Ye are the damned brood of hell, And Satan is your sire." They hurled them on the crackling wood, But, through the volumed smoke, The sweet voice of the younger saint In holy rapture broke — " Oh ! look, my father, from the clouds He comes to claim His own ; The heavens are sundered, and I see Our God upon His throne. 8o MARTYRS OF THE NETHERLANDS. 'Ten hundred thousand angels bright Gleam through the opening sky, Rejoicing in the steadfast faith That teaches how to die." "Silence, blasphemer," shrieked the priests, " Thou liest in' thy teeth ! A host of devils call thee hence. Hell-fire yawns beneath." The dark crowds swayed and thrilled with fear. And all beheld, amazed, How, like an angel's shone his face, As into heaven he grazed. &*•' The wild flames leaped upon their prey ; But, o'er them as they roar'd. Two happy souls had found their rest, Their Saviour and their Lord. God give us faith, e'en to the last. Like theirs, who died that day ; But chiefly with His grace defend Our hearts from passion's sway. GRIND EL WALD. 8 1 GRINDELWALD. All day the rain fell heavily ; the clouds Streamed down the valley in one long grey fringe, While underneath, and through the misty rain. The blue-grey glacier gleamed, and purple woods Of fir and larch, with slopes of tender green, And groups of deep-eaved chalets of the hue Of ruddy chestnuts, ruddier from the wet That soaked into the wood. At length the sun, What time he neared the border of the earth, Broke through the clouds in splendour. All the mist Whirled round him in the west, and overhead Lakes of the deepest blue appeared to move Amid the moving clouds ; and, to and fro, Through all the vale the vapours, gathering, flew ; And, caught by varying currents of the wind, Fled hither, thither, — for a moment paused; Then, lifting upwards with a sudden swirl, Lay bare the huge crags of the Wetterhom, Grey granite,^ sharp against the living blue. Then coldly clear the jagged glacier rose Blue-chasm'd to the snow-fields. Lower down 1 The rock is, I am told, limestone. F 82 GRINDELWALD. The misty steeps, fir-crowned, sent up a steam Of thin blue vapour, quivering to the skies. The rich brown chalets, dotted on the slopes Of dazzling green were dashed with hues of eve ; And far away the folded hills were touched With golden splendour. All the valley lay One mass of shadowy purple, save, indeed. Where one long line of white fog, stretching wide. Cut the dark hills asunder. All was still : — One missed the cheerful singing of the birds. That love to welcome the returning sun. All, all was still : — save when the avalanche Rolled a dull thunder through the silent rocks, And made the stillness stiller ; or anon The distant lowing of the grazing kine, Whose mellow-bells made music as they moved, Or merrier tinkling of the nimble goats, That feed upon the mountains. Overhead The hawk hung in the heavens, lightly swerved, And poised, and swerved again. Till now the] sun, Long-battling bravely with th' encircling clouds, Outnumbered, but unyielding, fell and died ; And Night, a mourner, o'er the fallen King Drew her dark robe, and hung o'er him, and wept. IN NORTH WALES, 83 IN NORTH WALES. You ask me why the Muse is mute, 'Mid scenes so fair as these ; Where Nature plies by every art Her utmost power to please. Oh, there are sun-lit heights of bliss, That words may never reach ; And there are thoughts which flood the soul Beyond the power of speech ! As on some deep and silent pool The sweet reflections stay, While, lower down, the broken stream Babbles them all away. My heart receives each image fair. And smoothly flows along; But by-and-bye, 'mid rougher scenes. Will bubble into song. 84 THE SONG OF THE SEA. THE SONG OF THE SEA. Wearily all through the hours of the night Falls the sad voice of the sea, On the ears of those who are left alone In pain or in misery. Wearily bursting down on the beach, Wearily, now and anon ; Seeming ever to preach — " Vanity, vanity, life is vain, The great waves break again and again ; The World is made up of storm and strife, There is no rest in the ocean of Life, And the tempest will never have done." II. But the youth who stands in his strength by the shore. With the spray in his face, and the wind in his hair, Hears a far other song in the ocean's roar : — He is ready to do and to dare. For lost in the future he seems to be. And hears the sound of another sea; 'Tis the noise of his life that rings in his ears, THE SONG OF THE SEA. 85 He is dreaming a dream of the coming years. The winds are steady, the sails are tight, His path lies on through a line of light ; The good ship speeds like a winged dart, And dashed from the prow the breakers part. On a sudden a doubt will strike, like the chill ^Ve feel in an evening warm and still, When the sun like a ball of gold Is rolled on the edge of the purple hill, And the valley is misty and cold ; But he throws it aside with a fierce disdain. And the wild free strength of the bounding main Comes into his heart and his blood and his brain — "Courage! be strong and be bold." III. But he who has looked on death, — The mystery of the last drawn breath, — Turns to thy wordless voice, O sea, As to a friend in miser}'. For thy boundless space and eternal roar, And the great waves bursting along the shore, Proclaim as they roll for evermore : — "There is no peace, no rest from strife, No lull to the ceaseless friction of life ; 86 THE SONG OF THE SEA. But, lost in the light of the love of God, They rest, who were here so full of care, Where the waves are hushed, and the skies are fair, Far, far beyond mortal range; Where smooth seas glimmer in golden light, Where suns never set, and there is no night, Neither sorrow, nor shadow of change ! " THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE LARK. 87 THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE LARK. Nightingale ! why art thou never glad ? Only a passionate longing for bliss, Only a feigning of not being sad, — Oh, tell me the secret of this ! *'I have learnt my song, through the ages long. In the bowers of earth where I make my nest; And I mingle my strain of passion and pain With a yearning for perfect rest." II. O brave, blithe lark, thou art never sad. Thine is a lay of unfeigned bliss ; In cloud or in sunshine supremely glad,— Oh, tell me the secret of this ! " Daily I rise to the happy skies From the sorrowing earth where I build my nest ; And to me it is given to learn up in Heaven The song of the spirits at rest." 88 CHARM. CHARM. " What is a flat without flowers ? " I joyously, mockingly said, As I placed in her outstretch'd hand a blaze Of the richest Autumnal blossoms and sprays, Blue, yellow, and green and red. " Ah, take them away to your dreary town To lighten the gloom of its fogs so brown ; For what is a flat without flowers ? " II. What is a heart without love ? The voice may be soft as the coo of a dove ; The eyes may be blue, and the lips may be red ; 'Tis nothing, 'tis nothing when all is said ! The orm may be full of an exquisite grace. And ravishing beauty illumine the face. The wit may be brilliant, the genius rare ; 'Tis nothing, 'tis nothing if love be not there. Ah, what is a heart without love ! POEMS PUBLISHED i860. ORPHEUS AND THE SIRENS. 91 ORPHEUS AND THE SIRENS. From the circled haze of distance Uke a ghost the vessel drew, Gliding to the pleasant islands bosom'd in the central blue. Green beneath the leafy bowers roll'd the waters in the bay, Sprinkled by the swaying branches with the golden light of day. All the air was warm with fragrance wafted from the blossom'd trees ; Through the woods the hidden streamlets wandered to the open seas. Where a thousand racing ripples broke and bubbled up the bar. Shone the bleaching bones of victims, seen by sailors from afar, Mildly blew the summer breezes, melting all the power of will ; While the songs of Sirens wakened echoes from the purple hill. 92 ORPHEUS AND THE SIRENS. But to-day they tune their voices, which the sailors love to hear, More beguilingly and fondly, like a bird-song sweet and clear ; For along the warm air rolling came a tide of music strong, Orpheus, offspring of Apollo, pour'd the torrent of his song. Sang he loud and solemn praises unto Gods that rule above ; And with his diviner music vainly all the Sirens strove ; For his voice like mellow'd thunders from the distant valleys blown, Overwhelm'd their feebler efforts in the fulness of its own. Thus he sailed in solemn triumph in amongst the sunny isles, Scorning all the songs of Sirens and the peril of their smiles. Surely Good shall prove the victor wheresoe'er it meets with Wrong ; Knowledge shall allay the fever thirsting for the Siren-song ; ORPHEUS AND THE SIRENS. 93 In the open war with Evil truest strength and wisdom He ; In the doing of the Right the very thought of Wrong shall die ; Onward through the pleasant islands safely shall the vessel move, Songs of Sirens waxing fainter in the praise of God above. 94 QUEEN PHILIPPA. QUEEN PHILIPPA. The Clans had mustered fifty thousand strong ; And, sweeping southward, like a wintry wind, Stript the Autumnal beauty from the fields. But she, the wife of that stern-tempered King, Whose thunder then shook Calais to its base, Assembling thirteen thousand of her men. Flung wide the gates of Durham, and came forth. Amid the flash of arms in morning light, To do fierce battle with her husband's foes. Then, while her courage like a glory shone Through the full beauty of her azure eyes, She rode through all the length of glittering lines, An angel of bright omen ! " Soldiers ! " she cried, (Her voice a silver trumpet, and her mien A prophecy of triumph to her troops,) " Soldiers ! to-day we reap the high reward Of valour in the praise of all brave men ! To-day shall Vict'ry crown our brows with flow'rs, And Fortune throw new lustre on our arms ! QUEEN PHILIPPA. 95 Now, for our homes, and for our absent King, And golden harvests ripening on the fields, We fight, not by ourselves ; but God with us Shall roll the waves of battle from our land." Lo ! Herald of her own high deeds of arms. Across the bosom of the happy sea. She comes a victor to the English camp ; Received with shouts of welcome, and the clang Of joyful trumpets, and the roll of drums. Within the royal tent the mighty King Stood, as a rock, that after terrible storms Stands in the flush of sunrise all unmoved. While yet the wild waves toss about the base ; And, when a courtier lifted up his voice, Praying the lives of those six men, the King Frowned till he ceased, and answered not a word. Then kneeling, suppliant, at the monarch's feet, Her golden tresses falling on his knee. His gentle wife upraised her soft blue eyes. And fair moon-face, suffused with tender tears, And prayed the King to put away his wrath For the dear sake of blessed Mary's Son. 96 QUEEN PHILIPPA. He, while the frown passed cloud-like from his brow, Looked on the lovely sorrow of his wife ; And, bending down, he raised the victor Queen, And smiling, granted her the lives she craved THE LIGHT OF SUMMER SUNSET. 97 THE LIGHT OF SUMMER SUNSET. Not all the gold in miles of veins that lie in other lands — Not all the pearls that shine unseen in million river sands — Would make me leave our Northern land ; for I would live and die Where the light of Summer sunset lingers long about the sky. II. Then sweeter is the fragrance of the groves of blossom 'd trees ; And clearer grows the humming of heavy-laden bees ; And softly sounds the song of birds about the branches high, While the light of Summer sunset lingers long about the sky. G 98 THE LIGHT OF SUMMER SUNSET. III. Oh, pleasant then to wander, in the cool of even- time, All underneath the yellow-tassell'd blossoms of the lime ; To watch the shadows deepen, and all the colours die, While the light of Summer sunset lingers long about the sky. IV. Then homeward come the herds of cows from meadows green and sweet ; And Robin, coming up the lane, by chance con- trives to meet With Mary, bringing home the milk, and both look wondrous shy. While the light of Summer sunset lingers long about the sky. And then they feel the magic as they wander all alone ; And kisses gain a sweetness that never yet was known ; THE LIGHT OF SUMMER SUNSET. 99 And when he asks to "name the day," she puts the question by, While the light of Summer sunset lingers long about the sky. VI. Then village lads rejoice to leave the labours of the day ; The cricket-field is loud with mirth and hearty earnest play ; And grey-haired men look on and think of days that are gone by, And the light of Summer sunset lingers still about the sky. VII. They gather also on the bench outside the ale- house door, And take their pipe and glass of ale — and think of days of yore : And talk of crops, and politics, and church, both low and high. Until the light of Summer sunset dwindles from the sky. lOO THE LIGHT OF SUMMER SUNSET. VIII. Oh, not where burning suns pour down their heat and hateful blight, And sudden darkness hides the sky in one black cloud of night, — Not there would I be dwelling ; but I would live and die. Where the light of Summer sunset lingers long about the sky. ALMA MATER. lOl ALMA MATER. The spendthrift wand'ring in deserted halls Broods o'er the past for ever flown away, When the high mirth shook all the castle walls E'en to the turrets grey. Then might he scarce their loveliness perceive ; — In misty splendour moved the happy days ; — No future ill to dread, no cause to grieve. Lost in a blissful haze. Now o'er his forehead hangs the cloud of care ; His eyes are shadow'd from the blinding light ; The happy hours, he mark'd not when they were, Dawn into clearer sight. So those three years in gradual beauty rise. The dazzling haze no more the landscape fills,— The mists of morning steep'd in crimson dyes Roll from the purple hills. I02 ALMA MATER. 11. What careless bliss was ours in other times, When lying in the cool of leafy shade, We passed the golden wine beneath the limes By rustling breezes sway'd ; Or talk'd with mingled jest and random bet. And various prophecies on coming sports, Or, one by one, in knots of idlers met About the sombre courts ; Or 'mid the shouts and cheers and deaf'ning roar,- The rough wash rolUng from our struggling prey,- Felt the long eight spring, lifting from the oar, As she would fly away ! Alas ! the lot of man is thus to find The glory of the past when all in vain ; And then to cast a longing look behind, And dream it o'er again. 111. The lonely wand'rer under other skies Thinks on the happy fields he may not see; ALMA MATER. 103 The home-enfolding landscape seems to rise With sunlight on the lea.^ Dreaming, he hears the lowing of the cows, The pigeons flapping in their circled flight, The rooks loud clamouring from the topmost boughs That take the latest light ; And musing on the scenes unloved till now, Now grown so dear he never can forget. He feels how pleasures past for ever grow Dearer in dim regret. 1 Thomas Creswick, R.A., exhibited a picture at the Royal Academy, and quoted these lines in the catalogue. Prof. Earle also quoted them in his Philology of the English Tongue. I04 PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. i Still with increasing clamour rang the hall : — " Away with this blasphemer ! Crucify him ! " Then, dreading lest a tumult should arise, The Praetor yielded, and the uproar ceased. Then, with a forehead like the hard-ribb'd sand Fretted with ceaseless waves, he left the hall. And still he muttered, " What is Truth ? " and railed At priestly laws and Jewish turbulency. So mused he doubtfully, vexed with dark thoughts And vague remorse ; till thinking — " She did dream. Or said or thought she dreamed. A dream ! — Perchance Dreams may be true, since all things else are false ! " He entered where his wife lay terror-numbed. Their glances met and fell, and so they sat In silence. On her cheek an angry spot Flushed, and her pallid lips were curled in scorn ; But still she spoke not. Pilate broke the spell. "Tell me the foolish dream," he said, and smiled. She rose to all her height and answer made. 1 It should, perhaps, be stated that this Poem was pubUshed oefoie Giistave Dor(?'s Picture on the same subject was painted. PI LATE S WIFE'S DREAM. 105 I. "So thou hast washed thy dainty hands of crime, Covered thy guilt with words : — ' His blood shall be On them and on their children ! ' Lo, the time Shall come, when thou, all undeceived, shalt see Thy soul still coloured with the crimson stain ! Thou art not Caesar's friend, — a bending reed Was never Cesar's friend ! Thou dream'st to gain A little gust of favour for the deed, By fawning on these priests, who'll fail thee at thy need ! II. "Would I had faced thee in the judgment-hall, Proclaimed the fearful omens of the night. And named thee coward ! there, before them all ! Oh, I can see thy cheeks are sickly white At the bare thought ! Yet, had I faced thee then, I would have shamed thee into seeming brave. Of princely power never boast again, If thou must cringe to every brawling slave. Pilate ! His blood will cry aloud from out the grave. III. " I flung my casement open, while the night Came as a gloomy thought that clouds the brow ; lo6 PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. And lo ! as thick as dew-drops, when the Ught Bursts from the East, the stars began to glow. Long time I gazed upon the jewelled skies, Then slowly seemed to lose the power of will ; A dazzling brilliance trembled in mine eyes ; A lonely terror made my bosom thrill : I felt as one who weeps, at night, when all is still. IV. "Then from the farthest circle of the sky Came the low hissing of a rising wind ; My face was flushed ; my lips and throat were dry;— Methought the storm was stirring in my mind ; — The mem'ry of my sins arose, like dust That whirls before the breeze on desert sand. Lo ! in the calm behind the driving gust, Which seemed to give me strength, a band Of shining angels floated slowly toward the land. " Before them as they moved, and 'neath their feet, The clouds were rolled in glory, and the air Was fragrant, and their looks were grand yet sweet ; And every face was differently fair. PI LATE S WIFE'S DKEAM. 107 And on their heads their golden crowns they wore, And round about their waists a belt of light, And in their hands their golden harps they bore ; And soon they ceased to move. Full to my sight Anon they smote the strings with rapturous delight. VI. " And then they sang ; ' Love's triumph has begun, The Lord has come to be betrothed to her, His virgin Bride : from highest heaven the sun Has stooped to woo the moon that shines so fair. Henceforth shall she, the Queen of this dark ball. Shed the reflected glory of her King, In splendour which shall never fade nor fall. Glory to God on high ! " aloud they sing : ' Peace and goodwill to all the world we bring ! VII. '"From highest heaven the God of perfect love Watches the working of His perfect will ; And, though His throne is set in realms above Guards His beloved Church from every ill. With gentle care He nurtures the fair flower, Tended by angels that surround the throne, ToS PILATE S WIFE'S DREAM Intent to make it lovelier, till the hour When His dear Son shall claim it for His own — His Bride for evermore to perfect beauty grown.' VIII. "Straight from beneath the shadow of the band Into the full effulgence was she borne ; Girt with the waving clouds, I saw her stand Like Ruth amid the yellow-ripening corn. Down-trembling to her waist each golden tress Fell like a veil around her ; she was fair With all the grace of love and holiness. She looked straight heavenward through her shining hair ; And like an incense sweet the breathing of her prayer. IX. "Her snowy hand held firm the sacred books, That speak the future coming of her King. Tow'rd her the angels bend adoring looks, And ever bow their heads the while they sing In softest notes that fill the liquid air. With holy joy and perfect love elate : — ' A little while, O maiden, fond and fair ! And He, that shall come, will in princely state, And surely shall not tarry, knowing thou dost wait.' riLATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. 109 "Then smoothly gliding from the dark'ning world, While still the air with mellow music rang, And round them yet the golden clouds were curl'd, Methought of the same mysteries they sang. And, while I watched them as they moved along, Each angel narrowed to a little star ; The harps grew fainter, and the tide of song Was lost in seas of silence soft and far, — My soul returned to earth, and knew the things that are. XI. "Then, while I turned the vision o'er and o'er, I heard a distant noise of voices rise, And fall again, and burst into a roar Of tumult, mixed with oaths and jeering cries ; And then I knew that through the crowded street They led a prisoner, as they poured along With flare of torches and the tramp of feet. But softly through the uproar of the throng, Still lingered on mine ears the vanish'd angels' song. XII. " Pilate ! the man they hooted and reviled Was this same Jesus, who before thee stood no PILATE S WIPES DREAM. Guiltless and pure, in all things undefiled. O Pilate, we are guilty of His blood ! Thou, for thy base abuse of power, and I, In that the mystic visions I had seen Did not persuade me mightily to try All means t' avert what never should have been. O God, that I had died before yon Nazarene ! XIII. " Oh, be a man in deed as well as name ! Forbear to punish Him in whom to find A fault is vain ; or else let thy fair fame Be the eternal jest of all mankind ! I swear to love thee to my latest breath If thou wilt dare to set yon pris'ner free, And save Him from the ignominious death. Lo ! on my knees I make my prayer to thee Now, e'er it grows too late, annul the harsh decree ! " Then Pilate took her by the hand and spoke : — "That, which is done, is done. Most weak it were To change my purpose, having yielded once. Stirring the maddened people to revolt. — And all for what ? — All for a silly dream ! Who is this Jesus ? But thy fears are wild — Fit for a fooUsh child that dreads the dark PILA TE'S WIFE'S DREAM. i i i Through reading idle stories. This a dream ? Nay, but a mere delusion of the sense, Seen with dazed eyes long gazing on the stars, When the warm blood was chilled with airs of night ! A dream without a sleep ! ^Vas this enough To make thee startle me with that strange message, That well-nigh made me swerve away from justice? Is this then all?" " Pilate ! this is not all. I dreamt again, when my hot head was resting Upon the cool soft couch, the window closed. And I, I think, asleep ; for I had reached My bed I know not how ; and still I felt A numbness creeping over all my frame, And dreadful terrors. Vet I could not cry For help for very shame ; and so I lay. But after I had dreamed my second dream I rose up in great horror, and I called My maids about me. And the dawn was come. And then they told me that the court was met To try the prisoner Jesus. Then I sent The message down to thee in haste and fear." Then answered Pilate. " If the second dream Be like the first, I have no time to hear What doth not profit me ; but if thou wilt, ii:; PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. Tell me the dream at once, and then forget." She answered tremblingly in deep despair. I. " We two must live our lives and share our woe Whether I tell the dream or not to thee, Thou still must feel it ; for indeed I know, That hopeless clouds o'erhang the days to be. And, if I tell thee not, it will appear In all my looks, as on the felon's brow Is blazoned all his guilt ; and thou wilt fear The untold dream ; so thou shalt hear it now. And then we will forget, what we must always know. II. " Methought the burnished heavens began to bend. And heave like waves that lift toward the strand ; Then the great dome was cracked from end to end And rolled away beneath the darkened land. And lo ! the heavenly hosts in thousand forms Burst with a clang of trumpets from the sky ; The rocks and hills were split amid the storms Of pealing thunder ; and there rose a cry, Beyond all human sound, proclaiming victory. PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. 113 III. " And lo ! the land was covered with a crowd Of human forms to which the land gave birth ; And soon the air was filled with uproar loud, The noise of millions moving on the earth. High up in heaven there gleamed a Centre bright, — A glorious Sun, from which I turned in fear, So fierce its splendour. Then my dazzled sight Beheld a cloud of angels hovering near, — An army grand and bright with breastplate, helm, and spear ! IV. "These armed angels, hastening to the land. Divided all the multitude in twain. To left and right they separated stand Before the dazzling Circle ; and in vain The crowd upon the left in bitter grief Called on the rocks to fall and let them die; And quaked and trembled as an Autumn leaf Shakes to the fall. O God, to hear them cry Froze all my soul with fear and speechless agony ! " But those upon the right with hopeful gaze Looked upward, and the beauty of the light H 114 PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. Shone full upon them from the Central Blaze, And clothed them all with radiance rare and bright. Before the Central Sun, where angels knelt, A godlike man sat on a great white throne; And o'er His head a flaming golden belt. Whereon His name in blazoned letters shone : ' Jesus of Nazareth, God's well-beloved Son ! ' VI. " Behind the throne a golden Cross was reared That blazed with glory, dazzling to the sense; The throned King in regal pomp appeared. Grave and yet mild, in calm magnificence. But, O my God, beneath His robes I saw His hands and feet were pierced, and in His side A ghastly scar, that filled my soul with awe ! Then those about the throne arising cried — ' Behold the Lamb of God, for sinners crucified ! ' VII. " O God, 'twas but a dream, it was not true ; Yet it will haunt my days till I am dead. And lo ! the man arose, and closer drew Toward the Centre of the Light, and said : — PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. 115 'To do Thy will, O God, was My desire, What time I trod the earth, and suffered shame And bitter death. And now, O heavenly Sire, Perform My will and Thine, which are the same. Lo ! Father, these Thy children called upon My name.' VIII. "He spoke, and stretched his hand toward the Right : Then came a Voice, clear, silver-toned, and loud; And suddenly the Central Sphere of light Glowed rosy-tinted like a sunset cloud : — 'O Son, in whom I chiefly take delight. Do what Thou wilt ! ' And lo, as swift as thought. The happy crowd up to the highest height Of all the shining realms of heaven were caught. And out of darkness into glorious light were brought. IX. "And then methought the solid earth did shake And reel upon her pillars, and a roar Il6 PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. Burst from beneath ; the land began to break And spHt in chasms; and from the dark earth's core The flames flew upward, and the great round world Fell from its station, rolled about with smoke! Then from the multitudes to ruin hurled, A sad and piercing cry of anguish broke ; — And then I cried for help; and with the cry awoke ! " And lo ! in waves of shadow, ere she ceased, The silent darkness slipt along the land ; Before the sun a shadow slowly passed, Veil-like to hide him from the shameless earth ; The clouds from every quarter upward rolled, Till, like a flaming ship that staggering sinks. The high sun foundered in a sea of night. The birds came chirping all about the roofs As at the sunset hour; the dead air paused In awful silence ; then a shiver ran Through all the branches of the palace trees; The large drops fell unseen; and through a night Of utter blackness and without a star The fierce forked lightning dashed about the clouds, And long-continued thunder roared and rolled PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. n? And shook the city. All the earth did quake And tremble; and the rocks were split and fell And crashed in fragments. Then a cry arose Through all the town : " The Temple of the Lord ! " But those two sat in silence, stunned with fear ; Motionless sat, hand locked in hand, and awed Beyond all power of either speech or thought ; And, only when the lightning flashed, they saw Their haggard faces, pale as are the dead. But, when the chill return of light had come, — Cold as the greeting of an enemy Who smiles with malice working at his heart, — They both arose, and with a look of pain They parted in deep silence, as of death. HYMNS AND PSALMS. HYMNS. I. CHRISTMAS HYMN.i Lord God Almighty, the darkness around Thee Shines with Thy splendour, and night is as day ; Not in the glory of Heaven we found Thee, — Low in the manger the little Child lay. Armies of angels, in triumph adoring, Shake the white throne with the praises they sing ; One trembling word from a sinner imploring Melts into pity the heart of the King. Not 'mid Thine angels, for fear Thou should'st blind us. But as Thou earnest Thy lost ones to seek, Come even now, gentle Shepherd, and find us, Where we are wandering, all weary and weak. 1 Hymns I., II., and IV., and Psalm CXLIII. have been set to very beautiful music by the late Sir John Stainer, in his collection of Hymn Tunes, and Hymn V. by Sir V. Stanford in the new edition of Hymns Ancient and Modern. 122 CHRISTMAS HYMN. Not with Thy lightnings the darkness dispelling, Not in Thy wrath, from which nothing can hide ; Come, like Thy star, and stand over our dwelling ; — Light of the World, with thy children abide. Here amid turmoil and discord abiding, Noise of our tumult ascends to Thee still ; Soft as the dew-fall send down the glad tiding, "Now and for evermore, peace and goodwill." Lord God Almighty, the darkness around Thee Shines with Thy splendour, and night is as day ; Happy are they who in seeking have found Thee, Where in the manger the little Child lay. FOR PALM SUNDAY, OR ADVENT. 123 FOR PALM SUNDAY, OR ADVENT. Bring ye the branches, and strew them before Him, Olive and sycamore, palm-tree and vine ; Cast down your garments, and, kneeling, adore Him ; Throng to His triumph in jubilant line. Hosanna, Hosanna, your King draweth near ; Bow down before Him in love and in fear ! Meekly He rideth, most tender, most lowly : See, he hath wept, and the tears are not dry ! If thou had'st known, He had sheltered thee wholly Under His wings, till the tempest went by. Hosanna, Hosanna, your King draweth near ; Bow down before Him in love and in fear ! Lord, when Thou comest the darkness dispelling, Bidding the discord for ever to cease, Ours and not Thine be the tears that are welling ; Teach us the things which belong to our peace. Hosanna, Hosanna, our Saviour is near ; Bow down before Him in love and in fear ! 124 EASTER HYMN. II. EASTER HYMN. Roll back the stone ; for the angel of God has descended, — Touched with his finger the tomb, where the Saviour has lain. Lo, He is risen, is risen ! The battle is ended : ' Earth could not hold Him ; but, trembling, re- stored Him again. Roll back the stone : The Redeemer is risen, is risen ! Roll back the stone, that the world may behold and believe. Be of good cheer : He hath burst through the bars of His prison, Leading captivity captive, His crown to receive. Roll back the stone ! Let our hearts in the dark- ness be riven ; He is not here where ye seek Him, but gone — gone before. Roll back the stone ! We would follow His flight into Heaven; If we be risen, our eyes shall behold Him once more. HYMN OF THE ASCENSION. 125 III. HYMN OF THE ASCENSION. ( Without the gates.) Lift up your heads, ye golden gates : Alleluia ! Lo, where the King of Glory waits : Alleluia ! Open, ye everlasting doors, He Cometh to tread the jasper floors : Alleluia ! ( Within the gates.) Who is this King of Glory ? say : Alleluia ! Why Cometh He not with his array? Alleluia ! Where are His captains in the fight? Where is His army brave and bright? Alleluia ! ( Without the gates.) His foes were many; and He but one. Alleluia ! 126 HYMN OF THE ASCENSION. Hath trodden the winepress all alone : Alleluia ! Sin, and Death, and Sorrow, and Pain Under the Victor's feet lie slain : Alleluia ! (Within the gates.) Who is this King of Glory ? tell : Alleluia ! This Conqueror over Death and Hell ? Alleluia ! To him who solely for self doth fight These gates are guarded both day and night Alleluia ! ( Without the gates.) Open the gates ! yea, fling them wide : Alleluia ! After Him surgeth a mighty tide : Alleluia ! Like stars of the sky, like sand of the sea, A host which never can numbered be : Alleluia ! Alleluia ! Amen ! HYMN FOR WHITSUNDAY. 127 IV. HYMN FOR WHITSUNDAY. Thou, who did'st move through formless night Upon the water's face, Oh, turn our darkness into light. And form us by Thy grace. Thou, who to holy men of old Did'st grant the power to speak, With fervent zeal endue the bold, And strengthen all the weak. Thou, who in flame and whirlwind dread, Thy chosen did'st inspire. Within our hearts, so cold and dead, Kindle^ Thy sacred fire. Thou, who. Thyself, did'st deign to wear The likeness of a dove. Descend from Heaven, and bid us share Thy joy, Thy peace. Thy love. 1 For singing "Light Thou Thy sacred fire." 128 HYMN OF THE HOLY TRINITY. V. HYMN OF THE HOLY TRINITY. Glory to God ! — all the heavens are telling ; Glory to God ! — in the earth and the sky ; Glory to God ! — the loud anthem is swelling ; — Glory to God ! God, in Three Persons, Transcendent, Supernal; God, the Most Mighty, Most Holy, Most High; God, Uncreated, Creator Eternal; — Glory to God ! God, the All-present, All-seeing, All-giving; God, on whom all things for ever depend ; God, Ever-loving, and God, Ever-living; — Glory to God ! God, the Great Father, Upholder, Defender; God, the Dear Saviour, Redeemer, and Friend; God, the Blest Spirit, the Patient, the Tender; — Glory to God ! HYMN OF 7^HE HOLY TRINITY. 129 Kneeling before Thee, in meekness adoring, Lowly we offer our prayers at Thy shrine ; Rising, we bless Thee, our praises outpouring, — Glory to God! Thee we adore, in Thy Spirit's communion ; Thee we approach in Thy Manhood Divane j Trembling we worship the Mystic Triunion ; — Glory to God ! 13° A HYMN OF PRAYER AND PRAISE. A HYMN OF PRAYER AND PRAISE. Lord, when our life is bright and clear, — All our desires fulfilled alway, — Health, riches, fame, and friends to cheer, — Lord, teach us then to pray. Lord, when our life is clouded o'er, — Comfortless sorrow, darken'd days, — Health, riches, fame, and friends no more, — Lord, teach us then to praise. Lord, by Thy life, which closed in death, — Lord, by Thy death, and life for aye. Here, till we draw our latest breath. Teach us to praise and pray. THE LORD, MY STRENGTH. 131 THE LORD, MY STRENGTH. Pray God for a heart that is tender and warm, And hands that to saccour are quick ; For all who may suffer from hardships, or harm, For all who are weary, or sick. But a fight must be fought, where evil is wrought. And wrong must be conquered by right ; — Choose then thy part, and pray for a heart, And hands that have strength to fight. 132 THE WILDERNESS. I. THE WILDERNESS. What went ye to the Wilderness to see — The feeble reed that rustles in the wind? What went ye to the Wilderness to find — A man arrayed in robes of luxury? What went ye to the Wilderness to find — A prophet who should tell of things to be? Yea, and much more ; He whom ye went to see Was herald of the Saviour of mankind. II. BETHLEHEM. What went ye unto Bethlehem to see — A Babe in a rude manger, poor and weak? What went ye unto Bethlehem to seek — King David's Son in martial panoply? What went ye unto Bethlehem to find — A Man of Sorrows, who could share our pain ? Yea, and much more ; for He shall come again, The God of Heaven, the Saviour of mankind. MORNING HYMN. 133 MORNING HYMN. Sweet is the breath of morning air; Sweet is the dawTi, when skies are fair; Sweeter by far than aught beside In God's own favour to abide. Wake, and the song of joy up-raise ! Wake, and resound Jehovah's praise ! Praise ye the God of death and night ! Praise ye the Lord of life and light ! Blest be the gracious Power above For all our rest, and all His love ; For health preserved, for strength retained. For faith renewed, for hope regained. Oh, let Thy watchful care, dear Lord, Direct each deed, and mould each word; Check every thought that turns astray; Guide us, and guard us through the day ! 134 EVENING HYMN. EVENING HYMN. Slowly the daylight dies away; Slowly descends the twilight gray; — Now, ere the night's dark shadows fall, Lord, let Thy blessing light on all : — Hope to the watcher till the morn, Calm to the toiler tempest-torn ; Solace to ev'ry anxious breast, And to the weary peace and rest. Strength to the feeble, and the faint, Mercy to sinner, and to saint, Comfort to all in woe, or strife, And to the dying endless life. Keep us, and shield us. Saviour dear. Safe in the night of doubt and fear : Till from the eastern portals gray Dawns through the dark th' eternal day. Amen. SAFE IN THE ARMS OF GOD l 13S SAFE IN THE ARMS OF GOD! I. Safe in the arms of God ! — The strenuous flow'r its brittle vase hath riv'n; But, planted in the soil of Heav'n, Grows free, and fresh, and strong. The soul that sought 'mid clouds of doubt and fear To trace the source of beauty here Learns now Heav'n's Art and Song. II. Safe in the arms of God ! — The eager spirit, now at last set free. No longer feels, where'er it be, Th' impediment of clay. All doubt, all miseries, all trembling fears. That blurred the light of earthly years, Rolled like a mist away. 136 PSALM LV. PSALM LV. Recita tive — Bass. Hide not Thy face, O God, but hear my prayer,- Hear how I mourn. The wicked press me sore; Yet not for that complain L 'Twas no foe That did me this dishonourable wrong, For then I could have borne it ; but 'twas thou. Mine own familiar friend, with whom I held Sweet counsel as together we were set Unto the house of God. Thus was I grieved ; My heart was pained within me ; and I said : Air — Alto. Had I the wings of a dove. Not for a breath would I stay ! Oh, for the wings of a dove. Then would I hasten away ! Then were I fain to escape, Fleeing the tempest in haste ; Then would I get me afar. Wandering away in the waste. Oh, for the wings of a dove ! Quartet. Oh, trust not thou in any child of man ' In them there is no help. Trust thou in God; Cast all thy care on Him, and rest in peace. PSALM LVH. 137 PSALM LVII. Alto. Be merciful, be merciful to me. Chorus. God shall send forth His mercy and His truth. Trio. With Thee shall be my refuge. Let me He, — Lie underneath the shadow of Thy wings Till this calamity be overpast. Alto. Be merciful, be merciful to me. Chorus. His truth and mercy reach unto the clouds. Recita live — Bass. Their teeth are spears and arrows, and their tongue Is as a sword. They have prepared a pit ; Lo, they have fallen in the midst thereof! 138 PSALM LVII. Alto. Lord, I will praise Thy name for evermore. Chorus. Set up Thyself, O God, above the clouds. Alto. My heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed. Awake, my glory, and awake, my soul. And praise Thy God in face of the whole world Chorus. Set up Thyself, O God, above the clouds. Set up Thy glory above all the earth. Thy truth and mercy reach unto the skies. PSALM CXIII. 139 PSALM CXIII. Tenor. Oh, praise the Lord, ye servants ; praise The name of God, Most High, From earUest light till when the sun Flames in the western sky. High above all the heathen gods Resounds the praise of Him ; And in the glory of the Lord The stars of heaven are dim. Chorus. Oh, praise the Lord, ye servants; praise The name of God, Most High. Tenor. Who is there like unto the Lord, Whose dwelling is so high ? Yet humbleth He Himself to see All things beneath the sky. The simple from the dust He takes, The poor from out the mire ; And to the comfortless, behold He gives their heart's desire. Chorus. Oh, praise the Lord, ye servants ; praise The name of God, Most High. 140 PSALM CXXVI, PSALM CXXVI. When our captivity was turned again, Like the new flooding of a stony stream, Then were our overflowing hearts full fain ; Then were we like to them that dream, — that dream ! Then was our mouth with happy laughter fiU'd ; Then did our song break forth in joyful voice : Behold what gracious things our Lord hath will'd. Whereof we do rejoice, — we do rejoice ! He who, now weeping, sows the seed on earth. Whose fruitful soil the scattered grain receives, Shall doubtless come again with shouts of mirth, Bringing his sheaves with him — his golden sheaves ! PSALM CXLVIII. 141 PSALM CXLVIII. Oh, praise the Lord of Heaven, — Oh, praise Him in the height ! Oh, praise Him, all ye angels ! Oh, praise Him, stars and light ! Sun, moon, and depths of ocean, Created by His word, Praise ye His Name, Jehovah, The everlasting Lord ! Ye fire, and hail, and tempest; Ye mountains, and ye hills ; Ye fruitful trees, and cedars ; Ye rivers, and ye rills ; Kings of the earth, and judges, Brave youths and maidens fair, Old men, and little children. His mighty Name declare ! His Name alone is Holy, His Praise all Heaven above; Oh, praise Him, all ye people, Who fear Him, and who love ! LIGHTER VERSES. AFTER HORACE.— LIB. I., CARM. IX. ( To Thaliarchns. ) The roofs are white with glittering snow, Swift flies the huddling cloud, And round about the chimneys blow The wintry breezes loud. Pile up the coal, draw near the hearth. Bring forth the generous wine, And let us share the joys of earth, While yet they're thine and mine, Let not the shade of future care Obscure the noon-day light ; The twilight drear will soon be here. Forerunner of the night. But, while the sun of youth is high. We'll laugh, and dance, and sing ; Avoiding Age's evil eye, And Sorrow's poignant sting. K 146 AFTER HORACE.— LIB. /., CARM. IX. Now let the sports be used, that make Both mind and body strong, And let the yellow morning break On feasting loud and long. And let the jovial laugh resound, The clash of varied wits ; And let the merry jest go round, That hurts not where it hits. Now let the youthful lovers walk Along sequestered glades. And steal sweet kisses, 'mid their talk. From half reluctant maids. Whose lips and eyes, half pout, half smile, Half love, and half disdain, — Pretending anger, laugh the while. And coax to kiss again. A/y BOATING SONG. 147 MY BOATING SONG. I. Oh this earth is a mine, full of treasure, — A goblet, that's full to the brim, And each man may choose for his pleasure The thing that's most pleasant to him ; Then let all, who are birds of my feather, Throw heart and soul into my song, Mark the time, pick it up all-together, And merrily row it along. Hurrah, boys, or losing or winning. Feel your stretcher and make the blade bend : Hard on to it, catch the beginning, And pull it clean through to the end. II. I'll admit 'tis delicious to plunge in Clear pools with their shadows at rest 'Tis nimble to parry, or lunge in Your foil at the enemy's chest. 148 MY BOATING SONG. 'Tis rapture to take a man's wicket, Or lash round to leg for a four; But somehow the glories of cricket Depend on the state of the score. But in boating, or losing or winning, Though Victory may not attend ; Oh, 'tis jolly to catch the beginning, And pull it clean through to the end. III. 'Tis brave, over hill and dale sweeping. To be in at the death of the fox ; Or to whip, where the salmon are leaping. The river that roars o'er the rocks. 'Tis prime to bring down the cock pheasant ; And yachting is certainly great ; But, beyond all expression, 'tis pleasant To row in a rattling good eight. Then, hurrah, boys, or losing or winning. What matter what labour we spend ? Hard on to it, catch the beginning, And pull it clean through to the end. IV. Shove her off ! Half a stroke ! Now, get ready ! Five seconds ! Four, three, two, one, gun ! A/y BOATING SONG. I49 Well started ! ^Vell rowed ! Keep her steady ! You'll want all your wind ere you've done. Now you're straight ! Let the pace become swifter ! Roll the wash to the left and the right ! Pick it up all together, and lift her, As though she would bound out of sight ! Hurrah, Hall ! Hall ! ^ Now you're winning, Feel your stretchers and make the blades bend; Hard on to it, catch the beginning, And pull it clean through to the end. Bump ! Bump ! O ye gods, how I pity The ears those sweet sounds never heard ; More tuneful than loveliest ditty E'er poured from the throat of a bird. There's a prize for each honest endeavour, But none for the man who's a shirk ; And the pluck that we've shown on the river, Shall tell in the rest of our work. At the last, whether losing or winning. This thought with all memories blend, — We remembered to catch the beginning. And pulled it clean through to the end. 1 Trinity Hall, my dear old College. 150 LETTER FROM THE TOWN MOUSE LETTER FROM THE TOWN MOUSE TO THE COUNTRY MOUSE.i Oh, for a field, my friend ; oh, for a field ! I ask no more Than one plain field, shut in by hedgerows four, Contentment sweet to yield. For I am not fastidious, And with a proud demeanour I Will not affect invidious Distinctions about scenery. I sigh not for the fir trees where they rise Against Italian skies, Swiss lakes, or Scottish heather, Set off by glorious weather. Such sights as these, The most exacting please ; But I, lone wanderer in London streets. Where every face one meets Is full of care, and seems to wear A troubled air of being late for some affair 1 To the Revd. Alfred Ainger, at that time curate at Alrewas, Statfordshire. TO THE COUNTRY MOUSE. 15 1 Of life or death : — thus I, e'en I, Long for a field of grass, flat, square, and green, Thick hedges set between, Without or house or bield, A sense of quietude to yield. And heave a longing sigh — Oh, for a field, my friend ; oh, for a field ! II. For here the loud streets roar themselves to rest With hoarseness every night ; And greet returning light With noise and roar, renewed with greater zest. Where'er I go. Full well I know The eternal grinding wheels will never cease. There is no place of peace ! Rumbling, roaring, and rushing. Hurrying, crowding, and crushing. Noise and confusion, and worry, and fret. From early morning to late sunset — Ah me ! but when shall I respite get — What cave can hide me, or what covert shield? So still I sigh. And raise my cry, Oh, for a field, my friend ; oh, for a field ! 152 LETTER FROM THE TOWN MOUSE III. The fields are bright, and all bedight With buttercups and daisies ; — Oh, how I long to quit the throng Of human forms and faces. The vain delights, the empty shows. The toil and care bewild'rin', To feel once more the sweet repose Calm Nature gives her children ! At times the thrush shall sing, and hush The twitt'ring yellow-hammer ; The blackbird fluster from the bush With panic-stricken clamour ; The finch in thistles hide from sight, And snap the seeds and toss 'em ; The blue-tit hop, with pert delight. About the crab-tree blossom ; The homely robin shall draw near, And sing a song so tender ; The black-cap whistle soft and clear. Swayed on a twig-top slender ; The weasel from the hedgerow creep. So crafty and so cruel ; The rabbit from the tussock leap, And splash the frosty jewel. TO THE COUNTRY MOUSE. 153 I care not wliat the season be — Spring, summer, autumn, winter — In morning sweet, or noon-day heat, Or when the moonbeams glint, or When rosy beams and fiery gleams, And floods of golden yellow. Proclaim the sweetest hour of all — The evening mild and mellow. IV. There, though the spring shall backward keep, And loud the March winds bluster, The frail anemone shall peep Through loveliest leaves in cluster. There primrose pale or violet blue Shall gleam between the grasses ; And stitchwort white fling starry light, And bluebells blaze in masses. As spring-time goes, and summer grows, O'er all the hedge shall ramble The woodbine and the wilding rose, And blossoms of the bramble. When autumn comes, the leafy way To red and yellow turning. The hedge with hips and haws is gay. And scarlet briony burning. 154 TOIVX MOUSE TO COUNTRY MOUSE. When winter reigns, and sheets of snow The flowers and grass lie under, The sparkhng hoar frost yet shall show, A world of fairy wonder. To me more dear such scenes appear, Than this eternal racket. No longer will I fret and fag ! Hey ! call a cab, bring down my bag. And help me quick to pack it. For here one must go where every one goes, And meet shoals of people whom one never knows, Till it makes a poor fellow dyspeptic ; And the world wags along with its sorrows and shows. And will do just the same when I'm dead, I suppose ; And I'm rapidly growing a sceptic. For its oh, alas, well-a-day, and a-lack ! I've a pain in my head and an ache in my back ; A terrible cold that makes me shiver. And a general sense of a dried-up liver ; And I feel I can hardly bear it. And it's oh for a field with four hedgerows, And the bliss which comes from an hour's repose, And a true, true friend to share it ! YOUNG ENGLAND. 155 YOUNG ENGLAND. The times still "grow to something strange"; We rap and turn the tables ; ^^'e fire our guns at awful range ; We lay Atlantic cables ; We bore the hills, we bridge the seas — To me 'tis better far To sit before my fire at ease, And smoke a mild cigar. We start gigantic bubble schemes, — Whoever can invent 'em ! — How splendid the prospectus seems, With int'rest cent, per centum. His shares the holder, startled, sees At eighty below par : I dawdle to my club at ease, And light a mild cigar. We pickle peas, we lock up sound, We bottle electricity ; We run our railways underground, Our trams above in this city. 56 YOVNG ENGLAND. We fly balloons in calm or breeze, And tumble from the car; I wander down Pall Mall at ease, And smoke a mild cigar. Some people strive for manhood right With riots or orations ; For anti-vaccination fight. Or temperance demonstrations : I gently smile at things like these, And, 'mid the clash and jar, I sit in my arm-chair at ease, And smoke a mild cigar. Some strive to get a post or place. Or entree to society ; Or after wealth or pleasure race, Or any notoriety ; Or snatch at titles or degrees. At ribbon, cross, or star : I elevate my limbs at ease. And smoke a mild cigar. They say young ladies all demand A smart barouche and pair, Two flunkies at the door to stand, A mansion in May Fair : YOUNG ENGLAND. 157 I can't afford such things as these, I hold it safer far To sip my claret at my ease, And smoke a mild cigar. It may be proper one should take One's place in the creation; It may be very right to make A choice of some vocation; With such remarks one quite agrees, So sensible they are : I much prefer to take my ease, And smoke a mild cigar. They say our morals are so so, Religion still more hollow; And where the upper classes go, The lower always follow; That honour lost with grace and ease Your fortunes will not mar : That's not so well ; but, if you please, We'll light a fresh cigar. Rank heresy grows lush and green. E'en womenkind have caught it ; They say the Bible doesn't mean What people always thought it; 158 YOUNG ENGLAND. That miracles are what you please, Or nature's order mar : I read the last review at ease, And smoke a mild cigar. Some folks who make a fearful fuss, In eighteen ninety-seven, Say, heaven will either come to us, Or we shall go to heaven ; They settle it just as they please ; But, though it mayn't be far, At any rate there's time with ease To light a fresh cigar. It may be there is something true ; It may be one might find it ; It may be, if one looked life through. That something lies behind it ; It may be, p'raps, for aught one sees. The things that may be, are : I'm growing serious — if you please We'll light a fresh cigar. TO THE REV. A. A. 159 TO THK REV. A. A. IN THE COUNTRY FROM HIS FRIEND IN LONDON. (After Heine.) Thou little village curate, Come quick, and do not wait ; \\€\\ sit and talk together, So sweetly tete-a-tete. Oh do not fear the railway Because it seems so big — Dost thou not daily trust thee Unto thy little gig. This house is full of painters. And half shut up and black ; But rooms the very snuggest Lie hidden at the back. Come ! come ! come ! i6o THE CURATE TO HIS SLIPPERS. THE CURATE TO HIS SLIPPERS.^ Take, oh take those boots away, That so nearly are outworn ; And those, shoes remove, I pray — Pumps that but induce the corn ! But my slippers bring again, Bring again ; Works of love, but worked in vain. Worked in vain ! 'This parody, and the verses on pp. 170, 171, 172, 173, 180, 181, 184, and 185, are reprinted by the kind permission of Messrs. Bradbury, Agnew &. Company, Proprietors of Punch. NEVER SAY DIE. i6i NEVER SAY DIE. Air — "Give that Wreath to Me." ("Farewell, Manchester"). I. Give that brief to me, Without so much bother ; Never let it be Given to another. Why this coy resistance ? Wherefore keep such distance ? ^Vhy hesitate so long to give that brief to me ? II. Should'st thou ever find Any counsel willing To conduct thy case For one pound one shilling ; Scorn such vulgar tricks, love ; One pound three and six, love, Is the proper thing, — then give that brief to me. III. Should thy case turn out Hopeless and delusive, i62 NEVER SAY DIt. Still I'd rave and shout, Using terms abusive. Truth and sense might perish, Still thy cause I'd cherish, Hallow'd by thy gold, — then give that brief to me. IV. Should the learned judge Sit on me like fury. Still I'd never budge — There's the British Jury ! Should that stay prove rotten, Bowen, Brett, and Cotton ^ Would upset them all, — then give that brief to me. 1 Three of the Justices of Appeal. AT THE ''COCK'" TAVERN. 1 63 AT THE "COCK" TAVERN. Champagne doth not a luncheon make, Nor caviare a meal ; Men gluttonous and rich may take These till they make them ill. If I've potatoes to my chop, And after that have cheese. Angels in Pond & Spiers's shop Serve no such luxuries. 1 64 IMPROMPTU IN THE ASSIZE COURT. IMPROMPTU IN THE ASSIZE COURT, NOTTINGHAM. On seeing Bret Harte come upon the Benck. Thanks for an hour of laughing In a world that is growing old ; Thanks for an hour of weeping In a world that is growing cold; For we who have wept with Dickens, And we who have laughed with Boz, Have renewed the days of our childhood With his American Coz. IVORDSWORTHIAN IMPRESSIONS IN COURT. 165 WORDSWORTHIAN IMPRESSIONS IN COURT. I SAW, whiles I was taking notes, All in the Court as I reclined In that mad mood, when silly thoughts Bring wise thoughts to the mind ; — So strange a sight, it made me shrink, — My soul was filled with speechless awe ; And much it grieved my heart to think What lawyers make of law. In silk or stuff arrayed for war The periwigs in order sate ; And 'tis my faith that all the Bar Deserve the fees they get ! Their clerks about me hopped and played,— Their thoughts I cannot measure ; But the least "motion" that was made Gave them a thrill of pleasure. I 66 WORDSWORTHIAN IMPRESSIONS IN COURT. The Judges, looking more than man, Like ermine-mantled owls did stare ; And I must think, do all I can, That there was wisdom there. If this belief from heaven be sent. And yet there's endless froth and jaw, Have I not reason to lament What lawyers make of law? THE BRIEFLESS ONE. 167 THE BRIEFLESS ONE. The happy sparrows flit and sport Upon the Ughtsome wing; They see what passes in the Court,- They see, and yet they sing. But I sit watching thee alone, And sigh the while I see ; — Ah ! turn thy gentle steps this way. And bring thy briefs to me. II. Ah, sweet attorney ! I behold Thy briefs so fat and fair; And on the back is marked the gold I long so much to share. Alas ! why all thy favour pour On Robinson, Q.C. ? Ah ! deign to bless the second floor, And bring thy briefs to me. 1 68 THE BRIEFLESS ONE. III. I hear thy step upon the stair ! My heart beats as 'twould burst ! Ah me ! how vain this foolish fear, Thou knockest at the first. Raise, raise thy lovely eyes once more, Then may'st thou haply see The name of Figgins on the door, And bring thy briefs to me. TO WINE TREASURER OF CIRCUIT MESS, i 69 TO THE WINE TREASURER OF THE CIRCUIT MESS. Wink at it only with thine eyes, Nor taste it while we dine ; Or pour the Hquor in my cup, But do not call it wine. The thirst that from the Courts doth rise Doth ask a drink divine ; But might I of ditch water sup I would not change for thine. I sent thee late three guineas, net, Not so much trusting thee. As hoping that in sound small beer It might expended be ; But thou therewith didst only get An odd job lot for me ; Since when I nightly growl and swear Both at thy wine and thee. I 70 T/I£ HOLIDAYS. THE HOLIDAYS.i Sir H. C.-B. sings— {after Wordsworth). It is the first day of Recess : Each minute stuffier than before; At last we're rid of all the mess, And greet the "open door." My H-RC-T ! ('tis a wish of mine) Now that the Session's tasks are done, Make haste, your usual work resign; Come forth, and feel the sun. M-RL-Y will come with you; — and, pray, Put on with speed your woodland dress; Bring no Blue Book— three months, to-day, We'll give to idleness. No horrid Closure Forms shall balk. Nor Midnight Rules prohibit ; We from to-day, my friend, will talk Pro-Boer stuff ad libit. 1 August, 1901. THE HOLIDAYS. 17 1 Rot, now a universal birth, O'er all the land's in motion ; — Big gooseb'ries of enormous girth, And serpents of the ocean. Our jests and gibes we now may poke. Devoid of sense or reason ; Our friends will cheer at every joke — It is the " silly season " ! Some consolation we may take, Suited to our condition ; And for the year to come may make Some sort of coalition. As for those wandering sheep who roam About, below, above, \\'e'll gently try to bring them home — They shall be tamed to love. Then come, my H-rc-t ! Come, I pray, AV^ith speed put on your woodland dress : Bring no Blue-Book — three months, to-day, We'll give to idleness. 172 A/V GUIDE, PHILOSOPHER AND FRIEND. MY GUIDE, PHILOSOPHER AND FRIEND. Who was it, when I felt so ill. And bored to death by draught and pill, Rebuked my doctor's tardy skill? My Bradshaiv I Who was it to the rescue came, W^hen work or pleasure seemed the same To harassed mind or weary frame? — My Bradshaw ! Who was it pointed out the route To various health-resorts might suit My shattered nerve or gouty foot? — My Bradshaw ! Who led to baths and sulphur wells? Who let me know the best hotels, Where I could dine with other swells? — My Bradshaw ! Who, when my fancy urged me far. Pointed me to that happy star That indicates a "dining car"? — My Bradshaw ! AfV GUIDE, PHILOSOPHER AND FRIEND. I73 Who, when my o'erwrought nerves would long To wander other scenes among, Pointed me to the "Continong?" — My Bradshaw I Who was it, when my reeling brain Refused to trace th' ambiguous train, Invited me to try again? — My Bradshaw I Who, when I trembled on the brink Of madness — scarce could see or think — Supplied at last the missing link? — My Bradshaw I Fortune may crumble into bits ! Friends come and go by starts and fits ! There's one thing never fails me — it's My Bradshaiv I 174 OLD NURSERY RHYMES. OLD NURSERY RHYMES. ADAPTED FOR THE USE OF BOARD SCHOOLS IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. I. TOM, TOM, THE PIPER'S SON. Oh, mention not that worthy name, our chieftain's pride and joy ; Nor give the Christian name in full of that un- gracious boy, The low abbreviation best befits his case, I ween. Repeated in contemptuous tones, as it so oft hath been. One darksome night, on evil bent, he sought the widow's cot, He pitied not her poverty; her screams he heeded not ; He pounced upon her only store, her stay, her hope, her pride ; Then seized his prey, and fled away his wicked deed to hide. He asked some friends to dinner ; but, e'er they were sat down, A fragrance as of onions pervaded all the town. OLD NURSERY RUYMtS. 175 The constables were on the scent, as quickly as might be ; And our good town was all agog to celebrate the spree. Upon the board were legs of pork, and ribs all crackling o'er, And apple sauce, and black puddings, and sausages galore. And feet, and chaps, and dainty scraps, to every man his share, The whole of that huge quadruped was eaten then and there ! They battered at the felon's door, and soon they dragged him out, And tied him tight to a cart's tail, and plied him with the knout. He roared so loud and lustily, there's many that avow, His honour'd father's bagpipes never kicked up such a row. Moral. You need not fear, my little dear, to undergo his fate ; For punishments for wicked deeds are quite gone out of date. 176 OLD NURSERY RHYMES. And as for rights of property — they're nobody's concern, For every man can live and thrive on what his neighbours earn. II. THERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE. There was a somewhat aged dame whose residence was small, But there she dwelt as proudly as a magnate in his hall; The grander folk would look askance and scorn her humble lot, And use opprobrious epithets to designate her cot. She was a widow, it would seem ; for no one ever knew Her husband's name or lineage, or how their court- ship grew. She had a numerous progeny, who plagued her very sore, And though wellnigh distracted, she gallantly upbore. She fed them upon meagre fare ; 'twas all she could afford ; And then she whipped them soundly, till the little urchins roared. OLD NURSERY RHYMES. 177 This counter irritation served to take the place of bread, And sent them warm and thankful to their over- crowded bed. Moral. Your parents, dear, will never need such shocking things to do. Free breakfasts and free suppers, dear, the State will find for you ; No crowding into narrow space, but room enough to spare ; The sanitary inspectors, dear, will regulate the air. And, if you should grow troublesome, and make a little noise, No angry parents now dare whip their truant girls or boys, They'll swear you are "beyond control" before the nearest Beak, And then you'll be provided for at eighteen pence a week. III. TAFFY WAS A WELSHMAN, TAFFY WAS A THIEF. Heredity, that baleful curse no mortal can resist. Hath marked through many ages past the Children of the Mist ; M 178 OLD NURSERY RHYMES. Their sires were cattle-lifters from earliest times, I trow, — That's why their offspring can't refrain from depre- dation now. He came to visit at my house, and, much I grieve to say. He took a portion of an ox feloniously away ; His ancestors had driven off whole herds before, no doubt ; — Let's hope the kleptomania was slowly dying out. I went to ask him what he meant, but found him out of town; Returning to my humble roof, he'd been and done me brown ; He'd robbed me of the daintiest bit of all the blooming lot. So dear to most, when spread on toast, and eaten piping hot. With rage, I ran to find him out, and lo, I found him in. All fast asleep and snoring loud in unrepented sin. The booty he had vilely gained was lying by his bed ; I took it up, and banged it down on his devoted head. OLD NURSERY RHYMES. I79 Moral. My little dears, this man was harsh unto this erring boy, 'Twas not his fault he stole the beef — 'twas ancestral alloy ; And though he'd twice committed theft, yet still, in point of fact, The marrow bone came well within the " First Offender's Act." Thus you may rob and rob again, and though the)'ve copped you clean, You'll only be "bound over," dears — whatever that may mean. l8o THE LAY OF THE BIMETALLIST. THE LAY OF THE BIMETALLIST. Who is Silver? What is she, That all our swells commend her? Very bright and fair is she, — The heavens such grace did lend her, That adopted she might be ! — That adopted she might be ! Is she constant as she's fair, Or is she light and heady? Gold might to her arms repair To help to keep him steady ; And being helped, inhabit there — And being helped, inhabit there. Then if Silver plays mad tricks, Or Gold is always changing. So that none their price can fix. From par to premium ranging, Let us both together mix ! — Let us both together mix ! TO A SCORCHER. i8l TO A SCORCHER. (after WILLIAM WATSON.) I DO not, in the crowded street Of cab and 'bus and mire, Nor in the country lane so sweet, Hope to escape thy tyre. One boon, O Scorcher, I implore, With one petition kneel. At least abuse me not before Thou break me on thy wheel. 1 82 LINES BY AN UNDERGRADUATE. LINES BY AN ENAMOURED UNDER- GRADUATE. (AFTER WILLIAM WATSON.) Oh, like a queen's her cycle-tread, And oh, the learning in her head; But oh, at last, when all is said, Her woman's hat for me ! By college gates she dashed and veered, Mid " dons " that mused, and " men " that sneered,- A mad thing on her "bike" she steered So dexterous and free ! But, oh, when she began to speak. Her talk was Latin, mixed with Greek. The "men" forgot their former cheek, The "dons" their reverie. And oh, her dainty cycle-tread. And oh, the learning in her head ; But, oh, her hat when all is said — Her hat's the thing for me. THEY AND WE. 1 83 THEY AND WE. (AFTER WILLIAM WATSON.) With stormy joy the elephant Will bolt a thousand buns ; The cassowary grim and gaunt Will swallow stones by tons ; Man only, after dining out, By intermittent throes. Either in fingers finds the gout. Or finds it in his toes. 184 THE CAB STRIKE. THE CAB STRIKE, 1896. Strike ! Strike ! Strike ! For I'm forced to " come out " yer see ; But I would that my tongue might utter The oaths that arise in me ! Oh, well for the omnibus cad, That he shouts "Bank! Bank!" all day! Oh, well for the tramcar lad. As he climbs to the roof for pay ! And the privileged cabs go on To their Euston or Ludgate Hill, — But, Oh for the crack of my unused whip. And the sound of my wheels that are still ! Strike! Strike! Strike! But I'll tell you what strikes me, — There isn't nothing to strike about. And the game is all U-P. AFTER GOLDSMITH. 1 85 AFTER GOLDSMITH. When lovely woman strives to "volley," But finds that men her strokes despise, What art can soothe her melancholy, And reinstate her in their eyes ! The only art her loss to cover, — To charm and to subdue alike, — To bring back her repentant lover, And fire his bosom — is to "bike." t86 A LOST -BALLAD OF POLICEMAN X. A LOST BALLAD OF POLICEMAN X. Ho, the hartfulness of villings, Such as never you did see ; Warnmg take of honest pleecemen, — Listen, ladies, unto me ! Hupper Street is not hinviting To the West-end dandy's sight; But there is a deal of natur. If you only take it right. Mrs. Carey 'ad a 'usband Living out in Hafricay, — How they came to be sep'rated. Hit is not for me to say ! So to cheer her lonely feelings. Which to squench she wasn't proof, Two young nieces she'd hadmitted Underneath her Christian roof. Thus in Hupper Street she lived and Waited for her husband dear; When a stranger called upon her, Saying that he wished to see 'er. A LOST BALLAD OF POLICEMAN X. 187 Which he was a hearty fellah, Wery free in his address, Hall Avithout looked wery pleasant, Hall within was wickedness. "I'm your 'usband's brother, missus ; He is wery far from well. He from Hafricay has sent me 'Ome to you the truth to tell." Then she ast him wery kindly Hin to take a cup of tea. Hand she introjuiced the nieces, Simple, hinnocent, and free. So he laughed and chatted with 'em, Showed his breast and bared his arm, Tatter'd with most strange devices. And with many a kewrious charm. Many snakes was there depictured. Ankers, ships, and ropes was draw'd; Hand a bally gal in muslin Flinging of her legs abroad. How them nieces stared and giggled ! Though they didn't like to touch ; But they ast him, wery feeling. Whether it had hurt him much. 1 88 A LOST BALLAD OF POLICEMAN X. Hand he told them what prodigious Bears and lions he had slain; And although they nearly fainted, Yet they ast for it again. Then he kissed his new found sister, Likewise kissed his nieces dear, More than twice — the 'artless ruffian — (How I wish I 'ad 'im 'ere !) "Now I'm one of this good fam'ly, And we're 'appy as I think, Let us celebrate this hunion, Come and let us 'ave a drink." So they sallied forth together Little dreaming any wrong; When outside a pub he 'alted — "Now," he cried, "we shan't be long." Then he snatched pore Mrs. Carey's Watch, and chain, and purse, and all. And was gone before the nieces Could begin "perleece" to call. Then they 'urried to the station. And described the mcked thief, Specially the bally dancer, Likewise snakes in tones of grief. A LOST BALLAD OF POLICEMAN X. 189 Hand this rascal, when I copt him, Swore he never was the man ; Hand before the beak he boldly FoUow'd up the self-same plan. For the lydies were not certing — Tender, timid things they be ! — Though they'd talked to him for howers, And 'ad kissed 'im after tea. But the Beak was down upon him In a way he little guest — " Gaoler," said the Beak majestic, " Bare the pris'ner's arm and breast ! " Then this most etrocious liar 'Ung his 'ead and dropped his jore, When the snakes and bally dancer Plainly all the gazers sore. Three months' 'ard the Beak awarded — Which I think uncommon small, Seeing as poor Mrs. Carey Lost her watch, and purse and all. Has for them two lovely nieces. Blooming gals as e'er I see, Unto either one propishous X would ever faithful be. rgo LAUDATOR TEMPORIS ACT/. LAUDATOR TEMPORIS ACTI. I REMEMBER the time — the time long ago, There were many things different then ! Young people may laugh, and believe that they know Far better than elderly men ; But if they will listen (I hope that they can) ; — At any rate p'raps they may try To pardon the talk of a very old man Of the days that are long gone by. I remember the time when the younkers said "Sir" To the parent who ruled with the rod ; — Now " Guv'nor," or " Daddy," or " Boss," they prefer, And "Father" is thought rather odd. At cricket or football they're perfect I ween, — At betting or billiards, are spry ; But the awkward young boobies of bashful sixteen Are things that are long gone by. I remember the time when the girls stayed at home, And sewing and cooking would learn, Nor dared without vigilant chap'rons to roam, And never spoke out of their turn. lAUDATOR TEMPO A' IS ACT I. 191 Now they scramble for partners at ball or at rout, Learn Latin and Greek at the " High," Ride "bikes," play at hockey, talk slang}', and shout, — There are things that are long gone by. The village lass "bobbed" to the "gentleman born," And the villager pulled at his locks ; The scythe or the sickle were used to cut corn, And labourers gloried in smocks ; The farmer paid rent, had a love of fair sport, Was out on his farm wet or dry ; And the squire, happy man, drank three bottles of port. In the days that have long gone by. I remember the time when no gentlertian thought Of smoking a pipe in the street, Or would modestly drop the cigar he'd just bought, If he chanced a fair damsel to meet ; But now he will puff in his lady-love's face. Or invite her to smoke on the sly, — The manners which flourished with patches and lace Are things which are long gone by. I remember when sportsmen, and cricketers too. Wore hats which of beaver were made ; 192 LAUDATOR TEMPO HIS ACTh When straightforward underhand bowling would do, And " fifty " was reckoned " well played " ; When you really could see both the wickets and " bats," On the grass at your ease you could lie. Nor struggle for glimpses mid jungles of hats, — In the years that are long gone by. I remember the time when a duck and green peas Was a dinner for gods or for men ; When a roast leg of mutton, with pudding and cheese Sufficed for two people, or ten ; Now, Soup a la Orly, Fish, Entree, and Roast, Game, Omelette, and Perigord Pie, With the dryest champagne must be served by your host, — There are things that are long gone by. I remember the time we had dinner at five. And thought it remarkably late ; But now the most indigent pauper alive Can't dine until half-past eight ; When people who had their own living to get. In bed half the day didn't lie. Nor expected a fortune through some lucky bet, — • In the days that are long gone by. LAUDATOR TEMPORIS ACT/. 193 I remember the time when you took up a book, Or went e?i famille to the " Play," Well, — sometimes you didn't know which way to look For the language was coarse in its way ! But now you can read or can look without fear, For Vice is disguised in a lie, And has stolen the garments which Virtue should wear, — There are things that are long gone by. I remember when parsons would preach for an hour ; When workmen would work their full time ; When milk wasn't blue, and when beer wasn't sour, And oysters, though vulgar, were prime ; When woodcock, though rare, was quite possible fare, — And often I say with a sigh, The old-fashioned ways of the old-fashioned days Are things that are long gone by. N 194 THE ONE HORSE SHAY. THE ONE HORSE SHAY. (A NEW VERSION.) 'TwAS on the stroke of two, and nothing was to do, And none of us the least inclined at home to stay, When Mrs. Smith proposed that, if we were disposed, We might take a little pleasure in the One Horse Shay. She had some calls to make, and thought she well might take These neighbours very nicely as she went upon her way. So she ordered out the horse ; she'd drive herself, of course ; There was only room for four in the One Horse Shay. She mentioned to the groom she should much prefer his room To his company, as four of us would drive that day. There was Mrs. William Smith, who would be seated with Miss Boden on the front seat of the One Horse Shay. THE ONE HORSE SHAY. 195 Then Messrs. George and Horace must contrive themselves to solace On the little seat behind, or the "dickey," as they say ; But all were well contented, and on the whole pre- sented A very cheerful aspect in the One Horse Shay. The chaise was very neat; it seemed a thing complete; It might have come from Laurie & Marner's that day. The horse, a four-year-old, had only just been sold To the fortunate possessors of the One Horse Shay. The wheels were clear of stains ; there were little dapper reins Which looked on an emergency inclined to give way. But they seemed so bright and new, we thought that they might do To take a little drive with in the One Horse Shay. The chaise came to the door, and seated were the four. Expecting much enjoyment on a very lovely day. And then they fell to laughing, and scrimmaging, and chaffing, — Such a very merry party in the One Horse Shay. N 2 196 THE ONE HORSE SHAY. One said he thought that he were best insured to be ; And another cried, "I'll hold him, if he runs away." And so the moments fled — the groom let go the head. And off the party started in the One Horse Shay. The horse began to start by kicking pretty smart, And wriggling of his body in an odd sort of way. And then began to go, while Horace cried out " Wo ! " From the dickey at the back of the One Horse Shay. With his head between his knees the pony by degrees Got into a wild gallop, which was something more than gay. The reins they came in two, " Oh, Lawk ! what shall we do?"i Mrs. S. was heard exclaiming in the One Horse Shay. Then bang among the bushes the carriage wildly rushes, A smashing, and a crashing, in a terrible way. 1 Upon my reading this in the family circle, the lady laughingly repudiated this expression. "How could I have got Daniel on my notes unless you told me so, sir?" THE ONE HORSE SHAY. 197 Then right against a lime, before a man had time "Jack Robinson" to halloo, dashed the One Horse Shay. My Muse can scarcely tell the grief that then befel, It makes her feel all-overish, the truth to say ; For both the ladies screamed, and everybody deemed It was all up with the party in the One Horse Shay. For all the four together, as if fastened by a tether, Were shot out of the carriage, just like a truss of hay. While the horse dashed through the gate at a most tremendous rate. Dragging after him the debris of the One Horse Shay. The servants gathered round : — George, jumping from the ground. Ran out to seek the carriage on the Queen's highway ; While Mrs. Smith and Kate sat thinking on their fate, And gazing on the front wheels of the One Horse Shay. 19^ THE ONE HORSE SHAY. Poor Horace, in a heap, seemed much disposed to sleep, And though he groaned a little yet nothing would he say. Till picked up by the maid, he said, "Take me to the shade," Which frightened all the party in the One Horse Shay. They went up to the house, their bruises for to souse, Like noble British heroes at the end of an affray. And the surgeon soon arrives with lots of little knives, To cut up all the party in the One Horse Shay. And now my song is ended ; my broken head is mended. And all are going on in a convalescent way. And, since no bones are broke, we treat it as a joke. This pleasant little journey in the One Horse Shay. Glasgow : Printed at the University Press by Robert MacLehose & Co. Ltd. BV THE SAME AUTHOR. POEMS 1 897 SOME PRESS OPINIONS. Times. — " Mr. Horace Smith, whose ' Interludes' were received with favour three years ago, lias republished some ' Poems.' They all show observation, thoughtfulness, and a graceful gift of verse." Athcnaum. — " The author's work shows an earnestness and virility, which in these days should serve as a sufficient reason, if others were wanting, for its welcome." Oxford Magazine. — " Mr. Smith writes with a sensitive appreciation of the beauties of nature, and writes withal in a pleasant and graceful style." Observer. — "Mr. Smith's style of writing is at once graceful and versatile, and his sacred poetry has the merit of being as simple and unaffected as his boating song." Liverpool Post. — " His correct and polished verse is certainly more pleasant to read than the pretentious ignorances that sometimes serve for poetry in our day." Speaker. — "The lyrics are graceful and charming, the work of a scholar and lover of poetry as well as of one with no small aptitude for the methods of poetry." Yorkshire Post.— "They are, without exception, sweet, genuinely poetic, and good in form." Glasgow Herald. — "These poems are mostly secular, but there are five hymns and twelve psalms of quite superior quality. The writer of a good hymn is one in ten thousand. The secular pieces show a marked degree of lyrical ability . . . strong pieces of blank verse, . . . songs suitable for music that should delight the heart of the composer and singer." Manchester Guardian. — "Never falls below a level of uncommon merit in dexterity of phrase and breeziness of inspiration." Western Daily Press. — " Every lover of good poetry should be able to count these excellent poems amongst the treasures of the library." I BV THE SAME AUTHOR. HYMNS ^ PSALMS SOME PRESS OPINIONS. AtheiKBum. — " It is dangerous to dogmatise on so difficult a thing as hymn writing, but we think that several of the hymns and psalms here should be added to the books in use. Sincerity and simplicity com- bined with good taste are rare, and will survive when the fatal banality or hardly less pernicious elaboration of many modern hymn-writers has made its pious appeal or literary boast and been rapidly forgotten." Manchester Guardian. — "One of the conditions most satisfactorily fulfilled is that of a good literary quality." Scotsman. — " All are dignified and sonorous lyrics of worship." Oxford Magazine. — "Three or four of these hymns reach a very high level of simplicity and beauty. The volume should certainly be in the hands of future hymn-book compilers." Spectator. — "A welcome little book is 'Hymns and Psalms.' The volume is of the slenderest. Mr. Smith writes, it is clear, only when he feels he has something to say." Observer. — " His sacred poetry has the merit of being as simple and unaffected as his boating song." Speaker. — "The hymns have nobility ot form and purity of ex- pression." Glasgow Herald. — " Five hymns and twelve psalms of quite superior quality. The writer of a good hymn is one in ten thousand." Western Daily Press. — " The book is certain to find a place in many a home. The contributions have been received with a favour which they well merit. The additions by their grace and fervour possess quahties fairly entitling them to rank with the others." LONDON : MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. BY THE SAME AUTHOR. I3^ERLUT>ES : First Series. Being Two Essays, a Story, and Some Verses. Daily Chronicle.—" The essays indicate good old-fashioned reading, and are well written." AthencBum.—"Y^\'=, essays on 'Criticism and Luxury' are full of genial good sense, and are illuminated here and there by bits of legal anecdotes. The views he expresses are urged so pleasantly, and with so much modesty, that opposition is disarmed." i:JirET{LUT)ES : Second Series, Being Two Essays, a Farce, and Some Verses. Times. — " Worthy sequel to the first issue, and an interesting proof that a man can be a busy and useful police magistrate and can yet fill his leisure with good literature." Academy.— " He has every right to claim recognition as a teller of good stories. Shrewd, humorous, ludicrous anecdotes trample on each other's heels through seventy delightful pages. We commend the book to the busy man who wants to be amused over his after-dinner pipe. It were hard to find a more genial companion than the author of ' Interludes.' " I3^ERLUT>ES: Third Series. Being Two Essays, a Ghost Story, and Some Verses. Spectator. — " He has the gift of humour, has read widely, and knows how to quote. Finally, there is a ' Farrago of Verses," mainly parodies, with enough to show that the writer can be serious to good purpose when he so pleases." The Tiines. — " A third series of Mr. Horace Smith's 'Interludes' is quite as entertaining, both in prose and verse, as the previous fruits of a busy police magistrate's leisure." 3 BY THE SAME AUTHOR. i:]XTET{LUT)ES : Fourth Series. Being Three Essays and Some Verses. AthencBuyn. — "We note again the sound sense and humour which distinguished the author's earlier volumes." Spectator. — " Mr. Horace Smith, besides being able to write good ver.se, has the far rarer gift of knowing how to write a good essay. The three here given are admirable." The Times. — "Mr. Horace Smith's little books of essays and verse have entertained a multitude of cultivated readers." Oxford Magazine. — " Here are no fireworks, but sound talk of books and manners from one who loves poetry, and knows the humours and the weaknesses of men." Academy. — " A book which is characteristic and charming from cover to cover." Manchester Guardian. — " Mr. Smith is humane, direct, and tolerant, and his literary appreciation is at once breezy and keen." Globe. — "It is a pleasure to go with him into the by-paths of literature." Glasgow Herald. — "Three essays and some verses make up this very agreeable volume. He seasons his talk with a plentiful supply of appropriate anecdote. " Country Life. — " The little book is quite worth reading." Scotsman. — "A capital little book for a desultory reader oi the cultivated sort." Western Daily Press. — "This fourth series are embued with the same unaffected spirit and the same polished criticism. . . . Altogether this fourth series makes a very readable little book." Yorkshire Post. — "Three or four little volumes of essays entitled ' Interludes,' which are full of humour and common sense and the indefinable charm of the man of the world. His new volume of ■ Interludes : Fourth Series,' is quite as good as those that have gone before." LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. 4 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. ^PR^ 2 2(104 Form L9-50»i-7,'54 (5990)444 THE LIHRART TOIVEKS^Y OF CALIFORMl* *^ollected poems ,.LIC SOlJTHERfv Jlllli&i^'^^^F'^CILITY ^A 000 375 498 PR 5153 37^17 1908