PLAIN POEMS PLAIN POEMS W. PHILLPOTTS WILLIAMS Author of " Poems in Pink.'''' SALISBURY : BROWN AND CO. London : SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO., LIMITED. 1896. LOAN STACK SALISBURY : BENNETT BROTHERS, PRINTERS, JOURNAL OFFICE. CONTENTS. GENERAL POEMS. PAGE The Queen x Hubert ^ The Priest and the Voter 25 Balfour 2 o The Irish Carman .3! Westminster 3. Tim Donovan's Watch 36 Porthgwidden 3 9 H. F. B. 42 Christmas 44 Paddy's Love Letter 47 The Striker's Child 50 The Irish Inn 53 The Argument 57 The Bride 61 Lines on Gordon's Statue in Trafalgar Square - 65 Phillpotts 66 The Emigrant's Return 67 The Dying Peer ' 70 Awake, New Love, and Charm the Hour - - - 74 Agnes in David Copperfield 77 The Blending of the Nations 80 781 VI CONTENTS. HUNTING SONGS. PAGE The Irish Horse Dealer and the Wrong Customer - 85 The Stranger from Town on the Blood-looking Bay 89 Over the Moorland 92 The Sisters are Scouring to Cry 95 Hounds at Horse Exercise 97 The Boy on the Pony 100 The Shade of the Huntsman 103 The Four Year Old 107 Ride for Dear Life no Harmony - - - - 113 The Race of the Year - - - - - - - 115 The Pensioner 118 Uncas 120 The Draft and the Entry 122 Lady Mary 126 The Huntsman's Little Daughter - - - - 129 The Trotting Mare 132 Shamrock 135 The Spirit of the Chase 138 The Fall 141 PREFACE. Encouraged by the success of " Poems in Pink," the author has ventured on a further volume of poems, three of which, namely, " Balfour," " Over the Moorland," and " Christmas," have already appeared in the County Gentle- man, and are reproduced by the kind permission of the Editor of that journal. The book has been divided into " General Poems " and " Hunting Songs." The former are rather a new departure on the part of the author, who anxiously awaits the verdict of the reading public. These poems are not the effort of a finished scholar, or the out- come of a great mind, but simple facts of everyday life, which the author has endeavoured to describe in musical language, and which have already been dealt with by the great thinkers of the day. The book may, perhaps, lay claim to one merit, which is that it is written with a firm belief in the deep-seated patriotism of the masses of the people, with the conviction that if the people are trusted consistently they will become consistent, and, guided by that strong moral force which is the basis of all true ad- vancement, they will not fail to lead the country aright. Look at the homes of England, the author would say to those that doubt, where the seeds of patriotism are sown in the first instance ; look at the wholesome order of things, Vlll PREFACE. the reverence for married life ; that light that falls brightly on the dark highways of the world, and has done so much to make this country what it is : are not these signs of a warm-hearted and patriotic people? To love one's home is to love one's country, respect for the one is a reverence for the other. Lead on, then England, the Hand still points upwards along the vista of the years ; lead on, and lend your cheerful aid to the other nations of the world, that they too may work for the common cause — the binding of the peoples and the brotherhood of mankind. Llangarran, Salisbury. *s THE QUEEN. We look, great Queen, along the years In this, the twilight of your life, Through many days of hopes and fears, Through times of joy, and stress, and strife. We look along the past, and take The years of progress that have been Since you first lived for England's sake, Since that good day that made you Queen. We look at this, our England still, And hold you England's truest friend ; Oh help us, while we yet fulfil Our own true purpose to the end. We hold you good, we count you fair, The hearts of England beat in tune To that old fashioned generous air, " God save the Queen," from June to June. We hold you good, we know you well, We know you in your simple life, The home where peace and honour dwell, The perfect Queen, the loyal wife. B GENERAL POEMS. Lead on, and may you rule us yet And leave us that bright after-glow That comes with those whose lives are set With golden purpose, and who show In sunset like the summer day That lightly falls beneath the hill, And leaves bright beams across the grey When all the world is dark and still. GENERAL POEMS. HUBERT. An old grey castle by the silver sea, A giant cliff on which the castle stood, A village and a score of smiling farms, And this was Hubert's home in which he dwelt, And far and wide the broad Atlantic lay, A solemn splendour in the noonday sun. The great broad breakers broke upon the sands, The white spray rose from off the rugged rocks, And nature dwelt in grandeur and repose. And Hubert loved his people with a love That grew to more with each succeeding year. He dwelt among them and they loved him well, For all men knew he had their cause at heart. A senator he was of high degree, Though young in years the nation trusted him, And in the framing of the laws he took His part, and worked for England and the Queen. And Hubert owned a mine on his estate, And, for its better working, he devised A profit-sharing system, which allowed Each man a portion of the profits earned Beyond his weekly wage, for Hubert held B 2 GENERAL POEMS. That when with work a product was produced The profit on that product should be shared With him who made the product, and again, In this same system Hubert thought he saw, To some extent, a healing of the breach Which now divides employer and employed. And Hubert called his workmen to his side And said, " Good people, workers of the mine, " I have devised this system for your good, " For in it lies a purpose and a plan, " Where each true man may reap his own reward ; " Where each true man may work and raise himself- " Provided there are profits to divide — " To something better as the years go by ; " And each half-year I will myself give out " A statement of accounts, which you may read ; " A full report of all that has been done ; " And you yourselves will weigh the pros and cons, " And see how hard it is to make a trade. " Read and mark well this statement of accounts, " For I would have you work as thinking men, " Not mere automata, dull things, that move " Like some machine without a brain or soul, " But each in turn a portion and a part " Of that great brain that makes the world revolve. " So let us raise our standard of desire, " Let both employer and employed unite " In that trade unionism that binds the two, " And which alone is worthy of the name. GENERAL POEMS. " What use for men to rave and rate and rant " Year after year, at him who finds the wage ? " Why cripple commerce with the constant cry " Of agitating leaders, men who drive " The wealth of England into other lands. " And let us work with one united will, •" For he who shirks and thieves and wastes his time " Will shrink the profits for himself and friends." And Hubert's plan succeeded, and his men Worked with a will for him and for themselves. Veronica, beloved by all the port, Beloved by all the sailors and their wives, Lived in a cottage down beside the sea ; And Hubert, wandering out one night, was struck By sounds of music, music soft and clear As though some angel hand had touched the chords And lingered in the still night for awhile With some sweet message from a far off world ; And by the cottage Hubert could discern A group of sailors listening, and he asked One of the men, a seaman full of years, Who was it whom they heard with such concern ? The seaman answered, " Hush ! Veronica," And then in accents clear her voice was heard — You may lay your light hand on her mane, my love, It is time that we both should part, You may kiss me again and again, my love, For I love you, my own true heart. GENERAL POEMS. I shall come back to-morrow at noon, my love, To the church where the sailors pray, I shall come back to-morrow at noon, my love, And shall bear my fair bride away. Ah ! yes, I'll take care of the tide, my love, And the deep quick sands on my right, But the chestnut is fast — I can ride, my love, We can well reach the point before night. The good mare flew 'neath the master's hand, The hoof-strokes fell on the sands of gold, The red sun sank 'neath the distant land And the dark night crept from behind the wold. The red sun sank, and the sunbeams fell With a golden light on the man and mare ; The deep quick sands had a tale to tell, A tale to tell of the man and mare. A maid, uneasy of mind, and fair, Found a bridle rein on the sands of gold, And a piercing cry rent the midnight air As the maid fell dead on the sands of gold. And the sailors still say when the night is clear, And the breezes are fair and free, That a maiden's cry falls on the listener's ear, From the heart of the wild, wild sea, That a phantom-like horseman and steed go by, And vanish mysteriously ; When the sad sound comes of that piercing cry From the heart of the wild, wild sea. And when the sad sweet music died away, There stood surrounded by the golden light That fell upon the balcony, a form So pure, so bright, so wonderfully fair, GENERAL POEMS. That Hubert looked again to prove his eyes, For he half thought a vision passed and gone Had left a fair impression on his mind. And once again the question left his lips, And still they answered, " Hush ! Veronica." Then, with a voice that rang across the night, The singer said, " Good seamen of the port, " If my poor song has filled you with delight, " Then my poor song has brought its own reward, " For you have lent your ears so willingly " That I have found that pleasure in the giving " That you have in the burthen of the song." Then all the seamen gave a lusty cheer — " God bless the lady lass," the seamen cried, " God bless the lady lass, Veronica." And Hubert wandered home along the sands, A scene so suitable for such a song That he half thought he heard the maiden's cry, And still the last lines lingered in his ears — When the sad sound comes of that piercing cry From the heart of the wild, wild sea. And in his dreams a maiden bright and fair Stood by him, and in silver notes she sang — When the sad sound comes of that piercing cry From the heart of the wild, wild sea. Veronica, so Hubert found, was one, The daughter of a merchant Captain, who, After long years of honourable toil GENERAL POEMS. Had married a fair wife, who died, but left Veronica, a daughter bright and fair, To cheer the lonely seaman in his grief. The old man loved this fair Veronica, This noble remnant of departed love. How fondly would he touch the shapely head, When seated at his feet she read to him Of ships, and storms, of seamen and their ways, Brave men who lived brave lives and searched the world To find new countries for the spreading race. And once again the old man's heart was stirred To think that pluck and spirit still remained That helped to make our England of to-day. And Hubert met Veronica, and told How he had stood among the seamen while He heard her song ring out into the night, And how the song still lingered in his ears. Then she, all blushes, like the rosy dawn, Flashed out such looks of innocent delight That Hubert's heart was quickened at the core ; Then he, with words that stumbled each on each, Made his farewell, and hoped to meet again. And Hubert thought and pondered with himself, Love, love, this love, whence comes this mystic love ? I love old England, and the people here, I love this Cornwall, girt with silver sea, But this great love has so absorbed the whole, That I am lost in a new world of love ; GENERAL POEMS. I meet it in the murmur of the breeze, I hear it in the breaking of the waves, And all through nature rings the same sweet tune, To which my heart beats time through night and day. I am too lowly, thought Veronica, To wed with Hubert, should he ask my hand ; The daughter of a simple merchantman Is scarcely wife for such a house as his, And, yet, were I to think that those dear hands Could touch another, and that that dear voice Could whisper love into another's ear I think my heart would break and I should die. What would I give to gain his noble love, This noble man, this courteous gentleman, Who, as he lives and moves about the world, Sheds such a genial light upon mankind That all who know him are the better for it. A long, low ripple breaking on the coast, A shining splendour on the summer sea, And from the haven underneath the hill A fleet of fishing boats come, one by one, Brown sailed, and all of local make and rig, To fish and pass their night upon the deep. And Hubert watched them sailing from the shore, For he had built a breakwater to shield The fleet from stormy weather and distress ; And as he wandered home, along the coast, IO GENERAL POEMS. He met Veronica, and, pausing, begged A moment ; would she hear him ? and he spoke : " When first I heard your voice, Veronica, " In that clear song that rang across the night, " I loved you ; and, for we have often met, " Each time I see your face I love you more ; " And each new day, I think and ask myself " Whence comes this love, this mystic influence, " That acts so strangely on the minds of men, " And tends to raise them from their own dead selves " To something better, as they pass through life. " I take it every happy marriage means " A beacon fire that lights the path we tread " And guides us on our way from earth to heaven. " And what would this, our English land, have been " Without that reverence for wedded life " That we in England ever hold so dear. . " If you will love me, fair Veronica, " And take me for your husband, so that I " May dwell within the sunlight of your smile, " I will devote my life and love to you " And with my dying breath will breathe your name." " I cannot give my feelings in my words," Replied Veronica, " for shallow words " Can never fathom the great depth of love " That my heart holds, and which is yours indeed ; " But if in time the afteryears shall show " A faithful record and devoted life, " Then I shall feel that you will comprehend GENERAL POEMS. " My failure to express myself to-day." Then, in the solemn twilight, moved the two Within the hearing of the breaking waves, Like two bright streams that flashed across the vale, Each with a shining splendour of its own ; And meeting, made one brighter than before That flowed towards the great and boundless deep. Then to the cottage passed Veronica, First leaving Hubert standing at the gate With that sweet parting that new lovers make When love first binds them with its golden chain. Within the cottage sat the merchantman Beside the open window, which was deep, With no light, save the bright clear moon that fell In silver beams across the silent room. And at the old man's feet, the daughter knelt, Set in the silver of a shining beam That fell in splendour on her bending head And made her as an angel ; then she told How Hubert loved her, then, in eager words, How all her heart was Hubert's to the end. The old man heard her story, as she knelt, And, laying his rough hand upon her head With his rough tender care and gentleness, Called down a father's blessing on his child. And with the morning came an interview With Hubert and the merchantman, who spoke 12 GENERAL POEMS. With all the fervour of a father's pride Of his Veronica, " but will she not, " In her low station, be unfit for such " A high position as your house requires ? " Should you not choose a wife of higher rank, " A title, or the daughter of a man " Who holds a like position to yourself ?" " I like not titles," Hubert answered him, " So much false love, such loathsome toadyism, " Where men set up a title as their God " And ofttimes love the title not the man. " I might have wedded one of high degree, " The only daughter of a spendthrift Earl, " A well-bred snob with proud, exclusive ways, " Who thought her lineage justified her pride, 11 Who only knew great people for her friends, " And sneered at those, who, though her equals, yet " Had not a social standing like herself. " Are we not made for something more than this ? " That we should stoop to make ourselves so mean ! " Is there no value for a gentleman ? " For me, I hold these modern days require " A wider view of life than heretofore ; 11 That those thin walls dividing class from class, " Made of such false and frail material " Are not such vital portions of our lives " But that they may be moved if needs require. " And, if we cannot merge the whole in one, 11 That gentlemen, at least, should join the hand GENERAL POEMS. 1 3 " To lead society, and give a tone " To this great England, whom we hold so dear ; " So I have asked you for your daughter's hand. " A lady like Veronica, at heart, " The daughter of a simple gentleman, " Possesses all the titles I require." And so consent was given for them to wed The following year when summer smiled again. And both inspired by high and noble aims, The two formed plans to raise and aid mankind, To help the suffering and assist the poor By kindly deeds and wholesome charity, And time wore on, with hope, from day to day. And Hubert spoke, he was an orator, From time to time in public, and he dwelt At length upon the problems of the day ; And people crowded from all parts to hear His telling oratory, for when he spoke His words and force of argument were such That those who heard him hoped to meet again. And Hubert met them at the public hall, Which he had built below the castle gate, And said, " Good people, we have met to-day " For you to listen and for me to speak " On those same subjects which are old to both, " But which, being ever present to our minds, " Will still supply some food for argument. 14 GENERAL POEMS. " First, let me speak to him who holds the vote, " For with him rests the power on which we turn, " Which, in these complex days of modern life, "In this our complex system, reaches far ; " Look round, look round, not from the narrow glen, 11 But from the summit of the mountain top, 11 And see the vast machinery at work. " How vitally each interest is bound " In every other interest, and how " Each section works, not singly, but involved " In every other section ; let us then, " In voting, take that broader view of life " Which, while it raises one, unites the whole. " I am not one to pander to the mob, " Or gull the brainless clown with oily words, " But I believe in your democracy. " I hold there is engrafted in them still " Those higher feelings for the country's good " That form the root of all our national life ; " That they accept this heritage of ours, " Not as a joint-stock company that yields " So much in wage, so much in this or that, " But as a great and solemn sacred charge " That should be held with reverence and love " And raised to something higher as we go. 11 So let us raise our England still, and strive " To mould her into something greater yet ; " To hand her down, along the centuries, 11 A light that gleams upon the path of life GENERAL POEMS. 15 ' And lights the world until the end of time. ' And as regards our system of to-day, ' I hold with those who think it weak and bad, ' I hold with those who grudge the rich their wealth ' And point the hand towards the starving poor, 1 Whose case grows worse with each succeeding year. ' But, where reform is needed, no reform ' That man has yet suggested seems to work. 1 The two great streams of poverty and wealth ' Take each their separate courses through the world, 1 And man, as yet, cannot suggest a plan ' Whereby the two can both be merged in one. ' I hold myself that, if t'were possible 1 To remedy this evil, we should find ' That this right-minded England would adopt 1 An altered system with a grateful heart. 1 So let me pray you, you who hold the power, ' To vote with care and caution in reform, 1 And not to touch the fabric of our life 1 Unless for every stone you take away 1 You find some stronger one to take its place j ' Something on which the fabric rests secure. 1 It is not strange that you should seek reform ' When over all the great industrial world ' Depression hangs and chokes the wholesome growth ' Of commerce, which it thwarts at every turn. 1 The rapid increase of the people tends 1 To competition, not a healthy kind 1 And that which makes a strong and healthy trade, l6 GENERAL POEMS. " But one that narrows profits down to nil " And shakes the confidence of those who seek " To trade and make employment for the poor ; " And so you have accumulated wealth, " Dead money, uninvested, and again " Your unemployed, who wait for wage and work, " Have patience all, the world will right itself, " The Hidden Hand that guides is with us still ; " And when it comes, that slow developed change, " Which we are now preparing for, will last " The longer for its slow and sober growth, " And we shall find that this great England here, " Whose welfare every man should have at heart, " Will not disgrace herself, but in good time " Will move one further step towards the goal, " And what new policy shall meet the years ? " For me, I hold your tory democrat " The best and safest for the changing times. " Your old conservative has had his day, " Who held the people as a brainless mob, " Devoid alike of sense and argument, " And so unfit to vote : I would prefer " That policy in which the people trust, " And that which trusts the people, let them feel " That in the struggle for existence, they " Have both a right to speak and to be heard ; " And, feeling this, they will themselves discern " That safer course that lies betwixt extremes " And forms the basis of good policy. GENERAL POEMS. 1 7 " So work and live, you have a sacred charge, " Tis hard, we know, to raise and not to wreck, " But therein lies the keynote of the chord " On which the harmony of life depends. " So work and live, the night is far advanced, " And I must bid good evening, and farewell." And Hubert stood upon the terrace walk That lay beneath the castle, and he gazed In silence on the splendour of the scene ; And in the west the traffic of the seas, Gigantic ships of merchandise and war, Passed and repassed upon the heaving deep ; And headland after headland stretched away, Each grander than the other, and on each The blue grey haze of distance lightly fell. And Hubert met Veronica, who came Through the broad archway of the castle gate, So sweet a contrast to the grim grey walls That they themselves seemed brighter as she passed ; And Hubert stood and held the hand that lay So lightly in the hollow of his palm, " I would that other lives besides our own " Could find some pleasure in this love of ours, " For your sweet influence has made me feel " That true love lives for others, not for self." Then did Veronica come closer yet, And, from the circle of his winding arms, Replied " Oh ! Hubert, you who spend your life c 1 8 GENERAL POEMS. " In helping others, scarcely can complain " Of want of opportunity to aid." And Hubert, smiling, said her love had made Him all too great, " but I have thought," he said, 11 That these fair breezes from across the sea " Would strengthen town-bred children, and revive 11 The sick and crippled ; Yonder cottages, " That stand above the harbour there, would form 11 A fair foundation for a cripples' home ; " And with your gentle aid, Veronica, " We might shed light upon their lonely lives." The cottage hospital was formed, and filled With children who from birth or accident Were crippled, and who needed rest and care. And through the wards, Veronica would move Among the children in that place of rest ; And many a child would bless the lovely form That moved among them with such tender care, And many a little sorrowed face would smile At words of comfort from Veronica. And some would find a cure, and so return To their own homes with words of sweet regret : But others lingered only for a while ; And then it was Veronica would stand, In silence, by the bedside of a child, And in the stillness of the night would watch The young life passing on its heavenward way. How sweet the change that marked the little face, So worn and wasted with its life of pain j GENERAL POEMS. 1 9 How calm and still the little wasted form That lay before her in the sleep of death. Weep on, Veronica, thy silent tears Are meet accompaniments for such a scene ; Weep on, thy sorrow is not all regret, For is not yonder pure and innocent child More fit for heaven than half the righteous men Who spend their lives repenting of their sins. No friction here about the forms of faith Or wordy wars about theology, But simple trust that binds the soul to heaven And meets you with — I know not, but believe. Lead on, sweet child, we follow, and we hold The child is nearer heaven than the man. The winter came, with storms that swept the waste And broke with fury on the broken shore, And Hubert's health was shattered, and there came A time of danger ; those who nursed him thought His noble life would know the place no more. But while he half recovered, he was seized With that disease that ends so fatally, Consumption, in its worst and strongest form. And Hubert pondered, all the long night through, About Veronica and his great love ; She must be free, he thought, she must be free To live, and love, and marry whom she will ; The broken shadow of my shattered life Must never fall on such a bright career. 3 GENERAL POEMS. Oh ! would that I had never asked her hand. That I had never influenced her life ; And yet, and here he sank upon his knees And bowed himself beneath his weight of grief, And yet I cannot make myself regret The love that binds me to Veronica. Ah ! God, support me in this solemn hour, And give me still some strength, before I die, To show my love to her I love so well. And here his fancy took him, and he saw His bride that might have been, another's bride. He saw the group, before the winter fire, Of which she was the centre, and around The happy children clustering at her knee ; He saw the mother's look of love that stirred The children's hearts and bound them each to each. He felt the influence of that bright life That shed its lustre on the peaceful home And formed a shining link 'twixt earth and heaven, And in his agony he knelt and prayed, " Thy will be done ; Ah ! God, thy will be done." The dark night passed, the solemn, silent night, The dim grey dawn crept up behind the hill, And with it came the music of the morn Which Hubert heard with ever patient ear. First the lone bird who sang his plaintive note Till others joined and made a fuller song. And one by one the noises of the port GENERAL POEMS. 21 Rang loud and clear across the morning air, And many a lusty seaman's voice was heard From boat to boat, till all the harbour pealed With laughter and the noises of the day. And Hubert's broken heart was stirred again, He loved to hear the people and their talk ; He knew their ways, and watched with interest The lives of each ; for Hubert understood The many hardships of a seaman's life. He knew the drift of currents and the tides, Could show you whereabouts the whiting lay, Or where to fish for pollock, and could steer A boat through stormy weather with the best. And with the morning Hubert rose, and sat In the broad window of the tower that stood Above the terrace walk. Veronica, Who came from day to day, had heard the truth, And when she saw his sad and quiet face, All full of love and kindness as of old, Her grief o'ercame her, and the easy flow Of loving tears flowed out upon their way. " You must not weep for me, Veronica," Said Hubert, who could scarcely find his words ; " You must no longer bind your life to one *' Who has so short a time to live and love. " Take your sweet life, I yield it gratefully, " Since you have given so much, take back the heart " That I have loved so fondly and so well, " And give it in your own good time to one 22 GENERAL POEMS. " Who shall be worthy of your noble love ; " And if, in those bright years which may be yours, " You think of Hubert, Hubert and his love, " Know, then, that his last wish before he died " Was that his shadow might not cross your path." " I could not give you such a poor return," Replied Veronica, " for your great love ; " Your kindness only makes me love you more. " Oh, Hubert, Hubert, grant me one request, " It is that this poor life you love so well " May still be worthy of you and your love ; " That when you die, sweet Hubert, you may feel " That I am yours for ever, and at last " When we shall meet before High God in heaven " We may be undivided as of old." And Hubert held her in his fond embrace, And in that quiet hour it seemed to him As though an angel touched the shapely head, And left a blessing for Veronica. " Oh, grant me yet one look before I die " At this dear England that I love so well, " This sacred gift that we should touch and shape " With reverence, as we should a gift from heaven." So Hubert asked, and those who heard contrived That he should be borne up to the high moors That form the backbone of the Cornish land ; And from this point of vantage he perceived The double view that meets the wandering eye — GENERAL POEMS. 23 Two seas, two coasts, two sets of headlands ran Along two lines of ever-breaking waves. " And must I leave this England whom I love ?" Said Hubert, as he gazed upon the scene, " This smiling England, girt wtth silver seas, " Where each true man may speak the thing he will, " Where each true man may live his life and make " His country better as the years go by. " Oh, England, England, may you prosper still, " And may you still find noble sons to lead " The race aright, as in the days of old. " So now farewell, I must not linger long, " My time is short, and I in turn must pass " From this fair country to that other clime " Which lies beyond the boundaries of the world, " And where the mystery of life is solved." And so they bore him homewards, and the night Cast her dark shadow on the shining sea. The weeks flew by, the winter dawn was grey, And in the silent chamber of the tower A solemn stillness reigned. " Veronica !" The last sad murmur of the dying man, Fell on the ears of her he loved so well, And once again a solemn stillness reigned. So passed away the noble soul, and she Who loved him lived and loved him to the end. And with his wealth, for Hubert left her all, 24 GENERAL POEMS. Did kindly deeds, that kept his memory green, For all men knew she lived for Hubert still, And in the evening light you could discern A group of seamen 'neath the castle wall, And once again there rang across the night The same sweet song that Hubert loved so well- And the sailors still say when the night is clear, And the breezes are fair and free, That a maiden's cry falls on the listener's ear From the heart of the wild, wild sea. That a phantom -shaped horseman and steed go by And vanish mysteriously, When the sad sound comes of that piercing cry From the heart of the wild, wild sea. And once again the last lines lingered on — When the sad sound comes of that piercing cry From the heart of the wild, wild sea. (1KNERAL POEMS. THE PRIEST AND THE VOTER. Father Walsh was here last night, bedad, the Priest, you know, from town, Yes, he came to see me, Patrick, on his cob, the dappled brown ; " Tis your vote I'm wantin', Larry," said the Priest, " it's what I wrote " In my letter to ye, Larry, it's me man that wants your vote." " Ah !" I said, " I think I'm changin', me digestion is so queer, 14 It's home rule that makes me head ache, not the whisky, never fear." " You're a hay then baste," the Father said, " I hope you'll be forgiven, " But there's evil times in store for ye, ye'll never go to heaven." Then the Priest he looked again and saw me wink the other eye, " It's yourself that's laughin', Larry, faix I think you'd better cry, " For the man who will not vote me way I'll turn into a rat, " So just think before ye vex me, just be careful what ye're at. 26 GENERAL POEMS. It's the saints that help me, Larry, at election times, ye " An' its funny things they do sometimes to save the ould country." " By the powers, I'm glad ye've tould me, Father Walsh," I said to him, " There's an ould brown cat my wife has got at home, we call him Jim, " An' its rats he's mighty partial to, I'll shut him up, bedad, " For I'd not like Jim to eat me, arrah now, that would be bad." " Ye're an unbelavin' sinner," said the Priest, " that's what ye are, " 'Tis the saints that kill bad men like you, now don't ye go too far." " An' may be ye'll read the funeral, Father, darlin'," I replied, " There's a churchyard on the hill there, you can see from far an' wide, " It's the healthiest churchyard onywhere, a most convanient place, " So just tell the saints to lave me there, and just explain the case." Then the Priest became persuasive, " Ah ! now, Larry, don't ye think " Ye would like a quiet talk me boy, may be ye'd like a drink, " Take the flask now, Larry, help yourself, I'm sure ye'd like a pull." " Whisht !" I said, " it's what I'll do, bedad, I see you've filled it full. GENERAL POEMS. 27 " When we get a home rule parliament, now Father dear, confess, " We'll get whisky sould for nothing yes, an' spirits bought for less." " To be sure ye will," the Father said, " the laws will be sublime, " Are there other things ye'd like me boy, just speak for now's your time ?" " Tis me corduroys is shabby, Father darlin', they're a pair " That was bought for William Rufus when he came to Cahirmee fair, " An' the sate is hardly dacent, but I wear my coat tails, long, " For I'm bashful, Father darlin', though I look so tall and strong." " Every boy shall have two pair a-piece," the Father then replied. " Faix now Larry, you have never known an Irish Priest that lied?" " Devil a one," I said, "'twould spoil the game entirely, don't you see, " For their prayers would all be humbug without truth and purity." An' with that he looked uncomfortable, " Ah, Larry, then," he said, " We'll depend upon your vote, me man," and stroked me on the head. " Now about them breeches, Father, faix I doubt their being supplied, " When the members meet at College Green, they'll be so occupied 28 GENERAL POEMS. " In bating out each other's brains, that we'll be left out i' the could, " An' they'll tear the buttons off the breeks, they're funny boys, I'm tould." " Whisht ! now, Larry, don't belave it," said the Father, " they're genteel, " An' they'll live like doves together, for their nature is to heal." " Ah, no, Father, no, I'm changin', it's me system's all awry, " Faix them Salisbury boys is dacent chaps, we'll let them have a try." " Ye're a hard benighted crayture," said the Priest, "the saints will come " Rather hard upon ye, Larry, an' a curse upon your home. " Tis a rat they'll turn ye into, Larry ; Larry, that they will." " Faix," I said, " it's what I'd like, bedad, there's one down at the mill " That has got a situation that would suit me to the ground, " He's the run of all the provender, with board an' lodgin' found." Then he went his way blasphemin' me, I heard him all the way, But I have not grown a rat's tail yet, there's time, bedad, I may ! Ah ! now, Patrick, we'll be practical, just for a change we will, An' we'll stick to poor ould Oirland, boys, to poor ould Oirland still. GENERAL POEMS. 29 This poem came out in The County Gentleman, July 13, 1895. BALFOUR. Beat on, true heart, for England still, We trust you, and in you we find A kindly face, an iron will, A statesman with a royal mind. Beat on and lead us, for we wait Your guidance through each changing year, Preserve the Crown, the Church, the State, And all that England holds so dear. Preserve our constitution, built By noble men with deeds of fame, And hold it free from crime and guilt Through all the course of years the same. Beat on, true heart, for England still, And shape the law to meet the hour, Not by the cry that turns the will Of him who votes and holds the power. But by consistent wise reforms, Based firmly on good sense, and pure, That help us through the passing storms, And make each subject feel secure. SO GENERAL POEMS. Beat on, and pass by slow degrees (For so have we attained success) Such measures as will tend to ease The poor, and make their burdens less. And governed by these wide ideas We look with hope and turn the page, We see in all the coming years A nobler and a kinder age. And proved by times of stress and strife, We see that love for England spread That forms the root of national life, And ever stands us in good stead. We see our England moving yet Among the nations firm^nd free, With all her people's purpose set On progress and consistency. Beat on, true heart, to you we turn, You guide us, and may you fulfil Your mission, while we live and learn, Beat on, true heart, for England still. GENERAL P >EM! 31 THE IRISH CARMAN. Ah ! now, Captin', yes, I'll drive ye round the Phoenix and the town, An' I'll show ye Dublin city, it's a place of much renown ; Av' ye like to sit ajacent, sure it's four the car contains, But it's six can sit familiar ; Whisht ! now Pat, hand up the reins. Hand them up now, help the ladies, och ! be gentle with them, Pat, Ah ! don't blush now, I can see the colour rising through your hat, It's the quality we've got to-day, be jabers ! an' I'm proud ; Let me whisper to ye, Captin', which one is it ? not too loud. Ah ! now, Captin', don't be laughin', I'm a married man, don't mind Trustin' Paddy with a secret, it's a heart he has, an' kind. Look ! here comes the Lord Lieutenant, here's Cadogan, here's the man, It's himself that always winks at me an' shakes hands when he can. 32 GENERAL POEMS. But to-day he's mighty bashful, it's the ladies make him shy, You can see his modest nature in the corner of his eye ; There's a lady on the pavement there was at the ball last night ; An' her dress it was a low one, green, bedad ! trimmed up with white. T'was her partner from the barracks slithered a pink ice down her back, " Och !"" she said, "its mighty could it is, I think it seems to lack " Just a trifle of the flavour which is pleasant to the taste, " An' it's like the polar regions come to settle round me waist." Och ! now, Captin', faix, the twenty-ninth of February falls to-day, T'will be eight long years before we see this day twelve month they say ; But it's leap year, Captin' darlin', and the girls will have a chance, For they'll ax the men to marry them, bedad ! that will enhance Every well arranged flirtation ; don't be anxious, Captin' dear, They'll be winkin' at ye, Captin', they'll be at ye, never fear : But we'll change the conversation, for I see the ladies ken What I mane, bedad ! they're laughin' ; Ah ! they're hard upon the men. GENERAL POEMS. 33 You'll stay out a little longer ? Yes, av' course ye will, an' go By the other road, yer honour ; is it home we'll drive an' slow ? There's a mighty hole somewhere abouts, the work is not complete ; Ah ! hould up, ye baste, don't tumble down, there's ladies on the seat. Tear an' ages, man, we're in it, it's the wheel that's breakin' now, An' the car is turnin' over ; Whisht ! be jabers, here's a row. Lift the ladies up now, Captin, seat them there upon the bank, Arrah ! now, there's no one hurt at all, the mare has touched her flank. Well, it's pleasant conversation an' divarsion we have had, An' a rale ould smash begorra, it's the shafts is broke, bedad ! Well, good mornin' to ye, Captin, faix ! the hole it was to blame ; Och ! be jabers, I've enjoyed myself, I hope ye've done the same. 34 CKNERAL POEMS. WESTMINSTER. I stood and watched, with silent pride, The leaders of the nation pass, I watched the flow of human tide And London with its moving mass. I saw them, men of high degree Of either side, a guiding brain Who worked with love and constancy For England, and for England's gain. And others followed, of the type Who had their country's cause at heart, All workers, when the times were ripe, For progress, each would play his part. I saw the statues, where they stood, Of leaders who had had their day, Who helped to form the brotherhood That binds us, and they seemed to say " Move on, move on, by slow degrees, " We left you something to fulfil, " Move on, and lend your aim to ease " The burthens of the people still. GENERAL POEMS. 35 " Move on, and raise the struggling poor, " And mark you still their pleading cry, " Drive want and hunger from the door, " And meet their claims consistently. " Show mercy to the poor, and turn " Their hearts to England, while you make " Them love their country still and learn 11 To live and work for England's sake. " Move on, move on, by slow degrees, " And bind in one harmonious band " The nations from beyond the seas, " And spread goodwill from land to land. " Move on, and guide the ship of state " Still grandly on, with sails unfurled, " Towards that end so good and great, " The federation of the world." But lo ! it passed, the fleeting hour, The great dark hand was seen to rise, The deep notes rang from out the tower, And London stood before mine eyes. 36 GENERAL POEMS. TIM DONOVAN'S WATCH. How's the watch ? Bedad ! I'll tell ye, it's contrary in its ways ; It's contrary, Mike, I tell ye, an' it has been so for days. Now it's this way, hould yer prate, Mike, an' just listen while I speak ; 'Twas in Cahirmee Fair I bought it, 'twas myself was there last week. An' I asked the boy who sould it av' it tould the time for meals, " Tell the time," he said, " be jabers ! its just that this watch reveals, " When it sees the taters steamin' it begins to say its grace, " When the greens is done it says sit down, sit down and take yer place." An' I said " it takes my fancy then, it's just the watch for me," So I bought it, fajx! I tell ye, Mike, at the fair at ould Cahirmee. Well, I went to work next day, Mike, 'twas me cravings tould me plain It was time to go to dinner j " Whisht ! " I said, " I'll not complain." GENERAL POEMS. 37 But the watch, the base desaver, was a solid hour behind j "Ah ! ye baste," I said, " ye're lazy, it's myself that would be kind ; " Do ye think me cravings lie ? ye baste, they've never lied before, " When I'm hungry, they dictate to me to eat, that's what they're for. " It's respectable insides I have, I'll not insult them now, " They have kept me going these thirty years, that's something anyhow." Then our foreman said the watch was right, I'd left off work too soon, But I'd rather trust me cravings, Mike, to tell the time at noon. Then I tried to cure the watch, Mike, so I soaped the works, bedad ! All the wheels was most contrary, tear an' ages it was bad. " Ah ! " I said, " may be it's whisky, is it whisky you require ? " So I washed the works with whisky, it's a notion you'll admire. Many a drink we've had together, Mike, when each has had his fill, Ah ! it's whisky makes the world go round in poor ould Oirland still ; But 'twas useless, so I met the man who sould it me an' said " It's a most contrary watch, that same, I'd like the cash instead." 38 GENERAL POEMS. Then I tould him how the whisky and the soap were tried in vain, "Ah!" he said "bedad! I see it all, I see the raison plain, " It's a German watch," he said, " the works were made in Germany, " An' its Lager beer ye should have tried, that's where it is, ye see." " Whisht ! " I said, " send round a bottle, av' it's that will set it right ; " " You have spoilt his palate, now," he said, with that he bid good-night. Faix ! I'll spend no more on watches, Mike, I'll trust me cravings still, An' I'll keep the whisky for meself to drink, bedad ! I will. GENERAL POEMS. 39 PORTHGWIDDEN. Porthgwidden, by the Cornish sea, Thy memory lives within me still, The flag that floated fair and free, The walks that wound about the hill. The white house, peaceful and serene, I see it still with glowing pride, The sloping lawns that lay between The terrace, and the flowing tide. Away, beyond the harbour mouth Of Falmouth, in the distant bay, The stately ships go sailing south And pass upon the gleaming way. I see the silver water flash And sparkle in the shining light, I hear the summer wavelets plash, While all is beautiful and bright. I watch the oyster boats and hear The hardy dredger's mellow song, Till comrades join from far and near In part and chorus, sweet and strong. 40 GENERAL POEMS. And through the creek the music rings In accents clear from shore to shore, To where the housewife sews and sings And watches from the cottage door. And old associations come Before me, and their tale unfold ; Oh ! perfect love ; Oh ! perfect home, Sweet greeting place of young and old. The moon is out, I watch the night, I watch the night, and through the gloom The long grey bars of silver light Fall softly on the silent tomb. They fall upon the massive cross Of granite, I can see it still ; And life is poorer for the loss Of those that rest beneath the hill. And in the bars I seem to see Those noble lives I knew so well Pass out, above the shining sea, To where the saints for ever dwell. I seem to know each face and look, While mourners sigh across the breeze, I hear them in the running brook And in the whisper of the trees. GENERAL POEMS. 4* And still to me thou stand'st alone, Porthgwidden, ever bright and fair, That one clear note of noble tone Which sounded through thee fills the air. And still, beyond the harbour mouth Of Falmouth, in the distant bay, The stately ships go sailing south And pass upon the gleaming way. 4 2 GENERAL POEMS. H. F. B. March 5th, 1895. Sleep, gentle cousin, bright and fair, For thy sweet life has shed its ray Like one bright beam across the air When all the world was dark and grey. Sleep there, beneath the gleaming grass Of Devon, by the wooded dell, And hear the friendly footsteps pass Of those who knew and loved thee well. Lie sweetly by the Tamar's wave, That silver line of light that feeds The mists that wind about thy grave And float in silence through the meads. Lie near where last they laid thee down, In yon grey house beside the hill, Among the woods of crested brown Where Lifton lies serene and still. I look, along the line of years, At childhood, with its distant range ; I see our lives of hopes and fears Move down the stepping stones of change. GENERAL POEMS. 43 And still we watch, from tawny sands, The broad Atlantic fair and free, And feel the breeze from other lands Where Cornwall stands, beside the sea. And grandly breaks the roaring main, At thy fair feet the breakers roar, While each one seems to strive in vain To crush thee on the shining floor. Tregullow, where we used to meet Those kind relations year by year, Where shouts and sounds of children's feet Made merry music sweet and clear, Has passed away from us and ours ; And now no longer may we roam Among the beds and banks of flowers That lined our parents' Cornish home. And in those afteryears you grew To something more of heaven than earth, And those who knew you only knew The sacred value of your worth. Sleep, sister cousin, take thy rest, The red sun sinks behind the hill, And by that churchyard in the west The angels whisper, peace, be still. 44 GENERAL POEMS. This poem came out in The County Gentleman, Dec. 21, 1895. CHRISTMAS. A Merry Christmas ! Christinas comes, once more our English land Unites in homely sympathy and shakes the friendly hand ; A merry Christmas and again for England bright and fair, And sounds and songs of harmony float upwards through the air. Away with vengeance for to-day, to-day is Christmas day, Away with bitter jealousies, for all are blithe and gay, Away with feuds of families and long results of strife, For Christmas comes to heal the sores that grow in social life. Oh ! touch the hearts of England, still let Englishmen rejoice That Christmas rings in harmony through every English voice, That one old custom lives at least in these improving days, And every face contains a smile for Christmas as we gaze. GENERAL POEMS. 45 We like to feel that Christmas, too, unites the rich and poor, And kindly deeds of charity drive hunger from the door ; Look round, look round about the land, for Christmas greets you still, The good old cause is free to spread and prosper at its will. Look out at sea the sailor stands, the helmsman at the wheel, Each hears the ocean's music as it breaks against the keel, And each one tells of Christmas as he grasps the horny hand, And talks about the girl he loves that lives on English land. In yonder children's hospital there lies a crippled child, His little face is worn with pain, his ways are meek and mild; But Christmas makes him laugh again, for Christmas gifts and toys Are sent him by some kindly friend, and make his heart rejoice. The distant settler in his hut, where no one comes to cheer, He drinks to Christmas silently, the home he holds so dear ; He thinks of childhood's early days, his mother's gentle face That shed its solemn influence and made home a sacred place. 46 GENERAL POEMS. So let the hearts of Englishmen unite with one accord, Let kindness grow from more to more and love outlive the sword, And as the world grows older let the fact grow stronger still That life can never prosper without friendship and goodwill. Let concord grow from year to year, and spread from land to land, Till all the nations joining make a great harmonious band, And onward through the ages ever striving for the end, Till each man in his station count the whole wide world as friend. GENERAL POEMS. 47 PADDY'S LOVE LETTER. Now I'm writin', Molly darlin', just to show that I'm alive, When you see my letter, Molly, it's yourself that will revive, An' you'll say it's Paddy's writin', he's so liberal with the ink, For his master pays the piper ; Ah ! now Molly, don't you wink. Well, I'm thrivin', Molly darlin', I'm a soldier servant now, I am quartered with the Captain, an' I'll tell yer, Molly, how We both march about at Aldershot as stiff as wooden planks, Faix ! I think we both deserve our pay besides the country's thanks. Yes, we used to go out spoonin', Molly darlin', it was sweet, You an' I in poor ould Oirland, arrah ! now, it was a treat ; So I think I'll keep my hand in, Molly, now I'm over here, So that you may find me perfect when we meet, my Molly dear. 48 GENERAL POEMS. There's the Sergeant-Major's daughter, with a waist a trifle square, But your arm fits nately round it, and she has such eyes and hair, She's a dacent kind of crayture an' she likes my Irish brogue, When I praise her up she laughs and says " get out you Irish rogue." There's the laundry-maid, who always has a twinkle in her eye, She was washin' combinations, some were hanging out to dry, An' I says " them's funny garments, ma'am, maybe they're nice to wear, " There's a church parade next Sunday, could yer let me have a pair ? " Then she laughed so much, she tumbled from the steps, and as she fell I spread out my arms and caught her, yes, I did it mighty well ; An' I said " be asy, darlin', you can stay here for awhile, " Is it kissin' that you're after ? there ! again ? Ah ! that's the style." There's the nurse who wheels the children, an' be jabers ! she can talk, Faix ! I meet her in the afternoons and take her for a walk ; An' the drummer's pretty widow, an' bedad ! there's many more That will keep my hand in, Molly, ere we meet on Oirland's shore. GENERAL POEMS. 49 So ye see, my Molly darlin', I am keeping up the art, When I come to poor ould Oirland I'll be ready with my part; An' we'll soon be married, Molly, tell the boys I will not fail, They shall drink my health in whisky, every one shall have a pail. 50 GENERAL POEMS. THE STRIKER'S CHILD. Was I weary waiting, say you, weary waiting till you came ? Nelly left us in the twilight, left her worn and wasted frame, Left and passed the frosted window, passed the heartless, angry glare Of the lights of mighty London, as they trembled in the air. Oh ! she looked so sweet and solemn and her face was meek and mild, All my tears were flowing freely as I watched my dying child j Then she spoke and whispered " Mother, mother, darling, do not cry, 11 I shall pass beyond the twilight to the home beyond the sky. " All the solemn prayers you taught me, I shall say them day by day, " So I'll not forget you, mother, when my soul is far away." Then she smiled, and whispered " Kiss me, kiss me mother, ere I die," And her soul went on its journey to the home beyond the sky. GENERAL POEMS. 5 1 It was nought but food she needed ; Oh ! my child so bright and good ; Heaven help our starving children, must we sin to find them food ? Heaven heal this ghastly struggle 'twixt employer and employed, Shall we ne'er find work again, Will ? Who will help us in the void ! When you went on strike they told you you were sure to gain the day, Now the works are closed for good, Will, you are sent upon your way ; One by one the merchant princes take their capital out of trade, For they cannot force a profit where there is no profit made. One by one they close the factories, one by one they leave the land, You have thwarted all their efforts, you have crushed the helping hand ; All the strike pay is exhausted, all the town is filled with grief, All our hopes we find were founded on a false and frail belief. It is well for those, your leaders, who are paid to stir the strife, Men whose only occupation is disturbing wholesome life ; But for us, the struggling people, who must struggle to the end, He who finds the workman's wages is the workman's firmest friend. e 2 52 GENERAL POEMS. No, this wave of great depression, universal, far and wide, Beats us backwards on our journey as we move against the tide ; Rally round the good ship England, will she founder in the fray? Aye, unless the crew and Captain can agree upon the way. Don't take on, Will, heaven bless you, don't let trouble make you wild, You may see her if you like, Will, you may see our sleeping child, Take her little hand in yours, Will, kiss her pure and gentle face; Death is kind at last to Nelly, grief and pain are hard to trace. Sleep, my child, the angry city roars around you night and day, And the voices of the people sound all eager for the fray ; Sleep, my child, thy solemn presence ever peaceful and serene Makes a hush amid the tumult, makes a silence in the scene. GENERAL POEMS. 53 THE IRISH INN. The following represents a conversation between the landlord of an Irish Inn in the wilds of Ireland, where rough and indifferent shooting can be obtained, and a sportsman whose custom he is anxious to secure as a shooting tenant. Ony game, sor ? sure they're teeming, Ye can see the feathers gleaming In the sunlight when you're standing yonder by the ould shebeen ; Rabbits ? Och ! the ground is crawling, It's yourself that will be falling, Faix ! they run between your ankles thick as grass upon the green. Hares ? Be jabers ! an' there's plenty, Faix ! when I was four and twenty I could never grow the number of their namesakes on my head ; An' the snipe, you'll see them rising In a way that's most surprising, May the divil fly away with them that doubt what I have said. 54 GENERAL POEMS. Lions ? how strange you should be asking, There were three great lions basking In the garden by the sundial when I went to milk the cow ; Ah ! now, Major, don't be winking, Tis myself you'd chaff, I'm thinking, Well, I see you like romancing, so I'm right there, anyhow. Sure it's quite at home you'll feel, sor, For we're always most genteel, sor, And we keep the highest company that's found in ony land ; All the guests are influential, Whisht ! now, I'll be confidential, 'Twas the Queen, she wrote a letter with her own most gracious hand. " Mister Murphy, you're the man, sor, " An' you'll help me if you can, sor," Said the Queen in her epistle, " Mister Murphy, you're the man, " All my three sons want a change, now, " You've a lovely mountain range, now, " Sure the air would brace them, Murphy, try an' take them av you can." So I wrote " It's what I'll do, ma'am, " Av its for the likes of you, ma'am, " Is there any kind of diet that yourself would recommend." GENERAL POEMS. 55 " Asses milk is very healthy," Wrote the Queen, " I'm very wealthy, " An' I'll pay for ony extras for themselves or for a friend." " Faix ! " I wrote, " we'll not deny them, " It's the cow that shall supply them," So an aide-de-camp from Windsor was sent over with the pails ; Mixed with rum 'twas just the thing, sor, An' it made them dance an' sing, sor, " Ah ! " they said, " long life to Murphy, his invention never fails." Av ye lead a single life, sor, An' you're seeking for a wife, sor, I can find one for you, Major, an' I'll trate you as a friend ; Av I can't, why it's a pity, All the girls in Dublin city Say that Murphy finds them husbands and on Murphy they depend. There are six substantial daughters, I can take you to their quarters, Oh ! their skins are soft an' pleasant for I've stroked them with my hand j You will find them all a catch, sor, I could bring about the match, sor, For ye see I've tact and manners, an' I'd act at your command. 56 GENERAL POEMS. Well, I'm glad to see you smile, sor, An' you think it's worth your while, sor ? Faix ! I've shown you the advantages we give you at the Inn j An' ye like my bit of blarney, Divil a' one in ould Killarney, Where they bred me, but was buried in his coffin with a grin. So you think you'd like to stay, sor, Faix ! We'll make you blithe and gay, sor, It's myself that's so persuasive and my failings are but small j Av you'd like to take a walk, sor, Or a confidential talk, sor, Why, just call out Mister Murphy, an' I'll hear you through the wall. CF.NERAL POEMS. 57 THE ARGUMENT. Nay, hear me, father, hear me, while I speak, These starving people touch me at the heart, Their case grows worse with each succeeding year, And would you let them starve and rot and die In this great England, whom you hold so fair. What right have men to luxury and wealth While others die for want of daily bread ? They live in comfort, comfort is a sin When comfort brings such comforts to themselves That they exhaust the comforts of the world. No, let the state ordain and put in force A one industrial system for the whole, Where every man may live and play his part, Where every man may claim, as is his right, An ownership in this fair land of ours. Let all the land be handed to the state And then divided as is right and fit Among the people, so that all may live In peace and plenty to the very end. Let capital be centred in the state And used in commerce as the state shall choose ; The profits made refunded to the state. Let all who would make profits for themselves 5 8 GENERAL POEMS. Be counted rogues and criminals and thieves, And forced to live in that constrained repose That comes within the precincts of the gaol. Let wages, too, be settled by the law In such a way that all may have enough ; Let no man work beyond a certain time ; Abolish landlords, merchants, princes, peers, Those wealthy robbers of the common rights. What ! smile you, father, you may smile again, If smiling gives expression to your views, But, ere you smile, first hear me to the end. If our reform is strange, you must allow We take a high ideal for our reform, We seek to raise and not degrade mankind, We seek to form the whole into a clan Where men may raise their brothers and themselves, Not singly as to-day, when rich men strive To gain the summit of the mountain top By competition, crushing as they go Their poorer brethren, whom they leave to die. What wonder then you hear the broken cry Of starving England rising to the heavens ? What wonder if your English people rise And claim their common right, the right to live ? Now speak, my father, I will lend mine ear To hear your version of the argument. Your words are strange, my son, in form and blend, A right to live, there's something in the cry ; GENERAL POEMS. 59 A right to live, but not a right to rob Your fellow men of that which is their own ; A right to live by dealings just and fair, And not by plunder sanctioned by the state. Your socialism, I take it, is a farce, When men, proclaiming justice for their creed, Do doubtful deeds in cloaks of righteousness ; In my young days the law proclaimed the thief, But now it seems the thief proclaims the law, For when men wish for that which is not their's They simply vote, and so attain the end. And for these starving people, you infer That none but socialists protect their rights, But we who do not hold with your reforms Are with you in the cause you have at heart ; We hold the people as a sacred charge, We know, too well, how darkly life appears To their all-blighted vision as they gaze. We hear, God knows, we hear the broken cry Of starving England rising to the heavens, And for this reason we would not pretend To grant them that the world can never give ; Go, look at nature how to gain the end, She fills the world with various kinds of men, Each one unlike the other in his form, Each one adapted for his sphere of life, And would you then fight nature in her course, And grind us down to one unnatural whole By silly systems, worked by senseless laws. 60 GENERAL POEMS. Divide, you say, and after that, what then ? Before this earth had spun its silent course Around yon golden orb that lights the sky, Your great reforms would have reformed themselves Into that same division which you hate, And life again would still be as to-day. You cannot by your systems change the fact That rich men make employment for the poor, And if you thwart the rich you rob the poor. If you would stand protector of their cause, Restore that confidence 'twixt class and class Which you and yours have done your best to wreck ; Let each investor feel, as he invests, That right of ownership that England gives To all who seek the shelter of her rule. Let both employer and employed unite In all good fellowship to meet the wave Of competition, till it passes by. If, as some say, we stand upon the verge Of some great revolutionary change, Let both look jointly at the pros and cons, In sober judgment, till the time shall come When that same Hidden Hand shall point the way ; And this great England, whom we hold so dear, Shall move one further step towards the goal. GENERAL POEMS. 6 1 THE BRIDE. Tread lightly down the gravel path, Between the rows of children pass, For thou must leave thy father's hearth, The old grey home among the grass. But stay and mark the dimpled face, While chubby hands uplifted hold A nosegay, grown about the place, Wild flowers of blended white and gold. And bend thy graceful form and kiss The child, let fall the silent tear ; Was ever love so pure as this ? Oh, store it through a bright career. Pass on, and kneel in silent prayer In yon grey chancel, where the stream Of sunlight lights thine auburn hair, And sets thee in a golden gleam. And pledge thy troth to live and love Thy husband as his loyal wife, That each successive hour may prove The sanctity of wedded life. 62 GENERAL POEMS. For me, I hold with those who cling To marriage in its highest sense, Who hold the bondage of the ring A hallowed order, one from whence There springs a good and pure desire To do things noble, brave and fair, Where minds are cleansed with sacred fire And knitted closer for despair. Oh ! wives of England, know it still, Our future lies within your hands, Preserve, with Heaven's assisting will, The tone our English race demands. Preserve us still those high ideas That keep the homes of England pure, And bind us through life's hopes and fears, To something lasting and secure. And when your children's voices bring Around your homes that pure delight, That sounds with such a heavenly ring ; So make their lives so fair and bright That they may keep in after life The reflex of a pure ideal : And know it, every loyal wife, To whom the ties of home appeal, GENERAL POEMS. That each true heart that beats for home Will beat for England, and inspire The sons of England to become A nation filled with national fire. So let us move and still progress, With this dear England, while we make Our children eager to confess They love their homes for England's sake. The wedding o'er, the dress is changed, You stand upon the polished floor With groups of kind relations ranged About you and the open door. And now the time has come to part, You linger where you long to dwell, Against that kind and trembling heart, The mother who has loved you well. The old nurse clings about you yet, And calls you still her darling child, And joy is mingled with regret, While grief and pain are reconciled. The horses, too, are all alive, Those well-bred chestnuts step and fly, They take you sailing down the drive, Where merry faces meet your eye. 63 64 GENERAL POEMS. Away towards the purple hill, Where sombre shadows fade and fall, Where all the world is calm and still, And twilight lingers over all. Away by banks of nestling fern, By woods where birds have flown to rest, With sleeping life at every turn, And nature with her peaceful breast. Away through drifts of misty air, That lightly touch the earth and rise To meet the Heaven so bright and fair, And mingle with the streaming skies. Away, away, beyond the wold, We watch you in the waning light, Till sunset falls with bars of gold, And twilight deepens into night. GENERAL POEMS. 65 LINES ON GORDON'S STATUE IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE. He died, and left so sweet a memory That still he seems to live : this to him now, A double monument, first to his life, And then to the example which he leaves, A light to guide us in the years to come. 66 GENERAL POEMS. PHILLPOTTS. There are ten letters in this name j Forgive me, reader, if I think The public must be short of ink, Or are their intellects to blame ? GENERAL POEMS. 67 THE EMIGRANTS' RETURN. What cheer, my lads ? our English land lies yonder 'neath the sky, The iron walls of Cornwall stand distinct and broad and high; Why cheer, my lads? the good ship flies and furrows through the main, And hearts are touched, for England bids us welcome back again. We love the good old country still where all true men are free, Where each may live within his rights in peace and constancy ; We love the good old country still, the slow and sober ways, The peaceful homes of Englishmen that meet us as we gaze. We like the wholesome government where all are free to speak, The laws that check the tyrant while they still protect the weak, The even course that justice holds, unbiassed to the end, The hand that fells the criminal, while mercy stands his friend. F2 68 GENERAL POEMS. We love the note of noble tone that rings from shore to shore, The daily round of noble deeds that grows from more to more, And most of all when trouble comes, some great catastrophe, The hearts of England mourn and weep in national sympathy. And is it strange that Englishmen should spread beyond the seas, That far and wide the English flag should float upon the breeze, That we should form the nucleus of nations yet to be, And hand the name of England down with all prosperity. Lead on till every English race unites from pole to pole, And federation firmly joins the parts into a whole ; Then shall we form a brotherhood with an empire's love and care For that good name that England bears, for England bright and fair. And that good Queen whom all should love, so noble and serene, Let every child be taught to say God bless our Empress Queen, Let every child be taught to love the pure ideal life, The present and the noble past, the Queen, the loyal wife. GENERAL POEMS. 69 What cheer, my lads? the good ship flies and furrows through the main, And hearts are touched, for England bids us welcome back again ; The voices of our countrymen sound out across the sea, " What cheer ahoy ? " their welcome comes, in cheerful harmony. On, on, we pass the stately ships that meet us on our way, They pass into the golden gleam that lights the dying day, And every taper line and spar stand out against the light, And all the land is beautiful and all the waters bright. And round the rocky Lizard Point and on to Plymouth Sound, While each man's heart rejoices as he stands on English ground, Three cheers, my lads, the good ship lies majestic and serene, And one cheer more for England, lads, for England and the Queen. 70 GENERAL POEMS. THE DYING PEER. Hark thee, my son, the night wind sighs and sounds, And mystic voices call me to mine end ; Lo ! I would speak with thee before I die. Take these broad acres, they are thine indeed, Take all I have, take all, and best of all, The noble name that our forefathers left, Bear it with honour, as in days of old ; Cleave to thy wife and let thy love shine forth Pure as the star that pierces through the night And lights the traveller on his weary way. But do not let thy station make thee proud, For there is nothing in this world of ours That takes precedence of a gentleman. If thy high rank should make thee hold aloof From those beneath thy rank, thou art not worth The value of their friendship and their love ; But let the good remain, the old blue blood That made our England great in days of old Is worth preserving for the times to come. Noblesse oblige, let England know it still That noble men will make a nation great, And those that loved their country in the past Will not betray the land they love so well. And so the fact is firm, and in good time GENERAL POEMS. 7 I The one who votes will see it for himself, That it is better they should hold the helm Than every cheap dictator of the mob Who fills the air with promises and lies That break like bubbles in the passing wind. Protect the poor ? it sounds a noble cry, But first protect the man who finds them wage, And then the poor may well protect themselves. And do thou work, for rents are growing less ; A race like ours should not be left to die For want of application, persevere And let thy children hold it for a creed That idleness is next akin to sin ; That in these days of progress and advance A useless gentleman is counted less Than he who digs the soil with honest hands. Your middle class advances step by step, 'Tis well they should, for they are sound and good And form a solid strength throughout the land. Take them for thine example in their work, Be thorough always to the very end ; This above all, lend all thine aim and aid To breed good feeling 'twixt the rich and poor, For on the bond does England's future rest. I take it every thinking subject knows That one without the other cannot stand, That both cannot be blended into one, And that without the fellowship of both The world can never work its mighty way. J 2 GENERAL POEMS. Oh ! England, England, we would love thee still ; Oh ! England, raised from barbarism and crime To such an empire, such a noble state, Must England fall, in all her splendid pride, For want of strength and unity at home ? So many sects, so many men to lead, So many little sections in the whole, Each one regardless of the common good And aiming only for its little end. Look round upon the vast machine at work, The working world is like a mighty watch, A set of cog wheels, each one in his turn Turning another, either great or small ; And if a wheel is not content to work In that good place where it is meant to work, The whole machine will soon be out of gear, And all will rust and rot, and so decay. But if each wheel pursues its useful course With two intents in view, one for itself, The other for the other wheels in turn, Then all will hum in one harmonious tune, And make one glorious music as they go ; So let us work and strive towards the goal, For something in the silence seems to tell Of some result for every effort made ; Of some ideal ending in the end, For this bright world to which creation turns, And so the whole grows better day by day. But, hush ! the night wind whispers through the trees, GENERAL POEMS. 73 The gentle deer are sleeping in the fern And o'er the park the misty vapours rise Towards the dim grey verge of early dawn. Farewell, my son, my blessing rest with thee, And in it thou wilt feel the touch of heaven. For there is that within the parent's love That brings us nearer to the feet of God Than any other love : and so farewell, Farewell, my son, farewell, it is the end. 74 GENERAL POEMS. AWAKE, NEW LOVE, AND CHARM THE HOUR. Awake, new love, and charm the hour, A voice is heard from far away, The soft wind winds about the tower, The sunbeam falls across the grey. Awake, the rolling vapours sail, Cloud banks of mist and shadows pass, A curtain fills the silent vale, And raindrops linger on the grass. But through the dark the bright appears, A promise of a happier day, Like gladness seen through mists of tears The sunbeam falls across the grey. Awake, new love, the sunbeam falls On yonder cottage, where the child Sleeps sweetly 'neath the rustic walls, And in low accents soft and mild The fair young mother softly sings, And watches with that quiet smile That seems to tell of heavenly things, And rocks the cradled babe the while. GENERAL POEMS. 75 Watch on, and guard the sleeping form, Watch on, fair mother, watch and pray, The sunlight breaks the passing storm, The sunbeam falls across the grey. Watch on, adown the sunbeam comes That sacred love that makes us pure, The love that binds our hearts and homes, And gives us courage to endure. Awake, new love, and charm the hour, Awake, the solemn sacred ties Of home, with all its gentle power, Awake, the love that never dies. Awake, new love, the infant crows With joy to see its mother's face, For in those winding arms it knows A sure and quiet resting place. Lie sweetly 'neath the drooping eyes That linger as they watch thee still, Like far off lights from Paradise, That guard thee and thy life from ill. # # * * # Awake, new love, in after years, Awake the memories of to-day, The peaceful home, the voice that cheers, The tall church tower so far away. 76 GENERAL POEMS. Awake, new love, and charm the hour, Awake, new love, when heaven retains Those memories as a lasting power That link the past with golden chains. Awake, new love, and show us then The faith that helped us on our way, The sunbeam brighter yet than when It fell in life across the grey. GENERAL POEMS. 77 AGNES IN DAVID COPPERFIELD. " And now, as I close my task, subduing my desire to linger yet, these faces fade away. But, one face, shining on me like a heavenly light by which I see all other objects, is above them and beyond them all. And that remains. " I turn my head, and see it, in its beautiful serenity, beside me. My lamp burns low, and I have written far into the night : but the dear presence, without which I were nothing, bears me company. " O Agnes, O my soul, so may thy face be by me when I close my life indeed ; so may I, when realities are melting from me like the shadows which I now dismiss, still find thee near me, pointing upward !" Agnes, ever bright and fair, 1 turn the page and see you still, Your " tranquil brightness" fills the air Like sunlight on the distant hill. I see your quiet " angel face," The " sweet composure" that you bring, That makes your home a " sacred place" Where angels' voices seem to ring. You seem to touch some other sphere, And as you move from room to room In that old house you hold so dear, Your brightness falls across the gloom. 78 GENERAL POEMS. Your " gentle nature" bright and pure, Where " simple love and truth" prevail, Was formed to teach us to endure When all the ills of life assail. Still " pointing upward," still you raise Our hopes and hearts to heaven above, And as we read your words, we gaze Towards the realms of boundless love. Oh, send us Higher Powers that rule, Another Dickens, who shall lead Our England for her good, and school The people in a case of need. Another author, who can make Ideal lives to which we turn, A man who writes for England's sake And lifts us while we live and learn. A man who raises married life, Unlike some authors of to-day, Who scoff at love t'wixt man and wife And cast the sacred bands away. A man who all his genius lends To keep the homes of England pure, Who leads us on to noble ends And makes our children's love secure. GENERAL POEMS. 79 I honor those who write, and hold The gift of genius heavenly-born, Who are not led by greed of gold To poison that they should adorn. Who strike that note of noble tone That touches England at the core, That binds our better parts in one And rings again from shore to shore. For should not those who write revere Their country's name, and hand it down Untarnished through a bright career Of noble works and pure renown ? So, as I look and turn the page, I yearn again for some great light To guide in this creative age The people, and to lead them right. I see thee, Agnes, moving still, The faithful heart, the loyal wife, The quiet force of mind and will, The noble purpose of thy life. I see that noble purpose lend Its light to others, and I feel The constant presence of a friend, The reflex of a pure ideal. 8o GENERAL POEMS. THE BLENDING OF THE NATIONS. How ripe and old we think this world of ours, This baby world of which we think so much, This little planet filled with childish men Who, having left the cradle, feel their way With frightened gait and slow uncertain steps Who cluster into groups and families ; Each cluster called a nation, and who think The time has come to play at being men. Oh ! blinded race j Oh ! feeble, weak mankind, Is there no youth to which the child should aim ? No noble manhood crowned with golden age To which we may attain in years to come ? For me, I hold the progress of the years All tends to show that this creative time Will bring forth something better than to-day, That we shall draw towards that noble end, The blending of the nations, which will bind The world into a great harmonious whole. It is not strange that in these later days Of modern life those barriers should decay Which separated nations, and which dimmed GENERAL POEMS. 8 1 The people's mental vision so that they Could scarcely see beyond their own domain ; That they should take that wider view of life Which comprehends it as a complex whole, And is not narrowed to localities ; And knowing this they then accept the fact That what is good for one is good for all. And so it is, the circumstances tend To knit the races closer and to form A commonwealth of nations, which in time Will move in step to one harmonious tune And make one glorious music as they go. So let us turn and move, by slow degrees, To that bright goal far off, but which we see ; Let all men help to stimulate the cause Of freedom, justice, and humanity ; Let every nation give its generous aid To every other nation, and promote That higher reciprocity that forms The basis of true international life. These are blind dreams, the pessimist will say. Are men then saints and angels who can mould Their ways to such a noble end as this ? It may be so, but yet it seems to me There is a golden purpose in mankind. To doubt it, augurs want of faith in those High Powers that rule, Who made this mystic world, For what is man above the brutes that graze If he has no high state at which to aim ? G 82 GENERAL POEMS. What means this progress if the world should end Half-finished, unaccomplished, as to-day ? Lead, England, lead, your system points the way, Your federated empire would foreshow The method and the motive, and should tend Towards the federation of the world. PREFACE TO HUNTING SONGS. The author may, perhaps, claim a few friends among the votaries of the chase ; if so, it is to them that he addresses himself in the following poems. A feeling of pleasure comes over him as he turns from page to page and feels that he is again riding with them in fancy over the hunting countries of England. Those matter of fact men, the publisher and the bookseller, melt into oblivion as author and reader move side by side over the wide pastures to the music of the flying pack. Hark ! what a chorus as they make that slight turn up wind, sailing along the great grass field at a pace that seems to be good enough for anything. See now how they check in the plough beyond where those priceless beauties are casting and spreading like a fan, their white forms showing so gracefully against the dark ground, but now they have it again ; Nameless, Newsman, Nicety, there under the shady side of the hedgerow, where the night dew still lingers for awhile. Hark ! hark ! but it is soon over, for they have marked their fox to ground in an earth within the borders of an adjoining hunting country, and the courtesies of the chase render it necessary to leave him unmolested. Meanwhile, the author has recovered himself and has come back to the point from which he 84 PREFACE TO HUNTING SONGS. somewhat erratically digressed, namely, the ten couple of sporting poems in question. It may interest the reader to be reminded that these poems were written by a huntsman. The author has until lately been master of the Netton Harriers, a modest attempt, perhaps, but the genuine article and one which enabled him to grasp some of the many details connected with the science of hunting. The post of master of hounds gives a man an opportunity of forming a fairly correct estimate of his friends and neighbours ; he sees that natural courtesy and good feeling between man and man and class and class which go so strongly to prove the fact that a sportsman at heart is a gentleman born. The author has found it so over and over again ; in the cottage or the castle, no matter where, the instincts of a true sportsman are the instincts of a gentleman. It is wholesome, too, that all should meet in a common cause united in a firm friendship, irrespective of class or grade. It is with pleasure, therefore, that the author makes this small contribution to the wealth of sporting literature already published, and hopes it may find favour among his brothers of the chase. HUNTING SONGS. 85 THE IRISH DEALEE AND THE WRONG CUSTOMER. An' bedad ! I'm glad I've met you, For you see I don't forget you, Sure I've brought the horse from Oirland for yer honour by the ship, He was bred in ould Kilkenny, An' I'll lay yer my last penny That he'll go from night till morning without asking for the whip. Tired ! no ; the man who sould him Said you've only got to hould him An' he'd wear your breeches threadbare e're he'd ask you for a halt ; Come, sir, take him an' be lanient, You can pay me when convanient, Them that's bred and reared in England never will be worth their salt. 'Twas the blind man saw him walking, An' the dumb man started talking When he passed me, an' he tould me he was worth his weight in gould. 86 HUNTING SONGS. " Whisht ! " the deaf man said, " you're joking, " I can hear the fun you're poking, " Sure the eighty Irish members could not buy him, so I'm tould." 'Twas last week in Dublin city, Don't ye know it ? more's the pity, Well I lunched with Mister Morley off a leg of roasted pork, He was on his best behaviour, An' he begged me as a favour Av I'd spare him half an hour for a confidential talk. " Pat," he said, " you know my feelings, " How I tries for pleasant dealings " With the boys that form the cabinet there in mighty London town, " Arrah ! now, I'll not evict you, " An' I'll see they don't convict you " When you're short of rint next quarter, av you'll let me buy the brown. " For, ye see, there's Asquith seeking " For a nag, I heard him speaking " To his wife about a hunter down at Spencer's in the shires, " An' I thought I might present it " From myself, you'll not repent it, " For they're dacent kind of people, an' it's blood that she requires. HUNTING SONGS. 87 11 An' besides, there's many measures " That the liberal party treasures, " Av the boys will pull together we shall prosper in the end ; " So I ask for your assistance, " An' we will not mind resistance, " Pat," he spoke with great emotion, " you will not refuse a friend." " Mister Morley," I repeated, " Don't get up," I said, " be seated, " Is the case so very pressing ? " " Divil 'a lie," said honest John ; Then I said yer honour 'd buy him, " Well," he said, " then let him try him, " Av he don't, then I must have him, but ye must not keep me long." What ! the horse belonged to you, sor ? An' my statements are not true, sor ? He was bred down here in Wiltshire an' ye know the very farm ! Lame behind, and cribs and whistles ? Is not worth a feed of thistles ? Well, ye see, sor, it's this way, sor, now I'll tell ye ; pray be calm. Now my father was a man, sor, Av ye doubt my word, ye can, sor, With a janius for invention, an' my mother was the same, 88 HUNTING SONGS. So ye see it's handed down, sor, An' has brought us much renown, sor, Like our ancestors before us an' the stock from whence we came. Arrah ! now, yer honour's laughing, Faix ! I see you're fond of chaffing, It's the smile that makes us handsome an' I see ye know the way. Well, I'm mighty plazed we've met, sor, It's yourself I'll not forget, sor, Shake my hand ; good afternoon, sor, we will deal another day. February, 1895. HUNTING SONGS. 89 THE STRANGER FROM TOWN ON THE BLOOD-LOOKING BAY. We met at the village, two hundred and more, The local men thought there was pleasure in store, And everyone talked, with a smile on his face, Of records and deeds of the men of the chase, But one was unknown in that brilliant array, A stranger from town on a blood-looking bay. How everyone turned and took stock of the steed, Almost thoroughbred, and so true to his breed, A head that was gentle, and generous, and kind, Such strength in the back and such quarters behind, They said at the meet, " he'll be sailing away, " This stranger from town on the blood-looking bay." And after the hunter they looked at the man, " A picture," they said, " find a fault if you can, " A gentleman born, it is easy to trace " The best of blue blood in his features and face." But quiet withal, he had little to say, The stranger from town on the blood-looking bay. 90 HUNTING SONGS. We found in the gorse, I will give you my word, He jumped the big gate that was locked like a bird, Through the best of the vale he went sailing along, The fences were stiff, and the scent it was strong, There were two in the van, one, a man on a grey, And the stranger from town on the blood-looking bay. Still plainly I see them, these two in the van, Each rode with a will and each rode like a man, And one was well known and was always in front, The pick of the county, the pride of the hunt, But there soon came a time when he had to give way To the stranger from town on the blood-looking bay. How gamely he rode, and how gamely the horse Took fences and rails as they came in his course, And many a good hunter was beaten and blown, When the stranger was forward and holding his own, We knew he had one who could gallop and stay, The stranger from town on the blood-looking bay. The run of the season for distance and pace, An hour and a half, and a regular race ; The stranger it was took the fox from the hounds, Who bayed at their quarry with musical sounds, And no one compared in that brilliant array With the stranger from town on the blood-looking bay. HUNTING SONGS. 9 1 And who the man was is a mystery still, This stranger who led us, and rode with a will ; We heard that he only came down by the train, We all of us hoped we might meet him again, And we talk of the rider and horse to this day, The stranger from town on the blood-looking bay. 92 HUNTING SONGS. This poem came out in The County Gentleman, Oct. 5, 1895. OVER THE MOORLAND. [At Hawkcombe Head with the Devon and Somerset Stag-hounds, Friday, Sept. 27, 1895.] Over the moorland, now gently, mare, gently, Anthony heads him away from the herd ; All the field watch his direction intently, Over the moorland he flies like a bird. Brow, bray, and tray, see him pause on the heather, Standing majestically, game for a spring, Graceful in attitude, light as a feather, Bold as a lion, and proud as a king. Over the moorland so easily stealing, Past the Doone Valley and Hoccombe away, On to the skyline, the good stag is feeling The breeze in his face, for he means it to-day. Lay on the pack, they are eager and ready, Quickly they own it and gamely they try ; All the field waiting by Shepherd's Cot — steady ! Over the moorland we gallantly fly. HUNTING SONGS. 93 Scouring to cry, see them lashing and driving, 11 Forrard, away !" hark at Anthony's cheer, Over the watercourse, every hound striving Hard for a place, while we ride in the rear. Onward by Stoford the good stag is leading, At the weir water he stands in the stream, Mark him at bay, but his heart and his breeding Stand in good stead on the moor it would seem. Over the moorland, still onward we press him, Through Culbone Plantation he sinks to the sea, And though we are eager to kill him we bless him, This king of the forest, so fearless and free. Down through the woodland the secretary slots him ; Hark ! there's a note of a hound from the rear, Into the Severn sea somebody spots him, Cheer them on, Anthony ; Anthony, cheer. A boat is at hand, he is lassoed and taken, Taken and killed ; many horses are done, Many a good rider and steed have forsaken The Chase for to-day, and are out of the run. Luck and long life to the hunt and the Master, Long may we hunt the wild stag in the chase Over wild Exmoor, and free from disaster, With horses and hounds that can gallop and race. 94 HUNTING SONGS. Over the moorland the bright moon is sailing, Over the scene of the chase of the deer, Still in my slumbers the good stag is failing, Cheer them on, Anthony ; Anthony, cheer. HUNTING SONGS. 95 THE SISTERS ARE *SCOURING TO CRY. OR A Day with Freeman and the Lady Pack of the South and West Wilts Foxhounds. Sit down in your saddle, they mean it to-day, The huntsman is cheering — " Yut try — y ! " There's a cap in the air and it's forrard away, And all the men's faces are happy and gay, For the sisters are scouring to cry. They can hunt on the fallow and run on the grass, They can stoop, they can drive, they can fly ; Hold hard for a moment, now let the pack pass, If your hunter be slow you will find it a farce When the sisters are scouring to cry. Out over the downs they are steady from hare, They'll let a round dozen go by, How quickly they drive the good fox from his lair, He says to himself " it's a case of beware " When the sisters are scouring to cry." * This word is pronounced scoring in the language of the chase. 96 HUNTING SONGS. Away and away, they are sinking the vale, Each hound like a bird in the sky, And Freeman is marking their work as they sail, While all of us know we must keep within hail When the sisters are scouring to cry. See Martin, the master, so quick and so keen, A horseman whom none can defy, His hands are perfection, his seat is serene, It's a very big fence that can stop him, I ween, When the sisters are scouring to cry. We stand by the earths where the fox goes to ground, The fox that made everyone fly, We look in the face of each musical hound, How level they look, there is time to look round, How level when scouring to cry. The moonbeams are falling, I slumber again, And Freeman is cheering — " Yut try — y," But hark ! he's away ! am I riding in vain ? The roll of the gallop sweeps over the plain, And the sisters are scouring to cry. March, 1895. HUNTING SONGS. 97 HOUNDS AT HORSE EXERCISE. All the yellow corn is waving, And the harvester is saving All the field of golden barley with the old horse and the grey; See the pack are game and sprightly, Oh ! they tread the road so lightly, I can hear the rustling music of their feet upon the way. All the singing birds are singing, And the bits are lightly ringing, And the horses beat the measure, making music as we ride ; See the chestnut's veins are swelling On her neck, her blood is telling As she bears me on the journey with her long and swinging stride. Oh ! the hounds are fit and jolly As we jog them by the folly, Oh ! they love an outing, bless you, for it makes them bright and gay. O'er each wistful face uplifted, Thoughts of sport have sweetly drifted, And I hear the rustling music of their feet upon the way. H 98 HUNTING SONGS. Till the end I shall remember These bright mornings in September, With the silver river running with its heaps of drifting weed ; In the sky the clouds are racing, And below the lights are chasing Every shadow in succession as it glides across the mead, And the music of the morning Floats along the golden awning That is forming as the sunlight spreads and strengthens into day, And the sounds of nature mingle With the hounds, my senses tingle As I hear the rustling music of their feet upon the way. All the countryside is ringing, And the singing birds are singing, And the voices of the morning strike across the silver air j Nature cheers us, while she reaches All our better thoughts, and teaches Men to love her, for her influence is ever bright and fair. Nature comes as a refiner To mankind, the Great Designer Speaks in language sweet and solemn through the voices of the day ; All my better heart rejoices As I hear those mystic voices, And, again, the rustling music of the hounds upon the way. HUNTING SONGS. 99 I can see the sunlight streaming Where the water meads are gleaming, And the landscape in its grandeur spreads around me far and wide ; There the village smoke is lifting Where the clouds are lightly drifting, And I look on smiling England and my soul is filled with pride. Turn again, my lads, retracing All our steps, the breeze is bracing, Still the horses beat the measure, making music bright and gay; See the hounds are game and sprightly, As they tread the ground so lightly I can hear the rustling music of their feet upon the way. TOO HUNTING SONGS. THE BOY ON THE PONY. The boy on the pony, who sits so serenely ! Ah ! well you may ask ; you are strange to the shire ? Anon when we find he will show you how keenly He rides o'er the vale, this young son of the squire. He lives at the Hall with his father and mother, His nurse cannot make him look tidy, they say, His hat is forlorn, he won't wear any other, His breeks have been ragged for many a day. See the huge piece of cake he is quietly eating, Held up with both hands, he is friends with the cook ; Look, now, as he sits at his ease, he is treating The hounds to a morsel ; how wistful they look. Last month, on a balmy bright day in November, We found in the woodlands and ran to the vale, The boy on the pony was there, I remember, Both covered with mud from the head to the tail. The country was cramped, but the pony was clever, The ditch in the meadow, the drop in the field, He had them in turn, I assure you he never Made half a mistake, and he never would yield. HUNTING SONGS. IOI We ran for three hours where the country was deepish, The field was diminished, the leaders were blown, And many a good rider went home and looked sheepish, But the boy on the pony was holding his own. At last, when our fox was dead beat and before us, We came to a fence that made all of us stop, We heard the good hounds and their modified chorus, We looked at the fence, and we thought of the drop. There was only one place that was narrow and trappy, Beneath a tall tree, where a horse could not pass, But the boy on the pony crept through ; Oh ! how happy He looked as they landed all safe on the grass. Three fields further on they ran into their quarry, The boy on the pony was with them alone, Who-whoop, the delight of the huntsman and Harry, The whip, whose good hunter was beaten and done. They said that at night he came home, and returning Found his new French governess boiling with rage, , He'd cut all his work, for he thought the best learning For him was Diana's adventurous page. And when the young culprit was brought to his mother, A fair lady rider who came from Kildare, She fell on his neck and declared that no other Young hopeful alive with her son could compare. 102 HUNTING SONGS. The brush in due course was well mounted ; his father Still points to the trophy, it hangs on the wall, He smiles as he shows it, some say he would rather Lose everything else that he owns at the Hall. We toasted the boy, with all honour and glory, That night through the length and the breadth of the shire, So now I have told you the whole of the story Of this foxhunting son of the foxhunting squire. But, look ! they are off and are drawing the spinney, You'll see our best country, I'm glad you are here, They'll run, I feel sure, there's a scent for a guinea, Tally ho ! he's away, follow on to the cheer. HUNTING SONGS. 103 THE SHADE OF THE HUNTSMAN. Why, yes, I'm the farmer, yes, that is my calling, And you are the gent that has come to the Grange, Come in, sir, come in, sir, the snow is appalling. Not wet ? if you are I can lend you a change. Well, what shall it be ; there is whisky and brandy, There's fine home brewed ale, and a cake and a cheese, There's a cut of cold roast and there's other things handy ; Come in, sir, you're welcome, sit down at your ease. Why, yes, if you wish, I will tell you the story Of the shade of the huntsman who died in the chase ; But, ere we begin, here's a health to his glory, How well I recall his intelligent face. Poor Joe, we were friends, yes, our hearts were united, I knew him from childhood, a broth of a boy, He'd the run of the house and he came uninvited, And welcome, the children received him with joy. His hounds were perfection, so sorty and clever, Such neat necks and shoulders and bone to the feet, With hearts that could last, they could gallop for ever, To see them in chase was a sight and a treat. 104 HUNTING SONGS. So quick at their work, they were true to their breeding, They 'd race to his holloa and fly to his cheer j How quickly he spotted the hound that was leading, His eye on the pack as he rode in the rear. One day when we hunted, one balmy November, We found in the woodlands and ran to the vale, We passed through this farm, yes, how well I remember Joe sailing away over bullfinch and rail. We came to the brook, Joe was at it and over, He showed us the way on the gallant grey mare, And over the fallow and over the clover, The fences were tackled with plenty to spare. And yonder he fell, where the shadows are falling From yonder tall oak tree, see, there on the grass, So game to the last and so true to his calling, A man and a leader, a bad one to pass. A rabbit hole broke the mare's leg as she landed, She crushed him completely, he died where he fell ; The hounds were at fault, they were turning right handed, Their fox was dead beat and was sinking the dell. And still of a night, when the moonlight is stealing Across the dark ride of the woodland, they say The shade of the huntsman is seen, ever feeling The reins as he handles the shade of the grey. HUNTING SONGS. 105 And still through the woodland you see the pack spreading, The shades of good hounds who have loved him in chase, In front of their huntsman each phantom hound threading The covert with movements of exquisite grace. And over the open still lashing and driving, The phantom-shaped pack ever gallantly fly, Each hound in his place, and the leaders contriving To keep up the pace, for the scent is breast high. Beside them their huntsman so gracefully sailing, Is watching their movements still keen as of yore, The shade of the mare as she tops the high railing Still carries him onward, and well to the fore. On, onward, they go, where the meadows are gleaming In silvery grandeur, and silent and still, Away by the brook where the moonbeams are streaming, The phantom-shaped pack passes over the hill. And weird is the scene over which they are speeding, And weird are the colours of silver and grey, And weird are the hounds that are silently leading The ghost of the huntsman — still, forrard, away. And still in the hunt there are those who maintain it, Unseen in the daylight he rides by your side, And when you have got a good start and retain it, He moves you to gallop and stirs you to ride. 106 HUNTING SONGS. He stirs you to ride when your comrades are moving Around you in chase, ever true to the end, He stirs you to ride when the moments are proving That every true sportsman is counted a friend. Well, well, men may laugh and declare I'm romancing, For me 'tis enough, I care not what they say, I know that at night when the moonbeams are dancing That Joe and the hounds are still streaming away, Good night, sir, good night, mind the step ; how it's snowing, I'm glad you are pleased at the story I've told ; My word, what a gale, see the trees, how it's blowing, The drifts must be deep over there on the wold. HUNTING SONGS. 1 07 THE FOUR YEAR OLD. " All right, my bold young one, there's corn in the bin," Says Jim as he stands in the straw, " As long as you're here you shall never get thin, 11 See ! the light of the morning is just creeping in " Through the shutters and cracks in the door." The four year old neighs at the sound of the corn, He stands like a chief in his pride, His blood and his breeding are fit for the Quorn, While the deepest of ploughs would not make him forlorn, With quarters so massive and wide. Bone right to the feet, such a beautiful back, With loins like a bullock and strong, The stride of a hunter, the ways of a hack, He looks like the sort to ride up to the pack When the beauties are sailing along, The meet at the village j all sportsmen are keen On the young one, and praise to the skies His tapering head and his shoulders so lean ; The parson declares him the best he has seen For years, and a feast for the eyes. 108 HUNTING SONGS. He knows all about him, this man of research, He knows both the young one and Jim, He noted him once from his clerical perch, For he saw him one day from his pulpit in church While the people were singing a hymn. But hark ! in the covert a note that is light, " Baik ! Bonnylass, gently, ware hare ! " See Nimble and Nancy put everything right, They know how to hasten a fox on his flight, Tis the Nominal blood, I declare. And all through the woodland sweet music resounds, Bold Reynard must leave it or die ; See him stealing away from those musical sounds, Those musical notes of those musical hounds, For the sisters are scouring to cry. Woa — ho ! such excitement, he strains at the rein, The four year old, gallant and free \ It's a blind looking place that leads out of the lane, Woa — ho ! but caresses and words are in vain, He has rolled on his side on the lea. A grunt and a struggle, how frightened and wild He looks as he comes to his feet, But a pat on the neck makes him gentle and mild, The man and the horse are like father and child In their friendship so firm and complete. HUNTING SONGS. Steady on, give him time, try the gap in the mead, That's better, he creeps like a snail, Now rouse him, and lift him, and follow the lead, He means it, he has it ; look ! will he succeed ? Well done ! he is over the rail. Forrard on ! let him go, let him out in his stride, Jim goes to the front like a man, The fences are strong and the ditches are wide, But the two fly along with the galloping tide That follow the men of the van. Men stand by the earths and speak well of the day, The young one is praised for his pluck, The squire, who has followed Jim well on his grey, Comes quietly up and has something to say Ere his comrades come up with the ruck. Jim's banns are declared the next week with all speed, The parson the reason can tell, He knows that the wedding is due to the steed, And tells the young woman he " hopes they'll succeed, " For the horse went uncommonly well." And everyone talks of the gallant young horse, So full of good mettle and fire ; Oh ! yes, he is sold as a matter of course, A cheque for two hundred Jim has to endorse, And the young one belongs to the squire. 109 IIO HUNTING SONGS. RIDE FOR DEAR LIFE. Over the moorland the daylight is creeping, Dimly the dawn has crept over the hill ; Somebody whispers while others are weeping, " Quick for God's sake, she is dangerously ill." " Ride for the doctor, go round to the stable, " Take the brown mare, you must ride for dear life, " Trust to her speed, she is willing and able, " Haste, you must save her, your beautiful wife." Moving mechanically, meekly obeying, Yonder the bridle, the bit, and bredoon ; Now to the stable, the good mare is neighing, Come to the door, there is light from the moon. Over the moorland, away we are speeding, Over the moorland we gallantly fly, Quickly the mare shows the worth of her breeding, Ride for dear life, or our darling will die. Furlong by furlong we throw them behind us, Stroke upon stroke with her wonderful stride ; Not a pulsation but seems to remind us Life may depend on this desperate ride. HUNTING SONGS. Ill Furlong by furlong, still beating the measure, Foam on the bridle and sweat on the rein, Ever before me the face of my treasure — God ! shall I never caress her again ? Over the granite we go with a rattle, Up the steep pathway, and down the decline, On by the herd of the terrified cattle, Over the moorland we keep to the line. Locked ! it is strange, see the gateway is standing There where the roadway is rugged and steep ; Bad the take off, and indifferent the landing, A bar on the top, it's a desperate leap. Rouse ye my bonny steed, neatly collecting All your strong quarters beneath for a spring, Thoughts of the danger our senses infecting, Life may depend on your stride and your swing. Straight for the gate, will she turn ? never fear it, Neatly she judges it, gamely she tries ; Is it too much for her ? now ! will she clear it ? Up to it, close to it, over she flies. Gratefully touching her neck, I caress her, Words cannot utter my feelings to-day ; Over the moorland again do I press her, On to the hamlet that sleeps by the bay. 112 HUNTING SONGS. The crisis is over, and twilight is stealing Over the valley and over the hill j Down by the side of my wife I am kneeling, Hush ! for her slumbers are peaceful and still. Angels are guarding her, silently sleeping, Angels are watching her beautiful face ; Over the moorland the sunset is creeping, Nature reposes with exquisite grace. Silently, silently, sunbeams are falling, Brightly they light every wave of her hair ; Softly the voices of nature are calling, Sounds of sweet sympathy float on the air. Softly, oh, night wind thy way thou art wending Over the moorland and over the sea j On to the regions above thou art tending, Bear on thy bosom a message from me. Tell of our love to the Maker who gave us Life reunited again for a spell, Tell of the steed who was willing to save us, Tell of our gratitude, faithfully tell. How in our love we are welded together, Sacred the promise, and solemn the tie ; How, when we come to the end of our tether, Still in that love we are willing to die. HUNTING SONGS. HARMONY. See Harmony hunting and feeling her way, She feathers in doubt on the track, Each ear is intent, as they join in the fray, When Harmony finds she has something to say, They trust her, each hound in the pack. There's a holloa ! how soon from the covert they fly, They break on the side of the wind ; Away ! for the sisters are scouring to cry, Away ! every hound like a bird in the sky, Each one in her place from the find. Out over the meadows they race and they spread, They've a dash and a drive I declare, A cloth could be placed o'er the pack, it is said, Look at Harmony lashing along at the head With action so graceful and fair. A play of the shoulder, a strength of the back, With quarters to send her along, A head and a neck like a thoroughbred hack, With bone to the feet that fall firm on the track, And a heart that is lasting and strong. i 114 HUNTING SONGS. They check on the fallow and hunt to the trees, The leaves make a whispering sound, Away on the left he is sinking the breeze, Where Harmony hunts out the line by degrees, She can hunt on the coldest of ground. A hunt of three hours where the country is dry, Till Harmony marks him to earth, They said it was hopeless, the ground would defy ; What with Harmony's keen inclination to try ? They never knew Harmony's worth. And so, in the workings and ways of the chase, Does Harmony lead to the end ; We look at the system of hunting and trace How harmony forms both the root and the base, How hunting and harmony blend. When the country's at fault and the people complain, In times both of trouble and fear, When they find in the end there is nothing to gain Go ! show them how Harmony hunts on the plain, With the hounds flying on to the cheer. HUNTING SONGS. 115 THE RACE OF THE YEAR. Common's Derby, 1891. Come down to the Derby, come down to the race, Come down to the downs with a smile on your face In spite of the rain and the absence of sun, There's something to see in Isonomy's son ; You'll find some good fellows and lots of good cheer, It's always the case at the race of the year. A wonderful sight is this wonderful course To all who profess a regard for the horse, Just look at the crowd from the bend of the land, Like bees in a swarm all about the grand stand, The roar of the voices that falls on the ear Has a wonderful sound at the race of the year. You've plenty of choice if you look for a nag, See the blood-looking team come along with the drag, Each horse in his place as he faces the hill, Breaks into a gallop and moves with a will, The broken down hunter tied up in the rear Hears the sound of the horn at the race of the year. 1 2 Il6 HUNTING SONGS. But now to the paddock, the crowd is select, Some come to be seen and some come to inspect Two sons of St. Simon, two sons of Bend Or, While Energy's offspring shows well to the fore ; This Gouveneur fills us with feelings of fear, Sent over from France for the race of the year. There's something uncommon (forgive me the pun) In *Alington's brown, good Isonomy's son, They've entered the horse in the baronet's name, But both have a share in his fall or his fame, The favourite was bred by the Dorsetshire peer, He looks like the nag for the race of the year. " They're off," at the fall of the flag, with a speed That tries the condition of those in the lead, They're off, in the teeth of the wind and the rain That sweeps over Surrey's historical plain ; In passing the furzes it seems to be clear The Deemster is out of the race of the year. And after the corner the shouting is loud When Stirling's two grandsons come out of the crowd, And Common and Gouveneur stealing away Show the Birdcatcher line has a value to-day, But Common comes up as the multitude cheer, And adds to his record the race of the year. * Common was the property of Lord Alington and Sir Frederic Johnstone. HUNTING SONGS. 117 We're proud of the Derby, we're proud of the breed Of horses that go with such wonderful speed, We're proud of the men who are honest and straight In riding and racing and try to create True sport in the sense that is highest and dear To England, whose pride is this race of the year. Il8 HUNTING SONGS. THE PENSIONER. What ? Foreman, old man, are you fond of me still ? Good Foreman, good Foreman, good hound, You're pensioned, my boy, you may roam where you will, You were always so good from the find to the kill, And could hunt on the coldest of ground. And still I recall how you hunted the line, So faint where the fallow was dry, The Leicestershire foxhound was seen to decline, And the hare was down wind, but you, you could define Each move, ever eager to try. You cast on the stubble, you cast in the lane, You cast where I stood on my horse, And though you were baffled again and again, You hunted the line of our hare on the plain Till we killed her just under the gorse. What is it you've got ? what ! the skin of a hare, Come Foreman, old man, let me look, How sheepish you look, don't pretend not to care, I see what the game is, you're cute I declare, For you keep on good terms with the cook. HUNTING SONGS. II9 The friendship that binds us has strengthened with years, The friendship of huntsman and hound, It binds us to-day as of old and endears The memories we cherish so fondly and cheers Our hearts, while each musical sound Of the music that stirred us is stirring us still, And fills us with pleasure to-day ; The sound of the holloa from over the hill Still falls on our ears and produces a thrill, As it did when the hare was away. And so do we love it, this music so clear, The music that comes with the chase, It fills us with joy as it falls on the ear, It adds to our courage and drives away fear, And strengthens the pluck of our race. So Foreman, old man, you have acted your part, The Chase is a part of the whole, You're worth a good home, and I have not the heart To put you down, Foreman, that would be a dart That would pierce to the quick of my soul. Yes, Foreman, old man, you are welcome to rove, Good Foreman, good Foreman, all round The stables and garden ; good Foreman, the love That bound us in chase will still bind us and prove The friendship of huntsman and hound. 120 HUNTING SONGS. UNCAS. A marvellous hunter, a beast of a hack, A game little head and a wonderful back, Yes, Uncas, my boy, you may wince if you will, But you know in your heart you are fond of me still, Why, where did I get him ? I'll tell you, he came From Clifton of Keynsham ; yes, this is the same That was first at Bath Horse Show, the jumpers were strong But the boy who was on him could send him along. And Clifton first bought him in Bristol, they say, From Hutchins, the dealer, who sold me the grey ; Go, look at his neck, he is healthy and hard, The stablemen love him, they call him a card. At night, when the others are beaten and done, Old Uncas bucks round the loose box full of fun ; I hunted the Netton and carried the horn, How faithful he was and how well I was borne. From the find in the roots when we first went away He galloped his best till the end of the day, The gate in the meadow he cleared like a stag, Well ! Well ! I must stop, it is vulgar to brag. HUNTING SONGS. II So come, brother sportsman, I'll give you some tea ; You'd buy him, you say ? thank you, no, not from me ; No money you offer will tempt me to sell The hunter who bears me so gamely and well. What time is your train ? you are sure you wont stay ? Yes, here are the others, the chestnut and grey, I fear you must go if your train is at five, Yes, turn to the left by the bridge — look alive ! 122 HUNTING SONGS. THE DRAFT AND THE ENTRY, OR In the Kennels with the Netton Harriers. Put out Trusty, it's a pity, but he's no use after one, I prefer an afternoon hound, they can stand the hardest run, Goldfinch ! yes she is a skirter ; Finder, too, is getting old, He was always staunch and true, Bob, when the scent was weak and cold. Barmaid ? yes, I hate a mute hound, run her through the little door, Strange ! I never knew a barmaid that was shy of tongue before ; Shameless ! Tempest ! heavy shouldered, they would never catch a hare, And the rest can go as well, Bob, for their looks I do not care. Now the entry, put them over, every one looks fit and hard, Here then, lope, hand up the biscuits, turn them in the lower yard ; Traveller, ah ! he might be better, yet he's honest, good and sound, And the black and tan beside him looks like growing to a hound. HUNTING SONGS. 123 Bridegroom? yes, and now his sister, those we bred are straight and good, Then there's Rival out of Rustic, she improves upon the food, And the rest we'll put them on, Bob, we can draft them in the fall If they don't run up and enter ; any more ? no, that is all. It's a most perplexing question, what to buy and how to breed, There are two lines one could work on, either one might well succeed ; First, the foxhound, many merits, recommend him for the chase, Mark his perfect strength and outline, formed alike for strength and pace. Take his quality and type, too, you can soon make up a pack, For they're all alike and level in the yard and on the track, See how well they run together, be the running fast or slow, And their hearts are strong and lasting, yes, they know the way to go. Take his nose, he has a good one, he can hunt upon the wold, But he lacks the inclination to try when the scent is cold, Many a time I've seen the harrier persevering when at fault, And the foxhound standing idle, often coming to a halt. 124 HUNTING SONGS. After, when the harrier opens, then the foxhound scours to cry, He can hunt it when you show him, but he lacks the power to try j Yes, it seems a law of nature, oh ! how often can we trace How the power to work is strongest in a coarse and common race. How that constant perseverance comes with men of coarser kind, And how seldom perfect beauty mixes with a working mind, How your man of higher breeding, often charming you will say, Waits until his coarser brethren come and guide him on the way. How your middle class in working like the harrier strive and try, Though they lack that graceful outline which is pleasing to the eye, So it is, Bob, when we breed hounds, we must bend with nature's line, If we ask too much, I take it, surely nature will decline In the giving, and our efforts will be thwarted in the end ; We must follow nature's order and take nature for a friend. All our cross breds suit the country, they can drive and stoop and fly, With a cold scent on the fallow they can hunt and they can try. HUNTING SONGS. I 25 If their outline is not perfect, they have shape enough to race, And possess a combination in their work of nose and pace, So we'll meet each line half-way, Bob ; shall we prosper ? we shall see ; After five ? why, strike me ugly ! we shall both be late for tea. 126 HUNTING SONGS. LADY MARY. The girl on the black, don't you know Lady Mary ? Ah, well you may ask, she's the pride of the hunt, As fair as the morn, and as light as a fairy, She's often alone and she's always in front. Come pass me the port, and I'll tell you her story, Fill up, no half measures, fill up to the brim, We'll drink to her health, and we'll toast to her glory, The features so fair and the figure so slim. Her father, the Earl, as you know, is our master, For years he has hunted the hounds in the vale, And long may he do so, and free from disaster, Why not ? the old man is both hearty and hale. You saw her to-day, ah, how well she was leading, The pick of the hunt through the cream of the shire, The horse she was riding was true to his breeding, He comes of a sort full of courage and fire. You marked how she counted the hounds in the hollow, " Two couple away," and their names she could tell, And when the young entry attempted to follow The hare, how she turned them, she did it right well. HUNTING SONGS. I 27 And yet with all this she is gentle in bearing, Her habits are simple, her nature refined, A manner that wins you, a way so endearing, A heart that is always forgiving and kind. Her story, you ask ; Ah ! well, yes, you shall hear it, She loved my poor son, I will tell you the whole, They were to have married last year, and I fear it Has shattered her life, for she loved him, poor soul. My boy was the pride of the country, he only Was left of my race, besides me, to succeed To this fair estate, so you see it is lonely Without him, I tell you it makes my heart bleed. One day they met here, 'twas in balmy November, The gold of the autumn was turning to brown, We found in the park, 'twas a day to remember, The pair were the pride of the country and town. And quickly we flew as we left the plantation, The pair were in front as we turned for the vale, How gamely they rode, calling forth admiration From all the good sportsmen who kept within hail. We saw them sit down as they came to the double, We saw Lady Mary get over, but stay The other horse seemed to be down and in trouble, My boy was beneath him, we saw with dismay. 128 HUNTING SONGS. We laid him down gently, the white clouds were fleeting, We knew that the moments were numbered and few, We saw Lady Mary kneel down, the last greeting Between them was sacred, and solemn, and true. One word, for he knew her, now quite broken-hearted, " Good-bye," he repeated, " my darling, good-bye ; " And so in the sunlight his spirit departed, The soul of the sportsman passed out to the sky. And still I recall it, the scene and the sorrow, The cry of her anguish is haunting me still, The bright day that brought such a blighted to-morrow, The notes of the hounds coming over the hill. And this was the end of my boy, he is sleeping In yonder churchyard, in the midst of the shire He loved, and at times a fair maiden stands weeping Sad tears by the grave of the son of the squire. HUNTING SONGS. I 29 THE HUNTSMAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTER. " Hold up ! " as he jumps the stiff stile in the corner, The huntsman who handles the game-looking grey, " Hold up ! " at the fence where the ditch is a yawner, The fox is outside and its " Forrard away." " All on ? is it right ? have yer counted them, Charley ? " " Fifteen and a half, aye, and right to a hound ; " They viewed him away where they're sowing the barley, But Fairplay has got it, she's right, I'll be bound. Away in the vale they are lashing and driving, Well up in the wind they are sailing along, The morning is fair and the breeze is reviving, The fences are stiff and the timber is strong. Away in the vale ! but the huntsman is thinking Of the scene he has left by the bed of his child, The life that is silently, silently sinking, The face that is always so gentle and mild. Eight miles on the grass, and the run of the season, They check on the plough, was it Fairplay we heard ? Down wind the old hound always works with a reason, She's one of the best, I will give you my word. K 130 HUNTING SONGS. But see, on the right there's a burst and a chorus, And every hound speaks to the line as she goes, They seem to infer that our fox is before us, But the huntsman recalls them, we take it he knows. The cry is too strong for a stale line, he takes them Where Fairplay is hunting the line by degrees j He cheers them to Fairplay, he cheers them and makes them Help Fairplay hunt out the cold line by the trees. A rush and a scramble, see Fairplay has nailed him, The fox who stood up for an hour in the vale, A rush and a scramble, each hound has assailed him, Fifteen and a half, they are all within hail. ***** But, hush, it is night, and the moonlight is stealing, How brightly it falls on the woodland and hill, How brightly it falls on the cottage, revealing The chamber of death ever silent and still. And softly the mother moves, raising the slender Young form of her child in her arms with such care, And softly the silent tears fall ; Ah ! how tender The hand of the huntsman becomes in despair. Ah ! kiss the fair cheek, for she knows thee, caress her And touch the fair forehead, the beautiful face ; Ah ! speak to her tenderly, comfort her, bless her, How solemn the moment, how sacred the place. HUNTING SONGS. 131 Look ! over the woodland the moonbeams are falling, And soft are the colours of silver and grey, Across the still night the bright angels are calling — The soul of the child passes out on its way. I3 2 HUNTING SONGS. THE TROTTING MARE. Once there lived a farmer's daughter, Who lived down beside the water, Where a stream of sleeping silver floated seawards through the meads ; And the wind that stirred her tresses Whispered sweetly through the cresses, Making music in the willows and a tremble in the reeds. All the farmer's sons were madly Smitten with her, aye, and gladly Would each one have stood as suitor for a wife so bright and fair, And on market days they raced her, Yes, at times, they fairly chased her, But she said "You'll never catch me when I drive the trotting mare." Oh, the mare was short and cobby, With a head so neat and nobby, One of those old-fashioned made ones that are now be- coming rare ; She had action long and level, And she'd just a bit of devil j Every yokel turned to watch her, for they knew the trotting mare. HUNTING SONGS. 1 33 They were wild, these sporting farmers, Yes, it riled these youthful charmers, All their offers were rejected and it filled them with despair ; Young Jones said " I must not steal her, " So I've bribed the local dealer " With a sovereign for his trouble, if he'll buy the trotting mare." How she laughed, this farmer's daughter, Who lived down beside the water, When the dealer said he "understood she'd sell, and would she care " Just to make a friendly deal, ma'am, " No? I quite see how you feel, ma'am ;" But she told him " love or money would not buy the trotting mare." One fine day young Jones was chasing And the mare was fairly racing, And her mistress held the ribbons, laughing gaily all the while, When the wheel came off and over Turned the cart into the clover ; Oh ! they lay in such confusion on the bank beside the stile. Jones's face was full of sorrow (Artful dog) " and would she borrow " My old rug to take a seat on while I free the trotting mare ; 134 HUNTING SONGS. " Are you hurt ? " " Not much ; " " How lucky ; " Well, you always were so plucky," Then he placed her on the wrapper with a kind and tender care. Such a sigh ! Oh dear, how tender ! While her form so sweet and slender Heaved and shook with great emotion and the tears fell thick and fast ; Jones looked up with consternation, But his words of consolation Brought her comfort in her sorrow and she soon forgot the past. Oh ! he looked so very simple As he kissed her on the dimple, " Just another ? " " Yes ! " " You like it ; will you wed me ? yes you will." So they sat, their arms entwining One another, and reclining In a posture sentimental on the bank beside the hill. Soon the wedding bells were ringing, And the villagers were singing Happy praises of the marriage and the bride so bright and fair; At the churchyard gate there waited Something gaily decorated, What ! a bran new cart and harness, and, by jove ! the trotting mare. HUNTING SONGS. 135 SHAMROCK. Are you waiting for me, Shamrock, do you know my foot- steps dear? We will close the box door, Shamrock, so that no one else may hear ; Take the apple, what another ? ah ! you know the pocket well ; Here it is, my shapely Shamrock, you can find it by the smell. Yes, you are a sporting hunter, with your back so stout and strong, And your quarters full of muscle, and your shoulder sharp and long, Ah, you love me, don't you, Shamrock, and you know the touch and hand Of your mistress when she rides you, and you turn at her command. It was lonely when we parted, he and I, you know his name, And he said we could not marry, heaven knows he's not to blame ; All the property is ruined, they have gone abroad for life, Ah, my God, what would I give to know that I might be his wife. 136 HUNTING SONGS. When we parted in the twilight, when the sun was sinking down, Where the summer woods were turning into shades of gold and brown, All the land was dipt in glory, and the silence of the scene Brought those happy days before me, and the years that might have been. Then he spoke, each broken sentence sent a dagger through my heart, And he said he must release me, it was best that we should part, But I clung about him fondly, and my tears came thick and fast, And I told him I should love him, I should love him to the last. With a stifled cry I left him, oh, his sad and solemn face, And I said good-bye for ever, with a fond and fond embrace ; Oh, my heart, my heart is breaking for the life that cannot be, You must try and help me, Shamrock, with your love and sympathy. Even so, I know you think it, there is solace in the chase, Many a broken heart is lifted when the white hounds drive and race, Many a dreary life finds comfort in their music as they fly O'er the smiling vale that lies beneath the broad and open sky. HUNTING SONGS. 1 37 Yes, we'll live together, Shamrock ; were you not his gift to me? Ah ! how well he used to ride you, you were once too hot and free ; I shall see him still before me, flying still across the down, And shall often, often bless him, when I ride my gallant brown. 138 HUNTING SONGS. THE SPIRIT OF THE CHASE. I touch the hearts of England still, And move brave men to do and dare, I lead them onwards with my will To all things brave and bright and fair. I stir the chords of love, and make The higher man within him rise ; For in my work I undertake To make man better in men's eyes. I make the words " true sportsman " mean A brotherhood of binding love, I hold good fellowship supreme, And all my actions go to prove That life is better for the Chase : I count it good that men should meet On equal terms, and with good grace ; I count it good that men should meet In honest friendship firm and free, Not narrowed down to set and set, Or class, or high and low degree, But based on broader feelings yet. HUNTING SONGS. 139 And you who look with scowling face Upon your neighbour, and incline To vengeance, mark the merry chase, For Harmony has owned the line. And you who live in party strife, And stir the factions of the day, I'll lead you all a happy life If you'll but hear my — " gone away." And you who grumble as you go, And still declare you will not thank The would-be swell too grand to know A man a shade beneath his rank To join you let your grievance pass, You need not mind him and his pride I'll lead you both across the grass For forty minutes side by side. Oh, am I then so vile and base, Oh, feeble faddists, ye who say That manly sports are a disgrace, Away, your cant has had its day. For we in England cleave and cling To that good creed that made us great ; That each good cause should have its fling : And that good creed that made us great 140 HUNTING SONGS. Ordains that each good cause should spread From time to time, and change to change, Not fettered down by laws and led, But moving in the widest range. So let me live my life and make The higher man within him rise, For in my work I undertake To make man better in men's eyes. HUNTING SONGS. 141 THE FALL. All on ? yes I counted them out of the covert, Before we rode over the ditch and the rail, " Yoi ! Rantipole, Rambler, yoi ! over, yoi ! over," How often they own it, how seldom they fail. They have it, they mean it, the scent is improving, They can run on the fallow and race on the grass, Away on the flank of the hounds we are moving, The gallant brown mare is a bad one to pass. The fence it is blind and the binders are growing, I pick out my place with a shout at the brown, The notes of the pack, like a stream that is flowing, Add strength to her effort — Good God, we are down ! ***** All over, good doctor ? speak man, do you mean it ? I feel I am hurt, there's a tear in your eye, Speak out, there is now no occasion to screen it, Awhile I may linger, but soon I must die. Don't blame the brown mare, I was rash in my riding, To try was unfair, but the hounds were away, How quickly she turned to the hand that was guiding, We both gave the lead to the man on the bay. 142 HUNTING SONGS. Bring Rantipole, Rantipole, let me caress him, His handsome old face looks so wistful and wise, See now he looks down at me sadly, why ! bless him There's a language of love in the depths of his eyes. No longer, my comrade, your fair limbs extending You'll come to my holloa and fly to my horn, Ah ! God, is it so ? and is this then the ending ? Tis meet we should part on a bright hunting morn. The woman I loved, could she know I was lying Awaiting mine end, might look back with regret On the life that she wrecked, and the face of the dying Might touch her cold heart ; Ah ! how soon they forget. How soon they forget ; is it hard to remember A life long devotion that nothing can shake ? The cry of the hounds in the balmy November Are kinder by far as they fly from the brake. Are kinder by far, and the horn and the holloa Bring solace and hope to the blighted career, And the galloping field, ever eager to follow, Are comrades indeed as they race to my cheer. Farewell ; o'er the woodland the sunlight is falling, The break in the clouds makes a path to the sky, Along the bright roadway soft voices are calling, The order that summons a sportsman to die. HUNTING SONGS. 1 43 Farewell ; o'er the woodland away I am drifting Above the horizon of purple and grey, And something is silently, silently lifting My spirit and bears me still farther away. WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR. Poems in Pink Volume of Sporting" Poems. Second Edition. "A collection of lively sporting verses." — Times, Sept. 20th, 1894. " Very pleasant reading for hunting men and worthy of the fine sports they celebrate." — The Scotsman, Oct., 1894. "We seem to hear Why te- Melville and Egerton Warburton in some of the stanzas." " Where all is so good it is difficult to particularise." Baitys Magazine, Oct., 1894. " Shows that he has a thorough knowledge of hunting" — " will soon run into another edition." — Land and Water, Sept. 29th, 1894. "A charming collection of verses." Horse and Hound, Sept. 22nd, 1894. " There is much in it that reminds us of Adam Lindsay Gordon." Salisbury Journal, Sept. 22nd, 1894. " Should be in great request among hunting men. . . We can remember no other writer similarly endowed since Whyte- Melville. . . Mr. Williams is a practical sportsman passionately devoted to the pig- skin, and he has a lyrical gift of high quality. We need hardly say that the combination is exceedingly rare. . . Workmanship as excellent as the material. . ." — County Gentleman, Oct. 6th, 1894. M Mr. Williams is a clever rhymester, and his muse is the open country. There is a freshness and airy raciness about his poems." Sportsman, Nov. 10th, 1894. " Mr. Williams is a sportsman of the genuine British school, full of the enthusiasm of his craft. His hunting verses have the proper galloping ring. "— Pall Mall, Nov. 30th, 1894. " A charming little volume, which should be in every sportsman's possession, and whose stirring strains revive memories of Whyte- Melville or Bromley-Davenport." — Field, Dec. 29th, 1894. Price Five Shillings. Salisbury: Brown & Co. London: Simpkin & Co. SONG, THE GRAVE IN THE VALE. Words by W. PHILLPOTTS WILLIAMS. Music by D. MERRY DEL VAL. Hopwood & Crew, New Bond Street. *