\iitm 4079 B2AI7 1887 1 A=^ 1 o^i ^=- 3— i 8 ^ 0=1 3—1 7 ^=£ 4 — - 9 H THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES b POEMS HAROLD ., IRROP^/ POEMS BY HAROLD MURDOCK BARROWS, ^ ^ ijt ii< i5< )J< ^ >I< >I< >I< ►!■< ►!-< "Soles occidere et redire possunt : Nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux, Nox est perpetua una dormienda." Catullus. WALSAI.I, : W. HENRY ROBINSON, STEAM rKINTING WORKS. LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO., STATIONERS' HALL COURT. 1887. [Some of the following verses were originally contributed to various Magazines and Newspapers under the nom de plume of "Zephyr."] TO MY OLD CARTHUSIAN SC HOOL- F ELLOW, HERBERT WALTER DUMERGUE, I DEDICATE THIS LITTLE BOOK. "^v^^'v^ 837715 — <. — PAGE. Dedication .. 7 Proem ... ... ■•• ••• ••• ••• 9 Alone lo The Poet's Love " A Contrast 12 A Miracle ••• ^3 A Stronghold 14 My Favourite Picture . . ••• 15 Love and Fame ... ... ... ... ••• ••• ••• 16 An Oleander ... .. .. ... •■. ••• ••• 18 A Fancy I9 Sonnet ... ... ... ••• ••• ■■• 20 Sonnet. Schubert's Impromptu in A flat 21 To Stella. On receipt of a plaque painted by herself ... 22 A Symphony in Gold ... ... ... ... •■• ■•■ 23 Sonnet ... ... ... ... ••• •• ••• •■. 24 The Love of Stella 25 Rondel 26 Stella's Gift ' 27 Rondel 28 November and May ... ... ... ... ••• ••• 29 Saint Martin's Summer .. 30 A Ballade of Sweet Briar ... ... ... 3' A Memory of Violets ... ... •• ••• 33 Sonnet ... 34 In Memoriam ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 35 Rondel 3^ Philosophy 37 Queenie's Birthday /Etat. 7 38 yEtat. 8 39 ^tat. 9 40 A Birthday Wish 41 Written in a Child's Album 42 The Spring World 43 Vanitas Vanitatum 44 Sonnet ... ... ... ••• ••• ••• ••• ■•• 45 A Waste of Love 46 To Daisy 47 My Beloved Poet 4^ Triolet 49 Passee ••• 5° From the French 5^ Ave atque Vale ... ••• ••• ••■ ••• ••• ••• 5^ DEDICATION. J~)0 you recall the good old times. Ten years ago when we were boys. And zuhen we both indulged in rhymes. In preference to other joys ? While you could touch the inmost heart, And wake it from a morbid sleep. My sonnets had a lesser part — To gild the surf upon the deep. So vow I only pluck the floiuers That grace the pleasant paths of earth. And while azuay some idle hours, Or light a cloud of gloom with mirth. Although I claim no poet^s bays, I lay my verses at your feet. And if you can find aught to praise. No praise to me were half so sweet. Our lives diverge, as once they met. His course in life iiiust each pursue. But trust me, I shall ne^er forget The influence I owe to you. Men quarrel, and I gain my gold. They sicken, and you take your fee. But may our tastes be, as of old, yoined by the links of Poesy, / ^totm T^ RE yet the world was waxen old, -*— ' The knights were chivalrous and bold, The wandering minstrel's sacred fire Awoke the patriotic lyre, And lovely ladies then as now Were flattered with the plighted vow. The spirit of the old Romance Is broken like a shivered lance ; No more do knights redress our wrongs, Nor patriots sing their stirring songs : No sentiment refines our lives Save Love, and Love alone survives. lo (^fone* '' I ^HERE is never a hand to caress me But the pitiless hand of fate, And sins and sorrows oppress me, And the wrath of the gods is great. My spirit is weary and laden With a cloud from the heaven above. And I long for a beautiful maiden. And the moonrise of her love. II t^t {pod'e Bo5?e. T T APPY indeed is she ^ ^ Who owns the poet's love ; Whate'er is fair on land or sea, Or in the sky above Is treasured in his heart : He clothes his love with lovely things, And fanciful imaginings ; Such is the poet's art. Whene'er Love warms his soul, Soft golden mists arise : Around her form his fancies roll, And make her fairer in his eyes Than e'er she was before ; His fairest thoughts of land or sea, Or of the heaven above, And all he culls from poets' lore. The poet gives his love. 12 (^ Conttaet "\70U love a girl who seems to me "*■ Like sunshine in these frosty days ; A diamond with many rays, But concentrated all on thee. I love a maiden like the light Which floods the meads in soft July, When afternoon is loth to die, A pearl which gives to all delight. Your diamond from mines of thought, Unfathomable mines, unknown, Saving to you and her alone, Its hard majestic brilliance brought. My pearl was found on Love's own shore ; From mid the ocean's soft white foam. Where wondering men are wont to roam. Its sweet mysterious gleam it bore. 13 (^ (mkAdi. A LTHOUGH the sunlit landscape or deep shady grove Is, poets sing, the fittest place for love, Yet oft he touches with his rosy feet The dreary town and "long unlovely street." Therefore, though dark the overhanging sky, And stunted all the trees that greet the eye. And though no flowers are seen, no zephyr blows, The wilderness has blossomed like the rose. 14 (^ ^ftong^ofi. 1\ /r AIDEN fair, if I discover IVX Where thy dainty footsteps rove Any sign to shew a lover How to find the tower of love, Is it but a thing deceiving. Like the signs in lonely lands, Or a trifling symbol, leaving All the rest in Fancy's hands ? Lead me to the tower, I pray thee, Hold me fast therein for aye ; I will honour and obey thee, Be thy thrall until I die. There in chains I fain would linger. Heeding not the lapse of days. If I might but be thy singer. Singing only of thy praise. '5 (m^ fa'Soutik (picture. T N the long gallery of my bygone days Has Memory fashioned pictures fair to see, But none so fair and none so dear to me As that wherein she happily portrays Thy steadfast star-sweet beauty : it will raise Thy form before me in the time to be ; And if pure Fame should grace my poesy, Fair Stella, may I sing its perfect praise ? For now 'tis incomplete, this work of art ; The frame my memory desires is thine ; Deep is it treasured in thy maiden heart ; Alas, I fear it never will be mine— I mean the hallowed framework of thy love, Wrought by the angels in the heavens above. i6 Bo^e axib ^(xmt* T) EFORE my vain desires were lulled by thee, •*-^ Before I knew the glamour of thy name, Like one who swims across the sunlit sea, I went in quest of Fame. Fame beckoned me towards her golden home, Her fair false home far in the splendid west ; The wavelets sparkled round me, and the foam Which decked the water's breast. The surf was brilliant only for a time, The sea grew cold, and night advanced apace ; I could no longer see the sunset clime, Or Fame's inspiring face. Sore was I vexed with doubt and grievous woes. When first thy name was borne across the sea: Borne on the evening breeze like music's close. It softly came to me. 17 Thy peaceful name reminded me of rest, I cared to follow empty Fame no more ; I left the wanton deep's perfidious breast, To seek content on shore. And like a weary seaman homeward bound, While quiet stars shone steadfastly above, I reached the land, and Stella ! surely found The haven of thy love. «Ju^ i8 (^n Ofeanbet* \ T the Academy in early May I stood before a picture : in the shade Of the fair-painted place there sat a maid, Most beautiful, soft as the close of day, Beneath an oleander. Who can say The magic of it ? All my senses bade My soul look up, and see therein portrayed The place where all it held the dearest lay. For in my heart ever abides alone The thought of her my being holds most dear ; The lash of stormy passion comes not here, Nor the world's clangour as in days bygone : But, love, 'tis consecrated unto thee, Heavy with flowers, and sweet as of the sea. ■9 (^ J"rtnc^. T) EFORE I knew you, long ago, ■^-^ I fancied what my love would be, Like a green meadow after snow — A most delicious thing to see. Whereon a man's eyes well might rest, Tired with the world's long tedious glare, And deem themselves supremely blest In gazing on your golden hair. With fairy Fancy's nomad aid, I used to see you from afar ; But now her fairest phantoms fade. Merged in tlie thought of what you are. 20 ^onntt* \ LTHOUGH, my fair, thine is an English name, Thou hast withal tender Italian grace. Singing thy beauty, how can I erase From Memory's slate the poet-artist's fame, Who, southern-born, to our fair island came. And sees his life's ideal in thy face, If he see aught in his mysterious place. And yearns to overthrow Death's endless claim ? If he could live again, thou mightest live, Throned ever on his canvass, or a shrine Of gold and jewelled sonnets would be thine ; But God, who has all things in hand to give. Denies the world's poor homage, since he sees In thee, sweet, a celestial masterpiece. 21 ^onntt. Schuberfs Impromphi in A flat. T S it celestial music that I hear ? •^ It lulls my soul and soothes my weary brain, Like poppied sleep after incessant pain, Like the first summer-softness of the year, Like quiet waters far above the weir ; While, like the voice of love, now and again The old, the old recurrent sweet refrain Steals most caressingly upon mine ear. play me always music such as quells The clamorous feelings that arise in me ; 1 sore mislike those noisy tarantelles, Like fierce invasions of an enemy. And variations on a giddy air, That dance like puppets at a country fair. 22 to ^(dtA. On receipt of a plaque painted by herself. YOUR work, though skilfully designed, And passing beautiful to see, I must confess, I do not find So picturesque by half as thee. Thou art thyself a picture rare, A masterpiece of wondrous grace, And who could paint a thing so fair. As, lovely maid, thy matchless face ? 23 (^ ^gmp^ong in (Bofb^ /^~^ OLD in the corn, ripe unto harvesting, ^^ Where hitherto no reapers feet have trod, Gold on the sea, the breakers brightening, Gold up in heaven, the treasury of God. The corn and sea and sky are passing fair, But all their loveliness is little worth, Compared with thine incomparable hair. Which crowns thee. Lady, queen of all the earth. Yet there be queens whose queenly presence is. Their only title to the crowns they hold. But thy chief claim to royal rank is this — Thine heart is true — a heart of solid gold. 24 ^onntt "nr^IS surely good for man to gaze on things -*- Which art has dressed in subtle beauty's guise, And made a loveliness before his eyes ; And good to hear a voice that sweetly sings ; For then his sordid soul expands her wings, As if with vigorous delight to rise, And master what is good beneath the skies : The love of beauty raises men to kings. But if they all could see fair Stella's grace, They would forsake for ever what is base ; And if they could but hear her lips suggest In gentle wise their faults, prisons and rods. And rough-tongued preachers' pulpiteering zest Would cease to be, for men would then be gods. 25 t^i foBe of ^td^A. TV /r Y heart is like a lonely lyre, •^-^ ■*- And Love is like a mighty wind, Which thrills the chords with music-fire, As holy memories fill the mind. That wind has blown o'er wood and wold, O'er sunny meads and turgid sea, And ever strikes the chords of gold, For, fairest one, it comes from thee. Sweet with the breath of southern hills. Those pleasant hills I love so well, As was its wont of old, it fills The willing lyre with mystic spell. It brings me memories of the time When earth below touched heaven above. When first I sang thy praise in rhyme Set to the music of thy love. 26 (Konbef. L OVE cannot die. 'Mid the first smiles of spring Young Love was born, and like a flower grew, shy. While March with cold wind-satellites was king Love cannot die. Though the dead rose did often round it lie, No burning suns could parch its blossoming, In the full flush of rapturous July. Now the bright moons that frosts of winter bring See Love shine on, a sure sweet star on high ; Unlike a faded flower a ruined thing Love cannot die. 27 §tdh'6 (Biff. At Se Swpa /ut] §e-^€T aWa Swcrei. Sappho. T PLACED this bracelet round your wrist ■^ Last year, and you did half resist : But now you give me something far Dearer than precious metals are, An angel's gift from heaven above, The silver circle of your love. An angel has not aught more fair Than the bright halo of your hair ; And now there plays around me too A glory sweet as graces you — Fair as the gold wings of a dove, The holy aureole of your love. 28 (Jlonbef. A WEEK ago, here sitting at thy feet -^"^ I found thee, maiden, sweeter than the sweet Beauty of young July ; yea loveHer Than all soft things that summer brings with her — Fairer than all the faultless flowers that blow — A week ago. But now the hillside has no trace of thee, Nor of thy words, sweet heart, once said to me. Nay, there is nothing fairer in the grass Than the sweet-scented flowers that bloom and pass. And have no thought. Alas ! It was not so A week ago. 29 (UoSemBer ani QUag T^OES nothing remain of the dear old hours ^-^ Which were swift and sweet as a Master's rhyme, Are they dead and gone like the early flowers, Are they utterly ruined by hateful Time ? The dear old hours of the days gone by. Does nothing remain of them now to me ? I vainly thought that they never would die, And now they are killed and buried by thee. I thought that even in dark November Thou hadst not forgotten our life in May ; I thought perchance that thou couldst remember Some ancient word of love to say. Hast thou quite forgotten the spring gone by ? Its hours were sweet to thee and to me. So sweet that I hoped they would live for aye. And now they are killed and buried by thee. 30 ^aint {ttlCkxiin'B ^unttnet< T WELL recall the flowers of the spring — -'- Snowdrops foam-white and crocuses like fire — Most fitting symbols of my soul's desire ; I fancy that I hear the brown birds sing, As erst they did in May's first blossoming ; And I recall my love, like to the rose Which in July full summer days disclose, And harvest, and Love's golden harvesting. But here is pallid autumn, and they say The summer of Saint Martin draws anear. But in my heart no second summer is ; Love and the flowers alike have passed away. Before me looms the winter cold and drear, Nor will the spring renew my fair one's kiss. 31 @ ^aUaU of ^^id ^mv. T WANDERED in a garden old, -■- One afternoon in young July ; The brilliant flowers were manifold, And cloudless was the azure sky ; And ne'er so gladsome to the eye The coloured web that summer weaves, As when we wandered, she and I, Among the scented briar leaves. Fleeting as is a tale that's told, 'Anni labuntur,' years go by. And most good things the fates withhold, Regrets remain, while pleasures fly. And grief o'ertakes us ere we die ; But every man some joy receives. And few with mine can fairly vie. Among the scented briar leaves. 32 We met again, and she was cold, And I was sorrowful and shy : Good times are not rebought with gold, Dead love revived with minstrelsy ; And howsoever he may try. The days gone past no man retrieves — We twain shall wander not for aye, Among the scented briar leaves. L'ENVOY. Ah, Stella ! hopelessly I cry, The rain is dripping from the eaves And melancholy storm-winds sigh Among the scented briar leaves. 33 (^ QUetttorg of (^iokte. T GATHERED early violets last year, ^ Soft were the coppice banks and mossy ways ; The air was mild and bright with sunny rays, For spring had doffed her wintry mantle drear, And thrown aside her veil of leaflets sere, And like a queen, with troops of sylvan fays, Had hastily dissolved the snow-bound days, And called a parliament of flowers here. But now the copse is vexed with wind and rain, I fail to find a single violet ; No flowers are seen through all the wood, and yet, A scent of last year's flowers comes back again, Like a sweet memory of my happiness Ere yet young Love had left us comfortless. 34 ^onntt* TT 7" HEBE are my ancient loves?' grieving I said My voice was lost as when the sea-birds cry, Calling his mate, is lost 'mid billows high, What time the western sun is setting red. Loves that were sweet as spring-flowers now lie dead, Nor were they haply all unmeet to die ; Light as the foam light loves are wont to fly, Nor leave a fruit where laughed their blossom-bed. But like the glory of a summer rose, But dimly seen, whose scent fulfils the air, The fragrant memory of a love more rare, Later, more noble than the first arose, And filled my lonely heart with thoughts as fair As rose-reft petals when the storm-wind blows. 35 3n QUemotiam* Herbert F. R. H. Walton, who died at Oxford Dec. 12th, 1880. ' ' '\/'OUR friend and your companion, he is dead," X The quick news chilled me like the touch of ice ; He saw the holly-berries ripe and red, His Christmas will be spent in Paradise. I knew him well, for many and many a time We sat together in the selfsame class, When I was pondering a dreamy rhyme, And inattentive let the question pass. But he would often work the livelong day. Nor heed the honied flowers of soft idlesse ; Since Duty plainly pointed out the way. He followed it in all unselfishness. And he is dead, whom erst I almost loved, The weary exercise at last is o'er ; The problem of another life is proved, And he who worked it out is here no more. His deeds were quiet, and his worth Was little known by those who knew his face, May God the Omniscient Master of the earth Construe them freely of His ample grace ! R. I. P. 3* (Ronief. 'T^HE dear old books that charmed me as a child ! -*■ I do not smile where once I always smiled, And now I laugh where once I always cried : Alas ! No joys, no sympathies abide. They greet me as a stranger with strange looks, The dear old books. But as I scan the well known pages o'er, Methinks no wealth of after-gotten lore. No ponderous tomes of scientific truth. Are loved like these companions of my youth. Read long ago in all my favourite nooks. The dear old books. 37 (p^ifo0op3H T)LEASURES are fleeting : pain grows ever old; "*" Three joys alone will ripen in the heart — The love of God, the love of gold, The love of art. All other pleasures fade away and die : These three each hour add fuel to their fire ; They never know satiety, Or dead desire. ^ 38 O^MUnuB (^itf^bag* yETAT. 7. ^^/"OU'VE an empire surer far, Little Queen of summers seven, Than the powers of Europe are : All the kingdoms under heaven Soon or later must dissever, But your realm endures for ever. No contentions are between Us who own you as our Queen ; There's no monarch of the earth, Fit to rank at all above you. Queen of innocence and mirth, Queen of all the hearts that love you. 39 €Xuunu*^ C^iti^ia^ JETAT. 8. T T 7" HEN I hear your bright laugh in the hall, ' ' I leave my dull books for awhile, For I'm ruled by your beautiful smile, You dear little Queen of us all ! There is nothing so sweet as a child Through the breadth of the blossoming earth ; And you're the twin-sister of Mirth, And like a wild rose you are wild. And why should you ever grow wise ? You give pleasure to all of us now. You ought not to study, I vow. But be given away as a prize, 1 4° 0.\J^unu6 (^ixt^ia^. ^TAT. 9. QUEEN, dearest little queen of nine bright years, Lit with clear laughter, unassoiled by tears, And gazing towards the dim years yet unseen. Whereof young Hope e'en now would crown you queen ! You know I love you. But when you come to full sweet maidenhood, You will rule other hearts than mine ; so good, So pure, so beautiful, that men will say. As I who rhyming for you say to-day, " Queenie, I love you." 41 @ (^ivf^bag Tl?i6^. T ITTLE maid, when you were born, ^ — ' Summer was over. And the year was a forlorn Desolate lover. When he saw you first, my dear, His heart was gay, " Summer's child is surely here," He said, "to-day." Loving you, he found you fair, And when he died, Left to his successors' care His own life's pride. They have followed his behest, For they were never Rough with you. May all the rest Love you for ever ! 42 'mtiUtn in a C^^'e (^fBunt. /\ SWEET young rose in a garden of roses, — Small bright ear in a golden sheaf ! There is nothing the heart of the poet discloses, Fit to write on this dainty leaf. Never a word — and such fairy visions Were smothered and crushed by their garb of words, As the weight of the dull cage fetters and prisons The priceless song of the freeborn birds. 43 ZU Opting TPorfJi T T AVE you not seen a child arise, "'■ ■*■ After long sleep and rest, With a sweet light in her young eyes, And eager to be dressed ? So have I seen the world to-day, After the wintry night. Fair in tne thought of happy May, And the soft summer light. 44 (^ani((XB (^anitatum A ROSELEAF on the mountain burn, So fair and frail and lightly playing, Had left its home of briar and fern, And with the foam had gone a-Maying. The foam-flowers kissed it for a time, As youth is oft caressed by pleasures, Till stormy waves, like taints of crime. Had robbed the leaf of beauty's treasures. The stream like Life waxed dark and drear. And rocked and rang with stormy passion ; Our roseleaf then was like the tear. Which youth and joy conspire to fashion. .'A s^ 45 ^onntt* 77 RSTWHILE men's eyes beheld in Italy -* — ' Full of the pure divinity of grace, A picture, and they gazed upon the face. Hoping to keep it in their memory, When far away, like a sweet melody : And so, for three brief days, brief days, but sweet, I sat a pupil, maiden, at your feet. That you might live with me in time to be. The owner of the picture, people say. Banquets within his lordly hall alone, And never looks upon it throned on high ; But he who has your precious keeping, may He hold your slightest thought dear as his own, And love and cherish you until he die ! 46 (^ IXfAeU of Bo55^. 'T~^HY love was like a cloud, a beauteous cloud "*- Made lovely by the sun ; and now it showers Its freshness on the earth ; alas, no flowers Will ever bloom for thee ; thou hast endowed A desert with thy sweetness. When he bowed Before thee, like a man who prays for rain, To water barren fields, his prayer was vain, And false the promises of growth he vowed. He knew thy love was nothing unto him. His love of thee was but a wanton whim : Thy love poured forth upon a noble heart Would bloom like flowers in green and pleasant land But thou besought (unselfish as thou art) Didst deign to spend it upon sterile sands. 47 Co ^axe>^* T N a feeble rhyme and broken, -*- Maiden, do I sing your praises, But my simple thought is spoken. When I say your charms are Daisy's. With the thought of many a maiden Is my errant fancy laden ; Soft and flower-sweet names have they, Lily and Violet and May, But there is none my fancy raises Whose beauty vies with that of Daisy's. 48 (mg (gdo'Sti) (poet T LOVE my poet Herrick's muse, -*• For he elected Julia's name — He was at liberty to choose — To grace with never-dying fame. His Julia's hair, his Julia's eyes, Her lips, and more than all her heart. He sang, and he indeed was wise, Well skilled in all poetic art. So wisely, I will not awake My muse to sing my Julia's praise, But silently, for Herrick's sake. Crown her with ever-living bays. 49 ^tioM* 1 j' LORY once received your vows Now Lily is your darling. Flory knits her snowy brows, Flory once received your vows. " Merely empty words and bows," Says pretty Lily snarling, "Flory once received your vows ;" " Now Lily is your darling." 50 I AM a wrecL In youth I ploughed the seas, While sails of hope were hoisted o'er my deck, Now torn in many a domestic breeze ; . I am a wreck. I struck on Marriage, a most wretched spec, Victim to dinners and eternal teas. Yoked with a husband I could never peck. Haggard in face, rheumatic in my knees, With back all aching and with stiffened neck, Existence one vast pulmonary wheeze — I am a wreck. 51 J'totn t^t J'tenc^* T T OW long, fair one, will you be, ■■■ ^ Tell me, faithful unto me ? For a night, for a day, My darling, say. Love touches with his finger tips And flatters us with eyes and lips, For a day, for a night. And takes his flight. fOTE. — The following is the French poem of which the above is a translation. I^ombien de temps, dis, la belle, Dis, veux-tu m'etre fidele ? ?our une nuit, pour un jour VIon amour. L'amour nous flatte, et nous touche Du doigt, de I'ceil, de la bouche, Pour un jour, pour une nuit, Et s'enfuit. 52 (^Se (g(<\M (^Ah, FAREWELL, farewell, thou great and glorious singer For work now claims my busy nights and days ; And yet awhile with thee I fondly linger, To weave for thee a needless wreath of praise. No more must I delight in triple-rhyming Or magical alliterative lines, No more delight in silver stanzas chiming ; I must plunge deep in learning's darksome mines. Like as a graceful maiden charms my vision, So are my ears enchanted by thy rhymes. But as Ulysses with divine decision Passed by the Sirens in the olden times ; So must I pass and leave thy songs behind me, Ay, leave them and forget them like a dream : But memories of them ever will remind me How soft and sweet they made my youthdays seem. And as Ulysses, sailing o'er the ocean Heard the fair Sirens singing on the lee, So shall I hear with refluent emotion The music of my master's melody. Like softest raiment are thy rythmic numbers, And I would fain lie down and dream again. But I must rise and wake me from my slumbers, And don the mail of hard laborious pain. ««u^ 5'tnt6. W. HENRY ROBINSON, STEAM PRINTING WORKS, WALSAI.L. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. rm L9-32ot-8,'57(,C8680s4)444 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 380 374 PR ii079 B2A17 1887