THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Rare Books Dept« GIFT OF Professor Robert L. McNuliy PHILIP THE KING AND OTHER POEMS THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO I^k. :■ « ^^ |w K /r / >n MA //L* ^*^/iiLr. PHILIP THE KING AND OTHER POEMS BY , ! ., ■ jQHNv MASEFIELD > j j > > J J > > , > > > » > ' 3 > » > ) > J ) > } > > i THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1914 All rights reserved Copyright, 1913, by Harper and Brothers. Copyright, 1914, by The Century Company a'ud by the McClure Publications* *. *. * ••!•*•• CopykighV, 1914, * **.•* By THU MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotype^. J P^blisljell Np<embte t rfc*4.; J • • •• ■..•"..•; t. « * * NorfaooU $re«» J. S. Cushlng Co. — Berwick <fc Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., TJ.S.A. Go MY WIFE CONTENTS PAGE Philip the King 1 The "Wanderer" 87 August, 1914 106 The River 112 Watching by a Sick-Bed 140 vii PHILIP THE KING A PLAY IN ONE ACT PERSONS Philip the Second of Spain His Daughter, the Infanta An English Prisoner A Spanish Captain Guards SPIRITS Indians Don John of Austria Escovedo Don Alvaro de Bazan, the Marquis of Santa Cruz Alonso de Leyva TIME At dawn in late September, 1588 SCENE A little dark cell in Philip's palaoe PHILIP THE KING Philip (Kneeling). Lord, I am that Philip whom Thou hast made King of half the world. Thou knowest, Lord, how great a fleet I have fitted out to destroy the English, who work evil against Thee. Lord, I beseech Thee, keep that great Armada now, as I trust, in battle on the English coast. Protect my ships, O Lord, from fire and pestilence, from tempest and shipwreck, and in the day of battle. Amen. Amen. Lord, now that the battle is joined, grant us Thy victory, I beseech Thee. Amen. Amen. Lord, I beseech Thee to have in Thy special keeping my beloved friend, Alonso de Leyva, 4 PHILIP THE KING now at sea with my fleet. Guard his ways, O Lord, that so he may come safely home to me. Amen. Amen. Lord, of Thy mercy, I beseech Thee to send to me, if it be Thy will, some word or message from my fleet, that I may know Thy will concerning it, that my weary heart may find peace. Amen. Amen. (He rises.) Enter the Princess. Princess. Has no news come ? Philip. None yet. Princess. Still nothing ? Philip. No. Princess. Two months now since they sailed and still no word. PHILIP THE KING 5 Philip. The wind is foul ; they cannot send. Princess. I know. And yet what tales, what rumours we have heard. How the heart sickens for the want of news. Is that a courier ? Philip. No. Princess. What if we lose ? Philip. Why should we lose ? Princess. Because of too much pride Planning for glory not as scripture bade. Philip. I am not proud nor hopeful, nor afraid. But you are trembling, sweet, and heavy- eyed. 6 PHILIP THE KING Princess. I am afraid, for all night long The spirit of Spain's committed wrong, Nourished wherever a life was shed, Stood near my bed; And all night long it talked to me Of a trouble there is beyond the sea. A trouble of war ... I heard a horn Blowing forlorn, And I knew that it came from far away, From men of Spain in a pass at bay Blowing for help ; the beaten call None heeds at all. And now I fear that we have angered Him Who makes pride dim. Philip. What we have done with our might Cannot be hateful to God. He speaks with dreams in the night That the tired heart turn home PHILIP THE KING 7 And an end of brooding come. My heart has flushed in His praise, The glow in my heart took sail In a fleet that darkens the sprays; Sacrifice may not avail, But the uttermost gift is wise. Princess. Yes, I believe that ; and the deed is grand — It is a mighty blow to deal for God. But in my ear there rings Ill-omened words about the pride of kings — " Pride is the evil that destroys a land." Philip. Brooding and watching waste you, you must sleep ; The hand of God will bring us through the deep. Princess. Amen, my father, but my heart is breaking. 8 PHILIP THE KING Philip. You are too young for heart-break ; let it be. Princess. There was another fear which kept me waking : Spain's unborn monarchs came by night to me, Each holding fewer of the Spanish gems Here and abroad, each weaker in the soul. With wearier brows and dimmer diadems, And feebler fingers giving up control, Till, as it seemed, a hundred years from now, An idiot child was all the might of Spain, And English spirits beat them on the brow, Robbing their gems and binding them with chain. And Spain's proud flag was draggled in the sea. And then these shapes lamented, threaten- ing me; PHILIP THE KING 9 Saying that we began Spain's downfall here — So grimly, father, that I shook with fear. Philip. Child, these are only dreams. I have learned this Since I have been a king, that our concern Is not with Hope nor Fear, but with what is, Which, when we follow dreams, we cannot learn. Be patient, child; besides, the wind has changed ; God's will must never find our hearts estranged : The wind is north, the news may come to-day. Ship after ship is running down the Bay With news; God grant that it be happy news. Princess. Rest till it comes, dear father. 10 PHILIP THE KING Philip. You can choose, You who are young, whether to rest or no ; When one is old one sees the hours go. Dear, they go fast from withered men like me. You were my little daughter on my knee When first this war with England was con- ceived. Now you are this . . ., it would not be believed, And nothing done, and still time hurrying by. We are two grey old partners — Time and I : Look at the work we dp . . . you talk of rest. Princess. You call your Captains in and choose the best, And make him do the work. PHILIP THE KING 11 Philip. Ah, you're a Queen, That is what you would do, but I am King. Kings have no beauty to make duty keen; They have to supervise with whip and sting. Princess. You do not whip men; you are good and mild. Philip. Artists and Kings do what they can, my child, Not what they would. It is not easy, dear, Working with men, for men are only clay, They crumble in the hand, or they betray And time goes by, but no results appear — Your little hands have happier work than mine. Ah, little daughter, childhood is divine. Princess. I am no child now that the fleet has sailed ; I was till then, but now I realize What it would cost my father if it failed. 12 PHILIP THE KING Philip. Yes, it has cost some life, this enterprise. Princess. But all you had to do was give the word. Philip. Ah, darling, many thousand men have heard Orders from me since this attempt began Seventeen years ago. Full many a man Who helped the earliest outlines of the plot Died at his unknown task suspecting not What pattern his life's colour helped to weave. Child, if I told you, you would not believe How this idea has triumphed on unchanged Past great commanders' deaths, past faith estranged, Past tyranny and bloodshed and ill-hap, Treachery striking like a thunder-clap, Murder, betrayal, lying, past all these, Past the grim days when feelings had to freeze PHILIP THE KING 13 Lest the great King should drop his mask of lies And hint his purpose to the thwarted spies, Past half a world of men and years of thought, Past human hope, to be the thing I sought. Now that the dice are scattered for the stakes, I half forget that old affront of Drake's, By which this war with England was begun. O child, the labour that must first be done Before a King can act ! — unending work. All the long days of beating down the Turk, Then when Don John had thrust the Cres- cent down (You cannot know) he plotted for the crown ; Don John, my Admiral, plotted against me. He would have sunk the English in the sea, But since he plotted, that was ended too. Then a great world of labour still to do, j The French to check, and then the Portu- guese, 14 PHILIP THE KING Clearing myself a pathway through the seas. Then, when my way was clear, my Admiral died, The Marquis Santa Cruz, the unconquered guide, The greatest sea commander of known times. Seventeen years of subtleties and crimes. But it is done. I have resolved those years, Those men, those crimes, those great at- tempts, those tears, Sorrows and terrors of a twisted earth, Into this fleet, this death, this Dragon's birth ; I who have never seen it, nor shall see. Princess. I shall thank God that it was shown to me ; I saw it sail. Philip. You saw my heart's blood, child. PHILIP THE KING 15 Pkincess. All a long summer day those ships defiled. I never saw so many nor so grand; They wandered down the tide and cleared the land, And ranked themselves like pikemen, clump to clump. Then in the silence came the Admiral's trump, And from those hundreds of expectant ships, From bells and cannonade and sailors' lips, And from the drums and trumpets of the foot Burst such a roaring thunder of salute As filled my heart with wonder like a cup. They cheered St. James's banner going up — Golden St. James, whose figure blew out fair, High on the flagship's mast in the blue air, Rippling the gold. Then all the city bells, 16 PHILIP THE KING Fired like the singing spheres some spirit impels, Rang in the rocking belfries, the guns roared, Each human soul there shook like tautened cord. And to that Christian march the singing priests Bore up the blessed banners. Even the beasts Ramped at the challenge of that shouting crowd. Then, as the wind came fair, the Armada bowed. Those hundreds of great vessels, ranked in line, Buried their bows and heaped the bubbled brine In gleams before them. So they marched; the van, Led by De Leyva, like slipped greyhounds, ran PHILIP THE KING 17 To spy the English. On the right and left By Valdes and his friend the seas were cleft ; Moncada's gallies weltered like a weir, Flanking Recalde, bringing up the rear, While in the midst St. James's banner marched, Blowing towards England till the flagpole arched. Onward they swept the sea, the flagship's side Smoked from her cannon's hail; she took her stride, Leaned and stretched forward. I was conscious then That I beheld the greatest fleet that men Ever sent seaward ; all the world was there, All nations that begem the crown you wear, Pikemen of Rome, whose settled pikes had stood 18 PHILIP THE KING Stern in full many a welter of man's blood. Cunning Levantines, armed with crooked swords, Venetians bronzed, the ocean's overlords, Pisans and knights of Malta, Ferrarese, Passionate half-bloods from the Indian seas, Hollanders, Austrians, even English, come To bring again religion to their home ; Spain too, our Andalusians, and the- hale Iberian Basquers used to hunt the whale — The flower of the knighthood of the world Mustered beneath the banner you unfurled. ****** And that was but the half, for there in France Was Parma's army ready to advance, Death-coupled bloodhounds straining to the slip, Waiting your navy's coming to take ship. Father, such power awed me. PHILIP THE KINO 19 Philip. Time and I Worked for long years. Pkincess. And when it had passed by The bells were silent, and a sigh arose Of joy in that fleet's pride, and grief for those Who, even if all went well, had looked their last On men and women who had made their past. Then darkness came, and all that I could see Was the horizon where the fleet must be — A dimming skyline with a setting star. It was as though they died; and now, who knows What has befallen them, or where they are? 20 PHILIP THE KING And night by sleepless night my trouble grows. This daily silence has been hard to bear, But now I dread news worse. Philip. We must prepare, Hoping the best, but ready for the worst- But patient still, for rumour must come first — Rumour and broken news and seamen's lies; Patience, expecting nothing, is most wise. If God vouchsafes it, we shall hear to-day. Lighten your heart, my daughter. Peincess. I will pray — Pray for a Spanish triumph. Philip. Pray for me. Pray for God's cause adventured on the sea. PHILIP THE KING 21 Princess. I will; God help my prayer. Philip. God help us both. [She goes. Lord, I have laboured long to keep my oath, And since my loved one died it has been hard. O Lord, my God, in blessed mercy guard My only friend De Leyva, now at sea; Keep him, O Lord, and bring him home to me. Lord, be thou his bulwark and his guide; 1 am so lonely since my loved one died. How splendidly the nations hold their way, Marching with banners through the fields of Time! 22 PHILIP THE KING Who sees the withered King weary and grey, Prompting it all with secret lust or crime? Who guesses at the heavy brain behind? I am Earth's greatest man; the world is blind. (He droops over his papers. Starting up.) I have still strength, and I must read these scrolls, Or else all goes to ruin; I must read. (He sleeps.) Voices. Philip! Philip. Who calls? The Indians enter. Voices. We are the Indian souls, Loosed from the gold-mines where our brothers bleed. We swell the tale of blood: we dug you gold; PHILIP THE KING 23 We bore your burdens till we died of thirst ; We sweated in the mines or shook with cold, Washing the gravel which the blast had burst. We dived for pearls until our eyeballs bled; You burned us till we told where treasure lay. We were your Indian slaves, but we are dead; Our red account is cast and you must pay. A Voice. Our lives paid for your fleet; you pay for us. The unjustly killed restore the balance thus. A Voice. They flung my little baby to the hounds. 24 PHILIP THE KINO A Voice. They took my daughter from me for their lust. A Voice. Even the weak are strong beyond life's bounds ; We myriad weak add power to the thrust. Voices. Philip! Philip! Philip! We gather from over the sea To the justice that has to be While the blind red bull goes on. Philip! Philip! Philip! We who were ciphers slain In a tale of the pride of Spain Are a part of her glory gone. A Voice. We see them where our will can help then- foes. PHILIP THE KING 25 A Voice. Quick, brother, quick! another galleon goes! Waken those sleeping gunners by the fire, Or she'll escape unracked. [They fadeaway. Philip. The voices tire. They go. I dreamed. I slept. My heavy head Is drowsed. What man is that? (Don John appears, with Escovedo be- hind him.) Voice of Don John op Austria. I am the dead; I am your brother, Philip — brother John. Philip. You corpse-fetch from the unclean grave, begone ! I had no brother. 26 PHILIP THE KING Don John. Would you never had! Philip. You were a landmark of my father's sin, Never my brother. Don John. I was that bright lad, Your father's son, my brother; I helped win Great glory for you, Philip. Philip. I agreed To overlook your bastardy, my friend, So long as your bright talents served my need; But you presumed, and so it had to end. Don John. My talents served you well. Philip. They did, at first. PHILIP THE KING 27 Don John. I won the Battle of Lepanto for you. Philip. And afterwards you killed my troops with thirst, Following a crazy scheme which overbore you. Don John. Not crazy, unsuccessful. Philip. Poor vain ghost, Poor flickering candle that was bright awhile. Don John. I was the man whom Europe worshipped most, One with a mighty plan which you thought guile. Why did you kill me, Philip? Philip. You betrayed me, Or would have, traitor, had I not been wise, 28 PHILIP THE KING Don John. I was your board's best piece, you should have played me, Now I am dead and earth is in my eyes. I could have won you England. I had planned To conquer England. I had all prepared Ships, soldiers, money, but your cruel hand Killed me, and nothing's done and noth- ing's dared. Philip. You planned to conquer England and be King; Those who obstruct my path I sweep aside. Don John. Brother, there is a time for everything; That was the time for England, but I died ; Now you attempt too late, The powers have closed the gate, PHILIP THE KING 29 Destiny enters by another door, The lost chance comes no more. The Voice of Escovedo. Philip, he tells the truth. We could have won England for you, we were no plotters then. Voices. Philip, you were betrayed, you were un- done. You had the moment, but you killed the men. Escovedo. The liar, Perez, tricked you. O great King! We would have added England to your crown, Now the worms cling About our lips deep down. You had me stabbed at midnight going home 30 PHILIP THE KING That man of Perez' stabbed me in the back. And then I could not stir, down on the loam; The sky was full of blood, the stars were black. And then I knew my wife and children waited But that I could not come ; a moving hand Had interposed a something fated 'Twixt us and what we planned. Don John. You had me poisoned in that Holland den, Outcast, alone, without the help of men. We planned a glorious hour Hoisting the banner of Spain On the top of London Tower, With England a Spanish fief. Life cannot happen again, And doing dies with the brain; PHILIP THE KING 31 Autumn ruins the flower And after the flower the leaf. Voices. Philip, Philip, Philip! The evil men do has strength, It gathers behind the veils While the unjust thing prevails. While the pride of life is strong, But the balance tips at length, And the unjust things are tales, The pride of life is a song. Philip. I kept my purpose while you lived. Shall I Be weaker, now that you are dead, you things ? What can such reedy wretches do but die Standing against the purposes of Kings? Don John. Do? We can thwart you. 32 PHILIP THE KING Voices. And we will, we will; All Spain's unjustly murdered work you ill. Gather against him, gather, mock him down. The Voice of the Marquis of Santa Cruz. Scatter, you shadows, fly. Philip, great King. You vultures gathered in an unclean ring ; Away, you shadows, scatter. They are gone, Philip. The Marquis enters. Philip. Who calls? Santa Cruz. Master. Philip. Let me dream on. Whose voice was that? It warned me of defeat. PHILIP THE KING 33 Santa Cruz. I am that Santa Cruz who built your fleet, And died to make it good. It was my child. I call because my work has been defiled. Philip. Why rail, uneasy soul? Santa Cruz. If I had spent Less life in that, I should be still alive, Commanding what I built to my content, Driving the English slaves as conquerors drive. Why did you give away my splendid sword, Forged by a never-conquered captain's brain, Into the hoof-hand of an ambling lord, Useless in all things, but to ruin Spain? Would God I had but guessed it! Would my stars D 34 PHILIP THE KING Had shown me clearer what my death would bring, I would have burned those galleons, guns and spars, Soldiers and all, and so have stopped this thing. And doing that I should have served you well, And brought less ruin on this lovely land. What folly from the unfed brain of hell Made you promote that thing to my com- mand ? — Folly from which so many men must die. Philip. We stand against all comers, Time and I. I chose the Duke because I wanted one . . . Who . . . Santa Ceuz. Give no reason for the evil done. Souls wrestle from the ever deedless grave PHILIP THE KING 35 To do, not to hear reason. Oh, great King, You still may save the ruin of this thing! Philip. You speak of ruin. Tell me what you see. Santa Cruz. Ruin that threatens, but need never be. Be silent, Philip; listen while I tell What you must do. Philip. You are a voice from hell; I will not listen to these obscene dreams. Santa Cruz. Life is a heavy cloud, through which come gleams. Oh, Philip, let me speak! Philip, I say, One way can still be tried; I see the way. You must do this, but listen. Philip. I still doubt. 36 PHILIP THE KING Santa Cruz. Listen, great King; the light is dying out. You are fading from me, Philip; they are coming. Before it is too late for ever send . . . Philip. Send? Santa Cruz. Yes. Philip. To whom? Santa Cruz. To . . . Voices. Drown his voice with drumming; Pipe with the Inca conch, the Indian flute. What red flowers spring from this blood- sprinkled root ! Philip. What name was that you said? Santa Cruz. Wait, Philip — wait; They are so many and so full of hate. PHILIP THE KING 37 Voices. Call to your monarch, Marquis — call again. Philip. Something he meant is knocking at my brain — Knocking for entrance. Marquis! Santa Cruz. Philip! King! Philip. What must I do? Santa Cruz. Oh, fiends! Voices. Ah, conquerors, sing! Now we have triumphed. We have torn the flag. Dance in a ring, victorious spirits, dance ; Brought to a byword is the Spanish brag, And ruined is the grand inheritance. Mourn, wretched Philip, for your plans are checked ; 38 PHILIP THE KING Your colonies defenceless ; your sweet faith Mocked by the heretics; your ships are wrecked ; The strength of Spain has dwindled to a wraith. Aha ! you beaten King, you blinded fool ! Scream, for the empire tumbles from your rule. Philip. God will deliver me ; you are but words Called in the night-time by malignant birds But who are you? The figure of De Leyva enters. Voice of De Leyva. I am De Leyva, come Out of the sea, my everlasting home, To whisper comfort to my ruined friend. Dear, I am dead, but friendship cannot end ; Love does not die, and I am with you here. Often in sorrow you will feel me near, PHILIP THE KING 39 Feel me, but never speak, nor hear me speak. Philip, whatever bitter Fate may wreak On Spain and you, remember I am here, The dead are bound to those they held most dear. Philip. Dreams of the night. I dreamed De Leyva came. Voices. Awake to hear the story of your shame. {They cry. A gun is shot off. Bells.) Philip. (Rousing.) I dreamed I was defeated like those men Whom I defeated; I have felt their woe. What is this noise? A message? Enter then. Princess. A prisoner comes with news of victory. Philip. So. Victory comes! We win! 40 PHILIP THE KING Princess. The fleet has won! Philip. Thanks be to God on high. Princess. His will be done. Philip. Lord, help me use this victory for Thy praise. Lord, Thou hast burst this night of many days With glorious morning and my heart is full. O God, my God, Thy ways are wonderful ! Bring me the prisoner. Princess. He brought this letter. An Englishman is brought in. Philip. You are an Englishman? Prisoner. Yes, your Majesty. PHILIP THE KING 41 Philip. This letter says that you can tell me how things have fared. Tell me your story. Prisoner. I was at sea, my lord, fishing, some fifteen miles south-west from Falmouth. We were not expecting the Spanish fleet, our cruisers had said it was not coming. It was hazy summer weather and early morning. We could hear that we were among a big fleet, and when the haze lifted your ships were all round us, so we were taken aboard an ad- miral's ship. A dark man the admiral was, with a very quick way ; he was not the chief admiral, but an Admiral Recalde, with the rearguard. Philip. Where was the English fleet at that time? Was it expecting us? 42 PHILIP THE KING Prisoner. No, your honour. It was windbound in Plymouth, unprepared, as I told your ad- miral. Then I was taken down below. Philip. Did our fleet enter Plymouth, then ? Prisoner. No, my lord, and I could not think why, for the wind held and they had only to sail straight in. The day passed. The next day there was firing, and I thought "The English have got out of the trap at least,' ' but the firing died down, and I concluded the English were beaten. Philip. Yes? Prisoner. I thought the ships would put ashore then to take what they had won, but they kept at sea some days, though there was firing every day, sometimes very heavy. They said PHILIP THE KING 43 they were burning all the English towns as they passed, and then going to France to fetch an army ; and after some nights I was brought ashore in Calais to come to your Majesty. Philip. What did you see in Calais? Prisoner. It was dark night, my lord, when they sent me in. I saw the road full of shipping, lit up like a town. Philip. What was the feeling among you English prisoners? That the Spaniards had pros- pered ? Prisoner. Yes, my lord. You had reached your army, which was all your intent. You had only to take it across the Channel ; the wind was fair for that. 44 PHILIP THE KING Philip. So then you started for Spain. You know no more of what happened ? Prisoner. No, my lord, except that looking back from a hilltop, I saw a great glare over Calais. Philip. Something was burning there? Prisoner. It was the bonfires, my lord, to give them light; they were embarking the army. Then in France later on we heard that Drake had been sunk off Calais with fifteen ships. A man said he had seen it. That is all I know, my lord. Philip. What you say will be proved. You will be returned to England,. Treat this man well. . [Exit Prisoner. PHILIP THE KING 45 Princess. Father, what blessed news! Philip. We have not failed ; But then he hardly knew. The letter here Shows that our navy partly has prevailed. Princess. The news has spread. Cries Without. Long live King Philip! Cheer! Cries. Cheer our great King ! Long live our noble King. Beat "Santiago," drummers. Princess. Hark! they sing. The court is dark with people, but more come. Cries. Long live King Philip! 46 PHILIP THE KING A Great Voice. Silence for the drum! And when the drum beats, we will lift our thanks Till his heart triumphs. Silence in the ranks! Eyes front ! O people, listen ! Our attempt Has triumphed more than our desires dreamt. England is ours. Give thanks. Sound trumpets. Sing ! Cries. Philip, Philip the King! God save the King! Philip the conqueror! Philip! (A strange cry.) Princess. Oh, look! look! . . . Just as they cheered, the palace banners shook, They took it for a sign. PHILIP THE KING 47 The guards are there, Look, and the monks are forming in the square Bringing the blessed relics. Oh, my dear! I am so happy. Listen how they cheer. Father, they're cheering because Spain has won. All you have hoped and striven for is done. I hardly dare believe it. Ckies. Long live Spain. Pkincess. O, there are horsemen, I must look again ! Ckies. There is the Princess at the window. See? God save you, little lady. Which is she? There. Is the King there? No. He must be. Yes. God save your Grace. He's there with the Princess. 48 PHILIP THE KING Philip. Stand farther back; they saw you. Princess. Oh, not now! They called 'God save me/ father; let me bow. Philip. Bow, then, my dear. Cries. God save your pretty face. Princess. Father, do come, they want you. Cries. Bless your Grace. God save the King — King Philip. Princess. Father dear, They're calling for you; stand beside me here. Philip. Not yet. It is not time. PHILIP THE KING 49 Cries. Philip the King! Princess. Oh, father, come ! It is a thrilling thing To know they won, and hear these shouts of praise. Cries. God save the King! God send him many days! Philip the King, the conqueror of the sea ! St. James for Spain, King Philip, victory ! King Philip! Santiago! Princess. Father. Philip. Wait! Kings must not yield them at too cheap a rate. Voices. Philip the King ! The English are destroyed ! God save him ! Victory ! We are o ver j oyed ! 50 PHILIP THE KING Let the bells ring! King Philip! Philip! King! Ring the Cathedral bells — ay, let them ring ! St. James for Spain! King Philip! Clear the guns ! (Guns shot off.) King Philip, fire — fire all at once! King Philip, fire! King Philip, fire! St. James ! Thank God, the King of kings, the Name of names ! Fire, King Philip ! Santiago, fire ! Give thanks to God who gives us our desire ! Philip, God save and bless him ! Philip (going to window). I will speak. Voices. Fire ! He's there ! King Philip ! Philip. Man is weak. Voices. He's there! PHILIP THE KING 51 Princess. Oh, father, look! Philip. Stand at my side. Voices. God bless and guard our blessed country's guide ! King Philip, fire! The King! (The bells begin.) Princess. Oh, bells of joy! And now the monks are singing. The Monks. Let us give thanks unto the Lord of lords, Who saves His faithful from the Egyptian swords. Voices. Amen. God save the King. The Monks. He made the Red Sea waters to divide, And led our Israel through with Him for guide. 52 PHILIP THE KING Voices. Amen. God save the King! Philip the King! Philip. O God, I thank Thee for this marvellous thing. The Monks. He whelmed King Pharaoh's army in the sea, And of His mercy gave us victory. Voices. The famous kings are blown, like chaff Before Thy fiery car. Thou smit'st th' ungodly with Thy staff . . . Philip the King! God save our prudent King! Philip. My subjects, whom God gave me for His ends . . . Princess. Whatever pain you bore, this makes amends. Voices. Speak to your loving hearts, your Majesty. PHILIP THE KING 53 Philip. I do His will; to God the glory be. The Monks. Praise Him, sun and moon, morning and evening star! The kings who mocked His word are broken in the war. Praise Him with heart and soul! Praise Him with voice and lute! Voices. The King! God save the King! Silence! He speaks. Salute! The Monks. In the dark night, ere dawn, we will arise and sing Glory to God on high, the praises of our King. Voices. The King is going to speak. He makes a sign. God bless your noble Grace and all your line ! 54 PHILIP THE KING God bless you, Sir, for all your thought for us ! The conquering King, Philip victorious ! Philip the great and good ! Hush ! Silence ! Peace ! Philip! Attention! Bid the ringers cease. The King is going to speak; he raised his hand. Princess. Dear, to be loved as you are is most grand. Speak to them, father ; thank them for their love. The Monks. I will exalt the Name of God above. Voices. The bells are hushed. Be quiet! Silence all! Philip. I thought I heard, far off, a funeral call; As in your dream, a melancholy cry. Princess. It was the fifes. PHILIP THE KING 55 Philip. No; listen! Peincess. That sound? Philip. Ay. Peincess. It was the crowd outside. Now they are still. Philip. No ; it was singing coming up the hill — Sad singing, too. Peincess. I did not hear it. Philip. There ! Peincess. The bells have left a trembling in the air. Philip. No; it was voices. I will speak one word To these below. There is the noise I heard (Recalde's men are heard singing.) 56 PHILIP THE KINO Recalde's Men. Out of the deep, out of the deep, we come, Preserved from death at sea to die at home. Mercy of God alone preserved us thus ; In the waste sea Death laid his hand on us. Princess. The Black Monks in a penitential psalm. Voices. Philip the King ! Philip. I'll wait. Princess. Oh, speak! Philip. Be calm! I cannot cross God's word with words of mine. Voices. Quiet, you singers! Princess. They are men in line. (Recalde's men are heard singing.) PHILIP THE KING 57 Recalde's Men. We called the world too small with boast- ful lips; Now we are ghosts crawled from the bones of ships. We were most glorious at our setting sail; Now our knees knock, our broken spirits fail. Our banner is abased and all our pride: A tale of ships that sank and men who died. Pkincess. Listen! Who are they? Philip. What is it they sing? Voices. The King is speaking. Silence for the King! Let the King speak; be still. You ragged crew, Have you no manners ? Silence ! Who are you? 58 PHILIP THE KING Recalde's Men. We are the beaten men, the men accursed, Whose bitter glory 'tis t' have borne the worst. Princess. They are not monks. Philip. Nor beggars. Princess. Now they stand. Voices. Yon navy's sweepings driven back to land. Go to the hens and tunnies; beat them down Back to the sea you ran from; back and drown. Recalde's Men. Pity our shame, you untried heroes here. Defeat's not victory, but 'tis bought as dear. PHILIP THE KING 59 Philip. They are sailors from the fleet. Princess. They come with news. They are ragged to the skin, they have no shoes. Philip. The crowd is still. Princess. Why do they come like this? Philip. Listen ; their Captain tells them what it is. Recalde's Men. Darken the bedrooms for us, people all, And let us turn our faces to the wall, And let the darkness and the silence make A quiet time in which our hearts may break. (A murmur runs through the Court.) Princess. Father, what is it? 60 PHILIP THE KING Philip. Child, the Act of One Who chastens earthly kings, whose Will be done. Princess. It means that we are beaten? Philip. Who can tell? Princess. Father. Philip. Dear child, even defeat is well. Princess. I thought that we were happy. Philip. Watch the square. Now tell me calmly what is passing there. Princess. The Captain comes, the crowd is making way. Philip. Who is it? Can you see? PHILIP THE KING 61 Princess. His hair is grey. He walks bareheaded, slowly, and the crowd Shrink as though Death were passing in his shroud. Philip. Worse news has come. Who is the man? Princess. His face . . . I seem to know him, but the air is strange. He puts the touch of Death upon the place. Nothing but Death could fashion such a change. He carries something. Now the people kneel. We are defeated, Father. Philip. What I feel I cover. Go within. Misfortune stuns None but the tender. [Exit Princess 62 PHILIP THE KING Voices. Give us back our sons. Philip, give back our sons, our lovely sons. The Palace Guard. Halt! Who comes there? A Voice. Spain and the Empire. The Guard. Pass, Spain and the Empire. Voices. They are drowned. Alas! Philip, give back our sons, our lovely sons. Enter Messenger, carrying an Admiral's chain. Philip. What brings you to me, Captain? Messenger. This gold chain . . . Bears the twelve badges of the strength of Spain PHILIP THE KING 63 Once linked in glory, Philip, but now loosed. (Detaching link from link.) Castilla, Leon, Aragon, and these, Palestine, Portugal, the Sicilies, Navarre, Granada, the Valencian State, The Indies, East and West, the Archducate, The Western Mainland in the Ocean Sea. Those who upheld their strength have ceased to be. I, who am dying, King, have seen their graves. Philip, your Navy is beneath the waves. Philip. He who in bounty gives in wisdom takes. Messenger. King, forgive me, for my spirit breaks; 1 saw those beaches where the Grange de- scends White with unburied corpses of stripped friends. 64 PHILIP THE KING Philip. I grieve that Spain's disaster brings such loss. Messenger. From Pentland to the Groyne the tempests toss Unshriven Spaniards driving with the tide. They were my lovely friends and they have died, Far from wind-broken Biscay, far from home, With no anointing chrism but the foam. Philip. The dead will rise from unsuspected slime ; God's chosen will be gathered in God's time. Messenger. King, they died helpless ; our unwieldy fleet Made such a target to the English guns That we were riddled through like sifted wheat. PHILIP THE KING 65 We never came to grappling with them once. They raked us from a distance, and then ran. Each village throughout Spain has lost a man; The widows in the seaports fill the streets. Philip. Uncertain chance decides the fate of fleets. Messenger. Now the North Sea is haunted for all time By miserable souls whose dying words Cursed the too proud adventure as a crime. Our broken galleons house the gannet- birds. The Irish burn our Captain's bones for lime. O misery that the might of England wrought ! 66 PHILIP THE KING Philip. Christ is the only remedy for thought When the mind sickens. We are pieces played, Not moving as we will, but as we are made; Beaten and spurred at times like stubborn steeds, That we may go God's way. Your spirit bleeds, Having been proved in trouble past her strength. Give me the roll in all its ghastly length. \ Which of my friends survive, if any live? Messenger. Some have survived, but all are fugitive. Your Admiral in command is living still; Michael Oquendo too, though he is ill, Dying of broken heart and bitter shame. Valdes is prisoner, Manrique the same. PHILIP THE KING 67 Philip. God willed the matter; they are not to blame. Thank God that they are living. Name the rest. Messengee. They are all dead . . . with him you loved the best. Philip. I dreamed De Leyva died, so it is true? Messenger. Drowned on the Irish coast with all his crew. After enduring dying many days The sea has given him quiet. Many ways Lead men to death, and he a hard one trod, Bearing much misery, like a knight of God. Philip. Amen. Go on. 68 PHILIP THE KING Messenger. Hugh de Moncada died, Shot in his burning ship by Calais side, Cheering his men to save her. Pimentel Sank in a galleon shambled like a hell Rather than yield, and in a whirl of flames Pedro Mendoza, Captain of St. James, Stood with Don Philip thrusting boarders back Till their Toledan armour was burnt black, And both their helms ran blood. And there they fell, Shot down to bleed to death. They per- ished well, Happy to die in battle for their King Before defeat had fallen on their friends; Happier than most, for where the merrows sing Paredes and his brother met their ends, And Don Alarcon, cast alive ashore, PHILIP THE KING 69 Was killed and stripped and hanged upon a tree. And young Mendoza, whom the flagship bore, Died of starvation and of misery. But hundreds perished, King; why men- tion these? Battle and hunger, heart-break, and the seas Have overwhelmed the chivalry of Spain. Philip. Misfortune, after effort, brings no stain. Perhaps I under judged the English fleet. How was it that the Spaniards met defeat? What evil fortune brought about our fall? Messenger. Their sailors and their cannon did it all. Philip. Yet when the fleet reached Calais all went well. 70 PHILIP THE KINO Messenger. Our woes began there. Philip. Tell me what befell. Messenger. We were to ship the troops in Calais Road ; They lay encamped, prepared to go aboard. To windward still the English fleet abode — Still as in port when peace has been restored. The wind and sea were fair, We lay at anchor there; The stars burned in the air, The men were sleeping, When in the midnight dark Our watchman saw a spark Suddenly light a bark With long flames leaping. Then, as they stood amazed, Others and others blazed; PHILIP THE KING 71 Then terror set them crazed, They ran down screaming: " Fire-ships are coming! Wake Cast loose, for Jesus 7 sake! Eight fire-ships come from Drake — Look at their gleaming!" Roused in the dark from bed, We saw the fire show red, And instant panic spread Through troops and sailors; They swarmed on deck unclad, They did what terror bade, King, they were like the mad Escaped from jailers. Some prayed for mercy, some Rang bells or beat the drum, As though despair had come At hell's contriving; 72 PHILIP THE KING Captains with terror pale Screamed through the dark their hail, "Cut cable, loose the sail, And set all driving !" Heading all ways at once, Grinding each other's guns, Our blundering galleons Athwart-hawse galleys, Timbers and plankings cleft, And half our tackling reft, Your grand Armada left The roads of Calais. Weary and overwrought We strove to make all taut; But when the morning brought The dawn to light us, Drake, with the weather gage, Made signal to engage, PHILIP THE KING 73 And, like a pard in rage, Bore down to fight us. Nobly the English line Trampled the bubbled brine; We heard the gun-trucks whine To the taut laniard. Onwards we saw them forge, White billowing at the gorge. "On, on!" they cried, "St. George! Down with the Spaniard!" From their van squadron broke A withering battle-stroke, Tearing our plank&d oak By straiks asunder, Blasting the wood like rot With such a hail of shot, So constant and so hot It beat us under. 74 PHILIP THE KINO The English would not close; They fought us as they chose, Dealing us deadly blows For seven hours. Lords of our chiefest rank The bitter billow drank, For there the English sank Three ships of ours. ***** Then the wind forced us northward from the fight; We could not ship the army nor return; We held the sea in trouble through the night, Watching the English signals blink and burn. The English in a dim cloud kept astern; All night they signalled, while our shattered ships Huddled like beasts beneath the drovers' whips. ***** PHILIP THE KING 75 At dawn the same wind held; we could not strive. The English drove us north as herdsmen drive. ***** Under our tattered flags, With rigging cut to rags, Our ships like stricken stags Were heaped and hounded. Caught by the unknown tide, With neither chart nor guide, We fouled the Holland side, Where four more grounded. Our water-casks were burst, The horses died of thirst, The wounded raved and curst, Uncared, untended. All night we heard the crying Of lonely shipmates dying; 76 PHILIP THE KING We had to leave them lying. So the fight ended. Philip. God gives His victory as He wills. But this Was not complete destruction. What thing worse Game to destroy you? Messenger. An avenging curse, Due for old sins, destroyed us. Philip. Tell the tale. Messenger. King, when morning dawned it blew a gale, But still the English followed, and we fled Till breakers made the dirty waters pale. We saw the Zealand sandbanks right ahead, Blind in a whirling spray that gave us dread ; PHILIP THE KING 77 For we were blown there, and the water shoaled. The crying of the leadsmen at the lead, Calling the soundings, were our death- bells tolled. We drifted down to death upon the sands — The English drew away to watch us drown ; We saw the bitter breakers with grey hands Tear the dead body of the sandbank brown. We could do nothing, so we drifted down Singing the psalms for death — we who had been Lords of the sea and knights of great re- nown, Doomed to be strangled by a death un- clean. Philip. So there the ships were wrecked? 78 PHILIP THE KING Messenger. Time had not struck. King, we learned how blessed mercy saves : Even as our forefoot grounded on the muck, Tripping us up to drown us in the waves, A sudden windshift snatched us from our graves And drove us north ; and now another woe, Tempest unending, beat our ships to staves — A never-dying gale with frost and snow. Now our hearts failed, for food and water failed ; The men fell sick by troops, the wounded died. They washed about the wet decks as we sailed PHILIP THE KING 79 For want of strength to lift them overside. Desolate seas we sailed, so grim, so wide, That ship by ship our comrades disap- peared. With neither sun nor star to be a guide, Like spirits of the wretched dead we steered. Till, having beaten through the Pentland Pass, We saw the Irish surf, with mists of spray Blowing far inland, blasting trees and grass, And gave God thanks, for we espied a bay Safe, with bright water running down the clay — A running brook where we could drink and drink. But drawing near, our ships were cast away, Bilged on the rocks; we saw our comrades sink . . . 80 PHILIP THE KING Or worse : for those the breakers cast ashore The Irish killed and stripped; their bodies white Lay naked to the wolves — yea, sixty score — All down the windy beach, a piteous sight. The savage Irish watched by bonfire light Lest more should come ashore; we heard them there Screaming the bloody news of their delight. Then we abandoned hope and new despair. And now the fleet is sunken in the sea, And all the seamen,' all the might of Spain, Are dead, O King, and out of misery, Never to drag at frozen ropes again — Never to know defeat, nor feel the pain Of watching dear companions sink and die. Death's everlasting armistice to the brain Gives their poor griefs quietus ; let them lie. PHILIP THE KING 81 I, like a ghost returning from the grave, Come from a stricken ship to tell the news Of Spanish honour which we could not save, Nor win again, nor even die to lose; And since God's hidden wisdom loves to bruise Those whom He loves, we, trembling in despair, Will watch our griefs to see God's finger there, And make His will our solace and excuse. Defeat is bitter and the truth is hard — Spain is defeated, England has prevailed; This is the banner which I could not guard, And this the consecrated sword which failed. Do with your dying Captain as you will. (He lays down sword and banner.) 82 PHILIP THE KING Philip. I, from my heart, thank God, from whose great hand I am so helped with power, I can still Set out another fleet against that land. Nor do I think it ill If all the running water takes its course While there are unspent fountains at the source. He sendeth out His word and melteth them. Take back your standard, Captain. As you go, Bid the bells toll and let the clergy come. Then in the city by the strike of drum Proclaim a general fast. In bitter days The soul finds God, God us. [Exit Captain. PHILIP THE KING 83 Philip {alone). De Leyva, friend, Whom I shall never see, never again, This misery that I feel is over Spain. O God, beloved God, in pity send That blessed rose among the thorns — an end: Give a bruised spirit peace. (He kneels. A muffled march of the drums.) Curtain. OTHER POEMS THE "WANDERER" All day they loitered by the resting ships, Telling their beauties over, taking stock; At night the verdict left my messmates' lips, "The Wanderer is the finest ship in dock." I had not seen her, but a friend, since drowned, Drew her, with painted ports, low, lovely, lean, Saying, "The Wanderer, clipper, outward bound, The loveliest ship my eyes have ever seen — "Perhaps to-morrow you will see her sail. She sails at sunrise" : but the morrow showed 87 88 THE "WANDERER" No Wanderer setting forth for me to hail ; Far down the stream men pointed where she rode, Rode the great trackway to the sea, dim, dim, Already gone before the stars were gone. I saw her at the sea-line's smoky rim Grow swiftly vaguer as they towed her on. Soon even her masts were hidden in the haze Beyond the city; she was on her course To trample billows for a hundred days ; That afternoon the norther gathered force, Blowing a small snow from a point of east. "Oh, fair for her," we said, "to take her south." And in our spirits, as the wind increased, We saw her there, beyond the river mouth, THE V WANDERER" 89 Setting her side-lights in the wildering dark, To glint upon mad water, while the gale Roared like a battle, snapping like a shark, And drunken seamen struggled with the sail. While with sick hearts her mates put out of mi^nd Their little children left astern, ashore, And the gale's gathering made the darkness blind, Water and air one intermingled roar. Then we forgot her, for the fiddlers played, Dancing and singing held our merry crew; The old ship moaned a little as she swayed. It blew all night, oh, bitter hard it blew ! So that at midnight I was called on deck To keep an anchor-watch : I heard the sea 90 THE "WANDERER" Roar past in white procession filled with wreck ; Intense bright frosty stars burned over me, And the Greek brig beside us dipped and dipped, White to the muzzle like a half-tide rock, Drowned to the mainmast with the seas she shipped ; Her cable-swivels clanged at every shock. And like a never-dying force, the wind Roared tijl we shouted with it, roared until Its vast vitality of wrath was thinned, Had beat its fury breathless and was still. By dawn the gale had dwindled into flaw, A glorious morning followed : with my friend I climbed the fo'c's'le-head to see; we saw The waters hurrying shore wards without end. THE "WANDERER" 91 Haze blotted out the river's lowest reach; Out of the gloom the steamers, passing by, Called with their sirens, hooting their sea- speech ; Out of the dimness others made reply. And as we watched, there came a rush of feet Charging the fo'c's'le till the hatchway shook. Men all about us thrust their way, or beat, Crying, " The Wanderer! Down the river! Look!" I looked with them towards the dimness; there Gleamed like a spirit striding out of night, A full-rigged ship unutterably fair, Her masts like trees in winter, frosty- bright. 92 THE V WANDERER" Foam trembled at her bows like wisps of wool ; She trembled as she towed. I had not dreamed That work of man could be so beautiful, In its own presence and in what it seemed. "So, she is putting back again/ ' I said. "How white with frost her yards are on the fore." One of the men about me answer made, "That is not frost, but all her sails are tore, "Torn into tatters, youngster, in the gale; Her best foul-weather suit gone." It was true, Her masts were white with rags of tattered sail Many as gannets when the fish are due. THE "WANDERER" 93 Beauty in desolation was her pride, Her crowned array a glory that had been ; She faltered tow'rds us like a swan that died, But although ruined she was still a queen. "Put back with all her sails gone," went the word; Then, from her signals flying, rumour ran, "The sea that stove her boats in killed her third ; She has been gutted and has lost a man." So, as though stepping to a funeral march, She passed defeated homewards whence she came, Ragged with tattered canvas white as starch, A wild bird that misfortune had made tame. She was refitted soon : another took The dead man's office ; then the singers hove 94 THE "WANDERER" Her capstan till the snapping hawsers shook ; Out, with a bubble at her bows, she drove. Again they towed her seawards, and again We, watching, praised her beauty, praised her trim, Saw her fair house-flag flutter at the main, And slowly saunter seawards, dwindling dim; And wished her well, and wondered, as she died, How, when her canvas had been sheeted home, Her quivering length would sweep into her stride, Making the greenness milky with her foam. But when we rose next morning, we discerned Her beauty once again a shattered thing; THE V WANDERER" 95 Towing to dock the Wanderer returned, A wounded sea-bird with a broken wing. A spar was gone, her rigging's disarray- Told of a worse disaster than the last; Like draggled hair dishevelled hung the stay, Drooping and beating on the broken mast. Half-mast upon her flagstaff hung her flag; Word went among us how the broken spar Had gored her captain like an angry stag, And killed her mate a half-day from the bar. She passed to dock upon the top of flood. An old man near me shook his head and swore : "Like a bad woman, she has tasted blood — There'll be no trusting in her any more." 96 THE "WANDERER" We thought it truth, and when we saw her there Lying in dock, beyond, across the stream, We would forget that we had called her fair, We thought her murderess and the past a dream. And when she sailed again, we watched in awe, Wondering what bloody act her beauty planned, What evil lurked behind the thing we saw, What strength was there that thus annulled man's hand, How next its triumph would compel man's will Into compliance with external Fate, How next the powers would use her to work ill On suffering men ; we had not long to wait. THE l' WANDERER" 97 For soon the outcry of derision rose, "Here comes the Wanderer!" the expected cry. Guessing the cause, our mockings joined with those Yelled from the shipping as they towed her by. She passed us close, her seamen paid no heed To what was called: they stood, a sullen group, Smoking and spitting, careless of her need, Mocking the orders given from the poop. Her mates and boys were working her; we stared. What was the reason of this strange return, This third annulling of the thing prepared? No outward evil could our eyes discern. 98 THE V WANDERER" Only like one who having formed a plan Beyond the pitch of common minds, she sailed, Mocked and deserted by the common man, Made half divine to me for having failed. We learned the reason soon ; below the town A stay had parted like a snapping reed, "Warning," the men thought, "not to take her down." They took the omen, they would not proceed. Days passed before another crew would sign. The Wanderer lay in dock alone, unmanned, Feared as a thing possessed by powers malign, Bound under curses not to leave the land. But under passing Time fear passes too ; That terror passed, the sailors' hearts grew bold. THE "WANDERER" 99 We learned in time that she had found a crew And was bound out and southwards as of old. And in contempt we thought, "A little while Will bring her back again, dismantled, spoiled. It is herself; she cannot change her style; She has the habit now of being foiled." So when a ship appeared among the haze, We thought, "The Wanderer back again"; but no, No Wanderer showed for many, many days, Her passing lights made other waters glow. But we would often think and talk of her, Tell newer hands her story, wondering, then, Upon what ocean she was Wanderer, Bound to the cities built by foreign men. 100 THE '.' WANDERER" And one by one our little conclave thinned, Passed into ships and sailed and so away, To drown in some great roaring of the wind, Wanderers themselves, unhappy fortune's prey. And Time went by me making memory dim, Yet still I wondered if the Wanderer fared Still pointing to the unreached ocean's rim, Brightening the water where her breast was bared. And much in ports abroad I eyed the ships, Hoping to see her well-remembered form Come with a curl of bubbles at her lips Bright to her berth, the sovereign of the storm. I never did, and many years went by, Then, near a Southern port, one Christmas Eve, THE "WANDERER" 101 I watched a gale go roaring through the sky, Making the caldrons of the clouds upheave. Then the wrack tattered and the stars appeared, Millions of stars that seemed to speak in fire; A byre cock cried aloud that morning neared, The swinging wind-vane flashed upon the spire. And soon men looked upon a glittering earth, Intensely sparkling like a world new-born; Only to look was spiritual birth, So bright the raindrops ran along the thorn. So bright they were, that one could almost pass Beyond their twinkling to the source, and know 102 THE V WANDERER" The glory pushing in the blade of grass, That hidden soul which makes the flowers grow. That soul was there apparent, not revealed, Unearthly meanings covered every tree, That wet grass grew in an immortal field, Those waters fed some never-wrinkled sea. The scarlet berries in the hedge stood out Like revelations but the tongue unknown ; Even in the brooks a joy was quick: the trout Rushed in a dumbness dumb to me alone. All of the valley was aloud with brooks; I walked the morning, breasting up the fells, Taking again lost childhood from the rooks, Whose cawing came above the Christmas bells. THE r WANDERER" 103 I had not walked that glittering world before, But up the hill a prompting came to me, "This line of upland runs along the shore: Beyond the hedgerow I shall see the sea." And on the instant from beyond away That long familiar sound, a ship's bell, broke The hush below me in the unseen bay. Old memories came: that inner prompting spoke. And bright above the hedge a seagull's wings Flashed and were steady upon empty air. "A Power unseen," I cried, "prepares these things ; Those are her bells, the Wanderer is there." So, hurrying to the hedge and looking down, I saw a mighty bay's wind-crinkled blue 104 THE "WANDERER" Ruffling the image of a tranquil town, With lapsing waters glittering as they grew. And near me in the road the shipping swung, So stately and so still in such great peace That like to drooping crests their colours hung, Only their shadows trembled without cease. I did but glance upon those anchored ships. Even as my thought had told, I saw her plain ; Tense, like a supple athlete with lean hips, Swiftness at pause, the Wanderer come again — Come as of old a queen, untouched by Time, Resting the beauty that no seas could tire, Sparkling, as though the midnight's rain were rime, Like a man's thought transfigured into fire. THE V WANDERER" 105 And as I looked, one of her men began To sing some simple tune of Christmas day ; Among her crew the song spread, man to man, Until the singing rang across the bay ; And soon in other anchored ships the men Joined in the singing with clear throats, until The farm-boy heard it up the windy glen, Above the noise of sheep-bells on the hill. Over the water came the lifted song — Blind pieces in a mighty game we swing; Life's battle is a conquest for the strong; The meaning shows in the defeated thing. AUGUST, 1914 How still this quiet cornfield is to-night ! By an intenser glow the evening falls, Bringing, not darkness, but a deeper light ; Among the stooks a partridge covey calls. The windows glitter on the distant hill ; Beyond the hedge the sheep-bells in the fold Stumble on sudden musip and are still; The forlorn pinewoods droop above the wold. An endless quiet valley reaches out Past the blue hills into the evening sky; Over the stubble, cawing, goes a rout Of rooks from harvest, flagging as they fly. So beautiful it is, I never saw So great a beauty on these English fields, 106 AUGUST, 1914 107 Touched by the twilight's coming into awe, Ripe to the soul and rich with summer's yields. These homes, this valley spread below me here, The rooks, the tilted stacks, the beasts in pen, Have been the heartfelt things, past-speaking dear To unknown generations of dead men, Who, century after century, held these farms, And, looking out to watch the changing sky, Heard, as we hear, the rumours and alarms Of war at hand and danger pressing nigh. And knew, as we know, that the message meant The breaking off of ties, the loss of friends, 108 AUGUST, 1914 Death, like a miser getting in his rent, And no new stones laid where the trackway ends. The harvest not yet won, the empty bin, The friendly horses taken from the stalls, The fallow on the hill not yet brought in, The cracks unplastered in the leaking walls. Yet heard the news, and went discouraged home, And brooded by the fire with heavy mind, With such dumb loving of the Berkshire loam As breaks the dumb hearts of the English kind, Then sadly rose and left the well-loved Downs, And so by ship to sea, and knew no more AUGUST, 1914 109 The fields of home, the byres, the market towns, Nor the dear outline of the English shore, But knew the misery of the soaking trench, The freezing in the rigging, the despair In the revolting second of the wrench When the blind soul is flung upon the air, And died (uncouthly, most) in foreign lands For some idea but dimly understood Of an English city never built by hands Which love of England prompted and made good. If there be any life beyond the grave, It must be near the men and things we love, Some power of quick suggestion how to save, Touching the living soul as from above. 110 AUGUST, 1914 An influence from the Earth from those dead hearts So passionate once, so deep, so truly kind, That in the living child the spirit starts, Feeling companioned still, not left behind. Surely above these fields a spirit broods, A sense of many watchers muttering near Of the lone Downland with the forlorn woods Loved to the death, inestimably dear. A muttering from beyond the veils of Death From long-dead men, to whom this quiet scene Came among blinding tears with the last breath, The dying soldier's vision of his queen. All the unspoken worship of those lives Spent in forgotten wars at other calls AUGUST, 1914 111 Glimmers upon these fields where evening drives Beauty like breath, so gently darkness falls. Darkness that makes the meadows holier still, The elm-trees sadden in the hedge, a sigh Moves in the beech-clump on the haunted hill, The rising planets deepen in the sky, And silence broods like spirit on the brae, A glimmering moon begins, the moonlight runs Over the grasses of the ancient way Rutted this morning by the passing guns. THE RIVER All other waters have their time of peace, Calm, or the turn of tide or summer drought ; But on these bars the tumults never cease, In violent death this river passes out. Brimming she goes, a bloody-coloured rush Hurrying her heaped disorder, rank on rank, Bubbleless speed so still that in the hush One hears the mined earth dropping from the bank, Slipping in little falls whose tingeings drown, Sunk by the waves for ever pressing on. Till with a stripping crash the tree goes down, Its washing branches flounder and are gone. 112 THE RIVER 113 Then, roaring out aloud, her water spreads, Making a desolation where her waves Shriek and give battle, tossing up their heads, Tearing the shifting sandbanks into graves, Changing the raddled ruin of her course So swiftly, that the pilgrim on the shore Hears the loud whirlpool laughing like a horse Where the scurf ed sand was parched an hour before. And always underneath that heaving tide The changing bottom runs, or piles, or quakes Flinging immense heaps up to wallow wide, Sucking the surface into whirls like snakes. If anything should touch that shifting sand, All the blind bottom sucks it till it sinks ; It takes the clipper ere she comes to land, It takes the thirsting tiger as he drinks. 114 THE RIVER And on the river pours — it never tires ; Blind, hungry, screaming, day and night the same Purposeless hurry of a million ires, Mad as the wind, as merciless as flame. There was a full-rigged ship, the Travancore, Towing to port against that river's rage — A glittering ship made sparkling for the shore, Taut to the pins in all her equipage. Clanging, she topped the tide ; her sails were furled, Her men came loitering downwards from the yards ; They who had brought her half across the world, Trampling so many billows into shards, THE RIVER 115 Now looking up, beheld their duty done, The ship approaching port, the great masts bare, Gaunt as three giants striding in the sun, Proud, with the colours tailing out like hair. So, having coiled their gear, they left the deck ; Within the foVsle's gloom of banded steel, Mottled like wood with many a painted speck, They brought their plates and sat about a meal. Then pushing back the tins, they lit their pipes, Or slept, or played at cards, or gently spoke, Light from the portholes shot in dusty stripes Tranquilly moving, sometimes blue with smoke. 116 THE RIVER These sunbeams sidled when the vessel rolled, Their lazy yellow dust-strips crossed the floor, Lighting a man-hole leading to the hold, A man-hole leaded down the day before. Like gold the solder on the man-hole shone ; A few flies threading in a drowsy dance Slept in their pattern, darted, and were gone. The river roared against the ship's advance. And quietly sleep came upon the crew, Man by man drooped upon his arms and slept ; Without, the tugboat dragged the vessel through, The rigging whined, the yelling water leapt, Till blindly a careering wave's collapse Rose from beneath her bows and spouted high, THE RIVER 117 Spirting the fo Vsle floor with noisy slaps ; A sleeper at the table heaved a sigh, And lurched, half-drunk with sleep, across the floor, Muttering and blinking like a man insane, Cursed at the river's tumult, shut the door, Blinked, and lurched back and fell asleep again. Then there was greater silence in the room, Ship's creakings ran along the beams and died, The lazy sunbeams loitered up the gloom, Stretching and touching till they reached the side. Yet something jerking in the vessel's course Told that the tug was getting her in hand 118 THE RIVER As, at a fence, one steadies down a horse, To rush the whirlpool on Magellan Sand ; And in the uneasy water just below Her Mate inquired "if the men should stir And come on deck ? " Her Captain answered "No, Let them alone, the tug can manage her." Then, as she settled down and gathered speed, Her Mate inquired again "if they should come Just to be ready there in case of need, Since, on such godless bars, there might be some." But "No," the Captain said, "the men have been Boxing about since midnight, let them be. THE RIVER 119 The pilot's able and the ship's a queen, The hands can rest until we come to quay." They ceased, they took their stations ; right ahead The whirlpool heaped and sucked; in tenor tone The steady leadsman chanted at the lead, The ship crept forward trembling to the bone. And just above the worst a passing wave Brought to the line such unexpected stress] That as she tossed her bows her towrope gave, Snapped at the collar like a stalk of cress. Then, for a ghastly moment, she was loose, Blind in the whirlpool, groping for a guide, Swinging adrift without a moment's truce, She struck the sand and fell upon her side. 120 THE RIVER And instantly the sand beneath her gave So that she righted and again was flung, Grinding the quicksand open for a grave, Straining her masts until the steel was sprung. The foremast broke ; its mighty bulk of steel Fell on the foVsle door and jammed it tight ; The sand-rush heaped her to an even keel, She settled down, resigned, she made no fight, But, like an overladen beast, she lay Dumb in the mud with billows at her lips, Broken, where she had fallen in the way, Grinding her grave among the bones of ships. At the first crashing of the mast, the men Sprang from their sleep to hurry to the deck ; THE RIVER 121 They found that Fate had caught them in a pen, The door that opened out was jammed with wreck. Then, as, with shoulders down, their gathered strength Hove on the door, but could not make it stir, They felt the vessel tremble through her length ; The tug, made fast again, was plucking her. Plucking, and causing motion, till it seemed That she would get her off; they heard her screw Mumble the bubbled rip-rap as she steamed ; " Please God, the tug will shift her!" said the crew. 122 THE RIVER " She's off!" the seamen said; they felt her glide, Scraping the bottom with her bilge, until Something collapsing clanged along her side ; The scraping stopped, the tugboat's screw was still. "She's holed !" a voice without cried ; " holed and jammed — Holed on the old Magellan, sunk last June. I lose my ticket and the men are damned ; j They'll drown like rats unless we free them soon. "My God, they shall not!" and the speaker beat Blows with a crow upon the foremast's wreck; Minute steel splinters fell about his feet, No tremour stirred the ruin on the deck. THE RIVER 123 And as their natures bade, the seamen learned That they were doomed within that buried door ; , Some cursed, some raved, but one among them turned Straight to the manhole leaded in the floor, And sitting down astride it, drew his knife, And staidly dug to pick away the lead, While at the ports his fellows cried for life : " Burst in the door, or we shall all be dead !" For like a brook the leak below them clucked. They felt the vessel settling ; they could feel How the blind bog beneath her gripped and sucked. Their fingers beat their prison walls of steel. And then the gurgling stopped — the ship was still. She stayed ; she sank no deeper — an arrest 124 THE RIVER Fothered the pouring leak ; she ceased to fill. She trod the mud, drowned only to the breast. And probing at the well, the captain found The leak no longer rising, so he cried : "She is not sinking — you will not be drowned ; The shifting sand has silted up her side. "Now there is time. The tug shall put ashore And fetch explosives to us from the town; I'll burst the house or blow away the door (It will not kill you if you all lie down). "Be easy in your minds, for you'll be free As soon as we've the blast." The seamen heard The tug go townwards, butting at the sea; Some lit their pipes, the youngest of them cheered. THE RIVER 125 But still the digger bent above the lid, Gouging the solder from it as at first, Pecking the lead, intent on what he did; The other seamen mocked at him or cursed. And some among them nudged him as he picked. He cursed them, grinning, but resumed his game; His knife-point sometimes struck the lid and clicked. The solder-pellets shone like silver flame. And still his knife-blade clicked like ticking time Counting the hour till the tug's return, And still the ship stood steady on the slime, While Fate above her fingered with her urn. 126 THE RIVER Then from the tug beside them came the hail : "They have none at the stores, nor at the dock, Nor at the quarry, so I tried the gaol. They thought they had, but it was out of stock. "So then I telephoned to town; they say They've sent an engine with some to the pier; I did not leave till it was on its way, A tug is waiting there to bring it here : "It can't be here, though, for an hour or more; I've lost an hour in trying, as it is. For want of thought commend me to the shore. You'd think they'd know their river's ways by this." THE RIVER 127 "So there is nothing for it but to wait," The Captain answered, fuming. "Until then, We'd better go to dinner, Mr. Mate." The cook brought dinner forward to the men. * * * * * Another hour of prison loitered by; The strips of sunlight stiffened at the port, But still the digger made the pellets fly, Paying no heed to his companions' sport, While they, about him, spooning at their tins, Asked if he dug because he found it cold, Or whether it was penance for his sins, Or hope of treasure in the forward hold. He grinned and cursed, but did not cease to pick, His sweat dropped from him when he bent his head, 128 THE RIVER His knife-blade quarried down, till with a click Its grinded thinness snapped against the lead. Then, dully rising, brushing back his sweat, He asked his fellows for another knife. "Never," they said; "man, what d'ye hope to get?" "Nothing," he said, "except a chance for fife." "Havers," they said, and one among them growled, "You'll get no knife from any here to break. You've dug the manhole since the door was fouled, And now your knife's broke, quit, for Jesus' sake." THE RIVER 129 But one, who smelt a bargain, changed his tone, Offering a sheath-knife for the task in hand At twenty times its value, as a loan To be repaid him when they reached the land. And there was jesting at the lender's greed And mockery at the digger's want of sense, Closing with such a bargain without need, Since in an hour the tug would take them thence. But " Right," the digger said. The deal was made He took the borrowed knife, and sitting down Gouged at the channelled solder with the blade, Saying, "Let be, it's better dig than drown." 130 THE RIVER And nothing happened for a while ; the heat Grew in the stuffy room, the sunlight slid, Flies buzzed about and jostled at the meat, The knife-blade clicked upon the manhole lid: And one man said, "She takes a hell of time Bringing the blaster," and another snored; One, between pipe-puffs, hummed a smutty- rhyme, One, who was weaving, thudded with his sword. It was as though the ship were in a dream, Caught in a magic ocean, calm like death, Tranced, till a presence should arise and gleam, Making the waters conscious with her breath THE RIVER 131 It was so drowsy that the river's cries, Roaring aloud their ever-changing tune, Came to those sailors like the drone of flies, Filling with sleep the summer afternoon. So that they slept, or, if they spoke, it was Only to worry lest the tug should come: Such power upon the body labour has That prison seemed a blessed rest to some, Till one man leaning at the port-hole, stared, Checking his yawning at the widest stretch, Then blinked and swallowed, while he muttered, scared, "That blasting-cotton takes an age to fetch." Then swiftly passing from the port he went Up and then down the foVsle till he stayed, 132 THE RIVER Fixed at the port-hole with his eyes intent, Round-eyed and white, as if he were afraid, And muttered as he stared, "My God! she is. She's deeper than she was, she's settling down. That palm-tree top was steady against this, And now I see the quay below the town. "Look here at her. She's sinking in her tracks. She's going down by inches as she stands; The water's darker and it stinks like flax, Her going down is churning up the sands." And instantly a panic took the crew, Even the digger blenched; his knife-blade's haste THE RIVER 133 Cutting the solder witnessed that he knew Time on the brink with not a breath to waste. While far away the tugboat at the quay Under her drooping pennon waited still For that explosive which would set them free, Free, with the world a servant to their will. Then from a boat beside them came a blare, Urging that tugboat to be quick; and men Shouted to stir her from her waiting there, "Hurry the blast, and get us out of pen. "She's going down. She's going down, man! Quick!" The tugboat did not stir, no answer came; They saw her tongue-like pennon idly lick Clear for an instant, lettered with her name. 134 THE RIVER Then droop again. The engine had not come, The blast had not arrived. The prisoned hands Saw her still waiting though their time had come, Their ship was going down among the sands, Going so swiftly now, that they could see The banks arising as she made her bed; Full of sick sound she settled deathward, she Gurgled and shook, the digger picked the lead. And, as she paused to take a final plunge, Prone like a half-tide rock, the men on deck Jumped to their boats and left, ere like a sponge The river's rotten heart absorbed the wreck ; THE RIVER 135 And on the perilous instant ere Time struck The digger's work was done, the lead was cleared, He cast the manhole up; below it muck Floated, the hold was full, the water leered. All of his labour had but made a hole By which to leap to death; he saw black dust Float on the bubbles of that brimming bowl, He drew a breath and took his life in trust, And plunged head foremost into that black pit, Where floating cargo bumped against the beams. He groped a choking passage blind with grit, The roaring in his ears was shot with screams. 136 THE RIVER So, with a bursting heart and roaring ears He floundered in that sunk ship's inky womb, Drowned in deep water for what seemed like years, Buried alive and groping through the tomb, Till suddenly the beams against his back Gave, and the water on his eyes was bright ; He shot up through a hatchway foul with wrack Into clean air and life and dazzling light, And striking out, he saw the foVsle gone, Vanished, below the water, and the mast Standing columnar from the sea; it shone Proud, with its colours flying to the last. And all about, a many-wrinkled tide Smoothed and erased its eddies, wander- ing chilled, THE RIVER 137 Like glutted purpose, trying to decide If its achievement had been what it willed. And men in boats were there; they helped him in. He gulped for breath and watched that patch of smooth, Shaped like the vessel, wrinkle into grin, Furrow to waves and bare a yellow tooth. Then the masts leaned until the shroud- screws gave. All disappeared — her masts, her colours, all. He saw the yardarms tilting to the grave; He heard the siren of a tugboat call, And saw her speeding, foaming at the bow, Bringing the blast-charge that had come too late. 138 THE RIVER He heard one shout, "It isn't wanted now." Time's minute-hand had been the hand of Fate. Then the boats turned; they brought him to the shore. Men crowded round him, touched him, and were kind; The Mate walked with him, silent, to the store. He said, "We've left the best of us behind." Then, as he wrung his sodden clothes, the Mate Gave him a drink of rum, and talked awhile Of men and ships and unexpected Fate; And darkness came and cloaked the river's guile, THE RIVER 139 So that its huddled hurry was not seen, Only made louder, till the full moon climbed Over the forest, floated, and was queen. Within the town a temple-belfry chimed. Then, upon silent pads, a tiger crept Down to the river-brink, and crouching there Watched it intently, till you thought he slept But for his ghastly eye and stiffened hair. Then, trembling at a lust more fell than his, He roared and bounded back to coverts lone, Where, among moonlit beauty, slaughter is, Filling the marvellous night with myriad groan. WATCHING BY A SICK-BED I heard the wind all day, And what it was trying to say. I heard the wind all night Rave as it ran to fight; After the wind the rain, And then the wind again Running across the hill As it runs still. And all day long the sea Would not let the land be, But all night heaped her sand On to the land ; I saw her glimmer white All through the night, Tossing the horrid hair Still tossing there. 140 WATCHING BY A SICK-BED 141 And all day long the stone Felt how the wind was blown; And all night long the rock Stood the sea's shock; While, from the window, I Looked out, and wondered why, Why at such length Such force should fight such strength. NOTE The River, which is contained in this vol- ume, was first published in the Century Maga- zine; The Wanderer in Harper's Magazine; Watching by a Sick-Bed and August, 1914 in Harper's Weekly. I thank the editors of these periodicals for permission to reprint them here. JOHN MASEFIELD. TVTEW Poems and Plays published by The Macmillan Company. BY THE SAME AUTHOR The Tragedy of Pompey the Great Cloth, i2mo, $1.2 $ net; postage extra. " To one who reads Mr. Masefield's great play with a close understanding of his meaning there cannot be too high a praise with which to applaud the achievement. Though classical in theme and characters, it is free from those blemishes of pedantry which usually attend such efforts by modern dramatists, and the reason is that Mr. Masefield is frankly concerned with a vital purpose in character that is neither ancient nor modern, and strengthens his purpose by using the same direct and vibrant prose that he uses in his English pastoral tragedy of * Nan.' " — Boston Transcript. " * The Tragedy of Pompey the Great » is different. Masefield approaches it in the same spirit of freedom from convention, with the same boldness of the actual which one finds in his previous work. He is no statuesque Pompey, spouting prose lines masquerading as poetry. Masefield has given us Pompey the man. He has made human the men who surrounded the old Roman. And his drama is in modern prose, yet strikes no note of discord." — The Pittsburgh Post. " He makes the character of Pompey vivid from the start." — San Francisco Chronicle. "It is an astonishing concise piece of writing, in which dramatic unities are respected, as well as the limitations of the stage, to such an extent that the play would be almost conven- tional were it not for the fact that it adds another splendid figure to modern English drama. . . . The character that Masefield has drawn with undoubted historical accuracy, as well as fine feeling, is a really superb figure." — Brooklyn Daily Eagle. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York BY THE SAME AUTHOR New Books By JOHN MASEFIELD SALT WATER BALLADS Cloth 1 2 mo $1.00 net; postage extra " Masefield has prisoned in verse the spirit of life at sea." — New York Sun. "... full of memorable sea pictures." — San Francisco Chronicle. "... shows Masefield at his best." — Philadelphia Record. "... real poetry, musical and spontaneous." — Literary Digest. A MAINSAIL HAUL Cloth i2tno $1.25 net ; postage extra ** The cruelty, the primitive and passionate brutality, the rough fearlessness, the superstitious horror and fantasy, of human nature under the spell of the sea and the tyranny of ships, are in these pages as we find them in the pages of a very few of the renowned sea writers." — Boston Transcript. "There is strength about everything Masefield writes that compels the feeling that he has an inward eye on which he draws to shape new films of old pictures. In these pictures is freshness combined with power." — New York Globe. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York BY THE SAME AUTHOR New Editions of JOHN MASEFIELD'S Other Works THE DAFFODIL FIELDS Second Edition. $1.25 net. "Neither in the design nor in the telling did, or could, 'Enoch Arden' come near the artistic truth of The Daffo- dil Fields.' " — Sir Quiller-Couch, Cambridge University. THE STORY OF A ROUND-HOUSE, AND OTHER POEMS New and Revised Edition. $1.30 net. "The story of that rounding of the Horn ! Never in prose has the sea been so tremendously described." — Chicago Evening Post. THE EVERLASTING MERCY and THE WIDOW IN THE BYE STREET (Awarded the Royal Society of Literature's prize of $500.) New and Revised Edition. $1.25 net. "Mr. Masefield comes like a flash of light across con- temporary English poetry. The improbable has been ac- complished; he has made poetry out of the very material that has refused to yield it for almost a score of years." — Boston Evening Transcript. PUBLISHED BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY €4-66 Fifth Avenue New York RABINDRANATH TAGORE'S NEW DRAMA The King of the Dark Chamber By RABINDRANATH TAGORE Nobel Prizeman in Literature, 1913; Author of "Gitan- gali," "The Gardener," "The Crescent Moon," " Sadhana," " Chitra," u The Post-Office," etc. Cloth i2mo. $1.25 net. "The real poetical imagination of it is unchangeable; the allegory, subtle and profound and yet simple, is cast into the form of a dramatic narrative, which moves with unconventional freedom to a finely impressive climax; and the reader, who began in idle curiosity, finds his intelligence more and more engaged until, when he turns the last page, he has the feeling of one who has been moving in worlds not realized, and communing with great if mysterious presences." The London Globe, PUBLISHED BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York NEW POEMS AND PLAYS Plaster Saints By Israel Zangwill. Cloth, i2mo. $1.25 net. A new play of deep social significance. The Melting Pot By Israel Zangwill. Revised edition. Cloth, i2mo. This is a revised edition of what is perhaps Mr. Zangwill's most popular play. Numerous changes have been made in the text, which has been considerably lengthened thereby. The appeal of the drama to the readers of this country is particularly strong, in that it deals with that great social process by which all nationalities are blended together for the making of the real American. Sword Blades and Poppy Seed By Amy Lowell, Author of "A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass." Boards, i2mo. $1.25 net. Of the poets who to-day are doing the interesting and original work, there is no more striking and unique figure than Amy Lowell. The foremost American member of the "Imagists" — a group of poets that includes William Butler Yeats, Ezra Pound, Ford Madox Hueffer — she has won wide recognition for her writing in new and free forms of poetical expression. Miss Lowell's present volume of poems, "Sword Blades and Poppy Seed," is an unusual book. It contains much perhaps that will arouse criticism, but it is a new note in American poetry. Miss Lowell has broken away from academic traditions and written, out of her own time, real singing poetry, free, full of new effects and sub- tleties. PUBLISHED BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York NEW POEMS AND PLAYS The Congo and Other Poems By Vachel Lindsay. Cloth, i2mo. $1.25 net. In the readings which he has given throughout the country Mr. Lindsay has won the approbation of the critics and of his audiences in general for the new verse form which he is employing. The wonderful effects of sound produced by his lines, their relation to the idea which the author seeks to convey and their marvelous lyrical quality are some- thing it is maintained, quite out of the ordinary and suggest new possibilities and new meanings in poetry. In this book are presented a number of Mr. Lindsay's most daring experiments, that is to say they were experiments when they were first tried; they have been more than justified by their reception. It is believed that the volume will be one of the most discussed of all the year's output. Borderlands and Thoroughfares By Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, Author of "Daily Bread," "Fires," "Womenkind," etc. Cloth, i2mo. $1.25 net. With the publication of Daily Bread Mr. Gibson was hailed as a new poet of the people. Fires, his later volume, confirmed the impression that here was a man whose writing was close to real life, a man in whom were combined a sympathy and appreciation of humankind with a rare lyrical genius. This present book continues the work which Mr. Gibson can do so well. In it are brought together three plays and a number of short lyrics which reveal again his very decided talent. It is a collection which should indeed gratify those students of modern verse who are looking to such men as Gibson and Masefield for permanent and rep- resentative contributions to literature. PUBLISHED BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York NEW POEMS AND PLAYS Earth Triumphant and Other Tales in Verse By CONRAD AIKEN Cloth, i2mo, $i.2j net Conrad Aiken is one of the first American writers to choose to tell his stories in verse. Helston, Masefield, and other Euro- peans have been doing it with marked success, but hitherto this country has had no notable representative in this line of endeavor. Though Mr. Aiken has been writing for a number of years, Earth Triumphant and Other Tales in Verse is his first published book. In it are contained, in addition to the several narratives of mod- ern life, a number of shorter lyrics. It is a volume distinguished by originality and power. Van Zom : A Comedy in Three Acts By EDWIN A. ROBINSON Cloth, i2mo, $1.25 net This play makes delightful reading and introduces in the per- son of its author a playwright of considerable promise. Mr. Robinson tells an interesting story, one which by a clever ar- rangement of incident and skillful characterization arouses strongly the reader's curiosity and keeps it unsatisfied to the end. The dialogue is bright and the construction of the plot shows the work of one well versed in the technique of the drama. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York A LIST OF PLAYS Leonid Andreyev's Anathema $1-25 net Clyde Fitch's The Climbers .75 net Girl with the Green Eyes 1.25 ne Her Own Way .75 ne Stubbornness of Geraldine .75 ne The Truth 75 nei Hermann Hagedorn's Makers of Madness . . . 1. 00 nei Thomas Hardy's The Dynasts. 3 Parts. Each . 1.50 ne Henry Arthur Jones's Whitewashing of Julia .75 ne Saints and Sinners .75 net The Crusaders .75 ne Michael and His Lost Angel .75 ne Jack London's Scorn of Women 1.25 ne Theft 1.25 ne Mackaye's Jean D'Arc 1.25 ne Sappho and Phaon 1 25 ne Fenris the Wolf 1.25 ne Mater 1.25 ne Canterbury Pilgrims 1.25 ne The Scarecrow 1.25 ne A Garland to Sylvia 1.25 ne John Masefield's The Tragedy of Pompey . . . 1.25 net Philip the King 1.25 nei William Vaughn Moody's The Faith Healer 1.25 ne Stephen Phillip's Ulysses 1.25 ne The Sin of David 1.25 ne Nero » • • 1-25 ne Pietro of Siena 1.00 ne Phillips and Carr. Faust 1.25 ne Edward Sheldon's The Nigger 1.25 ne Romance 1.25 ne Katrina Trask's In the Vanguard 1.25 ne Rabindranath Tagore's The Post Office .... 1.00 ne Chitra 1.00 ne The King of the Dark Chamber 1.25 ne Edwin A. Robinson's Van Zorn 1.25 ne Sarah King Wiley's Coming of Philibert .... 1.25 ne Alcestis -75 ne Yeats' Poems and Plays, Vol. II, Revised Edition . 2.00 Hour Glass (and others) 1.25 ne The Green Helmet and Other Poems .... 1.25 ne Yeats and Lady Gregory's Unicorn from the Stars 1.50 ne Israel Zangwill's The Melting Pot, New Edition . 1.25 ne The War God 1.25 ne The Next Religion 1.25 ne Plaster Saints 1.25 ne THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York