UC-NRLF 
 
 B S 63S 22D 
 
 PR 
 
 4161 
 
 B83 
 
 V35 
 
 1876 
 
 MAIN 
 
•ItKllff 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSnY 0» 
 CMIFOftNIA 
 
 fj^v-^^ 
 

 VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 AND A PLAY. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE STAUNTON BRODIE. 
 
 With Illustrations 
 
 BV 
 
 WALL IS MACKAV AND THE AUTHOR. 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE ST., STRAND. 
 
 1876. 
 
 \_All rights reserved.'] 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS. 
 CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Prefatory . . . i 
 
 II. 
 The Golden Age 3 
 
 III. 
 
 A Song of Spring . . . . . . . . -77 
 
 IV. 
 
 An Asian Mystery 3o 
 
 V. 
 Nurse Nancy 83 
 
 VI. 
 On the Shore . . .86 
 
 VII. 
 Going to Jericho 89 
 
 VIII. 
 Voices of the Air . . ... . . . .92 
 
 127 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Some old Love-letters 94 
 
 X. 
 
 A Rhyme about a Ruin . 98 
 
 XL 
 Wooing under Difficulties . loi 
 
 XIL 
 The Song of the Moonbeam . 104 
 
 XIIL 
 From the Country 106 
 
 XIV. 
 The Loss of the "Captain" 109 
 
 XV. 
 
 The Lark and the Breaking Waves . . . . .112 
 
 XVI. 
 Lines to a Meteor . .113 
 
 XVIL 
 A Coquette 116 
 
 XVIIL 
 A Novel a la Mode 119 
 
 XIX. 
 Solitude .124 
 
CONTENTS. vii 
 
 XX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Lament for Summer . .126 
 
 XXL 
 Nelly 129 
 
 XXIL 
 A Girl and a Goat 132 
 
 XXIII. 
 Song of a Water-Fairy . . . . . . . .134 
 
 XXIV. 
 The Danger of Dreaming . . . . . . .135 
 
 XXV. 
 Our Yesterdays .139 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 A Calm — and Reflections 143 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 A Nursery Serenade . . ' 146 
 
 XXVIIL 
 To THE Sea-Foam . . .148 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The King of the Lonely Isle 151 
 
 XXX. 
 The Caged Lark 156 
 
viii CONTENTS. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 An Autumn Evening , 157 
 
 XXXII. 
 The Dying Settler to his Betrothed . . ... 161 
 
 • XXXIII. 
 Incredible 162 
 
 XXXIV. 
 For the Good of the Child . 165 
 
 XXXV. 
 To A Moth i68 
 
VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 PREFATORY. 
 
 Go, wandering voices, seek an alien soil, 
 Make the just limit of your music heard : 
 Shallops of Fate, by Fortune's zephyrs stirred. 
 
 Beating to port against the tide of toil ; — 
 
 Soul-flights, fenced yearnings of Life's mad turmoil, 
 Oft have ye cheered me through the burning hours 
 With a low whispering of budding flowers. 
 
 Wonders of Truth, Time's treacheries to foil, 
 Glitter of wave, and bloom upon the rose. 
 
 Leafage of Summer and her singing streams. 
 Soft stored tints that amber Autumn shows, 
 
 Long trance of Winter and his fire-side dreams — 
 Children of Fancy, favoured of the few. 
 Enough for me some hearts will welcome you. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 
 
 S' Jfai^S JPi^St f0ttn!b^b on mx ^Ik^^^rg bg <^i)bi00n. 
 
 Dramatis Person m. 
 
 Hephestion 
 Crites 
 Gaphis 
 Melidor ... 
 
 LOCHRON ... 
 
 Atamir ... 
 Delian 
 Clethon ... 
 
 YOCREYN ... 
 CiNEAS 
 
 Vandore ... 
 
 Imis 
 
 Plaimoune 
 
 MOPNA 
 
 Prince of Fanisland ; chosen 
 King of Topsiturvia. 
 
 Prime Minister of Topsiturvia. 
 A rich young nobleman. 
 
 A poor poet. 
 
 A working mechanic ; maker of 
 conjuring tricks, automata, &c. 
 
 A doctor. 
 
 A lawyer. 
 
 A sporting man. 
 
 Clerk to Delian. 
 
 A spiteful person. 
 
 Wife to Atamir. 
 
 Wife to Delian. 
 
 A coquette ; in love with 
 Gaphis. 
 
 \ Lochron's daughter ; in love 
 { with Melidor. 
 
 B 2 
 
VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene. — The Suburbs of Goldinhunga. On the right Lochron's 
 house; Delian's and Atamir's on the left. The houses are 
 surrounded by trees ; a birdcage hangs outside Lochron's win- 
 dow. The City of Goldinhunga is seen in the distance. 
 
 Enter Deli an, with legal documents , followed by Yocreyn, 
 
 with bag. 
 
 Del. (giving documents). Hasten, good Yocreyn, to your task — 
 time flies ! 
 
 Put pen to parchment with your wonted speed. 
 Yoc. Sir, I shall do my best to use despatch. 
 
 {aside) Plague take his clients and their mad disputes 
 
 That must be patched by law ! 
 Del. {impatiently). Come, get you in ! 
 
 \Exit Yocreyn i}ito house. 
 
 That fellow's discontented with his lot. 
 
 In my house none shall grumble but myself. 
 
 Doomed every day to don a wig and gown. 
 
 And fight forensic battles for my bread : 
 
 Enter Atamir from house. He overhears. 
 
 Del. To settle the disputes of A and B, 
 
 For whose concerns I do not care a jot — 
 I think / have some reason to complain. 
 
 Ata. Counsellor Delian laments his fate, 
 
 And yet his circuits are not circumscribed ; 
 His ample purse o'erflows with clients' gold. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 
 
 His sage opinion everywhere is sought, 
 And business daily grows upon his hands. 
 With these advantages, 'tis difficult 
 To trace the source of his unhappiness. 
 
 Del. Yet you have traced it, Atamir. 
 
 Ata. How so ? 
 
 Del. I much dislike the constant drudgery 
 
 That brings me in this necessary dross. 
 
 Ata. Alas ! they are inseparable twins — 
 
 I know it but too well. My daily life 
 Is very far from being a bed of roses. 
 Indeed, I'd cheerfully exchange with you. 
 
 Del. x\nd I with you. To feel a healthful pulse 
 
 Give kangaroo-like bounds beneath the skin ; 
 To thump and tap a wheezy patient's chest 
 In expectation of abnormal sounds ; 
 To bring home to the liver and the spleen 
 The vice of apathy or indolence ; 
 To chloroform and bandage fellow-beings 
 And make some alteration in their frames : 
 Aware that you are licensed so to do. 
 Must be a life of never-ending joy ! 
 
 Ata. Yours is the tyro's sketch — all fire and glow ; 
 
 But Fancy never paints with sober tints. 
 You think it, then, a cheerful thing to be 
 Called out of bed upon a frosty night. 
 Because your neighbour's infant's indisposed 
 Through being overfed ; or to be fetched 
 To cure the ailments of some village dame 
 Who's got it into her perverse old head 
 Her absolutely unimportant life 
 Is drawing prematurely to a close. 
 
6 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Del. To seem to coincide with her, and then 
 
 By tardy hints to disabuse her mind, 
 I think I should exceedingly enjoy. 
 
 Ata. I took out my diploma so long since 
 
 That even that would fail to yield me mirth. 
 Had I life's path to traverse o'er again 
 
 Del. You'd be? 
 
 Ata. A lawyer ! With much anxious care 
 
 I'd disinter long-buried precedents. 
 And quote them to the foe's discomfiture. 
 By questions artfully contrived I'd seek 
 To make a truthful witness seem to lie. 
 I would get quibbles at my fingers' ends. 
 And yield them inch by inch. So would I earn 
 The gratitude of clients and my fees. 
 
 Del. Would such a state of things could come about ! 
 
 Enter Cineas. 
 
 Cin. What ! you two talking in a friendly way ! 
 I am surprised. 
 
 Ata. What causes your surprise ? 
 
 Cin. I thought you were at daggers drawn. 
 
 Del. Pray why 
 
 Should two good neighbours be at daggers drawn ? 
 
 Cin. You ask the question — too-confiding lamb ! 
 
 But, to be sure, it always is the case 
 That when a married woman's indiscreet, 
 And people gossip of her " goings on," 
 Her husband is the last to hear of it. 
 
 Del. Do you refer to me ? 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. .7 
 
 Cin. Of course I do. 
 
 {To Ata.) I said I'd tell him. 
 Ata. Ill-conditioned hound, 
 
 You'll set us by the ears. 
 Cin. {with evident delight). I think I shall. 
 Del. Solve this mysterious enigma, sir ! 
 
 Cifi. I will. 
 
 Ata. Come,- Delian, waste not time with him j 
 
 The fellow's character is too well known. 
 
 Who listens to the scandal he purveys 
 
 Will soon become a second Cineas. 
 Del You're right. {To Cm.) Come, get you gone, ill- 
 
 natured cur. 
 Cin. You'd better hear what I have got to say. 
 
 Del. Well, say it, then, as briefly as you can. 
 
 Ci?i. You know the summer gardens, on the hill 
 
 Of Docrin, that o'erlooks the River Masis ? 
 Del. 1 know them well, for I have dined there oft 
 
 Before I was a happy Benedict. 
 Cin. I've not been feeling very well of late : 
 
 Last night I thought that by a change of air 
 
 I might regain my failing appetite. 
 Del. The state of such an appetite as yours 
 
 Has not the slightest interest for me. 
 Cin. I dined at Docrin, then, and there I sat 
 
 At the next table to 
 
 Del. {eagerly). Say on ! 
 
 Cin. (with great satisfaction). Your wife ! 
 
 Del. Was she alone, or with a female friend ? 
 
 Cin. A female friend I Oh, this is too absurd ! 
 
 {To Ata.) A very charming woman is his wife — 
 
 I hope you passed a pleasant day with her. 
 
8 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Del. {to Ata.) 'Twas you, then — and you call yourself my 
 
 friend ! 
 Cin. {aside). The cat's out of the bag : I'll let them fight 
 
 Over that interesting animal. \jExit. 
 
 Ata. As I'm a living man, I'm innocent 
 
 Of aught approaching impropriety, 
 
 You were away from home — the day was bright — 
 
 My wife was out of sorts ; for dinner, we'd 
 
 Cold mutton for the twentieth time this month ; 
 
 Your wife was pining for a holiday ; 
 
 And so we put our heads together 
 
 Del. Yes, 
 
 You did that pretty often, I've no doubt. 
 
 Here come our wives. The virtuous Vandore 
 
 Will need an explanation at your hands ; 
 
 I'll have it out with Imis on the spot. 
 
 Enter Vandore and luisfrom house. 
 
 Imis. There is your husband, madam, now complain 
 
 That I have kept him from your side. 
 Va7t. I will. 
 
 (77? Ata.) Husband, I wish to speak with you apart. 
 Ata. {aside). St. Malthus shrive me — I am in for it. 
 
 [Goes 7i_p with Vandore. 
 Del. Imis, come here ! Rumour has been at work 
 
 With your good name ; a little bird has blabbed 
 
 Of a choice dinner on a summer eve, 
 
 In a snug house upon a winding river. 
 
 Your husband, madam, being away from home. 
 
 Was naturally not your entertainer. 
 Imis. 'Twas Cineas told you, then. I marvel, sir. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE, < 
 
 You've ought to do with such a chattering crow. 
 
 Where was the harm, pray ? Neighbour Atamir — 
 
 I see you know 'twas he — invited me, 
 
 His wife being ill — \_{Aside) She never knew of it]— 
 
 To be the cheerer of his loneliness. 
 Del. And I'll be bound that you were nothing loath. 
 
 * I wonder you can look me in the face. 
 Lnis. I wonder, too, for you're extremely plain. 
 Del. {angrily). I will not have these naughty goings on. 
 
 Jealousy, madam, is a sleeping hound. 
 
 And you had better let him slumber on. 
 Imis. The animal that goes about with you 
 
 Derives but scant refreshment from its rest. 
 
 Oh, sir, I wonder you don't beat me ! 
 Del. What! 
 
 A lawyer beat his wife ! Come, that's not bad. 
 
 He'd reckon up the cost of every thwack : 
 
 A flail would, in his hands, become a feather. 
 Imis. Then, sir, if I am not to be chastised, 
 
 Perhaps you'll bring your lecture to a close. 
 
 [ Vandore 'and Atamir come down, 
 
 I've done no harm ; but woman's reputation 
 Is like a film of ice across a pond — 
 'Tis tested, just to see what it will bear. 
 Van. And right it should be. If the ice is firm 
 'Twill bear a cannon's weight of scandal up, 
 And still upon its surface show no flaw. 
 Imis, for shame ! You say you love me well, 
 Yet seek to steal my happiness away 
 (The happiness that mutual trust begets), 
 To covet which you cannot be a friend, 
 
lo VAGRAN2' VERSES. 
 
 For envy is false friendship in disguise. 
 (Turns to Ata.) My husband has confessed, and 
 is forgiven. \Exit, with Atamir, into house. 
 
 Del. Then, wife, I pardon you the escapade. 
 
 But don't offend again. 
 Iniis. I did no harm, 
 
 So will not do again, dear Delian. 
 
 \Exeujit into house. 
 
 Enter Plaimoune. She comes down to Lochroiis house. 
 
 Plai. Lochron ! 
 
 Loch, (within). Who calls ? 
 
 Plai. A customer of yours. 
 
 Enter Lochron, ifi working dress, from house. 
 
 Have you completed my automaton ? 
 
 Loch. " The minister upon the hobby-horse !" 
 'Tis nearly finished : I have yet to fit 
 The mechanism of the horse's tail. 
 
 Flai. How does it act ? 
 
 Loch. Oh, to the very life. 
 
 The horse has all the vices of a horse. 
 The minister — ^but that goes without saying 
 'Tis Crites' " second self" — a wooden puppet 
 Whose gravity gives infinite diversion. 
 I'm sick of work ; in this world's lottery 
 I've drawn the blank of insignificance ; 
 I feel I'm fit to take that puppet's place. 
 Yet fate has made of me a working man. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. ii 
 
 Enter Melidor reading a scroll^ folloived by Mo^^A,from house. 
 
 Here's my fine scholar at his rhymes again. 
 [Melidor sits abstractedly by porch, gazing at scroll.) 
 Mel. Immortal love, if I do sing to thee 
 
 It is to lift the sorrow from my heart, 
 
 I gaze upon the fruit I may not pluck, 
 
 A hopeless passion, ever fanned by hope 
 
 Is mine, since I was born to poverty. 
 Plai. Well, sir ! 
 Mel. {starting). Plaimoune ! 
 Plai. It is scarce polite 
 
 To seat yourself and let a lady stand. 
 Mel. {rising). I saw you not, and yet methought, Plaimoune, 
 
 An angel presence brightened our poor porch. 
 Flai. Come, sir, no compliments j you know quite well 
 
 I'm not angelic — rather the reverse ; 
 
 I am a wayward woman. 
 Loch, {to Mopna). Born, I fear. 
 
 To set her snares for our unhappy sex — 
 
 Poor Melidor — she's driven him half mad. 
 Mop. Look at her father, how she tortures him ; 
 
 To think his burning words and wealth of love 
 
 Are lavished on a stone — 'tis pitiful. 
 Loch. Ah wench, you'd make a better wife- for him ; 
 
 But life's a chessboard, where we wish to move 
 
 We find ourselves invariably checked. 
 Mop. Yes, and it's very difl^icult to mate. 
 
 \Exeunt Lochron and Mopna into house. 
 Plai. {seated — to Melidor). Is that some new production of 
 
 your muse ? 
 Mel. But four short lines, I dreamt them yesternight. 
 
12 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Plai. Will you recite them to me ? ' 
 
 Mel. All day long 
 
 If you would listen. 
 Plai. I will listen now. 
 
 \_Music — Melidor reads from scroll. 
 * " Love, like the spring, a sweeter blossom wears. 
 
 Love, like the summer, decked in joy appears. 
 
 Blest, like the autumn, every promise bears, 
 
 Then hath, alas ! a winter in its years." 
 Mel. {folding scroll with a sigh). Love's seasons. 
 Plai. Yes, a fanciful conceit. 
 
 Upon my wedding-day I'll come to you. 
 
 \He listens eagerly. 
 
 To write some pretty verses on my dress. 
 
 Mel. 'Tis thus you mock my love 
 
 Plai. Nay, you presume. 
 
 We are not equals in the social scale ; 
 
 My hand is promised to a nobleman. 
 
 I could not, even if I loved you, brook 
 
 A husband who was always in the clouds. 
 \Taps scroll and goes up, meeting Gaphis and Clethon. 
 
 Ga. {offering flower). Deign, sweet Plaimoune, to accept this 
 flower, 
 
 Though I confess it was absurdly cheap ; 
 
 They're getting dearer 
 
 Mel. Ah, that's comforting. 
 
 Ga. And ere another month I hope and trust 
 
 Will vanish from plebeian button-holes — 
 Mel. A load will then be off your lordship's mind ; 
 
 That is, assuming you possess a mind. 
 
 As to which I distinctly have my doubts. 
 
 * These lines are not by the Author. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 13 
 
 Ga. {aghast at the mtei-ruption). Who spoke to you ? 
 
 {To Plaimoune). Is this a friend of yours ? 
 Plat. No, merely an admirer, — self-elected. 
 
 Ga. He's a sarcastic snob 
 
 Plai. There, never mind. 
 
 Ga. {chaffing). I think he means to be impertinent. 
 
 Eh, Clethon ? 
 Cle. You are too impetuous. 
 
 You should not condescend to notice him. 
 
 Ignore him altogether. 
 Ga. So I will. 
 
 {Loftily to Melidor). You'll understand, sir, that you 
 
 don't exist 
 
 Mel. You're wrong — I do ! I hope one day to live. 
 
 Presumptuous as that hope may seem to be. 
 
 [Bestows a contemptuous look on Gaphis, and sits in porch. 
 
 Plai. Where have you been, you too neglectful pair ? 
 
 Cle. At a turf gathering, most fashionable j 
 
 The horses were a picture, racing good : — 
 And then the ladies' lawn — such toilets, and 
 Such beauty ! — I could never quit my gaze — 
 It seemed indeed as if some fairy wand 
 Had touched a second Eden into life. 
 
 Ga. Oh, it was charming, positively charming. 
 
 I lost my money though, 
 
 Cle. I too, alas ! 
 
 His lordship let me make a book for him. 
 
 Ga. His lordship makes his own another time. 
 
 Plai. And have I won a box of gloves ? 
 
 Ga. • No, lost, 
 
 For Honeycomb was beaten by a head. 
 
14 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 I claim from you the payment of the bet. 
 
 Seven and three-quarters, ladies' lavenders. 
 Plai. {taking out tablets). But ladies never pay j I'll cross it 
 out. 
 
 {Does so.) Those gloves are off my hands. 
 Ga. {angrily). But not on mine. 
 
 It is your sex's privilege to cheat, 
 
 While you exact from ours the pound of flesh. 
 
 I don't have gloves with you again, that's all. 
 
 \Goes up angrily. 
 
 Flat, {aside). He's angry with me ; he may cast me off. 
 
 {To Clethon). What shall I do ? 
 Cle. What common sense dictates. 
 
 Pay him his lawful winnings on the spot. 
 Flai. I will : I love him. 
 
 {To Clethon). Will you tell him so ? 
 
 [ Goes tip, casting a longing look at Gaphis, who 
 will not notice her. 
 
 I feel that it is very wrong to cheat, 
 A horse's head shall never part us thus. 
 
 \Makes note in tablet. 
 
 Seven and three-quarters ! What a dainty size ! 
 
 lExit. 
 
 Cle. {to Gaphis, ivho comes down). Your lordship's won the 
 
 battle. 
 Ga. Sooth because 
 
 I'm cloyed with her, and fain would shake her off. 
 Cle. Perhaps you have another flame ? 
 
 Ga. , Perhaps • 
 
 I have. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 15 
 
 Cle. Or I might put it better thus : 
 
 Another iron in the fire of love. 
 Ga. To me that iron's invariably cold. 
 
 Though she is poor — and all that sort of thing. 
 
 She calmly snaps her fingers at my wealth, 
 
 And scorns the presents that I offer her. 
 Cle. A woman does this ? Oh, incredible ! 
 
 ' [MoPNA appears at window , and takes in birdcage. 
 
 Ga. Behold her ! 
 
 Cle. Mopna ! 
 
 Ga. Yes, my soul's desire ! 
 
 Cle. I think her foolish to reject your gifts. 
 
 But persevere, and you will win her yet. 
 
 The heart of woman cannot stand a siege. 
 
 And recollect, through every repulse, 
 
 We prize the capture of that citadel 
 
 That longest checks our amorous assaults. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Enter N K^jyoiKS. from house. 
 
 Mel. {rising). I breathe again, those prating fools being gone. 
 
 Van. Good Melidor ! 
 
 Mel. {starting). Vandore ! Guardian angel 
 
 Of my unhappy life ; most trusted friend ; 
 
 Why is your brow so clouded ? 
 Va7t. For your sake. 
 
 The hopeless passion you are nourishing 
 
 You must abandon, or for ever be 
 
 The haptess slave of Demon discontent. 
 
 I've watched you from my window until now. 
 Mel. And cannot woman then be taught to love ? 
 
i6 VAGRANT VERSES 
 
 Van. Not by a human tutor, Melidor. 
 
 Forbear, sweet youth, to chase this phantom hope. 
 
 Plaimoune's not for you. Come, wreck your heart, 
 
 Replace her image by a worthier one. 
 
 She loves you not — and has a mocking laugh 
 
 For all your desolation and despair, 
 
 So pluck up courage, own my words are wise, 
 
 And on the bounded landscape of your life 
 
 Come, like the breeze that gently stirs the grass. 
 
 To temper your resolves. 
 
 MeL {in reverie). Your words are true. 
 
 She loves me not. I know your words are true. 
 She loves that empty-headed coxcomb, Gaphis. 
 The love that dances on her dimpled cheek. 
 The love that burns so brightly in her eyes. 
 The love that lurks in all her utterance, 
 The liquid melody of her sweet love 
 
 Van. Is lavished on a noodle, I'll admit. 
 
 Mel. Ah, what is love ? It is a limpid stream 
 
 Merrily rippling o'er the stones of life ; 
 A soft-hued rainbow set in clouds of care. 
 Spanning the heaven of the life below. 
 
 Van. A man in love is like an eddying leaf 
 
 Borne by conflicting Zeph)n:s here and there ; 
 A frail boat sucked into a whirlpool ; now 
 In vortex lost, now on the surface tossed, 
 As hopes and fears alternate in his breast ; 
 A torment to himself, and to his friends 
 Simply a pitiable spectacle. 
 
 MeL Ah, were I Gaphis 
 
 Van. Clearly you'd become 
 
 A biped with a donkey's attributes. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 17 
 
 A cloud would settle on your intellect ; 
 
 The thoughts that flow so freely from your brain 
 
 Be caught in cobwebs, and, like helpless flies, 
 
 Flutter their lives out struggling to be free. 
 
 To envy anyone is worse than folly, 
 
 And 'tis but poor revenge to envy him. 
 
 Mel. Vandore, though I feel your words are wise, 
 I'm angry with you for convincing me. 
 
 Van. I care not so that my advice take root. 
 Shake off this woman and her influence : 
 Your brooding love for her amounts to sin. 
 
 Mel. My will, then, bids me sin. 
 
 Vafi. Your will is weak. 
 
 I wonder you can waste a sigh on her. 
 When you are dearly loved by one for whom 
 You scarcely ever have a civil word. 
 
 Mel Who ? 
 
 Van. Pretty little Mopna, Lochron's child. 
 
 Mel. Oh, Mopna — she is too demonstrative ; 
 
 She needs but slight encouragement from me. 
 Besides, she bores me with her silly chat. 
 
 Va7i. Such innocence as hers is sweet to see. 
 
 Mel. A little of it goes a goodish way. 
 
 Van. She comes. If you will ponder my advice, 
 True happiness is yet within your grasp. 
 
 Exit. Enter yiovY^K from house. 
 
 Mop. What, Melidor ! alone, and brooding still ; 
 Dark clouds upon your face this sunny day ! 
 My pet canary's warbling in his cage 
 For very joyousness. Now, do you think 
 Canaries have their troubles ? 
 
1 8 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Mel. {curtly). I don't know. 
 
 I never yet conversed with a canary ; 
 My relatives are none of them canaries. 
 Theirs is a language I don't understand, 
 So cannot frame an answer to a question 
 That seems to me outrageously absurd. 
 
 Mop. No doubt. I've yet to cut my wisdom-teeth. 
 
 Mel. Abstain from speech till that event occurs. 
 
 \Exit into house. 
 
 Mop. Oh, cruel Melidor ! you will not see 
 
 What love for you is pent within this breast. 
 You never have a kindly word for me. 
 Or, if you have, 'tis flung like a grudged bone 
 To a poor, supplicating, starving dog. 
 But, did I occupy Plaimoune's place. 
 Your shadow would incorporate with mine. 
 Then would you pluck ripe kisses from my lips. 
 And the soft echoes of a loving heart 
 Would ever dwell upon with fond delight. 
 Nor deem, as now, outrageously absurd. 
 
 \_She weeps. 
 
 Enter 'Loc^ko^ f7'07n house. 
 
 Loch. What ! weeping, child ! What causes you distress ? 
 Mop. Oh, father, 'tis because I'm sad at heart. 
 
 Alas ! no ray of hope illumes my path ; 
 
 Sadly I wander down the vale of years. 
 
 And count my coming summers with a sigh. 
 ■Loch. Nonsense ! A maiden in the blush of spring 
 
 Taking upon her cares as yet unborn. 
 
 Come, wipe these sparkling dewdrops from your eyes. 
 
 Drop Metaphor, and Melidor forget. 
 
19 
 
 THE GOLDEN AGE. 
 
 Mop. Father, I'll try. 
 
 Loch. He is not worthy of you. 
 
 And 'tis unmaidenly to show your love, 
 And challenge public gaze thus openly. 
 What we know is refreshing innocence. 
 The world, with affable acerbity. 
 Is apt to stigmatise as brazen boldness. 
 Come, think no more of Melidor. Had I 
 The post of Crites, you should wed a duke. 
 
 Enter Atamir and Vandore. 
 
 Good neighbour Atamir, what news with you ? 
 
 Aia. Crites come hither with his retinue, 
 
 Armed with a message from Hephestion, 
 Our king elect, who follows him anon, 
 And will our grievances this day redress. 
 
 Loch. I am rejoiced to hear it, for of late 
 We've had a surfeit of diplomacy. 
 The ship of state since Crites took the helm 
 Has been, / think, abominably steered. 
 
 Ata. And I. 
 
 Van. I think he's managed very well. 
 
 Loch. Oh, you ! 
 
 Ata. But you're a woman, gentle wife. 
 
 So your opinion does not carry weight. 
 
 \They go up. 
 
 Enter Deli an, Imis, and Yocreyn. 
 
 Del. Your slender income risked upon a race ! 
 
 'Tis madness ! • 
 
 C 2 
 
20 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Yoc. Sir, I did but have one bet. 
 
 A kindly correspondent sent me word 
 
 That he would spot the winner. 
 Del. Did he though ? 
 
 And was the winner spotted ? 
 
 Yoc. No, sir, but 
 
 Del. Your kindly correspondent wrote to say 
 
 The animal selected had been scratched ; 
 
 And so will ever rob you, if you let him. 
 
 Rogues thrive and fatten thus ; the gambler has 
 
 A harpy's talons with a seraph's smile, 
 
 And cheats you with a show of self-respect 
 
 That, were it not disastrous, might be droll. 
 
 At least, that's my experience of such folk. 
 Yoc. ' Sir, I shall bear your sage advice in mind. 
 Del. 'Tis given gratis, so I think you may. 
 
 Yoc. {aside). Give me emancipation from my desk, 
 
 And such a life as Clethon's. 
 Loch. Crites comes. 
 
 Music. Enter Crites, attended; also Gaphis, Clethon, and 
 CiNEAS. The other characters come down. 
 
 Cri. Oh, for relief from the vast cares of state. 
 
 {lo Loch.) I envy you, friend, and your precious 
 toil ; 
 
 Right gladly would I gird your apron on, 
 
 And earn me honest wages at your bench. 
 Loch. Both bench and tools are at your lordship's call. 
 
 And I will be prime minister the while. 
 Cri. That's spoken like a subject ; but I lack 
 
 The cunning hand and the devising brain. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 21 
 
 Loch. So far, my lord, I coincide with you. 
 
 Cri. Good people, briefly I would have you know 
 
 Your troubled country hath at last a king. 
 
 Hephestion, Prince of Fansiland, accepts 
 
 The crown you have been pleased to offer him. 
 
 He's young and comely, and exceeding clever — 
 
 Indeed, 'tis whispered he hath fairy power : 
 
 His mother was a fairy, who espoused 
 
 The king his father (fairies have their whims). 
 
 And he is said to be his mother's son. 
 Cin. Of what use is that glittering toy, a crown. 
 
 Though it be girt upon a fairy's brow ? 
 Cri. To stamp that brow with wisdom. 
 
 Ci7i. Does it ? 
 
 Cri. Well, 
 
 I'm bound to answer, not in every case. 
 
 But your new king is an exception — he 
 
 Was cradled in a fairy atmosphere. 
 
 And weaned upon the purest elfin pap. 
 Loch. When will he show himself? 
 Cri. Immediately ; 
 
 He bade me pave the way for his approach. 
 
 I go, my friends, to fetch him. 
 
 [Hephestion enters quietly. 
 Heph. He is here. 
 
 Are these my subjects, then ? 
 Cri. A section, sire. 
 
 Of those who owe allegiance to your throne. 
 Heph. New brooms, they say, sweep clean. I do not know 
 
 Your late broom's capabilities 
 
 Cri. But slight 
 
 Your predecessor was both vain and weak — 
 
22 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Poor creature, but the shadow of a king. 
 He took our counsel, treasured, and forgot it. 
 
 Enter Melidor. 
 
 Heph. So fools do ; fear the man who keeps his own. 
 
 People of Topsiturvia attend ! 
 My fairy knowledge gives me cognizance 
 Of aspirations pent within your breasts ; 
 Not one of you but seeks another sphere 
 Of action than the lot prescribed by Fate ; 
 And envy, like a dark insidious worm. 
 Attacks and eats away your happiness. 
 You would exchange each other's occupations, 
 Hoping relief from daily drudgery. 
 Have I not spoken truly ? 
 
 Cri. Sire, you have. 
 
 Heph. Now, I have power to grant your mad desires — 
 
 Am I to exercise it ? 
 
 Mel. I reply 
 
 For all, and answer — Yes, without delay. 
 
 Heph. And do you all endorse this rash resolve ? 
 
 All. We do ! 
 
 Heph. {earnestly). Oh, take you heed how you disturb 
 The beautiful routine of Nature ! She 
 Works for the good of all, and not of one. 
 The day was made for work, the night for sleep : 
 And, blindfold wand'ring in the world of shades. 
 The tide of fortune has its ebb and flow, 
 And weed and flower alike the sunshine share. 
 
 Mel. {scornfully). These are but truisms idealised. 
 
• THE GOLDEN AGE. 23 
 
 Heph, (to Mel.) In whom truth dwells the loftier the life. 
 
 {To All). I wish to warn you. I see troubles 
 loom 
 
 Like figures in a fog : though dimly seen 
 
 They will anon assert themselves as real. 
 
 Let mild-faced Nature take her chosen course ; 
 
 Though her revenge may tarry it is sure. 
 
 So, 'gainst all interference with her works 
 
 I give you solemn warning, once for all. 
 Mel. I seek no more than the day's toil can bring ; 
 
 But neither fame nor fortune come to me. 
 Heph. Be patient — both will come to you in time. 
 
 Mel. A canker-worm is gnawing me within. 
 
 Heph. In other words, you love and are repulsed. 
 
 Mel. Pronounce some spell, and free us from our woes. 
 
 Heph. So be it, then ; you shall obtain your wish. 
 
 {To All). When the sun peeps above Zaleuna's 
 plain 
 
 To-morrow morning, shall the charm begin ; 
 
 And, having once begun, shall last a year. 
 Cri. A scheme so quaint demands as long a trial. 
 
 Rejoice ! the Golden Age has come at last. 
 Heph. {to Mel.) Come hither, friend. You have no common 
 mind. 
 
 So you shall portion out for eacH and all 
 
 The happy occupation of a year. 
 
 {To All). Are you agreed to let this gentle youth 
 
 Re-parcel your peculiarities ? 
 All. Agreed I 
 
 Heph. {giving ebony wand). Take, then, this magic talisman 
 Mel. {takmg It). It bears some cabalistic characters 
 
 Inscribed in ivory on ebony. 
 
24 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Heph, Those characters its deeper secret hides. 
 
 'Twill give you mystic utterance. — Proceed. 
 
 Van, Nay, this is sorcery — it must not be ! 
 
 Heph, I note with pleasure your objection, but 
 
 It cannot stay the universal wish. 
 
 Cri, Madam, your husband speaks for you. 
 
 Heph. {to Melidor). Proceed. 
 
 Mel. Crites shall render his portfolio up 
 
 To Lochron while he works at Lochron's trade. 
 Delian shall finger the patrician pulse, 
 While Atamir assumes his wig and gown. 
 - ' Clethon, the sporting man, shall drive a quill, 
 
 While Yocreyn makes his fortune on the turf ; 
 These gentle ladies shall make full exchange 
 Of tastes and habits, thoughts, and modes of life. 
 
 Van. I still demur — the project's infamous. 
 And while I have a voice 
 
 Cri. In this affair 
 
 We can't concede you any voice at all. 
 
 Cin, And what of me ? 
 
 Mel. Oh, you, good Cineas, 
 
 We couldn't change you for the better ; you 
 Shall be with your sweet self identical. 
 And leaven us with your delightful wit. 
 
 Heph. And Melidor ! can he elect to quit 
 
 The airy realms of poesy, to dwell 
 On the dull earth, a veritable clod ? 
 
 Mel. I will exchange with Gaphis, he has brains 
 
 Ga, {pleased). Oh thanks ! 
 
 Mel. That sadly need developing. 
 
 So he shall play on the enchanted lyre, 
 And I'll be Gaphis, or as great a goose. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 25 
 
 Ga. {angrily). Come, fellow, curb that saucy tongue of yours. 
 
 (77? Hephestion). I've no objection ; 'tis a good 
 idea. 
 
 I'll fill young ladies' albums with my rhymes. 
 
 Write valentines to hosts of pretty girls : 
 
 I'll lay in reams of paper, pens, and ink 
 
 And give the pubHshers enough to do. 
 
 The notion is unique and fanciful ; 
 
 I'll be a poet with much pleasure, sire ! 
 Mel. And I will sacrifice the golden hours. 
 
 When, like a lark, I soar and sing my lay, 
 
 Forgetting sorrow in my ecstasy. 
 
 To win Plaimoune, I debase myself. 
 Heph. You do. 
 
 Mel. Love rules my heart, undying love ! 
 
 Heph. That yet will die, as you shall live to learn. 
 
 Scorning yourself for yielding up your gifts. 
 
 And mourning sadly o'er the wasted hours. 
 Mel. No time is wasted that Plaimoune wins. 
 
 Take back your talisman. 
 Heph. I need it not j 
 
 Retain it till I ask for it again. 
 Mel. {interested). And may I learn its secret ? 
 Heph. {smiling. If you can. 
 
 Mel. And win Plaimoune by its aid ? 
 
 Heph. Purblind ! 
 
 I hoped for better things from you. {To All.) My 
 friends, 
 
 The face of Nature wears no discontent 
 
 (Once more I urge comparison with her). 
 
 Now the long tranquil summer day is done, 
 
 Soft purple shadows lengthen on the leas. 
 
26 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Light Zephyrs waft a sound of rustling leaves. 
 And warbled by innumerable throats, 
 Woodnotes, most musical, enchant the ear, 
 And float on fairy echoes far away. 
 From the deep forest, comes in low reply, 
 The laughing ripple of the rivulet. 
 The folded flowers sleep off the summer dew. 
 Trusting their fragrance to the tender air, 
 With roses odorous, and jessamine. 
 
 [Moonlight — all kneel before the King. 
 
 Night in its glittering mystery is here, 
 
 A gentle echo of the busy day, 
 
 Freighted with golden dreams ; soft shining stars 
 
 Do chide your paltry passions from on high, 
 
 Where Lady Dian reigns — a pale-faced gem 
 
 Enamelled on the everlasting blue. 
 
 See how her silvery light o'erflows the land ! 
 
 So pure contentment steals upon the heart. 
 
 Which then must be in harmony with Nature. 
 
 Nature is noble, but you know it not ! 
 
 Aye, she is lovely but you see it not ! 
 
 You are a very miserable lot. 
 
 Exchange your sorrows, then ; to-morrow's sun 
 
 Shall see my task completed, yours begun. 
 
 SIX MONTHS ELAPSE. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 27 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene. — The interior ^Lochron's cottage; Crites discovered in 
 working dress at bench. 
 
 Cri. Six months ago — how slow the thiie has sped, 
 
 We craved a change of labour, as a boon. 
 Hephestion (who, being a fairy prince, 
 Must have foreseen the present state of things) 
 Unfortunately yielded to our wish ; 
 Beyond all question the experiment 
 Has, so far, unequivocally failed. 
 
 {Enter Mopna, with letter. 
 
 Mop. A letter. 
 
 Cri. {opening it). From an outraged customer, 
 
 That makes the nineteenth I have had this week. 
 {Reads) " The tricks you sent were failures more 
 
 or less, 
 Particularly the ^ Dissolving Drum ' 
 And 'Fairy Cabinet of Mercury :' 
 Their mechanism quite refused to act. 
 The ' Magic Cage of Mystery ' remained 
 A mystery to the audience throughout, 
 Because — you quite forgot to send the birds.'" 
 Oh, dreadful, dreadful ; I can read no more. 
 Here, take the letter, child, and finish it." 
 
 Mop. {reading). " The ' Bowl of Tantalus,' when full of ink, 
 Leaked in the lap of my miamma-in-law. 
 And ruined quite a brand-new watered silk — 
 The look she gave me haunts me even now." 
 
 Cri. Alecto tortured by an aching tooth, 
 
28 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Megsera seized with cramp ; — Tisiphone 
 In full enjoyment of a twinge of gout ! 
 Blend their expressions neatly, and you'll have 
 The look that hapless conjurer describes. 
 
 Mop.' {reading). " And the machinery by which I sought 
 To make a pudding in my uncle's hat, 
 Broke during the performance of the feat, 
 And sent him in a purple frenzy home ; 
 Bent on the alteration of his will — 
 So, thanks to you, I'm disinherited, 
 Yours, much disgusted — Mopsus Amaturos." 
 
 Cri\ No more — these just upbraidings wring my heart; 
 
 Daily — nay, hourly — since I took to this. 
 Their sad reproaches have assailed my ears. 
 I am no workman like your good papa, 
 Who now is bungling the affairs of state ; 
 Such cabinets as these he could construct. 
 Not human cabinets. 
 
 Mop. (proud/y). The papers said 
 
 His tricks for make and finish were superb, 
 And his performances were much admired. 
 
 Cri. An early finish is desirable 
 
 To his political performances. 
 
 Such a prime minister was never seen. 
 
 MoJ>. I don't think he's a good one ; but he tries 
 To do his best. 
 
 Cri. And lamentably fails. 
 
 He should be here at his familiar bench. 
 Handling the dainty tools he's learnt to love, 
 And fashioning with all his potent skill 
 . Sham apparatus that the world thinks real. 
 The chair that seems an ordinary chair, 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 29 
 
 But yet conceals innumerable traps ; 
 
 The table, cunningly devised, to hold 
 
 The rabbit that has vanished into space ; 
 
 That wondrous bottle, too, from which in turn 
 
 You may obtain good wholesome table beer 
 
 And any coloured ribbon you may choose. 
 
 I lack this necessary talent : so 
 
 I fear I've made a very rash exchange. 
 Mop. We are all wretched, for this new decree 
 
 Has doubled, not allayed, our discontent. 
 Cri. I get no sleep — or, if I do, I dream. 
 
 Nightly I'm forced to hold a ghostly levee 
 
 Mop. Oh, dear ! 
 
 Cri. {%7'avely). Of conjuring abominations. 
 
 Inanimate and animate they crowd 
 
 Upon my fancy in fantastic groups ; 
 
 Wands, rabbits, pigeons, doves, and flying cards, 
 
 Marked money, seriously-injured hats, 
 
 And borrowed watches, pounded by mistake, 
 
 A heap of chains and wheels and broken glass ;— 
 
 All these arrayed by baffled conjurers. 
 
 Who glare at me and shake their phantom fists ! 
 Mop. That is uncomfortable. 
 Cri. It's not nice. 
 
 A chronic nightmare's trying to the nerves. 
 
 I may be prejudiced, but I must say 
 
 I'm getting tired of such phenomena. 
 Mop. I have my troubles, too ; for Melidor — / 
 
 Rapt visionary, metamorphosed now / 
 
 Into a fashionable butterfly — 
 
 Pursues me with a love I can't return. 
 
 While Gaphis, the poor poet 
 
so VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Cri. Very poor ! — 
 
 Mop. Declares that my attentions pester him, 
 
 Though I've distinctly told him I adore him. 
 
 He worships that demure cat, Plaimoune, 
 
 And hankers for her artificial smiles. 
 
 Sham simpers, meretricious ogles, winks 
 
 Of forty flirt-power. As to Melidor 
 
 Cri. He's most emphatically going it. 
 
 His name in all the prominence of print. 
 
 Figures at fashionable gatherings. 
 Mop. I know he hasn't missed a single dance. 
 Cri. And during the past season he has been 
 
 To fifty garden-parties at the least. 
 
 But here comes Gaphis — anything but gay ! 
 
 Enter Gaphis, ivith scroll and pencil. 
 
 I'll leave you with him. \Exit. 
 
 Mop. Thank you very much. 
 
 Good morning, Gaphis. 
 Ga. {snappishly). Please don't interrupt 
 
 The current of my thoughts. There, thanks to you, 
 
 I've lost the rhyme I've sought these ten days past. 
 Mop. I'm very sorry. 
 Ga. Poetry like mine 
 
 Is not composed with ease. 
 Mop. I'm sure of that. 
 
 Ga. I wish you'd go. 
 
 Mop. Go! Why? 
 
 Ga. You're such a bore. 
 
 Your idle chatter irritates me much. 
 Mop. You're very blunt, sir, and extremely rude. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 31 
 
 Ga. I'm blunt, but bluntness is allied to truth, 
 
 Mop. A brother who has led a rustic life, 
 And is not used to good society. 
 You'd better try to break that brother in. 
 {Aside.) 'Tis thus he humbles me and scorns my 
 love. 
 
 \_Exif. Gaphis sits, 
 
 Ga, " Hope springs eternal in the human breast !" 
 
 (Someone originated that remark) — 
 But, like a stream in sand, it don't flow far, 
 For disappointment ever dams it up. 
 A poor epitome of blighted love, 
 I seek Plaimoune's hand, and seek in vain. 
 'Tis strange in one who, not a year ago, 
 Notoriously set her cap at me. 
 
 Enter Plaimoune. 
 
 Plat. Whom have we here ? (Gaphis rises). The pseudo- 
 poet, Gaphis. 
 
 As usual, pondering on scraps of rhyme. 
 Ga. It is Plaimoune's self, and I am happy. 
 
 I thought but now a visitor might call, 
 
 And you have sought me in my loneliness. 
 Flai. I seek you, sirrah ! Nothing of the kind. 
 
 Yours is a most complacent vanity. 
 Ga. And can Plaimoune utter these cold words ? 
 
 Flai. Plaimoune utters what is uppermost. 
 
 'Tis not her custom to conceal her thoughts. 
 Ga. I wish it was. 
 
 Flai. Then, scribbler, you presume. 
 
 I shall not stop with you. 
 
32 VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 Ga, Oh, stay a bit. 
 
 I've written an address to you, Plaimoune, 
 
 {Showing scroll). The composition of a blighted 
 heart, 
 
 Sad song evolved from out its twisted strings. 
 
 And consecrated by a mist of tears. 
 Flat. I don't know what you mean. 
 Ga. No ? {After a pause). More do I. 
 
 But vagueness is a poet's privilege ; 
 
 Full oft his nominative case and verb 
 
 Are far apart as prince and labourer j 
 
 And he will use alarming adjectives 
 
 When goaded, like a stubborn ox, to prose. 
 Plai. {impatiently). Come, read your silly verse, and get it 
 
 done ! • 
 
 Ga. {complacently unfolding scroll). Poor flowers of poesy, at 
 random plucked 
 
 From the untended garden of my mind. 
 
 {Reads). '' To Plaimoune ! 
 
 " I am transfixed by Cupid's dart, 
 I fain would force — so sore the smart — 
 Love's blushing bud in thy young heart, 
 
 Plaimoune ! 
 
 " The tender look — the kiss — the squeeze — . 
 I beg for on my bended knees ; 
 I carve thy name on all the trees, 
 
 . Plaimoune ! 
 
 *' My days and nights are full of care, 
 I am a prey to mad despair ; 
 I quite forget to comb my hair, 
 
 Plaimoune ! 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. . 33 
 
 *^ I'll woo thee still through smiles and tears — 
 On, on, through the advancing years, 
 Until my love absurd appears, 
 
 Plaimoune !" 
 Plai. {snatching scroll). How dare you, sir, be so ridiculous ? 
 
 These stale old similes are flowers, forsooth ! 
 
 \Tea7's up scroll. 
 
 Your mind is choked with weeds, which I tear up. 
 Ga. {aghast). What have you done ? 
 Plai. Done ? Properly destroyed 
 
 The most atrocious rubbish ever penned. 
 
 I wonder you presume to write such stuff. 
 Ga. {hurt). Rubbish ! — the labour of six weary months 
 
 (Through sleepless nights when rhymes refused to 
 come) — 
 
 Six months' hard brain work, woman — during which 
 
 My hair's been gradually whitening — 
 
 This valuable literary work 
 
 You stigmatise as rubbish, stuff, and weeds. 
 
 And tear in pieces 'neath my very nose. 
 
 Do you desire to break the poet's heart. 
 
 And prematurely hasten his demise ? 
 Plai. True poetry is safe from hands profane ; 
 
 But there are drones who block the human hive, 
 
 And keep the working bees from coming out. 
 Ga. {tearfully). Insulted ! Called a drone ! — an insect that 
 
 Is not respected by the insect race ! 
 Plai. Well, there, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. 
 Ga. I thought I was a poet. I exchanged 
 
 My daily life for Melidor's^ 
 
 Plai Poor mole ! 
 
 Can you not see how King Hephestion 
 
34 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Controls the strings that make his puppets dance ? 
 
 You're forced to sit and spin your silly brains, 
 
 But Melidor retains his gift of rhyme : 
 
 You have the inclination, that is all. 
 Ga. Well, now you mention it, I am not sure 
 
 I don't begin to see it in that light. 
 Plai. The spell has yet six months to run. 
 Ga. Meantime, 
 
 Melidor's running through my property. 
 
 I'm forced, against my will, to draw the cheques 
 
 That minister to his extravagance. 
 
 And, worse than this, you cast me off, Plaimoune ! 
 
 Till lately I was buoyed up by the belief 
 
 That you still loved me. 
 Plai. Then dismiss that belief 
 
 I have transferred that love to Melidor, 
 
 Who now is wealthy ; though I grieve to learn 
 
 You are compelled to furnish him with cash. 
 
 Money is money — that is all I know ; 
 
 And you are poor, so must not think of me. \Exit. 
 Ga. A highly charitable sentiment. 
 
 The source of charity's self-interest, 
 
 That charming girl is charity itself. \Exit. 
 
 Enter Delian and Vandore. Vandore looks ill and 
 careworn. 
 
 Van. Our holiday is over — leave me, sir. 
 Del {gallajitly). Leave you ! Oh no ! I said I'd see you 
 home. 
 And this is not your home. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 35 
 
 Van. Do you suppose 
 
 That I can dare to face my husband now 
 When I've been all day pleasuring with you? 
 
 Del. Pleasure's a bird that's swift upon the wing : 
 
 I'd like to clip his noble pinions. 
 And must I lose your sweet society, 
 After the happy day we've spent together ! 
 
 Van. 'Tis true together we have passed the day — 
 
 {Aside). Under compulsion of a hideous spell — 
 And though I have a husband, you a wife, 
 We have throughout behaved towards each other 
 As if those personages were defunct. 
 I'm asking you a question — answer, sir ! 
 
 Del. With rapture I reply, indeed we have ! 
 
 Van. Have I not listened with unfeigned delight 
 To protestations of affection ? 
 
 Del. Yes. 
 
 Van. I have permitted you to squeeze my hand. 
 
 Del. You have. 
 
 Van. Without remonstrance let you snatch 
 
 A dozen kisses at the least. 
 
 Del. {rapturously). Fourteen ! 
 
 Van. Then, since I have been forced, against my will, 
 Your fair wife's tastes and habits to assume, 
 It possibly may flash across your mind 
 (And somewhat check your most unseemly joy), 
 That the sweet favours I've bestowed on you 
 Six months ago that pattern spouse of yours 
 Lavished, without compulsion, upon mine ! 
 I'm proof she sought his company from choice. 
 And you are proof he took advantage of it. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Del, {horrified). Proof positive ! I never thought of that ! 
 
 {Indignantly). Then, clearly, had the spell not been 
 at work, 
 
 This shameless couple, reckless of results, 
 
 To-day would have repeated the offence. 
 
 {Aside). Well, that's at least a comforting reflec- 
 tion^ 
 Van. Imis is not immaculate, you see. 
 Del. Talk not of Imis : she's a jealous prude. 
 
 Van. I beg your pardon, I am no such thing. 
 
 You, when you mention her, allude to me. 
 
 Since we've exchanged peculiarities. 
 
 I am, at least, a faithful woman — true 
 
 To Atamir and to my marriage vow. 
 Del. And Imis is proportionably false. 
 
 Though, gifted with your virtues, she's become 
 
 A perfect dragon of propriety — 
 
 A model of a truly virtuous wife. 
 
 In short, she's what you were six months ago. 
 Vafi. Then you are under discipline. 
 Del. {dismally). I am. 
 
 Were I her slave she couldn't treat me worse. 
 
 I've to be in at curfew every night, 
 
 And out of bed at cock-crow ; all the birds 
 
 About here rise at most unearthly hours ; 
 
 And then, to add to my discomfiture, 
 
 She keeps my latch-key 'neath her pillow. When 
 
 The night-bell rings, she answers it herself, 
 
 Lest phantom patients should inquire for me 
 
 By previous arrangement at the club. 
 Van. Precisely what I did with Atamir. 
 
 He's here ! 
 
• THE GOLDEN AGE, 37 
 
 Enter Cineas, followed by Atamir, Imis, and Clethon. 
 
 Del. {alarmed). And, as I live, my better half ! 
 Cin. (to Ata.) Well, am I right ? Perhaps you'll believe me 
 now. 
 
 I told you I would run the pair to earth. 
 Jims, {to Del.) So you are here, sir ! 
 Ata, With my wife alone ! 
 
 {To Van.) I've only hunted for you half the day j 
 
 I'm not at all surprised to find you here 
 
 With Delian. 
 Del. Pshaw ! I am not to blame. 
 
 Imts {reproachfully). Oh, Delian ! I little dreamt of this. 
 Del Imis, your tone of sad reproach relights 
 
 The fire of love, at which I warm my hands. 
 
 [Embraces her. 
 Imis. Oh, do you so ? Then, on your perjured cheek 
 
 I take the liberty of warming mine. 
 
 \_Boxes his ears. 
 Del. A blow ! {Crosses to Ata.) And this I must endure 
 
 for you. 
 
 Thanks to your cruel cold inconstancy, 
 
 I've spent the day with your agreeable wife ; 
 
 Which, strictly speaking, means, as you're aware. 
 
 That you have been philandering with mine. 
 
 So I would swiftly call you to account 
 
 Had I a weapon to chastise you with. 
 Cle. My sword is at your service. 
 
 Del {accepting it). Many thanks. - 
 
 Ata. {drawing sword). Audacious braggart ! you shall eat 
 your words ! 
 
 Blood will attend on your intemperance ; 
 
 You are a rash fool to cross swords with me. 
 
38 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Van. (alarmed — to Imis). Let us get hence. 
 
 Ata, Nay, madam ; stop you here. 
 
 I'll punish this empiric properly. 
 
 Del. Come on, stupendous legal ignoramus ! 
 
 \Mitsic. They fight. Deli an is disarmed. 
 
 Ata. Your borrowed blade, as if endowed with wings, 
 Flies from your grasp. Now, miserable quack. 
 Who shall arrest my vengeance ? . 
 
 Hephestion enters suddenly^ followed by Lochron. 
 
 Heph. Your king ! 
 
 What, brawling here ! A truly manly pair 
 
 To flash your swords in helpless women's eyes. 
 
 Come, put your weapons up, and soothe their fears. 
 
 This is the house of your Prime Minister— — 
 Loch. And you are trespassing, so get you hence. 
 
 Exeunt Atamir, Delian, etc. 
 
 Heigho ! the atmosphere of home's delicious : 
 
 I smell the shavings in the inner shop ; 
 
 A gluey fragrance permeates the air. 
 Heph. Not pleasant to my nostrils, I must own. 
 Loch. I never knew till I exchanged my trade, 
 
 The happiness that honest toil could bring. 
 
 I've made a muddle of diplomacy. 
 Heph. A very serious muddle, I'm afraid. 
 Loch. The country is involved in seven wars ; 
 
 Its debt is doubled — all within six months. 
 Heph. Seven wars ! Well, fight them out. Meanwhile, your 
 king 
 
 Eats, drinks, drives, slumbers, and distributes medals. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 39 
 
 Loch. It's very well to be so unconcerned, 
 
 But I'm for failure held accountable. 
 Heph. Just so ; the Premier is responsible 
 
 For all the faults a Government commit. 
 
 The miseries of an official life 
 
 Arise from censure unrelaxed, which is 
 
 The vital principle of opposition. 
 Loch. But if you tie the hands of those in power, 
 
 How can they cut the cake of Patronage 
 
 And serve round slices to expectant friends ? 
 
 No, — Opposition never should oppose ; 
 
 It should have no vitality at all. 
 Heph. Who believed in your philosophy, my friend, 
 
 Would fire a pistol to dispel a dream. 
 
 Crites, though not a brilliant statesman, 
 
 Would not have so misgoverned this fair land. 
 Loch. I know it ; but he cannot make these toys. 
 
 \Takes up toy from bench. 
 
 Look, here's an eider-duck which I began ; 
 
 He has been handling it, and spoilt the quack. 
 Heph. I see. So the analogy holds good 
 
 'Twixt artificial duck and human-kind : 
 
 You seek to imitate each other's quacks. 
 
 And ruin what is yours in the attempt. 
 Loch. The melancholy truth can't be disguised; 
 
 So, having failed, should we not seek our own ? 
 
 Things cannot work harmoniously till 
 
 Each moves again in his congenial groove. 
 
 Revoke your edict, sire. 
 Heph. {sternly). Impossible ! 
 
 No, you must tread .your self-elected paths 
 
 At any hazard till the year expires. 
 
40 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Loch, Another six months' misery ! Alas ! 
 
 Heph. A penance for the sin of discontent. 
 
 Loch. And I have still to rule the destinies 
 Of Topsiturvia full half a year ! 
 My country ! oh, my country ! this is sad ! 
 
 \Exit. 
 
 Heph. So subtly works the spell, and I foresee 
 
 Much coming trouble for my subjects stored. 
 
 The charm that works them ill, must compass yet 
 
 The diapason of their discontent, 
 
 Attuning all those too-discordant strings 
 
 That of their life-song make harsh melody. 
 
 The picture of their pigmy sufferings 
 
 Tempts me to moralise on human kind, 
 
 How small — and yet how infinitely great — 
 
 Is man ! Pale problem by himself unsolved ; 
 
 A phantom marching up the aisle of Time, 
 
 That ever lengthens to his sad approach. 
 
 Small is he in the many meannesses 
 
 That trail his noble nature in the dust ; 
 
 Great in his airy gifts of thought and speech. 
 
 A living contradiction — for his life 
 
 At once is lengthened and curtailed by Care, 
 
 Which, like a harsh wind — bitter foe to peace — 
 
 Pipes thro' the seasons of his vexed career. 
 
 Life's but a panorama. I have seen 
 
 A fair rich landscape 'neath the noonday glow 
 
 In splendour spread. Through undulating meads 
 
 With many curves a meditating stream — 
 
 Garnished with fairy lilies, and bedight 
 
 With the true lover's flower, forget-nie-not — 
 
 Doth coyly wander, feeding the sweet hum 
 
THE GOLI)EN AGE. 41 
 
 Of day with melancholy cadences. 
 
 Above, mercurial vapours come and go, 
 
 Printing their thousand shapes upon the land. 
 
 Anon the evening glory wraps the scene, 
 
 The sunset sheaves are garnered in the west. 
 
 And the soft twilight deepens into night. 
 
 So to the simple toiler of to-day 
 
 The scene of his existence shapes itself ! 
 
 His dreams and fancies are the summer clouds ; 
 
 The undulating meads are Fortune's freaks ; 
 
 And Love, with many a flowery caress. 
 
 Doth wanton like a brooklet, through his years. 
 
 His labour bartered for a laurel crown. 
 
 He slumbers down the autumn of his life, 
 
 Till evening creeps apace : its glory's short ; 
 
 Then care, and love, and laurel-crowns are nought 
 
 Ah me ! the world's unchanged for joy or woe ; 
 
 'Twas just the same a thousand years ago ! 
 
 [Exit. 
 Enter Gaphis, with cheque-book. 
 
 Ga. Cheque after cheque for Melidor, until 
 
 My balance grows ridiculously low — 
 If that which lessens can be said to grow. 
 
 Enter Melidor and Yocreyn, splendidly dressed. Both have 
 
 a dissipated appearance. 
 Yoc. {to Mel.) Monday is settling-day. We've lost. 
 Mel. ' I'll make 
 
 This wealthy poetaster draw a cheque. 
 The author of " Stray Leaves " and " Flutterings " 
 Must pay for his amusement. By your leave. 
 
 \_Gives paper to Gaphis, who starts. 
 
42 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Ga. 'Tis an appalling draft ! My money goes 
 
 With comet-like celerity. 
 Mel. No doubt. 
 
 It vanishes with strange rapidity ; 
 
 But that's a matter easily explained — 
 
 We're dissipating it upon the turf. 
 Gd. {writi7ig cheque). Your dissipation soon will drain me 
 
 dry. 
 Mel. It stands to reason when a pair so green 
 
 As Yocreyn and myself resolve to bet 
 
 (Knowing absolutely nothing of the art), 
 
 Our money must make wings and fly away. 
 Ga. {giving chequi). My money ! I implore you, bet no more. 
 Yoc. We do not mean to. 
 
 Ga. Many thanks. 
 
 Mel. Because 
 
 We've made a book for two years in advance ; 
 
 So, whether the events come off or not, 
 
 Your money's staked, and we are quite content. 
 Ga. 'Tis nothing more nor less than robbery ! 
 
 Mel. {aside). Here's a poor fool who hankers after wealth ! 
 
 What is it to the secret I have learnt — 
 
 The precious hoard this talisman contains ? 
 Ga. D'you mean to leave me anything at all ? 
 
 Mel. Pshaw ! Had we not exchanged identity 
 
 You would have spent the money just as fast. 
 Ga. But then I should have had the consolation 
 
 Of knowing I had spent it on myself. 
 Yoc. A fleeting joy denied you for the nonce. 
 
 I've lost my little savings long ago, 
 
 And now I'm seeing life at your expense. 
 Ga. You are a pair of barefaced plunderers ! 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 43 
 
 «^ 
 Enter Plaimoune. 
 
 Plat. Melldor here ! 
 
 Ga. {crossing to her). Plaimoune ! 
 
 Plai. {to Gaphis). Hold your tongue ! 
 
 Can you not see I have no smiles for you ? 
 
 Oh, Melidor ! — {to Gaphis). You dare to interrupt ! 
 
 Sweet Melidor ! have you no word for me ? 
 
 [Melidor turns from her scornfully. 
 Ga. He answers not ; his sweetheart is not here. 
 
 Plai. I'll pinch you, Gaphis, if you don't be quiet. 
 Ga. {tenderly). Methinks, till Mopna came upon the scene. 
 
 And clapped a curb upon his truant love, 
 
 He would be finger to my ladybird. 
 Plai. So I am likened to a ladybird ! 
 
 What next ! 
 Ga. Well, you compared me to a drone. 
 
 Besides, I meant a compliment. 
 Plai. Indeed ! 
 
 You sorry jackanapes ! you rhyming oaf ! 
 
 Go to your Mopna, sir — her head contains 
 
 The requisite amount of silliness 
 
 Will make her fit companion for you. 
 
 \Turns to Melidor. 
 Mel. {to Yoc.) Above all things on earth, a woman loves 
 
 To have some poor weak man beneath her thumb 
 
 To torture inch by inch j and next to that, 
 
 She finds a pleasure inexhaustible 
 
 In taking down a rival several pegs. 
 Plai. I'm hasty, Melidor ; but then I thought 
 
 Gaphis had been impertinent to you. 
 
 Say something kind to me — I love you so ! 
 
44 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Mel. {still to Yoc.) She isn't bashful, is she? 
 Yoc. Not at all. 
 
 Plat. You know I love you ! 
 
 Yoc. {to Mel.) Here is brass, indeed ! 
 
 Plat. Alas ! he will not heed my words ; his thoughts, 
 
 Like scattered gleaners on a stubble-field, 
 
 Are straying far and wide. 
 Mel. {coldly to Plai.) You spoke to me. 
 
 Plat. Let me but hear the music of your voice. 
 
 And I will sit and listen. 
 Mel. Oh, no doubt. 
 
 Ingeniously put, my coy coquette ; 
 
 But mock simplicity can't cozen me. 
 Plai. Say on ! My ears drink in the honeyed sound, 
 
 And as you speak I'll hope for one kind word ; 
 
 'Tis oil upon the sea of my despair, 
 
 Spreading its calm around. 
 Mel. {sternly). I have a conscience. 
 
 And shape my ends unto its guidance. When 
 
 I sought your love you spurned me from your side. 
 
 And made a plaything of my heart. 
 Plai. Go on : 
 
 There is a melody in your reproach. 
 Mel. My wakeful conscience bids me shun you now. 
 
 And seek the love I cast aside for yours. 
 Plai. I would that inward monitor of yours 
 
 Would sometimes sleep its watchfulness away. 
 
 [Kneels to him. 
 
 Behold me now ! a humble penitent — 
 
 A suppliant for pardon at your feet. 
 
 I have been weak and foolish — that I know — 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 45 
 
 And, wicked, too, to scorn such love as yours ; 
 Still, if you call to mind the past, you'll find • 
 That I am blameless in a great degree. 
 How could I be expected to adore 
 A man with neither fortune or position ? 
 Mel. A woman's logic always comes to this — 
 
 That she is right and all the world is wrong. 
 
 Enter Mopna. 
 
 All women are alike — excepting one ! 
 
 [Turning fondly to Mopna. 
 Mop. {coldly). There was a time, sir, when a compliment 
 
 From you would cause a pleasurable thrill 
 
 To course my veins and set my cheeks aglow. 
 Mel. Can I not conjure up that tell-tale blush ? 
 Plai. {very jealous). Oh, kiss her, do ! You'll find that sort of 
 blush 
 
 Comes off with ease. 
 Mel. I'll falsify your words. 
 
 [Kisses Mopna. 
 
 See blushes mantle to the surface now, 
 
 As goldfish rise to little bits of bread. 
 Mop. I wish you wouldn't take such liberties. 
 Mel. Then, sweet one, I'll forbear — until next time. 
 
 Are you not glad to see me once again ? 
 Mop. I never think of you, so do not care 
 
 Whether you come or go. \_Crosses to Gaphis. 
 
 Mel. Ungrateful girl, 
 
 To give my passion such a rude rebuff. 
 Mop. I do not care for you ; my heart is here. 
 
 [Embraces Gaphis, who shakes. her off angrily. 
 
46. VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 Yoc. {to Mel.) If one is to conclude from outward signs, 
 I fancy her attachment is sincere. 
 
 [MoPNA busies herself with Gaphis, who sits. 
 
 Mel. {watching her). Sweet is the labour that alights on love ; 
 
 No work but is a source of pure delight. 
 
 Those fair young fingers would outstrip the hours 
 
 To minister unto his slightest want. 
 Plai. A ministration most indelicate. 
 Mel. It is. Oh, she's a very naughty girl. 
 
 Ga. {risiftg to Mop.) I wish you'd cease to persecute me thus ! 
 
 It's bad enough to be the thing I am. 
 
 Without being worried all day long by you. [Exit. 
 Plai. I cannot bear to see a rival's bliss. 
 
 {To Yoc.) Give me your arm. [Yocreyn does so. 
 
 {She pauses at door). Dear Melidor, adieu ! 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Mel {curtly.) Good morning ! {Crossing impatiently to Mopna). 
 
 Mopna, now we are alone ! 
 Mop. Not by my wish. \Going, 
 
 Mel. {detaining her). Angelic Mopna, stay ! 
 
 Why do you fly from me ? 
 Mop. Because I choose. 
 
 Why do you dance attendance on me thus ? 
 Mel. I am led captive by your peerless beauty, 
 
 And, slave-like, follow in my conqueror's train. 
 
 'Tis bitterness to think your love's bestowed 
 
 On one who heeds it not. 
 Mop. {pouting). That's not my fault — 
 
 It's simply his deplorably bad taste. 
 
 My mirror tells me I've a pleasing face; 
 
 And I am vain enough to own it, too. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. . 47 
 
 Mel. That precious satellite of woman speaks 
 
 The simple truth, and nothing but the truth. 
 Mop. How comes it, then, that Gaphis fails to see 
 
 That I am really an attractive girl ? 
 Mel. Because, my darling, he's an arrant ass. 
 
 You are the picture of a pretty girl. 
 
 Glowing with health and happiness. 
 
 \Kisses her again. 
 
 Mop. Oh, don't ! 
 
 This is becoming — too familiar. 
 Mel. Wrought by the potent magic of a kiss, 
 
 A flood of colour overruns your cheek 
 
 That mocks the damask rose for perfect hue. 
 Mop. That means I'm blushing for the second time. 
 
 I'm nauseated by your compliments, 
 
 And hate you for your insincerity. 
 Mel. You wrong me, for I swear I love you well. 
 
 Mop. Pray when did this mysterious love take root ? 
 Mel. The morning that the edict took effect. 
 
 Mop. {aside). 'Twas from that day I ceased to care for him. 
 
 {Aloud.) You loved Plaimoune then. 
 Mel True ! For her hand 
 
 I freely would have bartered half the world 
 
 (Particularly as it wasn't mine). 
 
 But when I rose on that eventful morn, 
 
 I found that all my love for her was dead ; 
 
 And, while I pondered the phenomenon. 
 
 New love stole on my senses like a dream — 
 . New love for Mopna, the discarded one. 
 
 Whose image was imprinted on my heart. 
 Mop. And am I nothing but a go-between — 
 
 A temporary plaything ? 
 
48 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Mel. No, I swear 
 
 You're permanently shrined within my heart, 
 My pearl, my diamond, my — what you will I 
 
 Mop. What horrid fibs you're telling, go along ! 
 You know you never cared a pin for me. 
 
 Mel. But now I care innumerable pins. 
 
 Mop. Fine words will not prevail though you can cull 
 Your ready phrases with a pliant tongue : 
 Love that is fixed unwilling on the heart 
 Is, like an ancient language, hard to learn. 
 
 Mel. {fervently). Such is not mine ; it is a priceless boon ! 
 I am at war with reason for your hand. 
 
 Mop. Your reason's routed then, for 'tis not here. 
 
 \Taps his head. 
 
 Mel. Nothing shall come between our faithful hearts. 
 
 You cannot pluck your shadow from the ground, 
 
 And I will be your shadow to the end. {Kneels. 
 
 Mop. Is that the long and short of it ? 
 Mel It is. 
 
 Mop. Pursue me not with your intemp'rate love ! 
 
 A giant grasp is on you in that love. 
 
 Its indecorous phases frighten me. 
 
 Oh, it is cowardly to hover thus, 
 
 A dark shade o'er the path of my young life. 
 
 Eclipsing all its brightness. 
 Mel. Give me hope. 
 
 Mop. The moon concealed behind an inky cloud. 
 
 Gives little hope of brightening the earth. 
 Mel. But yet the edges of that cloud are tipped 
 
 With silvery light ; so your coquettish words 
 
 Give earnest of the flood of love beneath. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 49 
 
 Enter C rites and Lochron. 
 
 Mop. I shall endeavour to respect you, sir, 
 But I can never love you. 
 
 Loch, {coming down). Never love ! 
 
 This disobedience, daughter, must not be, 
 
 'Tis my desire that you encourage him. [ They go up. 
 
 Enter Vandore, followed by Atamir. 
 
 Van. Chide me no more ; I cannot help the acts 
 A Fairy power compels me to perform. 
 
 Enter Hephestion. 
 
 Come, vent your spleen upon this Elfin king, 
 
 Hephestion, and call him to account. 
 Mel. I echo you ! {to At a.) Blame King Hephestion, 
 
 For he alone has set us by the ears. 
 Heph. Indeed ! A truly novel accusation. 
 
 Enter Plaimoune and Yocreyn, followed by Delian, IxMis, 
 Clethon, Cineas, and Gaphis. 
 
 Mel. Has not your foul enchantment played us false ? 
 
 Are not our burdens heavier to bear, 
 
 Although you undertook to lighten them ? 
 
 Look on your victims now ! 
 Heph. I see them well. 
 
 A very happy, amiable lot. 
 Van. ( passionately). Have you no pity in your heart for us, 
 
 Or are you callous to the consequence 
 
 Of your rash act that has such mischief wrought ? 
 Heph. {calmly). Pity I have for you, but not for them ; 
 
 For you alone, Vandore, I am sorry, 
 
 E 
 
so VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Mel Oh, not for us ; a pretty king forsooth, 
 To juggle with his people's welfare thus. 
 I think you very well may pity her, 
 For she alone, of al'l your wretched dupes, 
 Demurred to your outrageous sorceries ! 
 And now her happiness is all destroyed ; 
 Her form hath fallen from its comeliness, 
 Her eyes have lost the lustre that they wore, 
 And all the summer ripeness of her cheeks 
 Hath, 'like the glory of a sunset cloud, 
 Melted into the night of her despair. 
 
 Heph. You mean she is a little out of sorts. 
 
 {to All.) So I'm responsible for your mishaps \ 
 
 Mel. I think so. 
 
 Heph. What says Cineas ? 
 
 Cin. {to Mel.) You're wrong. 
 
 He said you might exchange your occupations, 
 But left your various brains in statu quo. 
 
 Heph. What are your grievances ? Detail them, pray ! 
 
 Mel. The golden gate that leads to wedded bhss 
 Is shut and barred to my approach. 
 
 Heph. Because 
 
 You seek to swing on it between two loves. 
 So, like a wanton boy, are warned away. 
 
 Crl: I'm the worst workman ever held a tool ; 
 
 {Imploringly). Let me go back to nice new 
 politics ! 
 
 Loch. From my august but false position I 
 Most cordially echo that request. 
 
 Cle. A sedentary life is killing me. 
 
 Yoc. I've squandered all my savings on the turf; 
 
 And with them goes the fondly cherished hope 
 Of a small cottage and a loving wife. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 51 
 
 Heph. The lessan then will not be lost on you. 
 Dd. I haven't saved one complicated case, 
 
 And have been styled a charlatan in print. 
 Ata. Five separate clients have assaulted me 
 
 For bungling and entangling their affairs. 
 Ga. I thought to write inimitable verse — 
 
 My Muse has struck, and I am left forlorn 
 
 To contemplate my disappearing wealth. 
 Heph. Experience gives no credit ; if you'd climb 
 
 Parnassus' Hill you needs must pay the guide. 
 
 Come, gentle ladies, what are your complaints ? 
 Van. The fetters of propriety no more 
 
 Restrain my actions. 
 Imis. No — IvftSiX them now. 
 
 Flat. With all my heart I am a spinster still. 
 Mop. And I — without recourse to art at all. 
 Mel. This melancholy state of things is but 
 
 A six months' sample of your government. 
 
 Since you have miserably failed to rule 
 
 Your subjects in an equitable way, 
 
 Perhaps it would be charitable to 
 
 Release us from so sinister a sway. 
 Heph. A second time you raise your voice for all — 
 
 A second time I take you at your word. 
 
 {Passionately). I warned you ! Fools ! you clutched 
 your new-found toy. 
 
 I warned you, but you did not weigh my words ; 
 
 I gratified your silly, selfish whims : 
 
 And now, more miserable than before, 
 
 You seek to make my shoulders bear the blame. 
 
 Take, then, my answer to this mad appeal ! 
 
 \_Flinging down crown.. 
 
 Thus, ingrates, at your feet I cast my crown • 
 
 E 2 
 
52 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Your throne resigned for Fairy couch of down. 
 
 I leave you to your miserable strife : 
 
 Your chosen loads shall cling to you for life, 
 
 Or till one, weary of the burden, dies. 
 Van. What ! no release, then, when the sun shall rise 
 
 Upon Zaleuna's plain ? 
 Heph. A mist shall fall 
 
 So dense, no sun shall pierce thro' it at all — 
 
 To symbolise the depth of your despair. 
 Mel. The general alarm I do not share. 
 
 Since to your precious riddle IVe the key, 
 
 ^Producing talisman. 
 
 Traced here, in ivory on ebony ! 
 Meph. {agitated). Restore that talisman ! 
 MeL {withholding it). Nay ! 
 
 Heph. Do not dare ! 
 
 Mel. I mean to test its magic power. 
 
 Jleph. Beware ! 
 
 Mel. I've learnt its secret. 
 
 Heph. {hastily). No ! no ! — 'tis but wood — 
 
 A toy 
 
 Mel. That can both evil work and good. 
 
 I'll follow you ; none can its power withstand. 
 Heph. 'Tis death to follow me to Fairyland ! 
 
 (six months elapse.) 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 53 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene. — The Plain of Zaleuna. — Time^ before Simrist. — The 
 stage ill semi-darhiess. 
 
 Enter Yocreyn, meeti?ig Clethon. 
 
 Yoc. Ha ! Clethon ! We are first upon the scene. 
 
 How fares my noble substitute ? 
 Cle. {dismally). But ill. 
 
 Another week of this would kill me. 
 Yoc. No ! 
 
 Cle. I feel that it would be the final straw 
 
 To break this uncomplaining camel's back. 
 
 Oh, what a miserable day it was 
 
 When we elected to exchange our lots. 
 Yoc. We fell into a most transparent trap. 
 
 A convict's life is bliss compared with ours. 
 Cle. The treadmill a delightful exercise. 
 
 Yoc. And oakum-picking a decided treat. 
 Cle. Here comes that charming creature, Cineas ! 
 
 My fingers itch to choke the chuckling fiend. 
 Yoc. And mine ; he's sure to jeer at our mishaps. 
 
 Cle. My gentleman had better guard his tongue. 
 
 Enter Cineas. 
 
 Cin. Hallo ! Methinks you're early out of bed. 
 
 Determined to anticipate the sun. 
 Perhaps he'll falsify the almanac, 
 Or the prediction of Hephestion ; 
 (These prophecies are pretty much the* same.) 
 Nice misty morning, isn't it ? 
 
54 VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 Cle. Come, cease 
 
 Your ill-timed banter, sir. 
 
 Cm. Oh, very well. 
 If you can't take a joke 
 
 Yoc. ' You see we can't. 
 
 Matters have gone with us from bad to worse. 
 We're square pegs in the roundest of round holes. 
 
 Cle. We are, indeed, a most unhappy lot. 
 
 Cin. From the position of a looker-on 
 
 With perfect frankness I am free to own 
 The situation's droll in the extremp. 
 
 Cle. Apparently you're easily amused. 
 
 Is it a droll thing, I should like to know, 
 
 That I'm compelled to urge a jaded quill 
 
 O'er reams on reams of musty parchment plains. 
 
 Guiding a tortuous caravan of costs 
 
 To that oasis of refreshment — lunch ! 
 
 You think such occupations humorous ? 
 
 Cin. To me it seems most exquisitely droll. 
 
 But, as you say, I'm easily amused. 
 
 Yoc, And do you fancy it's a funny thing — 
 
 After you've mastered all a horse's points. 
 Laboriously learnt the pedigrees 
 Of all the modern animals of note, 
 To be compelled — though sore against your will- 
 To trust to sporting tips and prophecies ; 
 And lose your all upon some worthless beast, 
 First in the betting — as his owner wished ; 
 Last in the race — as well his owner knew } 
 
 Cin. It seems to me the elements of fun 
 
 Exist in the compulsion you describe. 
 
 Cle. Come, jest no more upon our sufferings. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE, 55 
 
 Cin. Of course /heartily enjoy the joke, 
 
 Being, you see, myself, and no one else. 
 To see you quarrelling from morn till night. 
 Like rooks for one another's nests ! Ha, ha ! 
 You can't conceive how ludicrous it is. 
 I speak the truth ; here comes a case in point. 
 
 Enter Delian and Atamir, quarrelling. 
 
 Ata. I say your diagnosis was all wrong ; 
 
 The symptoms were distinctly hydrophobic. 
 
 You treated them as if they were tetanic. 
 Del. I simply bled and blistered. 
 Ata. More fool you. 
 
 Your lack of knowledge of the healing art 
 
 Is lamentable ; not to matters mince, 
 
 / think it verges on the criminal. 
 Del. I know some clients think the same of you. 
 
 Who've suffered from your sham conveyancing ; 
 
 Or listened to the wishy-washy trash 
 
 That you complacently call oratory. 
 Cin. {to Cle. a7td Yoc.) It's getting interesting, isn't it ? 
 Ata. Your ignorance of all the laws of health 
 
 Betrays you into very grave mistakes. 
 Del. The way in which you bungle o'er a brief 
 
 Has never hitherto been paralleled. 
 Ata. Pooh ! what is law ? 
 
 Del. Pshaw ! what is medicine ? 
 
 .Ata. Law is a sort of snowball, trundling on 
 
 From age to age with swift-increasing bulk. 
 
 Made up of past decisions, right and wrong, 
 
 And the inevitable dirt which is 
 
 The essence of a snowball's composition. 
 
$6 VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 The two last-named go very far to make 
 
 Its present much-admired rotundity. 
 
 Accumulating constant precedents, 
 
 Consolidating cases ; on it goes, 
 
 A ponderous plaything. 
 Yoc. It diminishes 
 
 When shone on by the sun of common sense. 
 Cin. That orb, my friend, is seldom visible. 
 
 Ata. Your law will swallow anything 
 
 Del. But physic. 
 
 The legal stomach draws the line at pills. 
 Ata. Sweet monument of muddle and of mystery ; 
 
 Puzzle alike to simpletons and sages ; 
 
 Conundrum with an arbitrary answer. 
 Cin, {to Del.) But what of medicine, sir? 
 DeL It is a maze. 
 
 Whose windings baffle e'en the keenest mind. 
 
 No one has ever reached its centre, which, 
 
 Were it reached, would probably disclose 
 
 A protoplasm and a molecule 
 
 Cooing together on a rustic seat. 
 
 Meanwhile, the faculty shall feel their way 
 
 Towards it, privileged to dose and drug 
 
 Their fellow-creatures ; making chemical 
 
 Experiments on simpletons' insides ; 
 
 Vesting their nasty nostrums disguised 
 
 In an abbreviated ancient tongue. 
 Ata. Brevity, fellow, is a virtue which 
 
 The law might with advantage imitate. 
 Here come our wives ; as you're aware, I'm not 
 On speaking terms with mine. 
 Del. Nor I with mine. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE, 57 
 
 Enter Vandore and Imis — Cineas, Clethon, aitd Yocreyn 
 salute the?7i and go off. 
 
 Imis. I think, Vandore, you are very good 
 To bear the burthen uncomplainingly. 
 My naughty nature puts on you j I know 
 I'm very far from being a pattern wife. 
 
 Del. {to Ata.) Now that's a nice admission, isn't it ? 
 
 Ata. They quite ignore us ; has not a woman got 
 
 An irritating way of going on. 
 
 Del. Woman unquestionably has. 
 
 Van. {to Imis). Ah me ! 
 
 The words Hephestion spoke were wise indeed 
 When he assigned us Nature as a guide. 
 
 Imis. And you alone were wise enough to see 
 
 The misery the change would bring on us : 
 Hephestion, for your sake, should relent, 
 And give us our own natures back again. 
 Van. Nay, Imis, I had something too to learn, 
 I was impatient of my husband's ways. 
 
 Ata. Jealous she means, without the slightest cause. 
 
 Vatu And so I drove the poor wretch to deceit. 
 
 Ata. My little lapses she remembers well. 
 
 But quite conveniently shelves her own. 
 
 Del. When did a woman ever own a fault, 
 
 From Eve to Emily, from Jane to Madge ? 
 
 They let them grow like weeds — in course of time 
 
 They get to fancy them the rarest flowers. 
 
 But we — Creation's lords — can overlook 
 
 Such agricultural absurdities. 
 
 Wives have their use, so let us grasp their faults 
 
 As tenderly as Spring's first violets. 
 
58 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Ata. Vandore's gone too far, I can't forgive 
 
 Her most outrageous improprieties. 
 Van. {to Imis). I think my foolish husband Atamir 
 
 Came to a very sensible resolve. 
 Ata. She calls me foolish : do you hear her ? 
 
 Del. {grimacing). Well, 
 
 I don't think you're the wisest of mankind. 
 Imis {apart to Van.). You think my husband was a born 
 buffoon ? 
 
 Oh no ! he has laboriously learnt 
 
 The trick of being funny. 
 Ata. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Del. Come, don't be mirthful, sir, at my expense. 
 
 Imis {as before). His mental lumber-room will now and then 
 
 Yield him a feeble witticism, but 
 
 Deciphered by a microscopic mind 
 , • Tis found to be of great antiquity. 
 Del. She means the verbal fireworks I let off 
 
 With such aplomb between the soups and cheese. 
 Ata. She thinks them just a trifle obsolete. 
 
 Del. And there are people who express surprise 
 
 That loving husbands should correct their wives. 
 
 \Exeiint Delian and Atamir. 
 
 Van. Their tongues have come untied: the charm's at work. 
 Imis. Then let us stroll awhile, and wait and hope. 
 
 \Exeunt. 
 
 Enter Plaimoune, followed by Gaphis. 
 
 Ga. You scorn my love, Plaimoune ! 
 
 Rlai. I have said 
 
 I do not love you ; so I scorn your love. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 59 
 
 Why you pursue me I can't understand ; 
 
 It seems, however, to afford you joy ; 
 
 I've systematically snubbed you, but 
 
 When cut, you come again. 
 Ga. I have done so, 
 
 Treating your cruel conduct as a joke : 
 
 But 'tis a joke no longer. Now for months 
 
 I have been regularly robbed of rest. 
 
 Alike on feather beds and mattresses. 
 
 My couch has failed to yield an hour's repose. 
 
 JPlaL Then take a sleeping draught 
 
 Ga. 'Twould be no use. 
 
 For I should see Plaimoune in my dreams ; 
 
 And in the land of slumber woo her still. 
 Plat. You're getting quite poetical, I vow. 
 Ga. {candidly). Oh, my remarks are not original ; 
 
 Come, give me hope, Plaimoune, and I feel 
 
 All my divine afflatus would expand. 
 Plai. Like an anemone upon the rocks 
 
 Stretching its feelers in the July sun ; 
 
 Or skipping shrimp that shuns the cruel net. 
 Ga. {hurt). Divine afflatus should not be compared 
 
 Either to shrimp, or to anemone, 
 
 I am a poet : I have bought the post 
 
 (Amidst the institutions of the world) 
 
 At a most serious sacrifice of cash. 
 Plai. Brains recklessly into the balance cast 
 
 Are often light weight, if not counterfeit. 
 Enter Mopna. 
 Ga. From what you have observed, I fear you hold 
 
 My gifts of poesy in low esteem. 
 . But what says Mopna ? 
 
6o VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Mop. {enthusiastically). Oh, I think your verse 
 Dehghtful, even to the smallest word. 
 
 Mel. (^pleased). Ha, she appreciates my gifts. 
 
 Plai. The jade ! 
 
 What does she know of poetry, and all 
 Those subtle shades and fine-spun webs of thought,. 
 The gossamer suspension bridge of speech ? 
 
 Ga. You were severe upon divine afflatus ; 
 
 A minute since, and now you liken speech 
 To that monstrosity, a spider. 
 
 Flat. Well, 
 
 Let Mopna find a better simile. 
 
 Mop. Thought is a fairy in a hidden bower ; 
 Our earliest friend and best companion ; 
 And speech, the dainty sylph that waits on her. 
 
 Ga. I've heard that speech occasionally trips. 
 
 She puts it admirably, even I 
 Could not improve on her comparison. 
 And so you like my verse ? 
 
 Mop. (with fervour). Indeed I do. 
 
 Flai. You are no poet ; in your feeble lines 
 Distorted fancies everywhere I find, 
 All upside down, like shadows in a lake. 
 
 Ga. But shadows in a lake are beautiful. 
 
 Flai. You differ from the lake in one respect. 
 
 Ga. Indeed ! how so ? 
 
 Flai. Because you don't reflect ; 
 
 Or you would think a little and write less : 
 Your rhymes are false, your verses rubbish, sir ! 
 Ga. The laureate of Topsiturvia 
 
 (Or any other country I may add) 
 
 Should have his rubbish treated with respect. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 6i 
 
 Mop. {earnestly). Oh heed her not ; you have indeed the power 
 To strike the human chords of interest ; 
 To trace a song upon the wings of love ; 
 Shall reach the universal heart, and cause 
 Bright tears to course the meadow of the cheek, 
 As a full stream o'erbears a fruitful land. 
 Ah, 'tis the poet's enviable lot 
 To soften with a genial sympathy 
 The misery that sits on many a hearth ; 
 To drive away the heavy clouds of care 
 That come with sombre overshadowing, 
 Change tears to smiles, and sighs to laughter. 
 
 Ga. {impressed with the idea). True I 
 
 Mop. So scorn her passing shower of mockery, 
 Content that so divine a power is yours. 
 
 Ga. This is a most discriminating girl. 
 
 Enter Melidor. 
 
 Plai. She dreams, and thinks she's courting Melidor. 
 Mel. Does she ? Sweet Mopna, do you dream of me ? 
 
 Mop. I never dream of anything at all. 
 
 That is, of anything worth mentioning. 
 Mel. Then Gaphis clearly occupies your thoughts ; 
 
 It seems incredible, but so it is. 
 
 The ivy grows to the exposed tower. 
 
 Braving the blasts of winter ; woman too. 
 
 In imitation of the ivy, clings 
 
 To some rare specimen of feebleness, 
 
 And though unloved, is seemingly content. 
 Ga. Come, sir, no personalities I beg. 
 
 Mop. A woman can conceal despised love. 
 
 Though her poor heart be withering away. 
 
62 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Mel. Your heart will come to that if you persist 
 In this erratic adoration 
 
 Ga. Stay ! 
 
 Her love is creditable to her, I 
 Regret I can't reciprocate it. 
 
 Mel Ah ! 
 
 Your love is selfishness passed through a sieve, 
 Which medium is labelled " sentiment." 
 
 Ga. That sort of wit falls very flat on me. 
 
 Plai. And meets a surface similar indeed. 
 
 Mel You've just anticipated my reply. 
 
 Ga. The soft sex are unrivalled in the art 
 
 Of uttering exasperating things : 
 Launching their venomed shafts wtth treach'rous; 
 
 smiles, 
 As nauseous powders are disguised in jam. 
 
 Mel. {to Mop.) You change not though I daily press my- 
 suit. 
 
 Mop. I cannot change, so give the pastime up. 
 
 Mel. Give up the one enjoyment that I have, 
 
 Forego, unreasonable girl, that love 
 That seems to lift me from the troubled world ; 
 Part with the ray that brightens my life's path ! 
 Never ! I still look forward to the dawn 
 Of a sweet kindred love in your young heart, 
 The darkest day has transient gleams of light ; 
 Pain has its pleasures, every fresh repulse 
 Strengthens the love I feel for you ; you know 
 That my attachment is at least sincere — 
 You loved me, Mopna, not so long ago. 
 
 Mop. At which time, sir, Plaimoune had your heart. 
 
 Mel. It's inconvenient to refer to that. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 63, 
 
 Mop. Because it cannot be denied ; and now 
 
 You woo me with a falsehood on your Hps — 
 
 I fear you know you are deceiving me. 
 
 Deceit is falsehood neatly framed and glazed. 
 Mel. Your definition's happy, but not nice. 
 
 I've given up Plaimoune, as you know ; 
 
 See how she hungers for a loving look ! 
 Ga. {to Plai.) You can't explain away your prejudice, 
 
 A cheap glass that distorts what it reflects. 
 
 That beats your shrimp and spider similes. 
 Plai. Nature has made you asinine enough ; 
 
 But you must needs improve on nature's work. 
 Mel. {^passionately to Mop.) Give me a reason for rejecting me* 
 Mop. Some sort of reason, sir, you clearly want. 
 
 Enter Crites, followed by Cineas. 
 
 Cri. Heyday, heyday, thus early at high words ; 
 
 Whatever will the sky be like at night ? 
 Cin. Misty, if we're to believe Hephestion. 
 
 Mel. {fiercely). No longer trifle with my happiness. 
 Mop. Get in a passion, do ! but through its gusts, 
 
 Remember, please, that I'm a nervous girl. 
 Mel. {bitterly). Oh dear no, temper is a woman's toy ; 
 
 We are not privileged to play with it. 
 Cri. Come, child, bethink you in our daily lives 
 
 A fairy power has wrought a wondrous change : 
 
 Time was, that in your love for Melidor 
 
 You went as far as any timid maid 
 
 With due regard for delicacy should. 
 Mop. And think how my advances were repelled. 
 Cin. 'Twas the suburban scandal of the day. 
 
64 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Mop. Since as you say the present state of things 
 
 Is brought about by fairy agency, 
 
 Is it my fault, pray, on the face of it. 
 
 If upon MeHdor's devoted head 
 
 Misfortune's blasts sweep down ? 
 
 Mel. With bitter force, 
 
 And all my cherished hopes and aims destroy, 
 
 As rose leaves, too soon faded, fall to earth ; 
 
 OrJNeptune's pearly foam, by East wind fanned. 
 
 Quivers its life out on the golden sand. 
 
 \_During the foregoing dialogue the other characters^ 
 LocHRON excepted^ have come upon the scene. 
 
 Cin. Welcome ye early-rising penitents ! 
 
 I vow I scarce can see you for the mist. 
 
 There's Atamir, and Clethon too, and Delian. 
 
 There is a podginess about the shape 
 
 I seem to recognise. 
 Del. {annoyed). Fellow, it is 
 
 My admirable figure you behold. 
 
 Enter Lochron, hobbling with stick. 
 
 Cin. Here's Lochron ! 
 
 Cri. {to Loch.) What's the matter ? 
 
 Loch, {ruefully). I've the gout — 
 
 An ailment that by right belongs to you. 
 Cri. All things considered, it is comforting 
 
 To know I'm spared that painful malady — 
 
 I am informed it's very like the rack. 
 
 When operating on the obdurate. 
 Loch. Is it ? Then I should say the rack must be 
 
 A highly cheerful torture. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 65 
 
 Cri. Don't complain ; 
 
 Gout is a ministerial privilege. 
 Loch. Would I were back at my discarded bench, 
 
 And this sharp torture to your legs transferred. 
 Cri. I'm sorry I can give you no relief, 
 
 But quite appreciate your thoughtfulness. 
 
 We must submit to such misfortunes while 
 
 The charm still holds us in its potent grip. 
 Loch. Phoebus befriend us this eventful day. 
 
 \They group themselves. 
 Cm. {in great glee). Now isn't this a pleasing spectacle ? 
 
 With an unbounded hope that does you all 
 
 Exceeding credit, 3^ou await the end 
 
 Of that embittering enchantment which 
 
 Afflicts you like a devastating plague ; 
 
 Indeed 'tis melancholy to reflect 
 
 That one of you must die to free the rest. 
 
 If my demise would only help you, v/hy 
 
 I cheerfully would make myself away, 
 
 Crt. But that would not release us 
 
 Ctn. You are rights 
 
 'Twould be a foolish and a futile step. 
 Del. I think the oldest and the toughest bird 
 
 Should with becoming fortitude consent 
 
 To suffer bagging for the rest. 
 Loch. And I ! 
 
 Cle. And I ! 
 
 Del. There's Tochron ; he has got the gout, 
 
 It's sure to kill him soon, so what's the odds ? 
 
 If he'll consent to hang himself, I'll find 
 
 Not only a sufficiency of hemp, 
 
 But a nice hat-peg that will bear his weight. 
 
 F 
 
66 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Loch. These proofs of your affectionate regard, 
 
 Quite overcome me. 
 Del. Oh, don't mention it. 
 
 Cin. What ! will not one of you consent to die ? 
 
 Loch. Not one of us, indeed. 
 Mel. {abruptly). Excuse me, I ■ 
 
 Van. {alarmed). You sacrifice yourself for us. Oh no ! 
 
 Ata. Oh come, don't thwart him 
 
 Vati. Do not interfere, 
 
 Remember we are not on speaking terms. 
 
 {to Mel.) Oh, Melidor ! I love you — love you well. 
 
 For you are my ideal of manliness — 
 
 My god on earth — and earth must claim you still ! 
 Ata. {to Del.) I trust you caught that wanton woman's words ? 
 Del. I did ; and, while I smile, I pity you. 
 
 Van. Oh, Melidor ! think o'er this rash resolve. 
 Mel. I have thought over it, by night and day. 
 
 'Twas I, Vandore, brought you to this pass. 
 
 And for that sad mistake I now atone. 
 Van. I love you, Melidor — my Melidor ! — 
 
 As 'tis in woman's power alone to love — 
 
 A holy flame, by your misfortune's fanned. 
 
 You must not — shall not — seek this Fairyland ! 
 Del. Don't talk such nonsense ; it's a lovely spot ; 
 
 He's only got to take a rod and gun, 
 
 He'll get good fairy salmon, elfin trout, 
 
 And Spiritualistic partridges. 
 
 You mustn't thwart his natural desires. 
 Cri. Come, let him have his way ! 
 
 Van. I say no more. 
 
 But I am sorry, very sorry, for him. 
 Mel. Will Mopna show no sorrow at my loss ? 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 67 
 
 Mop. Mopna will thank you if you break the spell. 
 Mel. So be it ! {produces talisman) Friends, behold the 
 
 talisman 
 That holds our destinies. Commending me 
 To the sweet mercies of the Great Unseen. 
 My life has lost its savour ; such must be 
 The fate of one who strikes no spark of love. 
 Now, waking to the bitter truth, I learn, 
 The future love had limned with rosy tints 
 Was shallow mockery. Hephestion's curse 
 Comes down the avenues of memory 
 Tumultuously as the winter blast 
 That whistles idly through the leafless trees, 
 Sweeping all nature bare. Green earth, farewell ! 
 I sacrifice myself to break the spell ! \_Music. 
 
 Phantoms of the earth and air, 
 
 I commend me to your care ! 
 
 By this potent magic wand 
 I demand 
 
 Entrance into Fairyland ! 
 
 [The mist thickens aronnd, and envelops 
 Melidor, who disappears. 
 
 Chorus of Fairies'. 
 
 Peace attend you troubled mortals, 
 
 Now all your misery is o'er : 
 He hath passed the mystic portals, 
 
 Melidor — our much-loved Melidor ! 
 Lark and thrush shall sing above him 
 
 Philomel her notes outpour, 
 For we love him — for we love him — 
 
 Melidor — our gentle Melidor ! 
 
 F 2 
 
68 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 The daisy with its golden heart 
 
 Shall nestle round his head ; 
 For him the dreaming violet 
 
 Soft tears of dew shall shed ; 
 For him we'll sing a requiem, 
 
 Shall wake the myrtle grove ; 
 White lilies form a diadem 
 
 For our love — for our love ! 
 
 S^As the music dies away, the mist begins slowly 
 to lift, disclosing a lovely landscape. 
 
 Loch. The charm is broken — we're ourselves again. 
 
 \Throws down crutch. 
 Del. We are indeed ! Oh ! happy, happy day ! 
 
 Cri. What piercing pain is this ? 
 
 Loch, {giving him stick). The gout, of course ! 
 Privilege of the incoming minister. 
 
 \Thelast fihn of mist rolls away, discovering Hephestion. 
 
 Heph. Zaleuna's plain upon a summer morn ! 
 See what a smiling vista greets the eye. 
 And in the tender light how beautiful 
 Appear its cultivated distances. 
 The farmer, Nature's foreman, reigns supreme 
 Upon this level prospect : the bright sky 
 Alone doth limit its fertility. 
 The humming bee goes by ; the butterfly — 
 Bright roving leaf from Nature's book — doth flit 
 From flower to flower on palpitating wing, 
 A restless shallop on the waves of air. 
 The song-birds from their plumage shake the dew, 
 And greet the dawn with minstrelsy. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 69 
 
 VajL And see, 
 
 Here comes the orb that held our destinies. 
 
 \The sun is rising. 
 Coy Phoebus peeps above yon level verge, 
 And, fan-like, spreads his rays athwart the sky — 
 A golden arbiter of joy and woe, 
 Burning his way into the day. The flowers 
 Expand in his embrace ; he drinks their dew, 
 And his soft light floats through the feathery leaves. 
 Now hidden birds give out their sweetest notes 
 In one long ecstasy of melody, 
 And all our hearts leap up for happiness 
 To greet the majesty of his advance. 
 Nature is noble ! — Aye, you know it now ! 
 He bade you pluck a leaf from Nature's book, 
 And from her gather harmony and peace. 
 Then, in your pride, you scorned his sage advice ! 
 
 Heph. I think they recognise its value now. [Exit Crites. 
 
 Z>el. Well, it's a blessing we're ourselves again, 
 
 Thanks to that foolish fellow, Melidor. 
 
 Mop. Oh ! shame to speak so of a noble heart. 
 
 Heph. Well, Topsiturvia has lost a poet, . 
 But you are free. 
 
 Del. That is of course the point ; 
 
 For what's a poet more or less ? — They die 
 Of criticism, they are weakly flowers 
 
 Heph. And this one in the flower of his youth. 
 
 Mop. {throwing herself at Hephestion's y^<?/). Oh wise and 
 generous Hephestion, 
 Have pity, and restore me Melidor — 
 Or if that cannot be, exert your power, 
 And let me go to him in Fairyland. 
 
70 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Heph. Impossible, my child, impossible. 
 
 Mop. He dared death bravely 
 
 Heph. And he bearded me ! 
 
 Mop. Knight-errant never did what he has done ; 
 
 Oh, save him and restore him, Sire, I beg. 
 HepJi. You love him then ? 
 Mop. Alas ! I do indeed — •. 
 
 Now that I'm from this vile enchantment freed. 
 HepJi. Two hearts shall not be separated thus ; 
 
 I will restore him ! Melidor, appear ! 
 
 \Music. — A pillar of ice rises. — // melts 
 away, disclosi?ig Melidor. 
 
 Del. Most wonderful ! sent back from Fairyland 
 
 Preserved in ice, like some expensive fish. 
 
 Mel. I've had a dream. 
 
 Plai. Oh tell us what it was ! 
 
 Mel. Methought I lay extended at my ease 
 Beneath the shelter of a giant tree, 
 A landscape stretched before me, far and wide 
 (Something like this, but far more beautiful). 
 Fragrant of nature in her changing mood. 
 The lark sang over me, and eveiy where 
 I gazed upon the rainbow. hues of Spring; 
 White daisies, star-like, overran the meads, 
 Weaving a changing pattern on the grass, — 
 Save where the fairies' greener knolls appeared. 
 There the bright cowslips hung their golden heads. 
 I looked again, and lo ! 'twas Summer time ! 
 Summer, with purl of brook and wealth of leaves ; 
 Summer, with roses in a sunset sky ; 
 Summer with perfume of a thousand flowers. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 71 
 
 And dimpling clouds on Nature's smiling face. 
 
 A moment more, and brooding Autumn came. 
 
 Dead leaves forlornly fluttered from the trees, 
 
 And rustled sadly into rusty heaps. 
 
 Then dark rain fell, and ran in glistening pools 
 
 As Nature wept her sorrowful decay. 
 
 Another glance, and winter's icy hand 
 
 Had locked the springs : a cold round moon looked 
 
 down 
 Upon a pure expanse of silver snow. 
 I saw the lights in many a pleasant home. 
 Heard tinkling bells afar. So the scene closed. 
 My dream bark into death's dark stream was borne ; 
 A chill crept over me, a deathly chill ; 
 (But I had sought death, so I feared it not) 
 I felt my spirit rise and flutter up, 
 Like a caged bird, to the brain-bars, and beat 
 Its wings against them. 'Twas a solemn time, 
 For I was growing cold — it seemed to me 
 
 That I must turn to ice, and 
 
 Heph. {taking talisman). Here you are, 
 
 Perhaps a little wiser than you were. 
 
 Enter Crites, with crown on a velvet cushion. 
 
 What's this ? 
 
 Crt, Your cast-off crown, Hephestion. 
 
 Since you resigned it care has been bestowed 
 
 Upon its general appearance ; whiting 
 
 And chamois leather have been lavished on it. 
 
 Heph. Then it is bright enough to grace the brows 
 Of my successor. He will rule you well ! 
 
 \Places crown on Melidor's head. 
 
72 VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 Beneath his gentle sway I prophesy 
 
 A generation of prosperity. 
 
 Shout now, ere I for Fairyland take wing, 
 
 Long life attend your king ! 
 Ail. Long live the king ! 
 
 Cri. Write off our troubles, turn the glowing page, 
 
 Hail to the monarch of the Golden Age ! 
 MeL {turning to Mop.) Mopna, my own ! 
 Ga. {embracing Plai.) Plaimoune, my betrothed ! 
 Mel. ■ This long humiliation I have loathed — 
 
 As sorrow is my witness — day by day ! 
 Mop. Like a poor bird, unloved, upon the spray. 
 Mel. We love each other now ? \Kisses her. 
 
 Mop. My cheeks reply, 
 
 About a blush there is no perjury. 
 
 The simplest souls most truly love, I'm sure, 
 
 And in the light of love see all things pure. 
 Ga. Indeed, Plaimoune, we will never part. 
 
 Plai. I let my eyes play traitor to my heart. 
 
 For all the while I loved you most sincerely. 
 Ga. Only to think I was a poet — nearly. 
 
 Heph. {to Van.) Vandore, I have tried your constancy. 
 Van. And I have learnt a lesson, Sire, thereby. 
 
 The peace you promise amply makes amends ; 
 {to Ata.) For here what seemed an endless trouble ends. 
 Ata. We all deserved our penance more or less ; 
 
 But, believe me, I had nothing to confess. 
 
 So banish jealousy ; remember, wife, 
 
 Discretion is the driving-wheel of life. 
 Imis {to Del ). The sorrow we upon ourselves had drawn. 
 
 Fades, like a phantom, in the growing dawn. 
 Del. I much rejoice to think we've ended this 
 
 Uncomfortable metempsychosis. 
 
THE GOLDEN AGE. 73 
 
 Imis. I have been vain, but that is all, I vow. 
 
 Dear Delian, I'll treat you better now. 
 Yoc. I joy to think I shall resume my station, 
 
 And my pet dreams of superannuation. 
 Cle. No longer yoked to work, a sullen serf, 
 
 With an elastic step I'll tread the turf. 
 Cin. {to Heph.) Such curious things have happened since you 
 reigned, 
 
 I wish to have the mystery explained. 
 Heph. Who nothing believes but what he understands. 
 
 May wait a long time ere his mind expands. 
 Cin. That's an ambiguous reply ; look here, 
 
 The business of my life's to interfere. 
 Heph. The world can well dispense with such as you. 
 
 'Tis strange with what solicitude we shoe 
 
 Our neighbours' nags, and let our own go lame. 
 Cifi. These platitudes are really very tame. 
 
 Ga. {to Plai.) And I shall be a wealthy man once 
 
 more. 
 Plai. I'll spend your money faster than before. 
 Ga. You must not be a too expensive wife ; 
 
 'Tis meant to help us o'er the stiles of life. 
 Plai. You mean the fashions, dear, beyond a doubt ; 
 
 Give me the latest and we shan't fall out. 
 
 I'll have a house and with all luxuries stock it. 
 Ga. Oh, trust a woman's taste to pick one's pocket. 
 
 If you're extravagant we shan't agree. 
 Heph. Good sense should wait on liberality. 
 Cri. Despite the gout, I'm happy from this hour ; 
 
 Again I breathe the atmosphere of power. 
 Pleph. Assert yourself, and let the people see 
 
 They don't repent the change of ministry. 
 Cri. I mean to ; they shall not repent the change. 
 
74 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Loch. Your politics are not within my range ; 
 A life of labour's pleasanter by far. 
 I shall go back to my automata, 
 And fit with artificial psychic force 
 The " Minister upon the Hobby-horse." 
 
 Mop. A real affection every trial survives. 
 
 Mel. No longer in the spring-time of our lives 
 
 Shall love be locked in ice ; but, bubbling o'er. 
 Shall prattle for its silence all the more. 
 
 Mop. Over past quarrels we will never brood, 
 
 I'll trust you with a latch-key — if you're good. 
 
 Heph. Now may you each and every one go hence. 
 Possessor of that black swan. Common Sense. 
 A twilight tale unto your children tell. 
 So to forget it ; but no more rebel 
 Against authority that rules you wisely. 
 
 Mel. That which is got by heart is learnt. 
 
 Heph. Precisely. 
 
 Your trial, friends, this golden lesson teaches, 
 That fitted to his proper station each is. 
 Contentment is that pure celestial ray 
 That lights life's landscape on its darkest day. 
 
 Mel. And love shall be Contentment's fav'rite child. 
 No more to be from beaten tracks beguiled 
 To tortuous bypaths. Since a wife I wini 
 
 \Tur7iing to MOPNA. 
 
 Mop. Love's seasons from this happy day begin. 
 Mel. {folds Mop. to him). 
 
 " Love, like the Spring, a sweeter blossom wears ; 
 
 Love, like the Summer, decked in joy appears ; 
 
 Blest, like the Autumn, every promise bears ; 
 
 Then hath, alas ! a Winter in its years." 
 
VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
A SONG OF SPRING. 
 
 ARK to the birds of spring, 
 
 Everywhere carolling, 
 Nursing the baby-leaves down in 
 the wood; 
 Oh, what a merry song, 
 Telling the toiling throng, 
 Nature hath cast aside winter's dark hood. 
 
78 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Bees with a joyous hum 
 
 To the sweet gardens come, 
 MingUng their note with the music of day 
 
 Suddenly near sweUing, 
 
 Brief on the ear dweUing, 
 Then in a faint echo dying away. 
 
 Spring, like a maiden fair, 
 
 Twines in her bonny hair 
 Primrose and cowslip and creeping loosestrife 
 
 Sunlight the forest floods, 
 
 Kissing the sleeping buds, 
 Warming the land till it leaps into life. 
 
 Violet, anemone. 
 
 Scattered are o'er the lea. 
 Poplar and ash spread their delicate wings ; 
 
 Gorse with a golden glow, 
 
 Lights all the land below, 
 Bright with the murmur of fresh-flowing springs. 
 
 Willows in drowsy dream 
 
 Nod, while the prattling stream 
 Silvery ripple to wood-song replies : 
 
 Leaflets spread like a net 
 
 Over the rivulet. 
 Where nestling the pretty forget-me-not lies. 
 
 Like disappearing snow. 
 O'er the meads daisies grow, 
 
A SONG OF SPRING, 79 
 
 Brown are the hedgerows that curve o'er the hill, 
 
 Parting the meadows, bright 
 
 In the rich evening light. 
 Which on the upland is lingering still. 
 
 From the young corn of May 
 
 Soareth the lark away. 
 Warbling his troubadour lay to the sky ; 
 
 Swallow adventurous 
 
 Finds his way back to us. 
 Deep in the grove sounds the cuckoo's sweet cry. 
 
 With a grave chant the thrush 
 
 Sits on the chestnut bush. 
 Oak-tree and elm have their choristers too ; 
 
 Blackbird with folded wing 
 
 Doth a bright ballad sing. 
 Swelling the chorus the wood-pigeons coo. 
 
 And when the moon is high 
 
 Cometh a lullaby. 
 Sung by the nightingale in the deep dell ; 
 
 Blest are his simple bars 
 
 Piped to the silent stars. 
 Blessed the home where he chooseth to dwell. 
 
AN ASIAN MYSTERY. 
 
 Onward through the darkh'ng forest her 
 
 Way she takes with step serene, 
 Every kind of feathered chorister 
 
 Warbles welcome to her I ween ! 
 The tigers mark her for a meal, 
 
 So do the playful anacondas ; 
 Yet ever onward my ideal 
 
 Romantic Hindoo maiden wanders. 
 
 Across her path the creepers lie, 
 
 Six stars are shining through the palms ; 
 About her floats the firefly, 
 
 The banyan stretches forth its arms ! 
 Shot through the jungle's filagree 
 
 The splintered shafts of cold moonlight 
 Fall to the ground 'twixt tree and tree, 
 
 Like arrows broken in a fight. 
 
 The lumbrous * elephant she meets. 
 He gazes with anxiety at her ; 
 
 Above, at their gymnastic feats, 
 
 A tribe of monkeys swing and chatter. 
 
 * The lumbering cumbrous — it's no fault of mine 
 That I can't get my thoughts to combine in the line. 
 
AN ASIAN MYSTERY, U 
 
 "She hears the alligator croak, 
 
 Anon she hears the bison bellow ; 
 In folds, like locomotive smoke, 
 
 Glides by the cobra di capello. 
 
 A peacock, smiling on the snake, 
 
 Spreads his kaleidoscopic tail ; 
 She bribes the kucu with a cake. 
 
 And thrice she hears the wombat's wail ! 
 The sacred zoad forsakes its lair. 
 
 The mingral * slumbers on the bough ; 
 The swift stemamat and the jair J 
 
 Are threatening the maiden now. 
 
 The lolabird on dusky wing 
 
 Hovers an inch above her head ; 
 The crimson-crested quinches cling 
 
 To leaves that are already dead. 
 The many-throated mallowbag§ 
 
 Looks forth from out its nest of wool ; 
 The eagle, frightened, drops the quag, 
 
 The red rook swims across the pool. 
 
 The dubdub twitters to his mate, 
 
 The bustard sleepily replies ; 
 The garoonacll is desolate, 
 
 And wakes the echoes with his cries. 
 
 * By Miracle out of Ingrate (a hoarse note). 
 
 + The steam-hammer. 
 
 J The jugged hare. 
 
 § The melodious bagpiper. 
 
 II A small pink lizard. 
 
82 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 The moon above may cease to sail, 
 The moon may (if it pleases) shimmer^ 
 
 The phantom forest-lights may pale, 
 The stars grow dim,, or even dimmer — 
 
 Still on and ever on she goes 
 
 (This mystic maiden of the East), 
 Why she should do so, goodness knows,. 
 
 / can't inforni you in the least. 
 But since the marketable Muse 
 
 A compound is of Sphinx and Sibyl',- 
 Shall I be blamed, pray, if I choose 
 
 To be thus unintelligible ? 
 
NURSE NANCY. 
 
 At seven I was a thoughtful boy, 
 
 Extremely given to asking " why ?' 
 My questions often would annoy, 
 . I usually got no reply. 
 
 G 2^ 
 
S4 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 With phantom schoolmasters I strolled, 
 To whom my problems I propounded ; 
 
 My speculations oft were bold, 
 
 On what, I wonder, were they founded ! 
 
 With spade and bucket in my hand, 
 
 Barelegged — my parents' hopeful scion — 
 I built a castle on the sand, 
 
 And crowned it with a dandelion ! 
 But the encroaching ocean came 
 
 And washed away my poor endeavour ; — 
 Ah me ! how many a lofty aim 
 
 Has thus been washed away for ever ! 
 
 Because I trod not in the rut 
 
 I was too young to have such fancies ; 
 That was not my opinion, but 
 
 My dear prosaic old nurse Nancy's. 
 But then of course I did not care, 
 
 I used at that time to despise her ; 
 They were a very simple pair. 
 
 She, and the under-nurse Eliza. 
 
 P'r'aps she was sharp to me because 
 
 I knew that there was nothing in her ! 
 She said no more than *' Lawks ! " or " Laws ! " 
 
 And had no thought beyond her dinner. 
 She knew that she must every day be 
 
 Cunning, to watch us, as a fox ; 
 At night that she must cradle baby. 
 
 And then darn Master Harold's socks. 
 
NURSE NANCY. 85 
 
 If on the beach we built a pile 
 
 That sadly meddled with the traffic, 
 She'd smile a sort of Sunday smile, 
 
 'Twas so peculiarly seraphic ! 
 If liveries s old gentlemen 
 
 On the obstruction muttered curses, 
 Her indignation I can't pen, 
 ' She was the angriest of nurses. 
 
 Into oblivion sunk — I fear 
 
 Those days have passed for ever from us : 
 Harold was killed in the Crimea, 
 
 New Zealand claims my brother Thomas. 
 Ethel has married well, Janet . 
 
 Has married better, — so I'm told ; 
 But where is nurse, and where her pet. 
 
 To feast and fondle as of old ? 
 
 The grave is new, the stone is newer j — 
 
 (But I have been in foreign lands) 
 What lies beneath, so good, so pure, 
 
 Once held me, helpless, in its hands ! 
 Nurse ! Nancy ! Hark ! She answers. Tush ! 
 
 'Tis the wind. No, listen ! " You may peep : 
 Step gently, Master Edwin. Hush ! 
 
 Your baby sister is asleep ! " 
 
ON THE SHORE. 
 
 I WANDER alone on the wave-beaten shore, 
 
 Ignoring the erudite work in my hand : 
 For my mind is in tune with the musical roar 
 
 Of the beautiful billows that break on the strand. 
 
 Ah, sweet is the tune that old ocean is playing, 
 It sighs on the pebbles, it moans on the reef ; 
 
 The song might well ask what the wild waves are saying. 
 And question the cause of their passionate grief. 
 
 The sea-birds come suddenly out of the sky 
 
 And dip their white wings in the foam-crested wave ; . 
 
 The homeward-bound boats of the haven sail by, 
 And over the bay floats the fisherman's stave. 
 
 It has a sweet cadence, the lay he is singing ; 
 
 And I listen with joy to his rough homely voice — 
 For elderly persons are apt to be clinging 
 
 To aught that contents them and makes them rejoice. 
 
ON THE SHORE, 87 
 
 Another sound greets me — I can't be mistaken — 
 My grandchildren's voices are mingled in glee ; 
 
 And now they discern me, their sports are forsaken, 
 And, more or less tareathless they gather round me. 
 
 All glowing with health are their rosy young faces 
 As they show me the whimsical work of the hour : 
 
 The ark that I gave them aground on Mount Macis, 
 And Japhet asleep in the bell of a flower. 
 
 'Tis a triumph indeed ! All my hopes it surpasses. 
 
 And round it in great sprawling letters I spy 
 The little folks' names ! Let me put on my glasses — 
 
 Yes, here they are — Lucy, Maud, Rupert, and Guy. 
 
 How pleasant the sound of their innocent laughter ! 
 
 It blends with the song of the fast-flowing tide, 
 That ripples away from the sea that flows after. 
 
 And strives in the sand all its secrets to hide. 
 
 Like those wavelets of silver so slowly encroaching. 
 The periods of childhood should- peacefully steal ; 
 
 For sour old Experience soon begins coaching, 
 And teaching that life is unpleasantly real. 
 
 O better by far, in a Fairy-land roaming, 
 
 Be guided by Fancy through palace and grot, 
 
 Believing that mermaidens really are combing 
 Their hair 'neath the waves than believing it not. 
 
88 VAGRANT VERSES.. 
 
 The fanciful tales that we spectacled^ fegiies 
 
 May smile at serenely, you never should doubt ;. 
 
 But gravely put faith in the whole race of Bogeys^ 
 And the good little elves that they tell us about. 
 
 Play on, gentle children, in innocent gladness, 
 May your lives, my pets, be as tranquil as mine ! 
 
 And brief be your portion of sorrow and sadness 
 As the life of a bubble that's blown from the brine I 
 
 For me Death is bending his bow — the grim archer 
 Whose arm never tires, and whose aim never fails ; 
 
 And soon to that bourne I must take my departure 
 Which yields to the living no traveller's tales. 
 
 Play on — I would not for the wealth of Golconda 
 My solemn old face should your pastime upset ; 
 
 But life is a difficult problem to ponder, 
 
 And I have solved none of its mysteries yet. 
 
 There's the luncheon-bell ringing — run home to your 
 dinners ! 
 
 The child, says the bard, is papa to the man ; 
 And perhaps I have learnt from you aged beginners 
 
 As much as an infant of seventy can. 
 
GOING TO JERICHO, 
 
 O LISTEN kindly to the tale 
 Of Mister Joseph Biffin, 
 
 He owned a snug hotel — its sign 
 The " Unicorn and Griffin." 
 
90 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 " I wish to see the world," he cried — 
 " Come, tell me where to go?" 
 
 A waggish customer replied, 
 " Why— go to Jericho." 
 
 Said he, "Well, Jericho I'll seek, 
 
 It is a grand idea." 
 He travelled many a weary week, 
 
 And many a weary year ; 
 For strangers, wheresoe'er addressed 
 
 — Or Kurd, or Eskimo — 
 Knew not if North, South, East, or West 
 
 Would lead to Jericho. 
 
 At length he reached a sandy waste, 
 
 (There is no desert barer) 
 I think in Africa 'tis placed. 
 
 And called the Great Sahara : 
 He rode upon a camel's back, 
 
 And wildly shouted, " Woa ! 
 O good policeman, tell me, please. 
 
 The way to Jericho." 
 
 That swarthy guardian of the peace 
 
 Gazed at him for a space — 
 Por the North African police 
 
 Are not a clever race — , 
 
 *' Take the first turning to the right. 
 
 As far as you can go j 
 Then take the second to the left — 
 
 That leads to Jericho." 
 
GOING TO JERICHO. . 91 
 
 He turned his smiling camel's head, 
 
 But found the way was long, 
 For what was left was right as well. 
 
 And what was both was wrong. 
 In quest of turnings all his life 
 
 He wandered to and fro : 
 He rode towards the setting sun 
 
 To look for Jericho. 
 
 That camel calmly trotted on 
 
 Until he down and died ; 
 And Joseph cut him into steaks 
 
 Which in the sun he fried. 
 When there was no more camel left 
 
 He died himself, did Joe — 
 So their two ghosts went on again 
 
 In search of Jericho. 
 
VOICES OF THE AIR. 
 
 The lark from earth ascended 
 And his joyous song was blended 
 
 AVith the music of the meadow and the south wind's mur- 
 muring ; 
 
 And he sweetly soared and eddied 
 O'er the brown land as it budded, 
 
 With a wonderful elation, at the portals of the Spring*. 
 
 So his spiral flight pursuing. 
 
 To the faintest feather growing. 
 Through rosy clouds continuing his melody on high ; 
 
 Disappearing, disappearing — 
 
 Still his lay my heart was cheering, 
 Though my sad eyes roamed the ether for a vanished ecstasy. 
 
 But his shape no more discerning 
 With a melancholy yearning 
 
VOICES OF THE AIR. 93 
 
 For his sunny presence near me I was truly sorrowing, 
 
 When he suddenly descended 
 
 At my feet his song was ended, 
 And he shook to earth the dewdrops from his beautiful brown 
 wing. 
 
 # * # # # 
 
 The poet's soul ascended 
 
 In inspiration splendid 
 To a lustrous land of fancy in the golden hemisphere ; 
 
 So impetuously eddied 
 
 With thoughts to music wedded. 
 And a holy exultation that compelled a listening ear. 
 
 And they feared for his undoing 
 
 To the purest essence growing, 
 Pouring forth his wild words marvellous, a linked mystery ; 
 
 Far from other souls asunder 
 
 A vision and a wonder. 
 With the wisdom of the angels and the science of the sky. 
 
 But life no more discerning 
 
 They were sorrowfully turning 
 From the pallid ghost of genius to the shadow of a bier : — 
 
 When his gentle soul descended. 
 
 The melody was ended, 
 And the dewdrops of his pilgrimage fell from him in a tear. 
 
SOME OLD LOVE-LETTERS. 
 
 A STUDY on a winter night — a well-appointed room, 
 A well-fed fire with leaping light, 
 Discovering in fitful flight 
 The secrets of its gloom. 
 
SOME OLD LOVE-LETTERS. 95 
 
 The owner of the study sits before the pleasant flame ; 
 Abstractedly his brow he knits, 
 For o'er his memory there flits 
 Some thoughts of his life's aim. 
 
 Snow rests upon his silver head in patches combed and cold ; 
 A softened light upon it shed, 
 Like mountain top illumined 
 By sunset bars of gold. 
 
 The wind comes up in angry squalls without; a blustering gale 
 Doth trespass on the ancient walls. 
 And now and then a sad shower falls 
 And a new wind doth wail. 
 
 "Ah, love, long-withered love!" I think I hear the old man say. 
 " Sad records here, in faded ink, 
 Of that once strong, now broken link ; 
 Well, well, I've had my day. 
 
 " A letter here, in Marian's hand — away the sweet years wing ; 
 Old Chronos writes his name in sand. 
 She's married — in another land — 
 Her children marrying. 
 
 " From little Lucy Wilton — pet of all who passed the mill ; 
 While yet the eager page was wet 
 She pressed within a violet, 
 The scent is on it still. 
 
96 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 " How often Kitty's little head has nestled on my breast. 
 Alas ! my love, ere we could wed 
 Came death — that undefined dread, 
 And you were called to rest. 
 
 " Heaven rest you, Kitty — gentle soul, oft present to my view, 
 Your grave is by the grassy knoll, 
 I yielded to no new control 
 My life's light died with you. 
 
 ** What have we here? These faded leaves, once kept with 
 jealous care 
 
 Record flirtations — summer eves. 
 Refusals — pshaw ! I mean reprieves. 
 Whose was this lock of hair ? 
 
 *' Romantic reminiscences of loss by beauty's lure, 
 Perfidious packet, if you please 
 I'll burn you for the miseries 
 You made my youth endure. 
 
 *' Ah, hungry flames, your gases leap towards this tell-tale pyre ; 
 Die frailty ! These three I'll keep." 
 # ^ # ^ ^ 
 
 The rest in an unsorted heap 
 He flings into the fire. 
 
 And from those crackling pages rise the ghosts of buried days. 
 The valued toy, the hard-won prize. 
 Confiding curls, and winning eyes. 
 And still more winning Avays 
 
SOME OLD LOVE-LETTERS, 97 
 
 And promises of so-called friends whirl sadly into sparks, 
 As though they dreamed of paltry ends — 
 Of friends forsooth ! — the empty friends 
 Of ball-rooms, clubs, and parks. 
 
 So perishes the sham regard of generations past ; 
 Since there an I.O.U. lies charred, 
 Could poor Miss Hyacinth's charade 
 In such society last. 
 
 The fire is out, the morning light creeps on the darkened room 
 He sleeps — perchance his dreams are bright, 
 To him the dawning day is night, 
 And glory follows gloom. 
 
A RHYME ABOUT A RUIN. 
 
 One pleasant summer day upon the sloping turf I lay^ 
 'Neath the shadow of a grey ruined tower ; 
 
 An ever-tinkling rill ran round about the hill, 
 Where the pretty water-lily was in flower. 
 
 There were butter-cups in view, and the delicate wall-rue, 
 While the modest daisy grew by my side ; 
 
 The ivy climbed the wall of this old ancestral hall, 
 And moss surmounting all I espied. 
 
 The soft clouds floated by — blue above the gentle sky, 
 
 And blue the hills anigh the bluer sea : 
 Old oak-trees bent and knotted distant farm and nestling 
 cot hid, 
 
 And the cattle all were dotted o'er the lea. 
 
 Little town with tortuous street, tiinid sheep with bell and 
 bleat. 
 
 Land rich with golden wheat far and near ; 
 The heavy mill-wheel's whir in the air made drowsy stir, 
 
 And the barking of a cur I could hear. 
 
A RHYME ABOUT A RUIN. 99 
 
 And I pondered as I lay, in a desultory way, 
 
 On the ruin and decay of this pile ; 
 With its buried bowmen burly, its warders rough and surly, 
 
 And its traces of the early Saxon style. 
 
 For methought me of the time (in Mosaic sort of rhyme), 
 
 When an edifice sublime crowned the hill, 
 Of war and. storm defiant : the stronghold of a giant. 
 
 My fancy, ever pliant, pictured still. 
 
 Old echoes, long since dumb, of trumpet-call and drum. 
 Seemed to mingle with the hum like a dream ; 
 
 'Twas the cannon's sullen rattle 'midst the growing roar of 
 battle- 
 Not the lowing of the cattle by the stream. 
 
 When the tide of battle rolled towards this fortress grim 
 and old, 
 
 A lady, staunch and bold, fought the I^oundheads : 
 Defending " King and State," in the absence of her mate. 
 
 For her reverence was great for all crowned heads. 
 
 Here the stalwart Ironside encamped in his pride 
 
 Where Purbeck's hills divide, in the glen ; 
 Smoke of booming culverin curled o'er the yellow whin. 
 
 And the fortress hurled the din back again. 
 
 Each day the sun looks down on the castle and the town. 
 Till comes with frost and frown winter chill ; 
 
 Still the banner of the king floats o'er the western wing. 
 Till merry with the spring runs the rill. 
 
 H 2 
 
)o VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Forth the beleaguered sally — with a cheer wake up the valley, 
 On the little bridge they rally, making stand ; 
 
 Musket-ball and thrust of pike — all share the strife alike, 
 " Strike for the good cause, strike ! " hand to hand ! 
 
 Comes the summer with its smile, printing shadows on the 
 dial. 
 
 When the Puritan by wile wins the day ; 
 Comes the autumn with a wail sadly borne upon the gale. 
 
 For the castle, like a tale, hath passed away. 
 
 In honest fight it fell not — a traitor toll'd its knell, 
 And its moss-embroidered shell but remains ; 
 
 Beneath the vault of Heaven lie arches powder-riven. 
 And turrets tempest-driven to the plains. 
 
 Now the sun had gone to rest in the ruby- tinted west, 
 And the pale moon stood confest in the sky, 
 
 As I left this ruin scarred, by Time and traitor marred, 
 The many ghosts on guard sighed "Good-bye." 
 
WOOING UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 
 
 Scene — Brighton in August. 
 
 M-r-<.5>'( 
 
 WEET Seraphina, believe me 
 
 when I say — 
 (Any fresh macka-reel or prawns 
 
 to-day.) 
 Your image ever shall be next 
 
 my heart. 
 (What noise is that ? Of course^ 
 
 the water-cart.) 
 I ask you, dearest, if you cannot 
 
 find 
 Any — (scissors to grind, or knives 
 
 to grind ?) 
 Any small corner in your heart 
 
 for me ? 
 (Bagpipes and '.Highland fling at 
 
 number three.) 
 Oh, gentle maiden with the 
 
 drooping eye, 
 I must remark — (A fly, sir ! want 
 
 a fly?) 
 Talk not of money, all true lovers 
 
 scorn it. 
 
102 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 (The overture to " Zampa " on the. cornet.) 
 From your sweet face I cannot take my gaze. 
 (An organ grinding out the " Marseillaise.") 
 Don't keep me, I implore you, on the rack ! 
 (How that brass band is murdering Oifenbach.) 
 You recollect our rambles, Seraphina — 
 (Ha ! That's the cripple with the concertina.) 
 When by the wind your golden hair was fanned ? 
 (Hurrah ! Here comes the opposition band.) 
 Your fairy foot the sleeping flowers pressed — 
 (That cracked trombone is mingling with the rest.) 
 Their drowsy petals ere the sun had kissed — 
 (The " Infants' Holiday Extension List ;" 
 Subscriptions wanted — take the thing away ; 
 Why fifty brats are in the square at play.) 
 Oh, Seraphina, say that you'll be mine ! — 
 (Another organ. Ha ! " Die Wacht am Rhein.") 
 To try, 'twere fruitless, your Adolphus feels 
 To paint the beauty of your — (Fine fresh eels.) 
 So far do you all other girls excel ; 
 Your voice reminds me of — (The muffin-bell.) 
 Come, let us wander in the scented dale, 
 It is my own— (A nice day for a sail.) 
 I love to sit in quiet shady places 
 And whisper — (Buy a card, gents, of the Races ?) 
 Into the tiniest of willing ears — 
 (Schoolboys eji route for home — renounce their cheers.) 
 Love's generalities — or where love fails — 
 (That child below is practising her scales.) 
 To read aloud a novel fresh from Mudie — 
 (That hideous squeak ! oh, horror ! Punch and 
 Judy !) 
 
WOOING. UNDER DIFFICULTIES. 103 
 
 Dismiss me not in doubt, my peerless queen — 
 (Niggers ! Three banjos, bones, and tambourine.) 
 If cruelly my budding hopes you nip, I — 
 (Full chorus, " Floating Down the Mississippi.") 
 
 (Adolphus becomes mandible. Scene closes.) 
 
THE SONG OF THE MOONBEAM. 
 
 I SHOW the traveller his road, 
 
 I shine on the lover's path ; 
 I seek the labourer's abode 
 
 And hght with joy his hearth. 
 I tint with gold the salt sea-spray, 
 
 I gleam on the swelling sail ; 
 I clothe the rocks so cold and grey 
 
 In shining suits of mail. 
 
 I daintily touch the drowsy flower 
 
 As the pearly dew it sips ; 
 I gild a side of the ivied tower 
 
 And leave the rest in eclipse. 
 I wander through the tangled dell 
 
 Where the brook has a smile for me. 
 And stay my light for Philomel 
 
 'Twixt the brake and the beechen tree. 
 
 Through garret windows oft I peep 
 
 And needles I thread there, 
 Or gaze on the seamstress fast asleep 
 
 In her solitary chair. 
 
THE SONG OF THE MOONBEAM. 105 
 
 Lightly I kiss the cradled child 
 
 In a valley of dreams astray ; 
 And out afar o'er the heathered wild 
 
 And the waves of fragrant hay. 
 
 I plumb the depths of the mountain lake, 
 
 I climb the pine-clad hill ; 
 And a pattern of silver-brown I make 
 
 On the thatch of the silent mill : 
 Till the blush-rose wakes, and the tulip-cup 
 
 To another day is born. 
 Then do I gather my mantle up 
 
 And melt in the mists of morn. 
 
FROM THE COUNTRY. 
 
 {A SpHng Sketch for City Toilers.) 
 
 Blithe Spring in lusty boyhood grows apace, 
 Fresh flowers turn their faces to the sky, 
 And herald cuckoo through the woods doth cry 
 Another year of grace. 
 
 Nerveless hath fallen Winter's icy hand ; 
 The Erl-king and his pearly gauderies 
 Of frosted dewbeads disappear ; the bees 
 Make music o'er the land. 
 
 The starlings circle round the sombre fir. 
 The lark above the meadow sweetly sings ; 
 The butterfly comes floating by on wings 
 Of sheeny gossamer. 
 
 Destroying gales now pipe a blusterous tune 
 No more ; the crocus perished with the snows ; 
 But early leaves give promise of the rose, 
 The dowry of June. 
 
FROM THE COUNTRY, 107 
 
 A tender green doth faintly dye the trees, 
 The frail anemones bestrew the fields \ 
 And a sweet perfume the narcissus yields 
 
 Unto the wandering breeze 
 
 That goes a soughing through the rustling reeds 
 With fitful cadence musical and low. 
 Those hardy scouts of Spring, the daisies, now 
 Are whitening the meads. 
 
 The meditating brook doth onward flow 
 
 With quickened impulse through the shaded vale ; 
 The loosened sedges on its bosom sail. 
 
 Cloud dimples come and go. 
 
 The silver lilies dot the river's edge : 
 
 The slender speedwell opens its blue eyes 
 And, venturesome, peeps forth in shy surprise 
 From out the hawthorn hedge. 
 
 By pleasant leaves encircled, green and cool. 
 Gay groups of primroses o'errun the wold ; 
 Now breaks the furze into a blaze of gold 
 Down to the silent pool. 
 
 Blooms the sweet orchard into simple hues. 
 With white and red most delicately drest ; 
 The linnet in the pear-tree builds a nest 
 
 And dreams 'midst vernal dews. 
 
io8 . VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Uplook the blue-bells fresher for the rain, 
 
 (Soft showers discharging gentle April's debt) — 
 And little fingers cull the violet 
 
 In the song-haunted lane. 
 
 And so the hours steal silently away, 
 
 Till evening shades are creeping o'er the scene : 
 Shadow and song, and brook and flower have been 
 The bounty of the day. 
 
 Shadow that swept along the heathered hill, 
 Sweet song that broke the silebce of the wood. 
 The babbling brook by which the pigeons brood, 
 Daisy and daffodil. 
 
 Now flowers are folded, birds their music cease, 
 The golden sun dips down into the west ; 
 Above the myriad stars are manifest ; 
 
 Night bringeth rest and peace. 
 
THE LOSS OF THE "CAPTAIN, 
 
 The autumn sun 'midst signs of storm goes down upon the sea, 
 A wrathful wind, nigh grown a gale, is wailing fitfully : 
 With rise and fall majestical, a spectacle most brave. 
 The iron might of England breasts the dark Atlantic wave. 
 
no VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 The gale is grown a hurricane ; the mighty fleet is tossed. 
 And here a sail is torn to shreds, and there a spar is lost ; 
 The noble ships are phantoms in the driving mist and spray, 
 And sorrow looms o'er happy homes in England far away. 
 
 For fierce and frequent squalls have set the Captaiii on her side, 
 And vengeful-crested waves assail her adamantine pride ; — 
 Alas ! no valour can avail, no seamanship can save. 
 Now for the sleeping seamen pray, now pray ye for the brave. 
 
 The cruel wave her lee-side laps, her bulwarks are o'erflown, 
 And, lurching to her keel, she sinks, as she had been a stone. 
 Down in the boiling surge, 'midst breaking decks and scalding 
 
 steam. 
 And nigh five hundred beating hearts are stilled in Death's long 
 
 dream. 
 
 O night to be remembered long as white sail flecks the blue. 
 That saw the stately ship engulfed with all her sleeping crew : 
 The stricken fleet, with drooping flag, sails back to Albion's 
 
 shore, 
 From whose white cliffs no eye shall look upon the Captain 
 
 more. 
 
 With yards awry, flags half-mast high, the giant vessels sleep. 
 No music save the funeral march may boom along the deep. 
 The news is flashed around the world, and all the sorrow share 
 For those who sank that stormy night ofl" rugged Finisterre. 
 
THE LOSS OF THE ''CAPTAIN." iii 
 
 No more for them the great ship's bell with silver tongue shall 
 
 toll, 
 No more the drum to quarters call with customary roll ; 
 No more aloft to reef and furl, their nimble feet ascend, 
 No more the voices of the watch on moonlit nights shall blend. 
 
 O'er other graves the sombre yew a fitful shadow flings, 
 And in the waving sycamore the speckled throstle sings ; 
 The Hndens rustle pensively, the climbing roses twine. 
 And the organ sounds within the church a melody divine. 
 
 No monument may mark the spot where peacefully they lie ; 
 Still o'er their grave the winds may rave, the sea mount to the 
 
 sky; 
 The plashing surge, a solemn dirge, till the sea gives up its dead, 
 As a requiem, shall sing for them, who lie in ocean's bed. 
 
THE LARK AND THE BREAKING 
 WAVES. 
 
 I SIT in the meadow and ponder 
 Within the sound of the sea,^- 
 The heavy boom of the sea, — 
 Like sullen guns afar ! 
 And the beautiful lark flies yonder, 
 Over the dreaming bee. 
 As upward warbles he 
 
 His way to the hidden star. 
 
 And my heart is filled with sadness 
 By the wail of the breaking sea, 
 But overflows with gladness 
 As I lift my eyes to the clouds that fleck 
 The sky, in search of that soaring speck, 
 For my fancy whispers me — 
 It is no bird that thus doth sing 
 
 Melodiously vanishing. 
 But a child-spirit on the wing. 
 
LINES TO A METEOR. 
 
 Blushing, burning meteor 
 Dropping from the sky, 
 
 Like a golden wheatear 
 
 ' From Heaven's granary ! 
 
 Did the ancients deem ye 
 Thunderbolt of Jove, 
 
 Or a shaft shot by dreamy 
 Cupid, God of Love ? 
 
 Meteor, thou hast fallen 
 In the world's esteem ; 
 
 Thy fairy flight once all en- 
 Trancing we did deem ! 
 
114 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Now the morning papers 
 Tell us of thy deeds, 
 
 How thou cutt'st thy capers 
 In atmospheric meads. 
 
 Thy path across the sky, 
 
 Some astronomic dabbler 
 To the unlettered fry 
 
 Explains is a parabola. 
 ■ Exploding, doubts to settle, 
 
 Thy structure is revealed 
 In a lump of molten m.etal 
 
 Picked up in a field. 
 
 No longer can we think thee 
 
 A wonder of the skies ; 
 Again we ne'er shall link thee 
 
 To hidden mysteries. 
 Thou art no gem old stager 
 
 From the white brow of Astraea,. 
 No claw of Ursa Major, 
 
 Nor curl of Cassiopeia. 
 
 Now meteor we test thee 
 
 By theories atomic : 
 With no romance invest thee 
 
 But speculations comic. 
 We've no poetic fancies 
 
 In these enlightened days ; 
 The Infinite expanse is 
 
 Swept by the finite gaze. 
 
LINES TO A METEOR. 115 
 
 Thoii'rt but a sorry firework 
 
 Very primitive indeed ; 
 We are capable of higher work 
 
 For brilliance and speed. 
 Thy modest annual shower 
 
 Hath ceased to wake the sleeper — 
 Cremorne's displays I vow are 
 
 Much better and much cheaper. 
 
 O aerolite designing, 
 
 O dull and dreaming dunce, 
 Can you think without repining 
 
 That you took in people once ? 
 Too, too long since began its 
 
 Happy course did our smart sphere, — 
 Go and take in other planets, 
 
 We've surpassed your glories here. 
 
 I 2 
 
A COQUETTE. 
 
 Inconstant as the sunlight 
 On cloudy days that floods 
 And fails the dappled glade, 
 
 Is Lalage to me. 
 My love like gathered buds 
 A life in death I see, 
 Inconstant as the sunlight 
 
 Is Lalage to me. 
 
 Fickle as the wayward breeze 
 Dancing o'er the dingle, 
 Changeable as wave-shapes 
 Beating on the shingle. 
 It is not much, 
 But her sweet touch 
 Can fitful passion-tempests waken ; 
 Or by her charm 
 My moods are calm, 
 And my love's sky by storms forsaken. 
 
A COQUETTE. 117 
 
 Fond and foolish I lie at her feet 
 
 In the full blaze 
 
 Of love's fierce rays 
 "Shelter me, sweet, from the blinding heat." 
 " Yes," she says ; then " no," she says. 
 
 Dimpled Lalage, I see you now 
 
 With brown hair fringed upon your brow 
 
 Like a rushing waterfall 
 •Moss-bound, over smooth stones flowing 
 
 With a grace imperial. 
 Yet Winter will lock it there, 
 Whiten that waving hair ; 
 Weeds of regret and ruth e'en now are growing. 
 
 Though, 'neath those lids of yours 
 Tears never tremble. 
 
 Lines will grow round your eyes 
 Hard to dissemble. 
 
 Time's wings you cannot clip. 
 
 Time with his iron grip — • 
 
 Sear not the head of him 
 Think what is fled of him 
 Fair Mistress Lalasre ! 
 
 but I love you well 
 
 My garden blooms for you ; 
 
 1 grudge the asphodel 
 
 Print of your dainty shoe. 
 
ii8 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 When beyond human skill 
 Subject to new controls, 
 
 Death, but I'll love you still 
 In the weird land of souls. 
 
 Sweet is the carol of the thrush. 
 
 The nightingale's lament ; 
 
 But sweeter far the ball-room's crush — 
 Fiddles, and fans, and scent. 
 
 A pleasant sight is the azure sky 
 
 And earth green-garlanded ; 
 
 The rich-hued gems admirers buy 
 
 Give me, for choice, instead. 
 
 So runs our duet to the same sad end ; 
 The music's harsh, our voices do not blend. 
 
 Nature she scorns. 
 
 She who Nature adorns. 
 
 Buds and blossoms come every year 
 While pink cheeks fade, and dimples die ; 
 
 Ever the stars shine bright and clear. 
 
 But the love-light pales in a woman's eye. 
 
 Thus I banter Lalage, 
 But she answers carelessly 
 That she means to live and die 
 'Neath an artificial sky. 
 Surely it is sad to see 
 Such determined coquetry. 
 
A NOVEL A LA MODE. 
 
 Behind the slender withy trees 
 The crimson dawn advances, 
 
 As it has done a thousand times 
 In poems and romances. 
 
 The hills are wreathed in mist ; the grass 
 
 Is silvered o'er with dew. 
 ^IVe read this sort of thing before, 
 
 And so, no doubt, have you.) 
 
 The poacher whistles to his dog 
 And homeward slowly trudges ; 
 
 The schoolboy his neglected task 
 With expedition fudges. 
 
 The sun climbs high, and pretty May 
 Comes tripping o'er the lea : 
 
 She rests awhile beside the stile. 
 Or else the trysting-tree. 
 
 There rests she several pages, though 
 
 She sadly wants her dinner. 
 Till the familiar form appears 
 
 To woo her and to win her. 
 
I20 VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 She dare not wander in the wood^ 
 Her post may not be quitted : 
 
 So unconventional an act 
 Could never be permitted. 
 
 Now by the very merest chance 
 The squire's son doth pass ; 
 
 He's not particularly shy, 
 So looks upon the lass. 
 
 She's comely, though her good papa 
 Is but a simple farmer ; 
 
 (Such characters may still be found 
 Embellishing the drama.) 
 
 And straightway with each other they 
 
 Are mutually smitten, 
 For matters always went that way 
 
 Since novels first were written.. 
 
 One glance, and Love's electric spark 
 From heart to heart is carried. 
 
 (A pity that, for volumes two. 
 
 None knew that they were married.) 
 
 For many difficulties might 
 With ease have been averted : 
 
 He might with many heiresses 
 Conveniently have flirted. 
 
A NOVEL A LA MODE. 121 
 
 • 
 
 For high-born damsels by the score 
 
 Were quite prepared to wed him ; 
 The haughty Lady Eglantine, 
 
 A nice life would have led him. 
 
 But where would be the art in that ? 
 
 'Twere natural to court her : — 
 The opposite remark holds good 
 
 About the farmer's daughter. 
 
 They stood beneath the try sting- tree,. 
 
 The trysting-tree of yore : — 
 I trow not if 'twere oak or beech, 
 
 Ash, elm, or sycamore. 
 
 But here's to thee, old trysting-tree,, 
 
 Epitome of duty ; — 
 How often 'neath thy sacred shade 
 
 Has Honour lied to Beauty. 
 
 Had I the power I'd sing thy worth,. 
 
 Dear evergreen of fiction : 
 I've all the wish, but cannot find 
 
 The necessary diction. 
 
 Now every day the lovers meet. 
 
 While May does other men shun ; 
 Such conduct in a country place 
 
 Of course attracts attention. 
 
122 VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 • 
 
 Soon neighbours elevate themselves 
 
 Upon a moral dais ; 
 And from that sweet eventful morn, 
 
 A social outcast May is. 
 
 For people naturally think 
 
 She is innately naughty, 
 When, at the bidding of the heir. 
 
 She learns the pianoforte. 
 
 At length the Squire the secret drags 
 To light — the chapter's thrilling — 
 
 So makes his will and leaves the lad 
 The customary shilling. 
 
 The boy knows how to mitigate 
 
 The anger of the Gov' : — 
 They hire a two-pair back, and live • . 
 
 On mutton-chops and love. 
 
 •She sings him songs when they have dined, 
 And while the cat in bliss purrs. 
 
 Wherein the wind — pronounced as wind — 
 Through laughing lilacs whispers. 
 
 Although in novels squire's sons 
 Oft wed beneath their station. 
 
 Such unions always seem to have 
 A happy termination. 
 
A NOVEL A LA MODE, 123 
 
 No longer wrathful with the boy 
 
 For honest love confessing, 
 The good old squire relents at last 
 
 And proffers them his blessing. 
 
 Then has a most convenient fit 
 
 And, blessing them anew, dies. 
 And so they peacefully repose 
 
 Upon the shelf at Mudie's. 
 
SOLITUDE. 
 
 Rough billows breaking on a thirsty strand, 
 Beneath a tattered canopy of cloud 
 That in the mellow distance, like a shroud 
 
 Enwraps the cold grey battlements of land : — 
 
SOLITUDE. 125 
 
 A pale moon struggling out — an amulet 
 Of light — now covered with a fleecy pall, 
 Now floating through the azure meads in all 
 Her loveliness — impetuous, and yet 
 
 Serene as lies a lily on a lake. 
 No boat comes dancing down her silver path. 
 No sea-bird seeks a momentary bath 
 
 In those deep interlaced waves that break 
 And wither into foam upon the shore, 
 While careful echoes all their music store. 
 
A LAMENT FOR SUMMER. 
 
 I WANDER slowly down the lane, 
 
 The leaves fall off as I go by ; 
 And the fierce drops of driving rain 
 
 Come hurrying from the sky. 
 
 Summer is dead and in his grave, 
 
 Though flowers were rich and boughs were brave ; 
 
 And rough-beard Autumn wears the crown 
 
 Clad in his robe of russet brown. 
 
 His harvest hoards are gathered now, 
 
 His fields are purple from the plough. 
 
 The mere hath gleams of silver-grey — 
 
 The wind-swept mere whereon 
 
 There sails a solitary swan : — 
 And on the trees that margin it. 
 Beneath whose shade we used to sit, 
 The golden leaves decay. 
 
 Summer is gone ; another stage 
 Reached in life's weary pilgrimage. 
 
 I pause again 
 
 In the remembered lane. 
 
A LAMENT FOR SUMMER. 127 
 
 Here did I wander when my life was young, 
 Nor tired of Nature's oft-repeated tale ; 
 The thrush piped to me, and the nightingale 
 In the dark coppice sung. 
 
 No more the song is heard 
 Of joyous bird ; 
 Only the hollow wind, the vengeful wind, 
 Expends its fury on the naked land : 
 A savage — blind 
 Implacable and grand, — 
 The sere leaves chasing 
 Swiftly racing 
 With a gusty concentration, with a cornered concentration 
 Through the hedge-enclosed lane 
 As the hues of evening wane. 
 
 The sinking sun is fitry red. 
 Leaves are crisp beneath the tread, 
 And skies are sombre — Summer is dead. 
 
 The bee has gone to his winter home 
 To dream of happy springs to come ; 
 Swallow and cuckoo have flown afar, 
 And the wild duck haunts the river bar. 
 
 The brook has a faster flight, 
 
 A hoarser murmuring. 
 
 Still the weeping elm, 
 
 The patriarchal elm. 
 
 Is the glossy blackbird's realm. 
 
128 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 He's a sable-feathered mute, 
 Yet a warbler of repute ; 
 
 He will sing 
 
 With the Spring, 
 When the buds begin to shoot — 
 
 Yes, I know that he will sing 
 
 When fresh flowers are blossoming. 
 
 Now, all undraped of clouds, the sky is bright, 
 The half-moon rises in the mellow light 
 Behind the forest trees : — 
 So I rest beside the gate, and with wonder contemplate 
 All the loneliness and lustre of the night. 
 Upon the spangled plain 
 I try to count (in vain) 
 The trembling Pleiades. 
 
 As homeward plodding through the lane 
 Where still the shrivelled leaves are shed ; 
 
 For Autumn's loss is Winter's gain, 
 
 And Summer's dead. 
 
NELLY. 
 
 Alone, and in a gloomy mood, 
 I wandered by the wave to brood ; 
 But when my brain was busiest 
 And thought a dull unwelcome guest 
 I heard the name of Nelly ! 
 
I30 VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 Someone pronouncing Nelly's name — 
 (His Nelly, but it's all the same) 
 Thought was a welcome guest once more 
 Recalling sea, and sky, and shore ; 
 I was again with Nelly. 
 
 We stroll upon the silver strand, 
 Dark shadows lie along the land ; 
 The waves her welcome presence greet 
 And fling bright pebbles at her feet 
 
 The little feet of Nelly ! 
 Her laughter mocks the tune they play. 
 She laughs at everything I say — 
 My jokes are better she insists 
 Than those of licensed humorists, 
 
 Now that is nice of Nelly. 
 
 Has she a comely matron grown 
 With charming children of her own ; 
 With cap on head, and quiet gown ; 
 Do grey hairs mingle with the brown. 
 
 The rich brown hair of Nelly ? 
 It may be so — but not to me. 
 To time I'll bend no hasty knee ; 
 He cannot change her eyes I think 
 Like peeps of sky through clouds of pink 
 
 The dreamy eyes of Nelly. 
 
NELLY. i-,i 
 
 Ah, little lady, long ago> 
 When I laid claim to be your beau. 
 You gravely humoured the idea, 
 Made me your happy cavalier 
 
 In sj^ite of offers, Nelly ! 
 I was but four, and you my queen 
 Were on the brink of sweet eighteen ; 
 I proudly claimed relationship, 
 And thanked you, pressing lip to lip, 
 
 For we were cousins, Nelly • 
 
 K 2 
 
A GIRL AND A GOAT. 
 
 A TINY picture set in tinsel — 
 
 A girl, a goat, some mountain air ; 
 What artist traced with loving pencil 
 
 That simply admirable hair ? 
 Adown her back like autumn grain 
 
 It ripples (dear delightful Alice), 
 As pyrotechnic golden rain 
 
 Descendeth at the Crystal Palace. 
 
 Alice I call her, though, of course 
 
 I do not know her name from Adam,. 
 Nor learn too easily her source 
 
 Amidst this teeming city's mad hum ; 
 For who she is, or whence she came, 
 
 Will ne'er be known to me I fear ; 
 But that she's set love's torch aflame 
 
 In my breast is extremely clear. 
 
 Of course she is the village pride 
 This pretty winsome rustic maiden, 
 
 She wanders down the mountain-side 
 
 Her lap with gathered wild flowers laden. 
 
A GIRL AND A GOAT, 133 
 
 Her dress is simple, yet I know 
 
 A charm ineffable it lends her, 
 'Twould at the opera be '' the go " 
 
 On Patti trilling a cadenza. 
 
 A goat the maiden's passage bars 
 
 (Acute gymnastic mountain ranger) 
 Is it a pet, or — ," oh, my stars ! " — 
 
 Merely a vulgar bearded stranger ? 
 It pounces on her floral load, 
 
 And Alice draws on one side shyly ; 
 She would not cumber up the road 
 
 It relishes the fodder highly. 
 
 Alice — I call her Alice, yet 
 
 Her name is possibly Jemima ; 
 But names like that, or Sal, or Bet, 
 
 Are coarse for so genteel a rhymer ; — 
 Well, Alice pauses while he crops 
 
 (I rather think that goat's a pet one ; 
 Though, on the misty mountain-tops 
 
 I frankly own I never met one). 
 
 Her small existence knows no phases 
 
 No villagers of her in search haste. 
 The goat still snatches at the daisies 
 
 As when the precious pair I purchased ! 
 Artistic gem my gaze is bent 
 
 Upon thee ; still my bosom thrills 
 Though thou art but an ornament 
 
 Upon a shilling box of quills. 
 
SONG OF A WATER FAIRY. 
 
 The day-spell is broken — wake fairies wake, 
 While the light lingers to sport on the lake ; 
 Float on its surface in dreamy delight 
 Haste to the try sting-place Fays of the night. 
 See the soft twilight all Nature hath kissed. 
 Wrapping the land in its delicate mist : — 
 Faintly as o'er the lea dies the day's hum, 
 Couched on the lily from Shadowland come. 
 
 Roam among shadow-trees, courting surprise ; 
 Bask in the light of a true lover's eyes ! 
 Down to the crystal spring heart of the mere, 
 Strewn with the pearls that are pebbles up here^ 
 Feeling the pulse of Time, kisses between. 
 Mellow light laughing on masses of green : — 
 For, at the best, we are things of a day. 
 And the chill light of morning shall chase us away. 
 
THE DANGER OF DREAMING, 
 
 I DREAMED a night or two ago 
 
 The world was by an earthquake shaken, 
 It stirred the sea with mighty throe, 
 
 And broke the slumbers of the Kraaken. 
 
136 VAGRANT VERSES. > 
 
 It split and scattered all the land — 
 
 It was an earthquake. I was pained so 
 
 That (in the dream, you understand) 
 
 My head swam round, and it remained so. 
 
 It was a startling change no doubt, 
 
 Great Britain being on the Equator — 
 Where people mostly go about 
 
 Dressed in a thoughtless state of natur'. 
 The Bfooli race — dream memory brings 
 
 A picture of the ebon trembler. 
 Without a stitch of winter things 
 
 Snowed up for good in Nova Zembla. 
 
 In vain you hunted for Japan 
 
 'Twas somewhere in the Zuyder Zee ; 
 Madeira was in Hindostan, 
 
 And Egypt in the Caspian Sea. 
 The Thames Embankment, London's boast. 
 
 Completely blocked the Mississippi ; 
 The Sphinx was found, like Caesar's ghost. 
 
 In strict seclusion at Philippi. 
 
 What use were guides to show the route. 
 
 The handbooks too of Mister Murray, 
 When Spain was in the Isle of Bute, 
 
 And half of Iceland was in Surrey ? 
 Excited tourists sought in vain 
 
 The peaks and passes of the Alps ; 
 They found instead a Western plain. 
 
 And Indian braves who took their scalps. 
 
THE DANGER OF DREAMING, 157 
 
 Vessels were lost on every hand 
 
 For all the rocks and shoals were new ; 
 The lighthouses were all inland, 
 
 And buoys had disappeared from view. 
 Experienced purple-visaged tars 
 
 Were literally " all at sea ; " 
 They could not recognise the stars 
 
 And land was always on the lee. 
 
 Zoology was upside down, 
 
 And every " ology " besides ; 
 Penguins were found in Camden Town, 
 
 And dodos overran St. Brides. 
 The British cat to Lapland fled — 
 
 (Methinks the British lodger laughs) — 
 Horses had vanished, but instead 
 
 We'd some good useful old giraffes. 
 
 On went the dream. — A friend of mine 
 
 (One of the very best of men) 
 Seeing his wife for sea-air pine] 
 
 Had gone, I think, to Tenby — when 
 (Unconscious of the earthquake's tricks) — 
 
 Their children played upon the shore, 
 Kind tigers joined the little chicks 
 
 And they were never heard of more. 
 
 When Bfooli's sable king arose 
 
 Before his gate stood Temple Bar 
 In lieu of (Fancy shall suppose) 
 
 The statue of his grandpapa. 
 
138 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 For Temple Bar, with all its dirt, 
 We surely could not count it gain 
 
 A negro in a plantain shirt 
 
 Unlicensed of the Chamberlain. 
 
 So people thought, but cruel Fate 
 
 Made me their statue if you please ? 
 Head— like a spheroid oblate, 
 
 And sadly shaky at the knees. 
 They hauled me up with brutal shout 
 
 When suddenly the pulley broke, — 
 Dreamland received the rabble rout, 
 
 And I, with sudden start, awoke. 
 
 Reader, with brains within your skull, 
 
 Think how such visions must appal : 
 For dreams, as you're aware, are full 
 
 Of contradictions whimsical. 
 So if your brain with fancies teem 
 
 Take this poor maxim — {faute de mieiix)- 
 'Tis really dangerous to dream ; 
 
 I never would if I were you. 
 
OUR YESTERDAYS, 
 
 (A Bohemian Bachelor's Lament). 
 "And all our yesterdays." — Shakespeare^ 
 
 I AM alone. It is my whim 
 
 At times to lock my cares without, 
 And, sitting in the twilight dim, 
 
 Nurse my hereditary gout. 
 My fire is low, I pile it high, 
 
 And. stir it to a ruddy blaze : 
 Then fall a-thinking with a sigh. 
 
 Upon my buried yesterdays. 
 
 " Our yesterdays have lighted fools " 
 
 Along the road " to dusty death ; "' 
 Thy bilious speech one's ardour cools,. 
 
 Uncomplimentary Macbeth. 
 I fear I've not been overwise. 
 
 Remorse upon my spirit preys ; 
 How Time, the winged impostor, flies, 
 
 And bears away our yesterdays. 
 
40 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 It seems but yesterday I made 
 
 A silly speech at Lucy's wedding : — 
 That I invoked a Hebrew's aid, 
 
 That minion, my tailor, dreading. 
 Of course the cash was had and spent, 
 
 For borrowing I had a craze ; 
 Sixty or so I paid per cent. — 
 
 I don't forget those yesterdays. 
 
 Ah, did I but describe thy yoke 
 
 Uncompromising Gideon, 
 The world would (thinking it a joke) 
 
 Bid me the jester's motley don. 
 Did I my slavish thraldom paint. 
 
 It would the Gentile race amaze ! 
 My conscience carries still the taint 
 
 Of those unhappy yesterdays. 
 
 That picture hanging on the wall 
 
 To Exhibitions has been sent. 
 To be rejected by them all — 
 
 I grudge the time upon it spent. 
 And yonder battered desk contains 
 
 A dozen unaccepted plays. 
 Whose composition taxed my brains 
 
 Innumerable yesterdays. 
 
 I had a pious uncle who 
 
 Had hinted I should be his heir ; 
 
 To please him I grew pious too, 
 In short we were a pattern pair. 
 
OUR YESTERDAYS, 141 
 
 One day my betting-book he found, 
 
 I quailed before his awful gaze; 
 My teeth in agony I ground 
 
 In solitude those yesterdays. 
 
 'Twas ten years yesterday the will 
 
 That cut me off without a shilling 
 (I trust my uncle's ghost they grill) 
 
 Was read in tones severely chilling. 
 On expectations I'd contrived 
 
 The hopes of creditors to raise ; 
 I wonder if they all survived 
 
 Those melancholy yesterdays. 
 
 I longed to try the married state 
 
 When something by experience taught,. 
 And was, when introduced to Kate, 
 
 In Love's delightful meshes caught. 
 She loved me, too ; I call to mind 
 
 Our courtship in its every phase ; 
 But she was false and Love was blind. 
 
 Ah ! those were bitter yesterdays. 
 
 A richer suitor sought her hand 
 
 (I was too poor to wed her then). 
 She took him for his money, and 
 
 Left me the most forlorn of men. 
 She said it was a sacrifice 
 
 On duty's shrine — a useful phrase. 
 E'en now a moisture at my eyes 
 
 Recalls those painful yesterdays. 
 
t42 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 Life's a poor player, says the Bard, 
 
 That on the stage his brief hour frets ; 
 A " super " mine, whose lot's been hard- 
 
 I've not been one of Fortune's pets. 
 So prompter Time abridge my pains, 
 
 Ring down I pray the dismal baize ; 
 For all the wealth the world contains 
 
 I'd brood on no more yesterdays. 
 
A CALM— AND REFLECTIONS, 
 
 Apollo in his amber car 
 Descends in majesty afar, 
 Watched by one shy uncertain star. 
 
144 VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 Yet does he stretch his purple sleeve 
 Over the west, as loath to leave 
 The changing witchery of eve. 
 
 Arise, sweet Cynthia, weird and white,. 
 Pour out upon the wave thy light. 
 Complete the miracle of night. 
 
 In rest thy lustrous lance is laid, 
 Thy» shield a cloud with silver braid- 
 Before thee lesser visions fade. 
 
 We gaze upon the gift of thee 
 A pearl-white path upon the sea 
 That tapers to our plashing lee. 
 
 And in the silent deep appears 
 
 A mystery of golden spears. 
 
 Hot shadows of the armed spheres. 
 
 Days since this weary calm befell, 
 We labour on the glassy svvell 
 Slow swinging like a tolling bell. . 
 
 So in the pauses of a life 
 
 There comes a sweet repose from strife^ 
 
 Clear air with no storm-terrors rife. 
 
^ CALM— AND REFLECTIONS, 145 
 
 E'en as I muse a zephyr pale 
 With whisper growing to a wail 
 Climbs the dark hull and stirs the sail. 
 
 And windy ripples break the charm- 
 Ah, so in life how brief the balm, 
 How few the oases of calm. 
 
 We move in the enchanted ring, 
 The sail is full, the breezes sing, 
 Thought dips adown the billow's wing. 
 
A NURSERY SERENADE. 
 
 ETTRICK. 
 
 Wake thee, my love, let thy countenance waxen 
 Appear at the window neglectful of art ; 
 
 Blue are thine eyes, love, thy tresses are flaxen. 
 Thy charms have enchained my susceptible hearts 
 
 FRANCES. 
 
 I'm here at the lattice to list to thy lay, love. 
 Leaves rustle thy chorus this soft night of June. 
 
 I see thee, I hear thee tum-tumming away, love. 
 And feel that I'm melting away to the tune. 
 
 ETTRICK. 
 
 The moon gilds the sward, I must gracefully dance, love, 
 I'm strung to a tension that tends to distress ; 
 
 My intelligent capers will show at a glance, love, 
 Affection when silent has most to express. 
 
A NURSEEY SERENADE. 147 
 
 FRANCES. 
 
 They tear me away from thee ; there goes my bran, love, 
 And now I've no ears for thy sweet serenade — 
 
 ETTRICK {fortissimo). 
 I am a Marionette, not a man, love ! 
 
 Frances (under pillow— pianissimo). 
 And I am a doll from the Lowther Arcade. 
 
 L 2 
 
TO THE SEA FOAM. 
 
 Opal sea foam 
 
 On the shore quivering, 
 Whither dost come ' 
 
 On thy salt wing? 
 No longer with majesty 
 
 Borne on the wave, 
 The wind hath its will of thee. 
 
 Here is thy grave. 
 
 Hast thou been round the world 
 
 Voyaging restlessly ; 
 Into the cyclone hurled, 
 
 Calmed — lying listlessly. 
 Swept by the swirling tide 
 
 Through the cramped passages, 
 That the gaunt hills divide 
 
 In the North seas ? 
 
 Has a soft spicy wind 
 
 From a warm land 
 With a heart kind 
 
 Your purple cheek fanned ; 
 
TO THE SEA FOAM. 149 
 
 Kissed you to ecstasy 
 
 With its sweet breath, 
 And the wave's canopy 
 
 Laid you beneath ? 
 
 Oft has the fallow moon 
 
 Silvered thy brow, 
 When, hushed in night, alone 
 
 The wild waters flow ! 
 Like pearls in a diadem 
 
 Thy glittering spray ; 
 Time weeps the loss of them. 
 
 Dead with the day. 
 
 Has the tired petrel's quest 
 
 Found thee a pillow, 
 Borne on the regal crest 
 
 Of Southern billow? 
 Has the great albatross 
 
 Sailed on thy bosom, 
 That the winds tangled toss 
 
 Like a blown blossom ? 
 
 Under a lurid sky 
 
 Didst thou upheave and dip 
 Sweeping, with sob and cry 
 
 O'er the abandoned ship ? 
 Red from the storm-sun's kiss 
 
 Flout the tall frigate's prow, 
 Lulled to a dreamy bliss 
 
 In the soft trade-wind's sough. 
 
I50 VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 Now the inconstant wind 
 
 Tears at thy amber throat ; 
 Hast thou so greatly sinned ? 
 
 Sleep in thy satin coat — 
 Dead — and thy brethren 
 
 Slumber around thee, 
 Yet to the hearts of men 
 
 Thy beauty hath bound thee. 
 
THE KING OF THE LONELY ISLE, 
 
 An hour the burning sunset 
 Had deepened into night ; 
 
 The tropic moon hung o'er the sea, 
 A globe of silver light. 
 
 Uprose the giant palm-trees, 
 A grove of spectral sheaves ; 
 
 The night-wind murmured through them 
 And shook their crown of leaves. 
 
152 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 The far-off mountains ended 
 Their lane of slender stems ; 
 
 And the Heavens wore the glory^ 
 Of innumerable gems. 
 
 There gleamed on paths celestial 
 The scorpion and the cross ; 
 
 And midway seemed to hover 
 The white-winged albatross. 
 
 Swift sped the angel meteors 
 Mocking the firefly's flight, 
 
 That like a tiny roving star 
 Came dancing down the night.. 
 
 On citadels of coral 
 The sullen sea did roar, 
 
 And the phosphorescent waters. 
 Made music on the shore. 
 
 And with a silent pondering 
 
 On curious things that be, 
 There sat a lonely castaway 
 
 Beneath the tall palm-tree. 
 
 It was the ship in which he sailed 
 
 Took fire upon the deep — 
 Grief's veil is drawn o'er darkened home 
 
 Where wives and children weep. 
 
THE KING OF THE LONELY ISLE, 153 
 
 Alone of all the busy crew 
 
 Consumed of flame and wave ; 
 Wonder his solitary life 
 
 A floating spar should save. 
 
 Beseems his chance of reaching home 
 
 Is miserably scant : 
 Poor monarch of this burning land 
 
 With fruit luxuriant. 
 
 A stalwart man, he seems in sooth 
 
 For any hardship ripe : 
 Alone, save for his other self. 
 
 His trusty pleasant pipe. 
 
 He saved this solace by a chance. 
 And oft his slender store 
 
 Of slowly-lessening weed he eyes 
 With wistful wish for more. 
 
 For visions in the curling clouds 
 Come like a soothing balm, 
 
 As waves deserted by the wind 
 Fold down into a calm. 
 
 The palm-trees fade, the scene becomes 
 
 His native valley brave. 
 And breaker on the coral-reef. 
 
 White cliff and sounding wave. 
 
154 VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 And lo ! he sees his happy home 
 Within the mystic ring, 
 
 And with the one most dear to him 
 He" holds sweet communing. 
 
 Forget me not ! 'Tis Jenny's form, 
 Her figure there is Hmned ; 
 
 A gentle girl with soft brown hair. 
 Beauty by sorrow dimmed, 
 
 She holds a locket in her hands 
 And a shadowy message sends ; 
 
 Signed with a kiss, sealed with a sigh. 
 And so the vision ends. 
 
 Part II. 
 
 He slept — the solemn hum of night 
 Bequeathed him peace and rest — 
 
 And dreamt he saw a little sail 
 Far dipping in the West. 
 
 It grew and grew, he seemed at last 
 To scale the vessel's deck. 
 
 When all was dark and comfortless, 
 He saw nor ship nor speck. 
 
THE KING OF THE LONELY ISLE. 155 
 
 The cold and silent moon looked down 
 
 Upon the restless deep ; 
 The lonely billows tossed their heads, 
 
 And eddied through his sleep. 
 
 It came and went — a fairy ship, 
 
 Her phantom corslets gleam — 
 His pulses wildly throbbing to 
 
 The torture of a dream. 
 
 Big tear-drops start from careworn heart 
 
 And lie athwart his eyes : 
 *' O, spare me, ' spirits of the night,' 
 
 Such painful fantasies." 
 
 But low and clear there came a voice 
 
 " A pure love pleads for thee, 
 Thy life shall not be saved for naught 
 
 Nor true hearts parted be. 
 
 A joy-light in your Jenny's eyes. 
 
 So wills the Power Supreme — 
 As they were flowers that fed upon 
 
 The dew-drops of your dream." 
 
 So, with the morn, a stately ship 
 Came down the blue expanse 
 
 Of heaving wave, and he awoke 
 To sweet deliverance. 
 
THE CAGED LARK. 
 
 He knew the trees were full in leaf, that flowers were gathering 
 
 fast, 
 And breathlessly he beat his wings against his cage at last ; 
 He had cheered them through the Winter with his soul-inspiring 
 
 strain. 
 In the hope they would release him when the sunshine came 
 
 again. 
 
 But now, poor bird, he had no heart to trill his joyous bar. 
 Though the music of his brethren came floating from afar ; 
 He thought upon their fairy flights, the wonders of the sky, 
 Then gazed upon his prison with a melancholy eye. 
 
 He nestled in his patch of turf — the only earth he knew — 
 And thought upon the happy time when to his boundless view 
 The world itself no larger seemed, so far he'd soared above 
 To rest beside the Sacred Fount of charity and love. 
 
 At eve those well-remembered songs died one by one away. 
 And ere the dew began to fall the thrush had ceased his lay ; 
 But the nightingale that mellow night piped a sad dirge 'tis said, 
 The drooping captive heard it — in the morning he was dead. 
 
AN AUTUMN EVENING, 
 
 In the mellow autumn twilight 
 Sitting 'midst the fading flowers, 
 
 Watching the resplendent river 
 Flowing round the poplar towers, 
 
158 VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 Negligently are we gathered 
 Underneath the weeping ash ; 
 
 And the oars upon the river 
 Pass with modulated plash. 
 
 And the yellow moon is stealing 
 Up a lane of latticed cloud, 
 
 Dropping honey in the river 
 To the grotto Naiads vowed. 
 
 And the stately swans are sailing 
 With a silence on the tide, 
 
 White their shadows in the river 
 As of cloud to snow allied. 
 
 And the sound of rushing waters 
 Faintly falls upon the ear ; 
 
 'Tis the music of the river 
 As it plunges o'er the weir. 
 
 With a sweet and soothing cadence 
 As of all the land above. 
 
 Plies its liquid lures the river, 
 (Like the voice and lute of Love, 
 
 Bait of the enchanting sirens 
 On the charmed Sicilian coast,) 
 
 " Let us paddle up the river," 
 The proposal of our host. 
 
AN AUTUMN EVENING, 159 
 
 Presently the boat is gliding 
 
 To the power of willing arms, 
 Growing nearer on the river 
 
 To those enterprising charms. 
 
 Now the moon adorns the azure 
 
 Like one sail upon the sea ; 
 By the windings of the river 
 
 Brought above the willow-tree. 
 
 Like a flood of molten silver 
 
 Pours the water o'er the weir ; 
 Making whirlpools in the river, 
 
 Frothing to a new career. 
 
 And the sound is loud and splendid. 
 
 As befits a regal stream ; 
 " I am loath to leave the river, 
 
 Let us linger here and dream ! " 
 
 " That's a folly fit for summer 
 
 But the nights are chill and damp ; 
 Mists are frequent on the river. 
 
 And I'm liable to cramp." 
 
 Slowly to the house returning, 
 
 Dies the falling water's tuAe. 
 " I will slumber on the river 
 
 If I see another June. 
 
i6o VAGRANT VERSES, 
 
 Then, if in my head you notice 
 Something strange begin to sing, 
 
 'Tis an echo of the river 
 
 Through my sleep continuing. 
 
 Should an early sunbeam peeping 
 Find me by the sirens slain, 
 
 Let the jury blame the river, 
 Verdict, ' Water on the brain.' " 
 
 But my host is laughing gaily. 
 And my hostess sweetly smiles : 
 
 " While we live upon the river 
 
 Will you scorn our proffered tiles ? " 
 
 Thus the kind and gracious lady, 
 " They, sir, shall your shelter be — 
 
 As for sleeping on the river 
 That is sheer insanity." 
 
 Gentle hearts — I bear away 
 
 Beyond a time-compelled adieu, 
 
 A bright remembrance of the river, 
 A flowing piemory of you. 
 
THE DYING SETTLER TO HIS 
 BETROTHED. 
 
 Ten thousand miles of breaking sea 
 Roll restlessly 'twixt thee and me, 
 I wither on a foreign shore. 
 
 The pang my heart shall undergo 
 Beloved thou shalt never know, 
 Yet thou and I will meet no more. 
 
 Mary, those speeding clouds that sink 
 Beneath the blue horizon's brink 
 Bear messages of love to thee : — 
 
 Hard Fate has mocked me from my birth. 
 And now I look my last on earth 
 And vain delights of sky and sea. 
 
 Farewell ! 
 Ye stately ships with white wings spread ; 
 
 Farewell ! 
 Sad ocean sunset-coloured, 
 
 Farewell soft twilight skies. 
 No more for me the sun shall rise 
 Nor glow in noonday splendour ; 
 To-night sweet love a moonlight tender 
 Shall kiss my sealed eyes. 
 
INCREDIBLE 
 
 I WAS born, of drunken parents, not so far from Seven Dials; 
 Twas near a somethink with a spire — Saint — Thank 'ee, sir- 
 Saint Giles : 
 
INCREDIBLE. 163 
 
 I wasn't much ill-treated — merely punished, so to speak ; 
 Father he wopped me every day, and mother all the week. 
 
 I gambolled in the gutter till my hair grew long and matted ; 
 My head grew hard from frequent knocks — no, it was seldom 
 
 patted : 
 We ain't like those young gents as goes to 'Arrow or to Heton, 
 If we gets tips it is to tell us when we're to be beaten. 
 
 When I grew up I got a little tired of gutter play. 
 
 So took to gambling on the turf in quite another way. 
 
 What did you say, sir ? Did I bet ? Well, yes, sometimes I 
 
 betted. 
 And more than wonst — I won't say how — a tidy plum I've 
 
 netted. 
 
 Did I come by it honestly ? Oh, that's another thing ! 
 I wasn't more deceitful than them chaps inside the ring ! 
 Did I enjoy the sport ? Well — not as much as other men did, 
 'Cos I generally left the course afore the race was ended. 
 
 I gave the odds, and took the odds of being frequent ducked ; 
 
 Into a norsepond. Reverend sir, I've more than wonst been 
 chucked. 
 
 I ask you now, ain't honesty a-written on my feechurs ? 
 
 I say the wiper should be scorched who'd rob his feller- 
 creatures. 
 
 Wot's brought me here ? Wot could it be do you suppose ? 
 
 Wy, Fate ! 
 It's true they called it burglary afore the magistrate. 
 
1 64 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 The facts they told agen me, there wos previous conwictions, 
 Wich the judge he on my Uberty for ten years claps restrictions. 
 
 How wos I cotched ? Wy, by a Blue Of course I never 
 
 dreamt he 
 Wos a spooning in the kitching : I thought the 'ouse wos; 
 
 hempty. 
 He nabbed me in the passidge doin' wot I didn't ought ; 
 From hinformation he received, he stated in the Cort. 
 
 They has me up. Wot say ? Well, yes, I know most London 
 
 docks ; 
 And, Lord ! the lies that female cook told in the vitness-box ! 
 You should have heard that bobby too a svearink black wos 
 
 white ; 
 A stranger would have thought he'd never left his beat that 
 
 night. 
 
 Of blowin' out hisself vith rabbit-pie or mutton biled, 
 That " gargin of the lore " was innocenter than a child ! 
 Of drinking botded hale in that nice commojus willa 
 You had less cause to suspect him than a Hafrican goriller. 
 
 So I've ten years' penal servitood, and wus, sir, in addition 
 Wen I gets out seving years besides of /^-lice superwision ; 
 For, bless your 'art, they knows the likes of hus, both blue and 
 
 plain ; 
 You may be sure it won't be long afore I'm in again. 
 
FOR THE GOOD OF THE CHILD. 
 
 I'm a nurse by profession and choice, 
 
 I was born with a doll and a rattle ; 
 I am charmed by a little babe's voice, 
 
 And I dote on its infantile prattle. 
 My method of treatment I'll own 
 
 Old-fashioned is frequently styled ; 
 But for management let me alone — 
 
 Mine is all for the good of the child. 
 
 If I'm bothered by troublesome boys 
 
 I let the young imps have their way ; 
 (They may suck all the paint off their toys,. 
 
 Then they're ill for the rest of the day). 
 My temper is good, though perhaps 
 
 I may now and then get a bit wild ; 
 Though I'm loath to administer slaps 
 
 It is all for the good of the child. 
 
 If I take my charge out in the damp 
 I may gossip a bit on my road. 
 
 Then it catches rheumatics and cramp,. 
 And its legs get decidedly bowed. 
 
i66 VAGRANT VERSES. 
 
 If we go for a walk in the park, 
 
 By a soldier I'm sometimes beguiled ; 
 
 • And I never reach home till it's dark. 
 Well, it's all for the good of the child. 
 
 If we go for a sail on the sea, 
 
 And the boat by a squall is upset, 
 Why it doesn't much matter to me— - 
 
 I can swim, so I merely get wet. 
 But baby should shift for itself. 
 
 No matter how sweetly it smiled ; 
 If it's drowned — well, there, poor little elf ! — 
 
 It is all for the good of the child. 
 
 I've a fancy for sugar and jam, 
 
 And I steal it when no one is nigh ; 
 (Though there's not a more innocent lamb 
 
 In the whole of this wide world than I.) 
 When mamma fmds her cupboards are bare 
 
 Where her precious preserves had been piled,. 
 Tha.t baby's the thief I declare — 
 
 Well, I must — for the good of the child.. 
 
 A baby will burn to a dot 
 
 If it sits on the fire when it's cold ; 
 If it takes up the poker red-hot 
 
 It will drop it without being told. 
 It may fall from the nursery fiat 
 
 And light on a roof newly tiled — 
 You can never know what they'll be at, 
 
 But it's all for the good of the child. 
 
FOR THE GOOD OF THE CHILD. 167 
 
 Now, mothers, just listen to me — 
 
 If your baby declines to be good, 
 Try my system and I'll guarantee 
 
 It will tame the worst brat of the brood. 
 And if you don't like it at first 
 
 To my method you'll get reconciled ; 
 Just send it to me to be nursed. 
 
 It will be for the good of the child. 
 
TO A MOTH 
 
 Brown beauty with thy silken wings 
 There is without a bird that sings 
 To thy soft hoverings ! 
 
 -O insect too ephemeral 
 To be a pet, however small, 
 The bird comes to my call. 
 
 As your existence mine is 
 Time writes against both 
 

 <^v 
 
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