mmm LIBRARY " ' — UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE Ex Libris ISAAC FOOT FROM THE DEN of a CAMBRIDGE DON All riglits reserved FROM THE DEN OF A CAMBRIDGE DON Miscellaneous Verses by (l. A. ; pseucL) Alston, Leonard /// > J. M. DENT & SONS, LTD. ALDINE HOUSE, BEDFORD ST. LONDON, W.C. 1914 ?R GOO I CONTENTS PART I CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES AND OTHER POEMS MOONLIGHT ..... CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES :— I. ABOVE CHERRYHINTON CHALK-PITS II. JESUS LOCK III. 'THE BACKS' IV. PARKER'S PIECE v. 'via devana' VI. MADINGLEY ROAD VII. BYRON'S POOL VIII. DESCENDING CASTLE HILL IX. TRUMPINGTON STREET X. CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY OFFICERS' TRAINING CORPS .... XI. COE FEN IN WINTER XII. A CAMBRIDGE FRIENDSHIP XIII. THE ORCHARD, GRANTCHESTER . XIV. THE BOOKSELLER'S SHOP . XV. IN THE BOTANIC GARDEN . XVI. THE FOUNTAIN, GREAT COURT, TRINITY XVII. THE SENATE HOUSE V PAGE 3 4 4 5 5 6 7 7 8 8 9 io io 1 1 12 13 13 14 CONTENTS IN EXILE .... THE HARBOUR LIGHT A SONG — FOR FIVE — OR (MAYBE) SIX NABOTH, THE ASSISTANT SCHOOLMASTER FREEDOM .... 'philanthropy' a mother at the fireside the three minstrels the prizes of life . far-away hills may blossom .... giving and taking . commemoration ode in a conquered fate and the garden golden-haired alfred the great culloden .... by the snowy river STATE PAGE IS 17 20 26 27 28 29 3° 32 33 35 37 39 4i 44 46 48 PART II SOME LIGHTER FREIGHT A LETTER TO AN UNDERGRAD. . . . -SI HOW IT ALL LOOKS FROM THE LECTURER'S PLATFORM . 54 THE WAIL OF A LONELY EXAMINER . . .60 A FEW OF THE MUSES : — I. EUCLID : ELEMENTS OF GEOMETRY . . 63 II. 'paley' ...... 64 III. GREEK PROSE ..... 65 vi CONTENTS IV. GERMAN .... V. MUSIC ..... VI. THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY . VII. INTERNATIONAL LAW VIII. MEDICINE : ANOTHER ' HAPPY THOUGHT ' 'COMING UP' ..... 'GOING DOWN' .... A REPLY TO AN EPIGRAM . A LETTER TO MY LANDLADY TOMBSTONES .... 66 67 69 75 78 80 82 83 85 87 Vll PART I CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES AND OTHER POEMS MOONLIGHT {Australia) A jolly bed : five planks of deal, And one thick blanket (from the Store). How through the chinks the breezes steal And stir the red leaves on my floor Of earth ! while on my roof of bark The storm-drops beat a brisk tattoo On winter evenings, through the dark ; Or, from the crevices, splash through. . . . ' A hut ! ' (you sneer) ' a hovel bare ! Upon the outskirts of the world Of wealth and pow'r — a beggar's lair ! And in it a lank wastrel curl'd.' Ah, but when through my snuggery's patch'd crown (Wafting forth odours sweet o' the wattle bark) On nights serene the friendly Moon drops down Her nimble rays to adorn my chamber dark, A castle, then, is mine, meet for a king. And — though to you it gapes a hovel still — Dearer, to me, the moonbeams' furnishing Than the proud turrets of your city's skill. CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES ABOVE CHERRYHINTON CHALK-PITS Billows of wind. Beneath my feet An adventurous cottage that has clamber'd down- stairs To live by the lime-kiln. Near the rainy horizon A tow'r and a spire ; And nearer Are dust-whiten'd chimneys Belching forth pulsating spirals of sulphurous labour-born smoke. ii JESUS LOCK A tiny island Bright with familiar flow'rs ; A baby Niagara (never tired) ; The lock-keeper swinging his pole. 4 CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES A youth in a gown and a boy from the town Striding jauntily over the narrow bridge ; And the latest tune — of a girl and a moon — One is whistling briskly — I cannot guess which. in ' THE BACKS ' A sea-shore of autumn leaves Brown and damp ; An angry swan ; The musical note of a bell Clanging — clanging. A sunset of rose rippling round the sky ; From over an ancient, stately pile The note of a bell Dreamily clanging — clanging — clanging. IV Parker's piece A square of green baize For riotous children to play on : Children of three ; Children of sixty-three ! 5 CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES Let me vault the red rails And scamper across it ; Fori Feel about fourteen to-day. v ' VIA DEVANA ' Tramp ! — tramp ! — tramp ! Legions in armour, legions of old, Steadily — sternly — marching north. Tinkling of bells. Legions of cyclists, legions of youth, Swallow-swift and blithe. The Roman Road Arrow-straight Undeviating Marches north. Tramp ! — tramp ! — tramp ! CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES VI MADINGLEY ROAD The road that waltzes, waltzes forth, With skirts embroider'd with elms and oaks In a hurry to reach the foot of the hill ; Then slowly climbs, To pause atop ; And waves a hand to her brother Who 's climbing the Gogs. ' Bye-bye ! I 'm off to Oxford ! Give my love to London Town ! ' VII byron's pool A low wall of brick As my seat, Beneath far-reaching branches laden with red leaves and gold. A flash Of living jewellery Over the waters dark, Where a kingfisher has made his home in the clayey bank. 7 CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES On my left, Lingay Fen. A watery avenue stretching away to the Mill. (It is rather good, Sitting here.) VIII DESCENDING CASTLE HILL A tunnel Leading down to an ants' nest. Under wreaths of cold fog How they swarm at the portals, And hustle each other about, Bearing manna, And honey, For the young ones at home in their cells ! IX TRUMPINGTON STREET A serpentine swirl, Now hiding a college, Now showing a row of Greek pillars ; Then, prosperous homes : 8 CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES Ever and ever New vistas. Then the trees ! A torrent of trees ! And the ' Pern ' sparkles merrily by me. CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY OFFICERS' TRAINING CORPS Clatter of feet in the Market Square. Vigorous, sun-tann'd Figures in grey — figures in grey, And the bayonets flashing bright ! Are your water-flasks filled ? Are your bandoliers right? {Ready — aye, ready /) Clatter of hoofs along Market Street And the mounted men trot past. {Steady — my geegees, steady !) Rumble of wheels down Trinity Street, And the engineers roll by With a loaded lorry. Vigorous, sun-tann'd O.T.C. CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES XI COE FEN IN WINTER A Siberian waste ; Ice ; snow ; Desolation. The river bursting its numb'd, glazing banks. The bathing-sheds Shivering in the wind. Wind! Let me button my coat And stride out across it. XII A CAMBRIDGE FRIENDSHIP Well, Horry, We 've known one another a long time now. Six centuries, is it? Or is it seven ? Do you like me as well as you used to do, Long, long ago? Let us take a punt round to ' Paradise,' And smoke, and dream, Under a creeper-cover'd, overhanging bough. Kight-ho, Jack ! Just let 's ! 10 CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES XIII THE ORCHARD, GRANTCHESTER Foam of bright blossom. Tables — tables — White cloths covering tables As merry as the apple-trees. The chirrup of birds : Chirrup ! chirrup ! chirrup ! Broken-back'd Deck-chairs And veteran camp-stools. Strawberry jam ! wasps ! bananas ! pots, pots of tea ! Young men in flannels ; cigarette smoke ; straw hats ; a Japanese sunshade. A jubilant puppy in head-breaking gallop After a sparrow. Chirrup ! chirrup ! . . . yap ! yap ! yap ! A three-years-old mite Cooing gleefully, ' Look, mother ; just look ! ' The maids n CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES Hurrying with loaded trays through the foot- high grass. Bees ! Strawberries and cream ! Let us drink A Health to the Orchard — In tea, in cream, in tobacco, In silvery laughter that ripples. XIV THE BOOKSELLER'S SHOP Chocolates ! gingerbread ! slices of plum-cake ! How I envy the boy Who serves at the counter ! With permission to eat, And eat, and eat, Crunching candy and peppermints All the year round ! Why, the walls are encrusted with toffee ! And the floors Are all litter'd with lollypops Done up in delicate packages ! What a feast for a gluttonous Haroun-al-Raschid ! 12 CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES (I shall gather a library Of my own By and by.) xv IN THE BOTANIC GARDEN By the green sward Belov'd of the daisies A tiny isleted lake — The ball-room Of haughty drakes and homelier waterfowl And feather'd visitants from distant climes — Mirror and ball-room floor in one, Bedeck'd with reeds and prairie grass And white and yellow lilies. XVI THE FOUNTAIN, GREAT COURT, TRINITY A pillar of musical crystal, Chanting its chime ; Chanting its chime ; Chanting a chime That keeps step with the march of the Ages. 13 CAMBRIDGE VIGNETTES XVII THE SENATE HOUSE Grey, stern Mother of masterful Mages ! We throng at the gates. The silver-mace-bearers Mount the stone steps ; And behind them A grey Old man Robed in imperial scarlet Totters feebly. Grey, stern Mother of masters many, We salute ! H IN EXILE IN EXILE Oh, you blue tarn (so deep !) Set in the mountain's flank, How you talk as your ripples leap And lap, lap, lap at your bank ! Talk of the Northern Hills— My hills — what are they to you, You lake in the Ghats so blue? — And the English woods, and the rills That leap as my blood leaps now As I hear you talk. How, how Have you learn'd to tell, Of that wooded upland dell, What /had almost forgot? — You blue, Blue lakelet set in the jungly flank Of the Ghats. Let me stay and hear you and thank, As you whisper, you deep blue tarn, So wisely of brook and barn And home ! Let me listen to you, Watch you and thank, hear you and thank — 15 IN EXILE Lying here where your bosom is blue On the jungle-shaded bank. (You blue, blue tarn so deep, Set in the mountain flank !) Matheran, 1904. 16 THE HARBOUR LIGHT THE HARBOUR LIGHT i [Love's greeting from the land] O crimson light, upon the foreland far, Coming and going In revolutions steady ; lonely star Allegiance owing To Man the mighty Maker, Lord of land and sea ; With radiance flashing over wave and scar, One moment showing The black buoy tossing at the harbour bar, Now seaward throwing The beckoning rays that call my Wanderer home to me ; Flash him a rosy welcome o'er the deep, Thy glory flinging Round yonder sluggish bows that landward creep Like misers bringing Long-hoarded gold they fain would keep nor ever spend. B THE HARBOUR LIGHT All other wealth they bring I hold but cheap As sparks up-springing. Tell him my love for him will never sleep, But, closer clinging, Will wake, and watch, and serve him, humble, to the end. ii [Love 's greeting from the sea] O crimson light, upon the foreland set, The dark ways cleaving With lanes of light and welcome ; stay and let Thy beam deceiving One moment longer light the balcony I know. A moment since it seem'd my eyes had met, O'er waters heaving, Grey eyes, and hands that round me fling a net Of wondrous weaving — There may I captive stay till Death's tides round me flow ! O crimson star, no beams of thine compare With her eyes, blending The glories of the kingly Day, and fair Queen Night descending 18 THE HARBOUR LIGHT With slow, majestic step adown the curving sphere. Proclaim my swift home-coming, and declare My love unending, My worship, and the service that will dare All things, contending For her sweet sake with pain, and shame, and death, and fear. Port Fairy, 1897. 19 A SONG— FOR FIVE— OR (MAYBE) SIX A SONG— FOR FIVE— OR (MAYBE) SIX What should be my choice If a powerful Sprite Came with word of might Bidding me rejoice — Choose the single prize That should please my eyes? ii Should I be a Sword, Slashing through a throng Of evils and abuses pour'd From every land through ages long — A seeming-solid, yielding throng Of toad-stool imps whose bones scarce blunt My red edge through the battle's brunt? Should I be a Sword? 20 A SONG— FOR FIVE — OR (MAYBE) SIX in Should I be a thunder-clap Of music bursting through the blue To wake the dreamer from his nap And shout Hallo at you ? Or should I be the lightning flash Before the thunder's mighty crash That rends the robe of night With blade of yellow light — A bold explorer, daring, rash, Disclosing to its view Ancient thoughts and true, To the World's eye new ? IV Should I be a Tow'r Set upon a crest Of mountains stern that glow'r Above a mighty cleft, Like an eagle's nest, Where Oueen Truth, bereft Of her old domain In valley, hill, and plain, 21 A SONG— FOR FIVE— OR (MAYBE) SIX Will her court still hold Fearless, firm, and bold ? — Flags to flap above, Challenging all winds, East or west or north or south, Through the flood-time and the drouth, While the sentry binds Flowers about the staffs, And the blue sky laughs? Should I be a Tow'r To guard the throne of Truth ? v Good 'twould be, in sooth ; But if such my pow'r Better still I 'd choose, And the prize not lose. VI Let me be a Song For some few to sing As they row along And the crystals fling 22 A SONG— FOR FIVE— OR (MAYBE) SIX From their merry oars, Gliding up the course Of the friendly Cam — 1 Comrade, comrade, comrade ' Laughing back at me — Or toward Babraham Tramping two or three Closely by me on the track Warriors built ere turning back To guard the walls of Rome : ( Comrade, comrade, comrade ' — so ! Flinging jests as on we go, Where from crests of grassy foam Larks like tuneful bits of spume Splash into the blissful sky, — High and higher, higher, high ! — Trilling, trilling like some loom Of Phcebus weaving garments bright To clothe our hearts in robes of light. VII Or, when night is dark, ' Comrade, comrade ' — hark ! Some one 's at the gate — 23 A SONG— FOR FIVE-OR (MAYBE) SIX 1 Comrade, are you sitting there ? May I climb the winding stair? Ten it is — not very late. May I take your old arm-chair, To chat and smoke some hours away ? Comrade, may I stay ? ' VIII I would be a Song That some child would sing, Some wee toddling thing Who has learn'd to sing 1 Mister, Mister Comrade, please, May I walk with you Past the crowded school Where there 's big boys cru'l, All the long street through ? Mister, Mister Comrade, please, Won't you carry me? — so? Till we come where candies grow And of toys there are a lot? ' Then in whisper low — ' Mister, Mister Comrade, Have you choc'lates got ? ' 24 A SONG— FOR FIVE — OR (MAYBE) SIX IX I would be the Song One old soul may croon — 1 He will not be long ; I expect him soon ' — While the kettle sings O'er the fire that flings Flickering lights and shadows dark Round the curtain'd room (Mixing glow and gloom), Where her needles mark Patterns on the wool she holds, While outside the silent room A wintry tempest scolds. I would be a Song For her heart to croon Through the evenings long In the silent Silent Curtain'd room. 1914. 25 NABOTH, THE ASSISTANT SCHOOLMASTER NABOTH, THE ASSISTANT SCHOOLMASTER I wrought with my spade Preparing a Garden of Beauty — A Retreat for the Autumn of Life, With a hammock to dream in — A Garden of Knowledge and Friendship. A company promoter Envied it, Stole it. 26 FREEDOM FREEDOM Curs'd land of Servitude, at last, at last These eager feet leap from the hated shore. The flag of freedom flutters from the mast That shows the arm'd friend at the harbour door. At last, at last I stand upon the deck. The cannon boom. The hills swim slowly by — Hills, streams, and woods, where at the tyrant's beck I toil'd, 'mid comrade slaves, death ever nigh. Their cry, as mine, was aye for Liberty ; Their bitter tears, with mine, incessant fell ; Our woes were common, theirs and mine, for we Shared all alike in that accursed hell. Now fare I forth, alone. My lips are free, Though they I loved in chains, in slavedom, dwell. . . . Hills where I toil'd — with these— for these — and ye, Dear zvoods, dear land I thought to hate— farewell I 1897. 27 PHILANTHROPY' 'PHILANTHROPY' Two generous gifts I bring : The coin that clinks into his greasy palm Where it can brightly tempt him (' Work no more ; A beggar's life is simpler ; beg, not work /') — The kindly scorn that means — ' a weakling framed For lower, beastlier life than mine, and so Worthy of unexacting charity. . . .' I orive — with thanks that I am not as some, Hesitant and hard of heart — but love to give — And turning, leave him crouch'd beside the path, A little lower in the mire. . . . What then ? . . . Am I my brother's keeper? Are you mine? 1905. 28 A MOTHER AT THE FIRESIDE A MOTHER AT THE FIRESIDE To honour my lad, they say, The kings and the captains combine, And I tremble at home, and pray That he come as he went, all mine. Yes, praise him, praise, an ye will, But so that ye send him to me Unhurt by your praise, and still Unchanged in his loyalty. Yes, deck him with titles and stars, So ye turn him not from his ways ; For insult can leave no scars Like the scars of unseemly praise. And when he cometh again, As my son will he welcom'd be, So ye send him with never a stain When ye send him again to me. 1898. 29 THE THREE MINSTRELS THE THREE MINSTRELS ' How quickly dies the memory of the dead When others come, And in the chambers of the heart their tread Doth render dumb The ghostly footfall of its earlier lord! Hoiv quickly heals the wound from Sorrow's sword! How faints the echo of the jarring chord i " Thus sang the youngest, gay and light of heart, With sure, deft fingers sweeping through the chords. The vikings' favourite he, compact of joy, And knowing not the burdens of the rest, The elders, mothers, chieftains. Loudly rang The revellers' applause. But Sigurd stepp'd From out the gathering, seized the quivering harp And woke new strains in answer, low and sad. * But let not die the memory of the friend Who came and pass y d Like crimson shafts the mounting sun doth send, That faintly cast 30 THE THREE MINSTRELS Their glories 'midst earth's shadows ere they fade : My friend, for ivhom in life's bright dawn there stayed The beckoning Figure stern, whom none evade. ' The rough-voic'd revel check'd, and every eye Turn'd towards one vacant seat — and Sigurd bent And placed the royal harp in Geron's hand (Whose eyes had darken'd in the lapse of years). And Geron struck it strangely, waking notes Unheard before in that wild banquet-hall. 1 Yet though the memory die, does not his soul Inform us still, Urging ev'n us to attain the star-bright goal Through good and ill ? Lives he not then in death more truly great Than had he kept zvith us his earthly state Who blindly see, through grief-dimm'd eyes, his fate ? ' And Sigurd took the harp, and with it set A sheaf of lilies white and fresh, and laid It in the vacant chair. 3i THE PRIZES OF LIFE THE PRIZES OF LIFE Emperor, artisan, prophet, page, One crown there is for each, One royal glory for youth and age, One throne that all may reach — The Kingdom of Love, with the name of Friend From Life's first step to the Journey's End. Fanatic, financier, pedant, sot, Strain ever for Dead Sea fruit, Gathering weeds and thorns in our Garden-plot, Fit comrades each of the brute. . . . To fling Life's diadem blindly aside, And the garlanded victors then to deride ! 1914. 32 FAR-AWAY HILLS FAR-AWAY HILLS Far-away hills in the distance dim, Far away, yes, and near — For near are ye to my heart and dear, Linked for aye with the hope and fear, Bound with the memories glad and grim Of far-away distant days — Far-away hills, where the mist clings white, Where the soft clouds nestle and sleep, Are ye full of a joy as broad and deep As when I climbed, where your dark woods creep From the gloomy vale to the sunlit height, By the craggy, winding ways, She at my side — in the love-lit years Ere Grief bade the hours delay — Are ye glad as ye were that autumn day? For I dare not climb by the winding way To walk where we walked. I am dull'd with fears : For which were the worst of ills — c FAR-AWAY HILLS Still to discover you glad as of old When she climbed there at my side, And to know that your woods had forgotten my bride, Or to find you dark, and cry, ' Joy hath died! It is Grief now walks where her step was bold On the far-away purple hills! 1 1899. 34 MAY BLOSSOM MAY BLOSSOM Blossom, blossom White upon the tree-tops, White along the hedge-row, Blowing, blowing ; Blossom, white blossom Falling, falling As falls the snow. ' Blossom, blossom, blossom ' (The song of the bees !) ' Blossom, blossom, blossom, blossom Glory of the trees.' Blossom, blossom, blossom of friendship, Blossom of love — Glory of a spring-time — Glory of a life-time — (Hark to the bees !) The rough wind the white branch to the white clouds is flinging, Bidding the sky 35 MAY BLOSSOM Envy — 1 How distant your blossom, White star from white star ! ' Blossom, blossom, blossom of friendship, Blossom of love — Garland of a spring-time — Garland of a life-time — (Hark to the bees !) 1914. 36 GIVING AND TAKING GIVING AND TAKING What to me — or thee — can matter these Who closely count their gifts, and nicely calculate How much received, how much repaid, and please Their shrivell'd hearts as thus they prate Of cancell'd debts — present for present, eye for eye, Dinner for dinner — with complacent sigh Reckoning the debit and the credit on the scrolls Of wrinkled parchment that record their lives For their own reading, till arrives The Day of Final Reckoning and rolls Away the well-thumb'd ledger on the shelf That tells the tale of barter'd soul and self? Comrade, let gifts to us be symbols only — Symbols to tell the nearness of our souls In that fated course we needs must run — To whisper, 'Twin-soul, twin-soul, be no longer lonely, Thou and I are welded into one.' 37 GIVING AND TAKING Short-sighted selfishness that grieves to give, Far-sighted selfishness that does not dare receive — Are these for us? I would forget Which of us two has giv'n or which received. Goodwill was in the giving, yet Nobler, methinks, the spirit that hath not grieved To leave itself the debtor unto Love. Twin-soul, twin-soul, let gifts be symbols only, To say, ' No longer, twin-soul, be thou lonely. ' Love, love has come, fall'n from the heavens above.' 38 COMMEMORATION ODE COMMEMORATION ODE IN A CONOUERED STATE Sing ! sing the song of triumph for the dead ! For who of triumph worthier than they That left the plough, the desk, the chase, to meet The stranger on the border hills, and greet Him with stern welcome on his conquering way ? Sing ! sing a song of glory for the dead ! For though that day the foemen's flag flew high Above the tatter'd tents of those who fell Low on the trampled field, all time shall tell The triumph of the dead who ne'er can die. Sing ! sing the song of Victory for the dead ! They marched with eyes alight and faces stern To meet the alien on the hills afar, And sadly, sadly shone that eve the star That watched upon the hills their camp-fires burn. 39 COMMEMORATION ODE And Friend Death met them, wrapping them from sight In folds of glory, on the border hills, And led them gently from the coming ills, Friend Death who opes for men the realms of light. Sing, sing a peaceful requiem for the dead. For peace is theirs who on the lone hills rest, Not ours, who hear the strange lord in our halls, Not ours, whose watch-tow'rs on our ocean walls Crumble and fall, in clinging ivies drest. Sing ! sing a pasan for the nobler dead ! And drink long life ! long life ! to those who fell. For brief this life of ours, but theirs will last When ours is portion of the misty past To those who in our palaces will dwell. Sing ! sing a deathless song to crown the dead ! 1898. 40 FATE AND THE GARDEN FATE AND THE GARDEN i Strange tricks of the fairy Fate ! Fate who caught my hand And thrust me beyond the gate That leads from the garden-land To the land where cacti and sand Cover all that the eye can see. ' Is there no way hence to flee ? ' I cry, and clutch at the gate Shut fast by relentless Fate, And strain, with foot and hand And shoulder, to cheat my doom, To regain the garden-land, To return where the roses bloom. Almost it opens. Free ! — am I free? Nay, for two warders stern I see, Set by a heartless Fate to wait Grimly patient beside the gate. 4i FATE AND THE GARDEN ' Shame and Dishonour welcome thee : To pass with these Comrades thou art free.' And I shrink aghast from the open gate, And curse the craft of the fairy Fate. ii Strange tricks of the fairy Fate ! Fate, who left to my hand (Where I wailed by the gaping gate Peering back to the garden-land) Half-hid by the burning sand The haft of a gardener's spade. ' And how will this steel thing aid? ' I cried. ' Will it help me forget The roses and fountains, or let Me dig the grave of the Past And bury it deep and fast?' So I cried, from the flow'rs of the Past By pitiless Fate out cast. Frantic, to right and left I flung The earth while the steel blade clash'd and rung. Then Fate, for she saw the sweat O'er my eyes that dripp'd and stung, 42 FATE AND THE GARDEN Said, ' Let this toiler his yearning forget ' (And her eyes with the dew of pity were wet). Now the roses blow both sides of the gate — Gifts all of the merciful fairy Fate. 1900. 43 GOLDEN-HAIRED ALFRED THE GREAT GOLDEN-HAIRED ALFRED THE GREAT Please, mother, May I have that illumin'd missal? — All for my own ! When you have learn'd To read it, Dear boy. I '11 learn fast enough ! And when I 'm grown up, May I take All Knowledge For my Province? Yes, dear. And conquer it? Perhaps, dear. And fight with the Danes? Yes, dear. 44 GOLDEN-HAIRED ALFRED THE GREAT And beat them ? Perhaps, dear. . . . Now kiss me good-night, My sweet boy. Your brothers stay late this day With the fyrd, Drilling, and furbishing arms. . . . (The Vikings ; the Vikings ; My ^thelwulf ; And my boys. Oh, my heart ! my heart ! . . . But an hour with the distaff May ease, a little, The pain of the long dark night.) Eadgyth — my distaff! And bid Werfrith bring faggots To throw on the fire, And strow fresh rushes By the fire-side. . . . (How stormy the night is !) 45 CULLODEN CULLODEN From Moidart Port, by the Devil's Stair, To bonny Edinbro' Town, Is a journey light for men that dare To march with the Cameron down, Slipping by Cope and the Volunteers And forcing the city gates Ere the sleepy burghers have weighed their fears And measured their hopes and hates. And hurrah for James the Eighth again ! And hurrah for our bonny Charles ! For the Stuart line ! and the name that's lain Too long a butt for snarls And jibes and Whiggish jeers and sneers — A name now crown 'd with flow'rs That will not fade in a score of years — A good Scots name that 's ours ! From Prestonpans to Derby Peak Is a heavier tramp, I ween ; But men must march when a crown they seek, And harder tramps I 've seen. ' 46 CULLODEN But where are the friends who once besought The aid of our kilted ranks? Are all of them dead, or has Hanover bought Their souls and melted their thanks Into coward shrugs and graceless words? The friends of the ancient line? Oh, their Jacobite gold and guns and swords And the oaths dissolved in wine ! From Derby north is a weary way To Glasgow and Falkirk field. We 've scatter'd Hawley's men in the fray, But northward still we yield, Foot by foot, and mile by mile, The road to Cumberland's horde ; By open moor and crooked defile The Butcher our flanks hath gored. But we '11 gather again for a wild wolf leap On the moor by Inverness ; And those who fall will soundly sleep, And we others '11 never bless The fate that robbed us of equal death And a share in the praise they met, — For the Hanover wind is a withering breath, And the Stuart star hath set. 1914. 47 BY THE SNOWY RIVER BY THE SNOWY RIVER The rushing river roareth by, Shouting a brisk farewell. Upon the shadow'd brink I lie Held by the torrent's spell. The willow boughs hang dripping down, Veiling the shore and me. (Only the lingering lizard brown My hidden nook can see.) And good 'twould be for ever thus — Far from the workshops' din, Far from the hot world's fret and fuss — Perpetual peace to win ; Beneath the tassell'd screen to lie Held by the Snowy's spell, To watch the waters swirling by, And never say farewell ! 48 PART I I SOME LIGHTER FREIGHT D A LETTER TO AN UNDERGRAD. I am bored with lectures and sick of reviews. Can you wander round to-night, And cheer up a bachelor don in the blues With something a bit more light Than the latest report of a dull debate On the sad decay of Greek? Come round when I 'm back from hall at eight- I 've found it a weary week — And I '11 sweep the blue-books out of the seat Of the old arm-chair by the fire, Where, cosily curl'd, or with ponderous feet On the fender perch'd (or higher), You can reach the cheery tobacco-jar (Or, if your pipe 's not here, The Virginians and the Egyptians are In the little square box — quite near). And if you '11 stay and my coffee sup We shall crack a crusty joke, 5i A LETTER TO AN UNDERGRAD. While I watch your laughter curling up 'Mid the grey tobacco smoke.* We shall talk of old outings we took in May, When we found a quiet spot Where the water-fowl on the Granta play, And stripp'd, when the sun shone hot, For a dip, where the old North- Western leaps From grass-grown bank to bank ; Then gather'd again the Canader's sweeps To explore, where the reeds grow dank. Or we '11 talk of tennis, and good teams met, And how the struggle went ; (For we 're ' flannell'd fools ' in the May Term yet, If not ' muddied oafs ' in the Lent !) We must fix up a tramp for to-morrow, too, By the grassy Roman Road That leads to the good George Inn that you Think the best for a tea, when the load Of the long term's work is off our backs And the Easter Vac. draws nigh ; * I supplied a beautiful diagram to illustrate that. LL'L" (the inner spiral) was the laugh ; all the rest SS'S"S"'S n ' was the smoke. But the publisher insists that this isn't a treatise on Economics, and he refuses to insert diagrams. (There wasn't room for the feet : so they couldn't have been printed, anyhow.) 52 A LETTER TO AN UNDERGRAD. (In the spring-time, too, it's the best of tracks, When the larks leap up in the sky !). And when we have linger'd as long as we dare, And the perilous hour of twelve 's At hand, we '11 rout out your rags and square For a flight — by our lawless selves — Down the stair — past the landlady's watchful eye- To the latch'd front door — ere the chime ; For you 've barely the breath to shout good-bye, If you 'd get to the Coll. in time ! HOW IT ALL LOOKS HOW IT ALL LOOKS FROM THE LECTURER'S PLATFORM [ Written after reading Wordsworth's ' To the Daisy '] To my Audience i Here, as I face you, ill at ease Upon the dais — if you please — I play with tropes and similes, Like Wordsworth strumming on his harp. [Tink-a-link! tink-a-link! tink-a-link !] A troop of mice with hidden tails You seem, and I a cat that fails To squelch yon quivering mite that quails At the claws of my questions, crooked and sharp. [Myiaow !] ii And, next, you are black and beaky rows Of birds that ' ka-ah,' and twiddle your toes, 54 FROM THE LECTURER'S PLATFORM And wait for the worms that my ploughshare shows, As beside the furrow a moment I sit. [Geddup there, Dobbin! Geddup!\ And then you are rows of cabbages — yes ! — Of lettuces green — and greener cress ; And I am the boy, I must confess, Who don't love weeding a little bit. [N-no-o.] in 1 Ah, no ! — a carpet' (saith my Muse) [Oh, thanks awfully, don't you know! So good of you to chip in like that when I'm stuck !] ' Of scarves and vests, and groups of Blues, With socks of multifarious hues Outrivalling all the flow'rs that blow From Kubla's realm to Killimanzhoot ! ' [Oh, that 's the idea, is it?] And I am just a horrid brute To trample down with clumsy boot Its variegated feelings so. [Good old Kidderminster ! . . . Did it then? . . . So s-sorry !] 55 HOW IT ALL LOOKS IV And, next, a wandering minstrel I — Antonio's brother. How I ply That hurdy-gurdy's arm and try To charm away your fretful frown ! But you remain the stolid ring Of staid spectators, while I bring My ancient cap, for you to fling Your guineas in its batter'd crown. [M-yes !] v And now I view you from afar, And like the Milky Way you are. Tutors ask word of each white star — Will 't rise, or sink? And then I seem A sage astrologer [Just look at my six-foot beard!] whose task, Gravely his muddled thoughts to mask, Is — answering swiftly as soon as they ask : ' This is mere milk, and yon 's the cream ! ' [And some of it is not at all bad either.] 56 FROM THE LECTURER'S PLATFORM VI 'Tis a harpsichord, with rows of keys Both white and black, just made to please A Mozart's hand. But doesn't it wheeze When I on the polished keyboard strum ! For my hair 's not nearly long enough yet To lasso the glow of a far sunset, Or to fetch the thunder down in a net When the booming bass notes rumble and hum ! [Presto/ fortissimo ! molta con disperazione ! Pedal* Pedal* PEDAL*.] VII But it 's never a wasp's or a hornet's nest, To take offence at a dull don's jest, But a hive of bees, that with tireless zest Doth bumble along with never a sting While I point out the best of the honey-pots 'Mid the Pansies and the Forget-me-nots That grow on the track that leads to the plots Where the wise Examiner-butterflies sing. [Chorus of wise Examiner-butterflies : ' Soft and lo-ow ! soft and lo-ow ! . . . while my little one, while my pretty one — sleeps ! '] 57 HOW IT ALL LOOKS [Chorus of Bees: ' Bzz — bzzz — bzz — (' Honey boys ! honey ! '). Bzzzz — bzz — bzzz — ( ' Here, here ! honey!'). Bzzzzzz — bzzz — bz. . . .'] VIII Just Undergrads. ! (I 've hit it at last) Who help the terms to travel fast, By bustling our blundering planet past Each turn of its starry oval track Of ninety thousand million miles, With your football boots and your wanton wiles. But — Oft I wonder — in between-whiles — How I look to you when I turn my back. [Hmmmh?] POSTSCRIPT [Dated forty-seven years hence — when I am old, and grey, and sour. \ And now, an Examiner-moth myself, I am bustling about on the well-stock'd shelt Of a larder that 's loaded with glorious pelf. (And my armour of scarlet 's too rich for a queen !) 58 FROM THE LECTURER'S PLATFORM The laboratory-larder doth shake and rock With my laughter ; for I 'm preparing a shock For the bees of an innocent keeper's flock. The pickle-jar's labell'd ' Sweet Nicotine' ; The sugar 's spread over with gauze of green ; And the honey 's well hid in a soup-tureen ! And to-morrow I '11 blink on my perch, secure — The Examiner's perch— looking so demure — Talking Greek to a Proctor-wasp (for sure !) And that perky young keeper will feel immature, And go off to Germany's baths for a cure, And the bees of his flock will be some fewer — For they won 't look for honey in a soup-tureen ! 59 THE WAIL OF A LONELY EXAMINER THE WAIL OF A LONELY EXAMINER After the usual exhilarating experience of correcting examination papers in the vacation, the poet found that he was expected to write a report on the candi- dates' work ; and for this purpose a blue official sheet with many printed directions was provided. Having a distaste for official documents, he chose instead a clean white sheet, and a smooth nib, and composed a lovely report in dithyrambic metre, with corybantic rhymes all over the place. The Secretary of the Examination Syndicate replied to this with a long, stern, frigid, expostulatory silence. Not expecting any retort quite so crushing as this, the poet took his banjo down from its hook, selected a few sheets of music paper, and wandered down to the beach (Hunstanton-on-Sea), where he composed THE WAIL OF A LONELY EXAMINER On a rock by the sea-shore a lanky tom-tit Singing ' Willow — tit-willow — tit-willow,' With his talons all red from the brains of the boys And the girls that you set him to kill (oh), 60 THE WAIL OF A LONELY EXAMINER Alone by the wave, crumpled-feather'd, doth sit Wailing 'Willow, oh willow, tit-willow.' Can't he make just for one time a sweet tuneful noise 'Mid the roar of the rough ocean billow ? For he meets many sorrows and not many joys Ere he lays his tir'd brain on the pillow. What is it the Syndicate so much annoys When he pipeth ' Tit- willow, tit-willow ' ? Can't he cheer up, for once, yonder flound'ring por- poise Skidding — slumpety-bump — from a billow? What 's your porpoise in bidding him prosy-wise poise Nor show off his lyrical skill (oh !)? With a nightingale's soul and a nightingale's voice He trilleth his musical trill (oh), When he hears his wing'd brethren tune up and rejoice On heather and meadow and hill (oh !). Your blue-paper official his pleasure destroys, And he 's not in a hurry to fill (oh) The dull printed snares that you sent as decoys His fluttering pinions to still (oh !). Can't you welcome for once his rich ballad so choice? Nor ask for dull prose, much less mellow, 61 THE WAIL OF A LONELY EXAMINER And much less mel Odious — Plain prose is odious Set by the side of his ' Willow, Tit-willow, tit-willow, tit-willow, Oh willow, tit-willow, tit-williilllliill '* * Sorry for that hole in the music sheet. The poet's voice broke. 62 A FEW OF THE MUSES A FEW OF THE MUSES EUCLID : ELEMENTS OF GEOMETRY [A Review for the Ath*n**vi] What a fellow is this — who declares That lines have no thickness or width ! I couldn't catch Jisk with such snares. Just watch when a tram-car skidd'th ; Or see Jane, when my socks she brings To our little back-yard, with the pegs In her mouth, or the sparrow that sings, Firmly perch'd, 'twixt my pyjams' legs. Hasn't he eyes? And parallel lines never meet ! How do telegrams get to their goal — Dodging telegraph-poles down the street — If the wires never meet with the soul Of some sweet telegraphiste girl That would set your soft heart in a whirl — Like the one who makes eyes o'er the bar 63 A FEW OF THE MUSES At the Postage Stamp spot? . . . Was it wise For the Pitt Press to trumpet afar Such ridiculous phantasies? Eh? Was it wise ? The pictures are queer too — like bits Of spider-webs torn, or the play Of the whiskers of Pussy who sits On that hob. And the style ! Oh! the style! . Here are twenty-three 'lets' on one page ! . . . What queer sort of tennis ! I 'd smile At a server who took such an age To land a ball square in the court. And 'therefore,' and 'therefore,' and 'therefore' ! Did you publish that book just for sport, Mr. Pitt? or wherefore? or wherefore? II ' PALEY ' [An Epigram] A bloodless ' ghost' That, for a little, haunts our halls, And, in a Little, Goes With Abelard and Euclid to a grave With not a wreath to show that we regret. 64 GREEK PROSE in GREEK PROSE [A Poem!\ When you're making a dish for a Classical Don Keep the cruet well stock'd near your eyes, With a canister full, to sprinkle upon Your dough (if it fails to rise) Those peppery particles de and ge And g'oiin and men and oun. For they are the things that win a degree And a master's long-sleeved gown ! And put in some spices, like ei de me, Or some mustard, like alios te kai; And he'll smile, and mark it with 'alpha' (see !), And ask you to tea by and by. And don't forget the Datives that grow On that palm-tree by peithomai, Or it won't taste nice ; and be sure that you know All the numerals right up to pi, For they 're needed in classical pies, as a Don Will explain as you 're slicing the tripe For the Tripos feast, where no ' anak'louthon ' Must be left, when your dish-clouts swipe E A FEW OF THE MUSES The last little speck from the pan of Pan, And you make sweet melody- Piping loud with Theognis the song of mi * And the Genitive Absolute — see? IV GERMAN [A Conundrum] The alphabet-maker who turned out this type Was in league with the fellows who rake in the coin By selling the spectacles tir'd readers wipe When they 're puzzling a separable prefix to join To a verb lying derelict 'way back behind, Like a guard's van the engine must run back to find When the coupling 's forgotten. Alas ! and alack ! I once swore I 'd do it. I scrawled on a tape All the words of one sentence (there sure were a stack) And dragged it to Fenner's. The crowd stood agape When I spread out the coils to consider it wisely, Like a graph on the grass. But, to put it concisely, After tripping six sprinters I gave the job best, And from studying German I 'm taking a rest. * The proof-reader wanted to spell that with two n's and a capital A ! 66 MUSIC I conclude with this riddle. To solve it, who 's able? Why did Providence plan, when we scatter'd from Babel, To confer such a mort of good notions on folk Who expound them like this? 'T seems a mean sort of joke. v MUSIC \An Episode at a Smoking Concert] I came from far to feel the Master's power, But fell into the Bore's. Oh, wretched hour ! Could e'en the Master generous passions wake In one who suffer'd while the Bore thus spake? — Allegretto ma l Watch the fingers lightly dance non troppo. O'er the polish'd keys, and mark How the sparkling notes advance Through the Scherzo blithesome. PPP> Hark! . . . Andante espressivo 'How softly now it dies away and e sostenuto. greets The stately Largo, that serenely treats 67 A FEW OF THE MUSES Of abbeys vast and dim, and palaced streets, And princely porticoes. ' Now like a silver stream the melody Goes rippling, rippling, rippling, dreamily, Without or change or pause un- ceasingly, And softly, smoothly flows Allegro furioso. ff. ' Till it joins in the frolic and laughter and glee Of the sun-brighten'd waves of the broad-bosom'd sea Of the Movement that carries us on to the goal — 'Tis the maddest mad Presto the keys can unroll ! Lento, con moltaes- ' Now the closing chords are come, pressione. mf. Rend'ring all our praises dumb. . . . Iminucndo, molto Say, ere yet the echoes die — con dig-in-the-ribs. Perfect, sure — can you or I Sempre espressivo. (We who have no skill to bring Harmonies from key or string) 68 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY Make Life's concords thus agree, Make of Life a symphony? . . .' * * * * Then Silence came (with healing wing) And waiters (with the coffee) ; The Bore himself rose up to sing ; I fl e d — but I have not yet recovered sufficiently to be able to discover any really suitable rhyme to 'coffee.' VI THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY [Some Unofficial Minutes] i Just see me take the President's chair, And call for 'the Minutes,' and light my pipe, While the Secretary reads, and the Freshmen stare. For we 're off to gather the apples ripe That grow in Hesperides' Gardens— yes ! We shall tramp from Homer's glorious times Through the Ages Dark, playing draughts and chess With kings and popes, till we hear the chimes 69 A FEW OF THE MUSES Ringing in the Golden Days to be, Ringing out the old, ringing in the new, Ringing out the false, ringing in the true — And a longish tramp to face have we. The first lot 's fallen on Z to read, And it's ' Boot, Saddle, to Horse and Away ! ' To Chalgrove Field upon Hampden's steed, Then off to kill Papists down Drogheda way ! We shall chop off the head of a faithless king, And do for old ' Thorough ' and saintly Laud, And ' that Bauble ' out in the gutter we '11 fling ! (So Z 's had his say. Let us stamp and applaud.) 3 Next week we are ordering monarchs about From a Papal Chair with the words of Fate ; And Emperor Henry is quite put out As he squats in the snow at Canossa's gate. (Oh, the popes they are just capital things For a game of ducks and drakes on our way To the land where the Tripos Examiner flings His queries about in his jovial play !) 70 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY 4 Next Y has a glorious lot to say Of the Manor that grew by the Saxon Seas, And Maitland and Ashley he 's sure to slay, And massacre Village Communities With a blithesome smile. But as for me, I am scornful of palaeolithic folk, Now Lloydy 's about with his statutes free, Replacing the white along with the yolk, — For though Humpty Dumpty has tumbled down And all the King's Horses and all the King's Men Swear he '11 never achieve it, he pledges his crown That the village will flourish as fair as then. 5 And now it's my turn to join the debate. See the reverent juniors sit up and wait ! ' 1 chatter, chatter ' as fast as I dare ; O'er ' sandy shallows ' I splash and run ; (And ' the golden gravel ' beneath, I swear, Won't pan out a golden grain to the ton !) For students may blunder, but dons must bluff, And I fancy to-night I have spoken enough, (But I muse on that boy with the hatchet free Who chopp'd down his parents' Cherry Tree). 7i A FEW OF THE MUSES 6 And now for a tramp upon Roman feet From the far Seven Hills to the Northern Wall; Rolling Caradog up in a parcel neat ; Telling fishermen's fables of slaughter tall, Before we have wiped the Iceni out And planted Agricola firmly there For that Tacitus chap to tell yarns about. (Oh, the story of Rome is a story fair !) 7 Next, knightly King Stephen's time has come For a bout with Matilda. Away she flies Through the snow ; and the barons are making things hum With the noise of their feasts and their victims' cries. And Stephen reminds us of dear Mossoo Who tried to teach French in the old, old school, When we litter'd his desk with a frog- or two — He was not a bad chap, though we thought him a fool. 72 THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY 8 And now let us hear about Good Queen Bess, Of Raleigh, and Drake, and the buccaneers Who brought back the spoil no pope will bless. 4 But it's rather thin,' so the Secret'ry fears, As he raises his critical glasses prim, And quotes from ' Authorities ' — buried — and dead. And the ' Reader ' tries to get back at him With a scoff that hurtles just over my head. 9 Then some one raises a point of law And refers to the rules written plain and fair. But what does it matter if there 's a wee flaw In my ruling for once, as I swing in my Chair? So I ' clash the glass to my sightless eye,' Saying, ' Dash'd if I see it, by St. Elsinore ! Rule xxvi was repealed in July, And I think that the "Reader" may speak once more.' For members but stammer when chairmen bluff, And I fancy to-night I have done enough, Like Washington (George) who pilfered the axe With which at that Cherry Tree he hacks. 73 A FEW OF THE MUSES 10 And what's the next Junior's paper about? Oh ! consuls and lictors and ephors and such. Would you turn the old polls inside out, With J*rd*n's notes to serve as a crutch? There 's a lot in Warde Fowler's book, but then We 're sick of that Ancient City State. Let 's go for a trip with Lamachus' men To conquer the island of Sicily — great ! And we '11 die in a quarry near Syracuse As dauntless Athenians ought to do. (They wail by the walls, as they wait for the news, Our wives — is the Conqueror's fleet in view ?) ii Now we 're off once more on an ocean trip With Christopher brave and his mutinous men, To bring the gold goblets for Spain to sip. Or we '11 crawl up a peak of Darien, And peer through a telescope farther west, To spy on a war about Opium In Palmerston's reign. And I '11 be blest If we brag about that in Kingdom-Come ! 74 INTERNATIONAL LAW 12 And now at last the Session is done ; And I fall on the Heights of Abraham, While a comrade whispers, ' They run ! they run ! ' And I hear the street-door cheerily slam. And I feel like Billy Atkins true, When he won that skirmish at Waterloo. VII INTERNATIONAL LAW [A Cantata] A prelude in Latin — Jus Naturae (Low chords in the bass) ; Jus Gentium (A sprinkling of notes Staccato All over the keyboard). Medieval Heralds. Some Papal Bulls. (Low rumbling Of sacerdotal thunder. Sounds as of silver trumpets 75 A FEW OF THE MUSES And the clash of steel on steel.) Figures of youthful knights Riding off on a Quest For the Holy Grail. Grotius, And a mare clausum Open at last ! (Jubilant notes on the clarion. Drums ! drums ! drums !) An Arm'd Neutrality, Crumpling up 'Mid the roar of guns In a Baltic fight. The rush of a greyhound — Alabama — Through storms of sleety seas ! The Kearsage in stern pursuit. And a Biglow Ballad for chorus, boys ! * * The Biglow Papers, by J. Russell Lowell, U.S.A. ambassador to the United Kingdom. During the American Civil War, when a Northern cruiser (1862) took the Confederate envoys from a British steamer bound from Jamaica to England, Palmerston rushed regiments across to Canada ; the Prince Consort, standing behind 76 INTERNATIONAL LAW ' We own the ocean, tu, John : Yoa mustn't take it hard, Ef 'we can't think with you, John, IV s jest your own back-yard. Ole Uncle S, sez he, I guess, Ef thet 's his claim, sez he, The fencin" stuff '11 cost enough To bust up friend J. B., Ez wal ez you an 1 me ! {Ez zval ez you an 1 me !) The fencin" stuff HI cost enough To bust up friend J. B., Ez wal ez you an' me! ' Khaki contingents, Landing at Beira, Crossing a Neutral Zone On the wings of steam, Then hurrying southward To the rescue of Mafeking. (Tinkling of triangles ! Chiming of bells !) Queen Victoria's chair, by his determination in toning down the angry despatches, was just able to prevent a fratricidal war. 'Uncle Sam' handed back 'the critters' to John Bull, "cos Abr'am [Lincoln] thought it right.' 77 A FEW OF THE MUSES A cruiser, Flying the Russian Volunteer flag, Pilfering British mails in Arabian Seas ; And a P. & O. liner creeping home With a prize-crew of Scythians aboard. Roshdestvensky : The wail of widows Of North Sea fishermen. (Violins — violins — The Dead March from Saul.) A slowly falling curtain Showing A shimmering vision of a palace at The Hague, White stars in a dome of blue. VIII medicine: another 'happy thought' [With Apologies to R. L. S.] ' The world is so full of a number of things ' (Like toothache and cancer and perityphlitis, 78 MEDICINE: ANOTHER 'HAPPY THOUGHT Sprained ankles, catarrh, and the dance of St. Vitus) ' I am sure we should all be as happy as kings.' And always we 're digging up new things to name With Anglo-Greek hybrids (to suit with the game), Or with mongrel dog-Latin — it doesn't much matter — They'll all make the patients their guineas to scatter. Oh, the world is so full of a number of things, I am sure we shall all be as wealthy as kings. 79 'COMING UP' 'COMING UP' [The First Day of Term] Cabs ! cabs ! cabs ! Porters and trucks ! What an awful mix ! Taxis and hansoms, Bats, racquets, hockey-sticks ! An old dame dabs A gingham in my eye As I dole out my ransoms Of tuppences, tuppences. ' Hi ! That's my Gladstone.' And off we fly Down Station Street, Regent Street. Isn't it great To see stout Robert with his hand of fate Directing the torrent of traffic that pours Round Downing Street corner? There's Tom, on his bike Petrol-driven, of by-laws a scorner, A scorcher, a scorcher ! who bores His way through the mob in a way that must strike So 'COMING UP' Mere pedestrians as — er — reckless. Cheer-ho ! cheer-ho ! See you half an hour hence, Jack, at hall, and we'll go For a jaunt, when I 've found the old friend That I left in the pipe-rack last term at the end Of that rotten exam. Don't ask for results. No, please don't ! The ' Reporter ' tells tales. But / won't. Let me hunt out that cap with the cardboard all gone, And we'll keep T.P. from seven, till late In the long hours towards twelve. A pipe with a gown mixes well, my son. . . . Oh, the Tutor? Let 's shelve That interview. Tutors can wait. . . . A fig for your proctors ! — Who said ' six and eight ' ? F 'GOING DOWN' 'GOING DOWN' [Some Light Blue Motor-Car Maxims] ' Hitch your waggon to a star.' Ralph Waldo Emerson. ' A star will tow it best,' quoth Emerson. . . . But what a length of rope ! It 's bound to bust ! . . . ' Then hitch it, sonny, somewhere round the Sun, And on the sunny Solar System pin your trust. 1 Just one word more — or two — before you start. See that you get them — every one — by heart ! Life's just like motoring — believe me, son. They steer the surest who the swiftest run. A brave Ideal is worth quite 10 h.p. — That 's a straight tip that you can take from me. And those whose Goal is Somewhere Far Away Will sure get somewhere — some time in the day. Good cars don't prance about, and brag, and puff, But smooth and silent go, though roads are rough. Well, good-bye, lad. Watch well your steering-gear. You '11 sure get somewhere, starting out from here. And if, ere night, you strike an ugly ridge, Just grit your teeth and growl out "Granta-bridge!"' 82 A REPLY TO AN EPIGRAM A REPLY TO AN EPIGRAM ' A young Apollo, golden-haired, Stands dreaming on the verge of strife, Magnificently unprepared For the long littleness of life.' Frances Cornford. Madam, though grateful for the timely note Of friendly warning that above I quote, We are not all perhaps quite ' unprepared For Life's long littleness ' ; but some have learn'd, In our great school, of fighters who have dared Shame and dishonour ; at the stake were burn'd ; Or in Life's sterner work have bravely shared. 'Tis not our way to chatter loud of such, As hockey-sticks we swing, or gaily dash Pursuing footballs down the field. 'Tis much The same (we fancy) where Professors flash The port around in Combination Rooms. Do they at ' coffee ' ply their Logic looms? Or babble Sanskrit, Don with Don, at tea? Or figures carve in cakes — • Let this be D, And yonder Sheffield blade the base line be ' ? 83 A REPLY TO AN EPIGRAM We felt the charm of your neat lines, and smiled Without resentment. We 're not easily riled. Nay, rather, we applaud your warning note, Which many now have safely got by rote. But, for our answer — madam, no offence ! For Gareth's shield 's still blank — ask, ten years hence ! 84 A LETTER TO MY LANDLADY A LETTER TO MY LANDLADY [Concerning an Aberdeenshire pup who belongs downs lairs] Who is it dashes up the stair Without the very faintest care For Mrs. S 's carpets fair, And at my door to scratch doth dare ? I answer — 'Jock.' Who is it, if the door 's not shut, Six capers round the room doth cut, And seeks his eager soul to glut With flies that down the curtains strut? Why, surely — Jock. Who is it votes my fire-place ' fine,' And on my hearthrug doth recline, Nor rough caresses doth decline (Or anything besides that 's mine) ? None else but — Jock. 85 A LETTER TO MY LANDLADY Who is it that will ne'er respect The privacy of that room bedeck'd With bed, and mirrors that reflect My visage ; but must all inspect ? I still reply — 'Just Jock.' What is it makes him come so merrily up the stair, And somersaults fantastic turn around my chair With thumping tail and eager eyes and mouth and ruffled hair? The answer this time needs a longer sort of line. I swear the answer this time isn't any simple word of one syllable, but something much more like ' Coronation Biscuits — 6d. a lb. — in the tin in the cupboard, alongside the examination papers.' 86 TOMBSTONES TOMBSTONES [A New Elegy in a Country Churchyard] Like white-garb'd fieldsmen, in the acre green Beside the church walls spread, As wicket-keepers, by each mound you lean Against the railings red ; Or play at cover-point ; or seem to scout From other posts of vantage round about. But, when I nearer stroll, to scan th' engraver's art, I see you claim to play a more pretentious part — Umpires, that rule ' This batsman 's never out ! ' — Scorers, whose long statistics raise — well — just a doubt !— Reporters, whose audacity Suggests — well — not veracity. I turn ; the vision 's gone : Life's game goes on. 87 Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press DATE DUE ' GAYLORD PRINTED IN U.S. A. AA 000 602 766 8