SONGS AND VERSES. SONGS AND VERSES BY THE LATE HENRY JOriN CROFTON FIRST WEST YORKS. (l4TH> REGIMENT PRIVATELY PRINTED 1890 " f<2 wish here to record our gratitude to Mrs. WYNDHAM PHILLIPS, of Greenroyd, Ripon,for the kind suggestion, help, and advice, which have encouraged and aided us in preparing this book. S. C. AND M. C." 200 proem* THE singer's voice is hushed and still, That, grown to strong maturity, We dared to hope at last might thrill With some high strain that should not die. And we who loved him, dare not claim (Lest love should make us overbold) For him the humblest place and name, In earth's great poet-band enrolled. Yet since his songs to us were dear, And others loved them well beside ; And since he sang from heart sincere, We gather these in love, not pride. Love is no cruel judge or cold ; The dross she counts not, but she finds The gold, though hidden, and some gold Is surely here for loving minds. PROEM. Pity for suffering, grief at sin, Love of all lovely things and fair ; High strivings of the soul within, To read God's presence everywhere. These were his thoughts, these urged his song- Sparks caught from those immortal fires, Whose heat, from age to age along, Each noblest poet-soul inspires. With faulty words, with utterance weak, He strove to sing the pure and good ; And deeper thoughts than he could speak Came to him, dimly understood, And blest him though he had his part In those dark riddles past our ken ; Which needs must vex each human heart That longs for God, and cares for men. Sorrow he knew, yet joyed to live His glad young life on earth, and prize As best, what earth has best to give, Friendship and love's sweet sympathies. PROEM. ix So as strange faces do not scare A happy child who knows but friends Wondering he went, not fearing, where He deemed that life's long riddle ends ; Where (so we think of that hid place) God's Presence, seen in nearer glow, His faltering strains may purge and brace To nobler nights and purer flow. E. Y. TIENTSIN, April 3, 1890. CONTENTS. PAGE DOOR OF THE MIND I AULD LANG SYNE 2 SHIP STREET 4 TREE TALK 6 THE FAIRIES 8 SONG OF THE SICK ROOM IO IN THE STUDIO 12 CHILD-TALK 14 CLEW BAY . l6 TO THE WOOD-PIGEON 19 NOONTIDE . 20 LOST AND WON 22 SONNET 24 WEBS AND WEAVERS . . . . . . . . .2$ THE LIFE OF THE YEAR ........ 26 TO AUTUMN . 27 GREENROYD. TO S. K. P 28 SONNET TO A FRIEND 29 MARRIAGE . 30 xii CONTENTS. PAGE TO MY GODCHILD . . . . . . . . . .31 TO SHELLEY 32 TO WALTER BESANT .34 TO EDGAR ALLAN POE -35 MENLOUGH CASTLE 36 TO THE LIBERAL UNIONIST LEADERS 37 TO THE RIGHT HON. W. E. GLADSTONE 39 TO A POPPY 40 EUREKA 42 TO MYSELF 44 FOUNTAINS ABBEY IN WINTER 45 CROAGHAUN CLIFFS 47 THE INVITATION . 49 RESCUE 52 TO THE SPIRIT OF POETRY -53 LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM 58 THE SCRIBBLER TO HIS PENCIL 59 MY LIBRARY 6l WALK BY A RIVERSIDE 63 GOOD IN EVERYTHING 66 A LOVER TO HIS SWEETHEART 67 FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD .69 LINDA 70 SUNRISE . 85 IN THE BEECH WOOD 86 ANSWER TO "LOCKSLEY HALL SIXTY YEARS AFTER" . . 88 THE CIRCLE 91 CONTENTS. xiii PAGE MUSIC . 92 NATURE AND MAN 93 A CHURCHYARD PATH 95 "CREDO" 97 THE MILITARY MIKADO 99 MAN AND WOMAN 154 "LOOK ON THIS PICTURE AND ON THAT" 158 GARSTON HEARS HIS OWN SONG 160 SEDGE 163- THE LORD MAYOR'S DREAM 165 THE POET AND THE ANGEL 169 LULLABY 170 FRAGMENT 171 ATRA CURA . 172 FRAGMENT 173 LIGHT IN DARKNESS 174 FRAGMENT 175 LINES 176 THE MESSAGE 177 "SPRITE" 178 LINES 179 AT LAST l8o LINES l8l IN MEMORIAM . .183 SONGS AND VERSES. DOOR OF THE MIND. I CLOSED and double-locked the door of mind, For to myself I said, " I see no gain In troublous promptings of a busy brain ; " And so I lived amongst my fellow kind An idle life as empty as the wind, And tried to fill my soul with pleasures vain, Though Sorrow came and knocked thereon with pain Yet I to Sorrow's wistfulness was blind. Lo ! as the days passed on with sullen tide j wearied of my purposeless career, And would have oped the door and thrown it wide ; The lock had rusty grown and out of gear ; Despair grew o'er me ; then a friend comes by ; He turns the key we enter, he and I. AULD LANG SYNE. " RING in the old, ring out the new ; " Thrice welcome back glad days of old, When yet the circle was unbroke, The circle clasped by friendship's gold. Forget, you say, for bygones are But good for memory's gnawing pain ; " The order changeth ; " hail the new, Entomb the old, since it is slain ! Forgotten, broken, changed, ah no ! The thoughts of friendship, firm as death, Are links that form the lengthening chain, That parts but with our parting breath ! For did we hold none dear to us, Did no fond ties our life-strings bind, We'd haste the base cold world to leave, Nor cast a ling'ring look behind. AULD LANG SYNE. " King in the old, ring out the new," Let present fade, let past grow clear : What has been is, what is, is not ; We live in that which we hold dear ! LINES SUGGESTED BY A FRIEND'S SKETCH OF SHIP STREET. A DRUNKEN father, mother scarce Less savage than her mate ; 'Twixt oath and curse unheeded rise A baby's loving prate. Ah ! little curly head that's close Against thy mother prest, Ah ! little dimpled hands that grasp That mother's withered breast I wonder, if as years roll by, Thou too wilt harder grow, And childhood's innocence, sin-choked, Like all the rest, sink low. 4 LINES. " 'Twere better so," the cynic said, " Than that in such a hell, In sadness, born of loneliness, A mind unsoiled should dwell ; " For everything within this world Is fitted to its place, Soft words become the silken-robed, Oaths those of coarser race." I heard ; my spirit vainly rose Against the words of scorn ; I felt the darkness of the night, O God I when comes the morn ? TREE TALK. (LONGFORD.) OH ! I like to think that the trees have tongues, And can freely speak their mind ; When the life is quickened within their leaves, By breath of the busy wind. Then gentleman ash, with his graceful form, And his high imposing mien, Tells me courtly tales of the bygone days, And the fine men he has seen. The chestnut there, with the sycamore tree, Who look like Darby and Joan, With a shake of their heads they tell once more How different life has grown. That cynic-like yew-tree, standing aloof, Far older than all the rest, He says but little, to save his breath, He's got such a weakly chest. 6 TREE TALK. And the graceful limes, with their winning ways, Like ladies of high degree, Can whisper scandal as softly as though, They too drank afternoon tea. Dear old Mother Beech, in the midst of all, A happy and smiling dame, Will placidly babble well, naught that's new ; I'll list to her all the same. THE FAIRIES. I HEAR the rustling of their wings, O'er breezy brake and hollow ; I hear their eery murmurings I hear, but may not follow. And sometimes when the air is clear, In lone and lovely places, I almost see, I do not fear, The fairy forms and faces. The careless folk, they're ever bright, Since they've no conscience present To tell them all they hate is right, And all is wrong that's pleasant. O'er sheeny sward they tripping go, The rippling brook out-laughing ; Their elf song mingling with its flow, Joy from each floweret quaffing. 8 THE FAIRIES. I hear a child's voice now, I think, It too is blithely ringing ; Yet he he stands but on the brink, Nor may be ever singing. " A higher lot to work and strive Is his," I hear yon saying ; " To help the busy human hive." Ah me ! 'twere better playing. SONG OF THE SICK ROOM. WEARY and sick on this summer day, I lie alone in the month of May ; I drag to the window my feeble feet, The window that looks on a dusty street ; And as I look, lo ! the warm west wind Breathes on my brow, till it reach my mind. Blow in the sound of the melody, The undying song of the mighty sea ; Blow in the scent of the heath-clad hills, And cheery plashing of sparkling rills ; Blow in the laughter of rippling lakes, Blow in the poems of wind-swept brakes, The tremulous rustle of fresh green leaves, And twitter of swallows from shady eaves ; The long cool notes of the wood-dove wild, And ringing laughter of careless child ; Blow out the fumes with their vapour dense That cloud and obscure each mortal sense ; 10 SONG OF THE SICK ROOM. n Breathe in the nature of God above, That I may join in the song of Love ; So will this room a palace be, Of sunshine full, and from sorrow free ! IN THE STUDIO. " HERE," quoth H , my sculptor friend, (Pagan he of modern time, Held that faith was at an end, Reason reigned alone sublime.) " Here, in deathless marble, I, Living spirit of the truth, That succeeds the old dead lie, Figure in the form of youth. "Draw the curtain" then I see Image of ideal man, Matchless in its symmetry, Fashioned on a flawless plan. Very strong, with head upraised, Self-sufficient in its pride ; Fascinated, long I gazed, Would, yet could not turn aside. 12 IN THE STUDIO. 13 For of awe and sorrow blended, Deadly chill across me stole ; Very cold it stood, though splendid, Like a God without a soul. Then I spake, " I praise thy skill, Would it had a worthier cause! Noblest corpse, a corpse is still, Better life with all its flaws ! " Friend, if Reason's steady light Hath thy old Faith vanquished, Is this all thy undimmed sight Finds as soul stay in its stead ? " CHILD-TALK. THE jolly children ! in they rush, Each full of most important matter, And, all at once, on different themes Go all the busy tongues a-clatter ! Oh ! blame them not, thou man mature, If heedless seem the words of youth ; For they are coins that, shining, come Straight from the very mint of Truth. They have as yet not lost their gloss, Nor sullied been by dust and grime, But keep their impress unimpaired By friction of the leveller Time. Their authors have not learnt as yet, That words were given thought to hide ; When we, " A weak excuse he made," The children blurt outright, " He lied ! " 14 CHILD-TALK. Then place thou not convention's curb Too tightly on their joyous strife, For ah ! their little wits will soon Be sharpened on the steel of life ! But rather pray the light of truth Within their souls no dimmer grow, But ever burn with stedfast flame, Though tempered to a soberer glow ! CLEW BAY. \ I STAND upon a hill-top that looks down On Westport fair, and still more fair Clew Bay ; The woods are robed in Autumn's sober gown, I stand and watch the dying of the day. To South, Croagh Patrick, like some being grand Yet gentle, all in shifting softness shows His triple-crested mass ; beneath, a golden strand Catches the light, and in its radiance glows. Whilst to the North, weird, sombre, stretch afar Vast barren moorlands, savage in their gloom, Like jealous guards, the glory to debar From that black land of dreariness and doom. The glassy sea is lost far out to West, In web en wove of thousand subtle lines, In midst of which Clare Island lies at rest, Whose whole soft outline purple tints suffuse. 16 CLEW BAY. 17 Ah ! fair Clare Island, by the sunset lit, There's more of heaven than of earth in thee ; Strange formless fancies o'er my spirit flit, Oh, aid me shape them, Muse of Poetry ! Ah ! 'tis some fancy from the realms of dreaming, The summer dreaming of a sinless child, Caught and embodied in its outward seeming, Of island fair, by man all undefiled. Such was the land that our first father trod, In the dim twilight of the dawn of Time ; Mystic with presence of the living God, Ere death had birth ; the first-born son of crime. Strong thoughts from out the depths of soul arise, Piercing the glory of the sun and sea, With keener sight than that of mortal eyes, Through to the presence of the Deity. A little piece from out the wide domain Of heaven, lent awhile to earth below, Which must by earth be rendered back again, Else could not heaven full completeness know. B i8 CLEW BAY. wondrous sunset of a day divine ! living world of changing light and shade ! Give my soul drink of thy celestial wine, So may thy semblance live, though thou shalt fade ! O might the glory of the dying day, Seize all my soul, and bear it far away, To that dim fairy land beyond the sea, The realm of dreamy colour, harmony, Where all is peace, yet all is changing ever. that, trance-lulled, my soul might sink to rest, And wake, not flesh-girt, in the glowing west ; There, heedless of the accidents of Time, Might steep itself in poetry sublime, That from my mortal self should tfanish never. So could I, when from Paradise returned, Pour out the life that through my senses burned, That in the radiance which my words would shed, This earth itself should stand transfigured, And nought from it the light of God should sever ! TO THE WOOD-PIGEON. THROUGH the cool solemn stillness of the woodland glade, The place of stately trees, and interlacing shade, Flows on the soothing sough of thy soft melody, Breathing of restful love's delicious reverie, As if, o'er-filled, the forest's vast mute heart had found A voice to utter forth its thought in fitting sound. With lavish luxury of sadness all the air Is resonant. Oh, monotone of beauty rare, Swell on and on ! Thou best interpreter of love That we earth-dwellers know, all sympathising dove ! Since mortal passion must with sorrow chords be blended, Till life, true life, begins, when life, false life, is ended. 10 NOONTIDE. THE lime tree's curving branches raise A leafy dome above my head ; I watch the sunshine from the shade, A glory o'er the pleasaunce spread. The warm air's laden with the scents That nature's children, friendly vying, Distil for her with lavishness, As tokens of their love undying. The busy hum of insect life, With all its bustling impotence, Makes drowsy music in my mind, That, lulling, brings a calm of sense. Fair fancies, bright as women's smiles, Keep passing through my idle brain, Like sunbeams that elude the grasp, Of baby hands that clutch in vain. 20 NOONTIDE. 21 Oh ! was the poet right who sang, That from some antenatal day, These fleeting thoughts the echoes are, When perfect peace holds mental sway ? Or shall I, as I'd rather hope, Meet with them at some future time, Embodied, glorified, yet friends, To greet me in a foreign clime ? I care not, so they do but flit Unceasing, through my mind at ease ; To-morrow for the work-day world, To-day a dream among the trees. LOST AND WON. BY day it haunted me that vision strange; A vision of a man with upturned head Full of some weighty woe he would not speak ; With power, and with pride of power, writ On every feature of his rough-hewn face, Which showed as though the lineaments had ta'en, (All other utterance to it denied) The impress of the striving soul within ; The eyes unflinching, eagle-wise, were fixed On heaven, as though to force, by right Of equal strength, the truth from out its heart. Yet what a depth of anguish dwelt therein ! The firm lips wreathed back in rigid curve, Whilst all the veins stood bursting from the brow. Yet at the end I heard him phrase his thought, By tension of strong suffering stung to speech ; " Dead, aye so let it be ; this idle prate Of dogma and of complicated creed, LOST AND WON. 23 Which men religion call I need it not, For I as God, will speak alone with God." That vision saw I never more, but once I saw again his image. He, who erst Defiance heavenward had hurled, was now A strong man, broken, bruised, and beaten down ; Between the massive shoulders sunk, the head, Once proudly raised, is bowed low to earth ; I hear the voice again, the same yet changed, " Lord, I believe, help Thou mine unbelief! " SONNET. I LIE within the shadow of the hills, Before me, bath'd in sunshine, slopes the land, Until green meadows yield to yellow strand ; The sea's pale blue the farther distance fills ; Like some great mind, forgetful of life's ills, The mountain, and the meadow, and the deep, Lie in a reverie more blest than sleep, Through all the sun's last benison soft thrills ! 'Tis well for Nature thus to lie at rest, Forgetful of her storms ; Man peace hath none, Unless he shut his eyes, and selfish shun The wail of labour of his fellowkind ; For he who storm-tossed mortals serveth best, Shall know not luxury of restful mind. WEBS AND WEAVERS. DID ever spider, brainless insect, plan A web so clumsy that it should enfold Himself, the architect, therein, and hold Him there so close, that, try he all he can, He here must fret away his life's short span ? Nay, and if any of such spider told, We'd laugh at him, as liar over bold ; And yet how acteth this great creature Man ! Behold how carefully he'll toil and spin, With all the cunning of his higher sense, To coil around his life the ropes of sin, Till all is tangled in a web immense. Oh ! blest if he at last some opening spies, Nor wholly hopeless " curses God and dies ! " THE LIFE OF THE YEAR. THE world is very cold, the winds are keen, But I am young, though weak, and full of hope, And see how soon the buds begin to ope, And winter's white gives way again to green. Now full-leaved trees from sunshine form a screen, With birds the copses and the meadows ring, And Summer hastens on the heels of Spring. I feel a giant, fearless, strong, serene. There comes a subtle change within the air, My limbs all listless are and heavy grown, The trees from day to day are growing bare, The very birds to other climes have flown. Draws Winter on, but hope, by Autumn slain, Avails me not, and I for death am fain. TO AUTUMN. THE wild wind ever waileth overhead, Across the sky the flying scud is blown. Across the paths the faded leaves are strown, From branches all that beautified hath fled, All, all is dying, saving what is dead ; A lurid darkness broodeth over all, Dull, heavy raindrops slowly, sadly fall, Like tears by Nature for her children shed. Within the soul sad memories are rife, Athwart the mind remorse dull shades doth fling. The summer all too soon hath taken wing ; Ere yet it had attained its ripened prime Drew on the autumn of a wasted life. Ah ! hope and pray that spring may come in time ! GREENROYD. TO S. K. P. To hear the swift exchange of merry jest, Each striving friendly still to cap the best ; Or secret entrance to some master-mind From thee, my tutor, yet my friend, to find, And in the holiness of that calm place, Far, far from earth to rest a little space ; Anon in bachelor Bohemian ease, Pipe in your mouth, and whiskey, as you please, To revel in the. freedom of strong thought Till all extremes of life in range are brought ; Or gaze on painted poems till the brain Faint with their gloriousness, for rest is fain, And seeks repose from majesty so grand, In dreams with Dicky Doyle in fairy-land. That's life at Greenroyd in the winter time, Small loss if Yorkshire's an inclement clime ! SONNET TO A FRIEND. MOST sweet is the scent of the full-blown rose, Most musical the tinkle of the rill, And fair the sunset breeze that fans the hill. Yet though I love the water as it flows And each sweet flower that in thy garden blows, And of kind zephyr fain would drink my fill ; There are in life some things I value still, More than each dear delight that Nature knows ; The kind, wise words of one whose mind is great, Yet which will praise my slighter weaker thought, Though while they praise they yet discriminate ; Aye, these to me with truer joy are fraught ; For in such words methinks there do unite, Balm, fragrance, music say, Friend, am I right ? MARRIAGE. YES, they are married ; he hath won a soul That shall reflect each image of his own, Wherein, when mirrored, each is perfect shown. Two lives that were but halves now made one whole, To journey, doubly strengthened, towards their goal ; Oh ! may their future path be rose-o'ergrown, As is this churchyard path with flowers strown, Till Heaven's garden-gates shall backward roll ! So may they love, and by that loving gain, Strong sympathy for those less fortunate, Who may not to their happiness attain ; Nor self-absorbed, for blessings prove ingrate ; For those who hold in life the better part, May others shield from sorrow's frequent dart. TO MY GODCHILD. t. 2 Months. DEAR, tiny mortal, who, in pure white clad, In mother's arms, made strong with love, dost lie, Crowing with glee, thou canst not tell us why, In whose few days there has been nothing sad, Whose feeble mind doth know of nothing bad, For whom time's moments all uncounted fly, Who reckest not of coming by and by ; Be all thy future, as thy present, glad ! And, if that future hath for thee in store Some grains of evil mingled with the good, Mayst thou o'er mortal ills triumphant soar, Till thou, escaped from out this tangled wood, Before thy great Creator stand again, As now, a being without spot or stain ! TO SHELLEY. OH ! far away, the strings of Time, Shall vibrate to his magic touch ; And echo back in chords sublime, His thoughts, who sinned yet suffered much. His burning words the light shall bring, Where germs of thought undreamt of dwell, And herald in the birth of Spring, Like that wild wind he loved so well. How weak my words ! would I could praise Thee in an elegy divine As that verse-temple thou didst raise, Thy friend's fond memory to shrine ! Thou brought'st not heaven down to man, But raised man up on high with thee, Where fleecy clouds the azure span, Where pours the lark his melody. TO SHELLEY. 33 And, though in atmosphere so rare, Our grosser souls can stay not long, Still have we soared in upper air, Upborne on wings of sweetest song. What though beclouded was thy sight, Thou sought'st at least truth's golden ray ; Thy wrong was nearer to that light, Than is the right of most to-day ! NOTE BY AUTHOR. Shelley's mistaken views on religion were nearer to the true spirit of Christianity than are those of many who profess to hold the exact letter of its tenets. TO WALTER BESANT. O TRUE apostle of the modern age. Who wouldst unbar convention's narrow cage, And free the Christian truth imprisoned there, Thou teachest men, that each, besides his soul, Hath yet a duty towards the mighty whole, Must in life's upward struggle take his share ; That true religion meaneth more indeed Than due observances of rightful creed, For care for our own souls is still self-care. Oh ! may thy words throughout the wide world go, To breed strong thoughts that shall to action grow, Till love's green herbage clothe this earth once bare. 34 TO EDGAR ALLAN POE. NOTHING but vague influences, As of starlight on the senses, Canst thou give us with the ringing, Canst thou give us with the swinging, Of thy mystic melody ; Never word or thought of cheering, Never word or thought endearing, Canst thou give us as we listen, Whilst thy songs, like fountains glisten, Faultless in their harmony. MENLOUGH CASTLE. IT was the ending of a late Spring day, Fragrant with perfume of the full-blown May ; How I did love the softness of the scene ! The fresh-mown sward, a daisy- sprinkled green, The graceful trees, with foliage new-born, That fringe the edges of the level lawn. Beauty environs me on every side, For to the left, tranquil, and deep, and wide, The river flows with twinkling undertone, Whilst to the right, its bulk, half-overgrown With ivy, lo ! the castle brave upheaves, Upon whose massive stones, in place of leaves, Old Time, the mighty chronicler, doth trace The varied story of an ancient race. Far in the west a faint red lingers still, O'er fairy wilderness of cloud and hill, So merged, that human eye may scarcely find Where heaven begins, and earth is left behind. Thus is it with the legends of old days, Myth with truth mingled in a twilight haze. 36 TO THE LIBERAL UNIONIST LEADERS. WHO now, midst tales of party strife, Of quest for pelf, and quest for place; Of cynic sneers at honest men, As laggards in the ignoble race ; Of praise of those who, tongue in cheek, Pose to the world as saints indeed, While puppets call their very vice, A virtue, so it but succeed ; Ah ! who shall England now acclaim, As worthy of her hallowed name ? The men who would not bow the knee, Nor bate one tittle of the right, Though he, arch-tempter of these days, Against them marshals all his might ; All, all in vain his fiercest threats, Old friendship's pleas, and sophist snares, These men who heard but conscience' voice, Were deaf alike to wiles and prayers ; 37 38 TO THE LIBERAL UNIONIST LEADERS. Such England hails with one acclaim, As worthy of her hallowed name. Oh I may some good from evil come, And Britons know as staunchest friends, Those men who seek the public weal, And reck not of their private ends. Not those who sway with each wild gust, And servile bow before each craze, Of dimly-seeing multitudes, Base panders of these modern days ; May England these with one acclaim, Hold all unworthy of her name. TO THE RIGHT HON. W. E. GLADSTONE. AYE, so you thought yourself sublime, A man, yet greater than mankind ; A god to feel the pulse of Time, And rule a people by your mind. Things changed there were who loudly railed, And laughed your plans, your deeds to shame ; And yon ? You like a craven quailed, For place you sold an honoured name ! " So let me lead, but lead/' you cried ; " I, honour, truth, will cast away ; So I but head the rising tide, That flowing tide I will not stay." But there were men, aye, men indeed, Who thee, their trait'rous leader, spurned ; Proved they at least were true at need, And stemmed the tide that since has turned. 39 TO A POPPY. I TAKE it in my hands, and muse awhile, A flower, a little thing, yet how it brings Before my eyes a memory and joy, The memory and joy of better things. The memory of days of summer sun, Of shade slow-spreading o'er the meadows green ; The joys of life, unquestioningly felt, Through boyhood's rosy-tinted glasses seen. The memory of friendship that but grew, As I have seen twin trees grow intertwined, Till one scarce knew which bough each parent claimed, So close the thoughts of mind akin to mind. The joy, whose sweetness may not wholly die, Born of the consciousness of love's first dawn ; The elements of pain therein unknown, Ere clouds had robbed the glory from the morn. 4 o TO A POPPY. 41 The memory and joy of all that was Before life's stream was narrowed in its course, By the steep cliff of circumstance confined, And lost in smoothness, what it gained in force ! Ah, yes ! 'tis well to turn awhile apart, From this cold world of calculating scorn, And linger o'er the days that show through life, Like poppies glowing through a field of corn. Mellow, as music o'er the waters sound, The happy voices of the bygone time, When smoothly flowed the syllables of life, And day did answer day in easy rhyme ! EUREKA. IT is in truth a link with God, The very keystone of His plan, That inner heart which all men bear, All worthy of the name of man. It may be, he shall know it not, And heedless wage the worldly strife, Until some sudden sorrow strike Down to the very roots of life. Or else, perchance, a woman's love Shall prove his being's master-key, And turn the jealous lock which guards The human jewel's secrecy. The language of the deeper truths, That lies beneath these outer things, He knows of, though he speak it not, Till fuller light death's advent brings. 42 EUREKA. 43 Like rain it lays the dust of life, And helps the bud break into bloom, Which else had perished out of sight, Lost in convention's stifling gloom. TO MYSELF. OH ! sit thee down, bid care begone, And take another pull at life ; The tankard is not empty yet, Dull brooding makes a sorry wife. I grant thee that thou art a fool, And that thy eyesight is so strong, That, all unlike to other fools, Thou need'st must know there's something wrong. But be a man ; if thou canst not, Why make thy fellows think thou art, For so a man thou mayst become, And have no need to play a part. 44 FOUNTAINS ABBEY IN WINTER. BARE the head and bend the knee, This is God's own home ; Other roof it needeth none Than the sky's great dome ! Snowy rime the old walls rims With a tender care ; Like a link 'twixt Earth and Heaven Stands the tower fair. There the great east window holds, In its perfect frame, Vista limitless of blue That no cloud shapes shame. Surely inspiration's writ Not in books alone ; God sometimes His spirit breathes Into works of stone. 45 46 FOUNTAINS ABBEY IN WINTER. For I feel this temple, raised By the monks of old, Tells, with gospel tongue, the truth That the Scriptures hold. CROAGHAUN CLIFFS. IN distant Achill, land of mist and moor, Of ocean-ravaged cliffs and stormy skies, We wandered, he and I, while all the isle Showed desolate and weird, its mountain heights, Cloud-topped, were wholly hidden from our view ; And the dense moisture of the heavy day Into our souls had slid insensibly. With aimless effort we began to climb The steep brave slopes of Croaghaun facing west, A rock-built rampart 'gainst Atlantic surge. Breathless at length we reached the mountain's crest, And rested there ; hoping perchance a breeze, Of evening born, might chase the clouds away. Still all was dense, and we had turned to go, When suddenly my friend cried out " Look there ; " I looked, and through the murk, lo ! far below, A pinnacle of light; then " Look" again he cried, For now, through all the clouds, another world Was visible, a world of light and life, 47 48 CROA GHA UN CLIFFS. Of sea and sun, that widened as we watched, And nearer grew, till, the whole mist updrawn, Both worlds were merged in one harmonious whole ; As at the last this world shall be absorbed In the effulgence of the world to come. From crag to crag the glory sprang, and each Transformed from barren stone to burnished gold ; And up and up it leapt, till all was clad In gorgeousness of glittering panoply, From wave- washed base to brow. To north and south The mighty line of cliff stretched far away, Streaked here and there by mist-wreaths that remained, Like lagging stragglers of retreating force ; Here making headway bold against the sea, There yielding slowly, by relentless strength Of tyrant foe bent backward evermore. The whole vast front was thunder-scarred and torn, With thousand wounds by cruel storm and wave ; Now every wound, bathed in the sunshine's balm, Shone glorified. And so we gazed, until (The great sun sinking 'neath the ocean's rim) We turned and silently went down the hill. THE INVITATION. (Not after Shelley.) OH, my home beneath the mountains It is fair ! There the palm-trees tower stately, There the cedars stand sedately, There is sound of flowing fountains In the air ! There are pleasant walks for lovers 'Neath the shade ; There are dainty flowers growing, There are roses ever blowing, Hidden haunts that none discovers, For a maid ! There are lofty hillsides showing Through the trees, On whose sides let us be straying 49 D 50 THE INVITATION. When the setting sun's delaying, And the soft light airs are growing Into breeze. See how clouds each other follow O'er this scene ; Quit this land so dull and dreary, Quit this life so sad and weary, Flying southward like the swallow, Come, Eveleen ! I'm no swallow to be flying Southward, Sir! When the winter time was ended, On my swift wide wings extended, To the North I would be hieing, If I were ! Oh, my love it is unbounded, Fair Eveleen ! I will load thee with my kisses, Smother care itself in blisses, Thou shalt live by joy surrounded, Like a Queen ! THE INVITATION. 51 But she answered, laughing lightly, This Eveleen, I would sooner care, than blisses That were paid for by my kisses, So I must decline politely To be Queen ! RESCUE. A CLIFF above, a boiling sea below, She stands the waters rising sure though slow. She speaks no words, but with her eyes she prays, Eyes searching heaven with a piteous gaze ! A voice of horror, then brave words of hope ; An awful pause she grasps the knotted rope. A lover's arm around her far below The waters rising, rising, sure though slow ! TO THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. THOU, my ruler yet my friend, Once more thy willing aid I seek, For lacking it, my grateful praise, Which I would give to thee, were weak. Thou, when chaotic thoughts within Are heated by the brain fire's rage, Dost bid the molten stream pour forth, And cool to words upon the page. Thou siftest metal from the dross, And form'st it into ordered plan, And smoothing off the jagged edge, Dost fit it to the sense of man. 'Tis thou, who, when the heart is sick, Oppressed by self-created care, Dost bid us lift our souls, and quit The falser for the truer air. 53 54 TO THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. Oh, grant me now a stronger sight, To pierce through all this life to thee ; So I may catch a transient glimpse, Of thy bright immortality ! My prayer is heard ; the veil is raised, My human eyes bedazzled swim ; Before the glories I behold, The grandest scenes of earth grow dim. Beyond the dim blue mountain range, Behind the setting of the sun, There is the far-off fairyland, Where joy is all, and care is none. There is nor land nor ocean there, But all around, beneath, above, Is woven out of silken film, In hue and texture soft as love. And as a new-made mother's thoughts Are of a twofold love combined, The old fond love still fonder grown, With new-found love of babe entwined ; TO THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. 55 So there the firmament and air Are mingled in a close caress, And through them both one spirit breathes Of everlasting tenderness ! There all suffused is with scent, Of flowers sweeter than the rose, Which ever bloom, since summer there Doth not in deadly autumn close. And in that Eden unalloyed, The sinless song-notes have their birth, Which are by unseen fairies taught To all the tuneful birds of earth. There softest breezes too are born, The wooing airs of summer eve ; And brightest beings ever move, With footsteps that no footprints leave. For there the beauties of the earth, Fair living forms do symbolise ; And essences of highest thought Appear in winged angel-guise. 56 TO THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. And thou art there, more rich, by far, In beauty's magic majesty, Than all the rest, who but reflect The splendour that is shed from thee ! Thy God-like brows are wreathed round With coronal of living flame, Thy deep eyes as the ocean are For ever changing, yet the same. Thy wondrous limbs, though veiled, glow Through clinging draperies' foam-like haze, Whence gems, more darkly luminous Than sapphire, dart their mystic rays. Thy fingers sweep a golden lyre, And as they pass the chords along, Brought back to life by music's spell, Vague blissful memories o'er me throng. And thou o'er all dost reign as Queen, And on the sunbeam's shaft dost send, Or on the coursers of the air, Thy subjects, mortals to befriend. TO THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. 57 But most in visions by the night, What time the earth clouds from us flee, They come, unsullied by the dust, Clad all in fragile fantasy. Fain would I sweep the cobwebs thence That cloud my mind with films of sin, That they alone should enter there, That they alone should dwell therein ! Full well I know, 'tis all unfit Such heavenly guests to entertain, Yet do I hail their visits rare, As parched flowers hail the rain. So, great Spirit, bid descend Thy hope-shod messengers once more, To gild the tarnished tenement, And make it brighter than before. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. BY ripple and rustle of brooks and trees, Through bracken bending 'neath freshening breeze, Where the golden gorse with the heather meets, In Nature's lovely and lone retreats, We'd wander heedless, or lie at rest, Afar from the world, in some cosy nest ; Ah ! 'twas a time of love's sunniest weather, When heaven and earth were so near together, And life was sweet as the song of a bird, Or murmur of leaves by the light winds stirred ! The birds still twitter, the breezes blow, Bright shines the sun as it did long ago, But love, the medium translating all, Lies shattered, broken, gone beyond recall ! Bright was his coming, it gladdened the sky, It moistened the heart-strings like dew from on high ; Though the freshness pass, and the glory wane, I have joyed in the spring-time I may not complain ! 58 THE SCRIBBLER TO HIS PENCIL, DOWN patters the rain On the window-pane, Shrill whistles the wind Like mischief behind ; I care not a rap, My pencil and I, Their pranks can defy, By the bright fireside, We, cosy, deride Whatever may hap. Shout, blustering wind ; 'Tis weather more kind My pencil paints true ; A sky that is blue, And trees clad in green, And light breezes play With clouds white as whey, 59 60 THE SCRIBBLER TO HIS PENCIL. And birds on the boughs Hold loving carouse, A sweet summer scene ! The leaves they may die, Birds southwards may fly, The bright sky be lost, In clouds tempest-tossed, My pencil remains ; And whilst he's my friend The summer won't end, So wind shriek on still, Friend Rain pour thy fill On the window panes. MY LIBRARY. (Wish it was.) COLERIDGE, SHELLEY, SHAKESPEARE, TENNYSON, HEREWARD THE WAKE AND HYPATIA, JACK HINTON, LORNA DOONE, KING SOLOMON'S MINES. HERE'S moody Coleridge all his love outpours, Human yet mystical, in liquid flow, For he " full deep of honey-dew hath fed/' And doth the secrets of the dream-world know. Here Shelley shoots his arrow, tipt with fire, That out of heaven once Prometheus stole, Piercing through all the commonplace of life, Right to the inner man, its final goal. And here is one, who head and shoulders stands E'en over these, majestic though they be, Shakespeare, to whom his brother poets are As finite time is to Eternity ! 61 62 MY LIBRARY. Ah ! here is Tennyson, our own, who holds, With steady hand, the keen yet searching light, That shows us all the land before unknown, That wraps our loved ones in its restful night. And Kingsley, who a woman's soul combined With sterling manliness, an union rare ! And laughter-loving Lever, whose mad mirth Is secret antidote to dull old Care. My Lorna too, I could not well without, And her brave yeoman John, the strong and leal ; And this wild tale of treasure-land, which doth, Each time I read therein, fresh gems reveal. A goodly company ! Yet, this is truth, Five pounds hath purchased all the lot and more ; And yet there are who say this life's but dull, To all save him who riches hath galore ! WALK BY A RIVERSIDE. A SUNNY late spring day, A path o'erhung with may, A dream of wood and water, thorny brake and fern-draped dell, With mossy nooks where fairies, fearless of man's footsteps, dwell ; Through which, with merry song, Hurries a brook along, To pour its very self at length into a greater stream, An offering all complete as e'er found text for preacher's theme. Here primroses abound, And all the air around, Laden with subtle scents from thousand lovely flowers distilled, Is with the fragrant breath of quick'ning spring-time's children filled. 63 64 WALK BY A RIVERSIDE. Past isles of sedge and reed, Where wary wild-fowl breed, The river swiftly hastens on, till hilly woodlands yield, To shallow banks, and level stretch of daisy-whitened field. Where broad-leaved lilies grow With lazy, sluggish flow, It opens out and wears awhile the semblance of a lake, Ere narrowing banks, and steeper fall, the drowsy waters wake. Now all is 'wildered whirl, And broken striving swirl, While 'midst the turmoil, scattered boulders fruitless contest wage, Smooth worn by friction of their foe's resistless, restless On victory follows rest, On tempest, quiet blest ; The rapids past, deep silent reaches shine with softened gleam, Tree-fringed, as love-lit eyes through long dark lashes beam. WALK BY A RIVERSIDE. 65 Yet once again the hush Is broken by the rush Of tumbling waters' tumult telling of an unseen weir, A long white streak, a mist of spray, they fall and dis- appear ; Then, lost to sight, pursue Their way ; fair stream, adieu ! GOOD IN EVERYTHING. " WHY such eyes in such a face ? Wasteful Providence to place Treasures in such hideous frame ; Justly Providence we blame." So they spake ; he answered them " Why begrudge the toad his gem ? Or a weed dew-diadem ? Nothing else to prize have they ; Would ye take what is away ? What is fittest food for scorning Sure has need of most adorning ! If a mind be dark within, Shall no light yet dwell therein ? God has mercy this His sign, Rays in darkest places shine ! Ptather thank Him than repine, Seeking of His loving-kindness, Pardon for your selfish blindness. 66 A LOVER TO HIS SWEETHEART, ON HER ASKING HIM TO WRITE AN ODE TO HER GARDEN. How can I sing of flowers fair When thou art there ! Thou, whose live loveliness of face Exceeds their grace, As doth this glowing rose divine The rest outshine. I could not sing of summer sky If thou wert nigh, For in thine eyes I see a hue Of softer blue ; But since, my queen, 'tis thy behest, I'll do my best. Rose, dear rose, by far the sweetest Blossom thou that eyesight greetest, If she place thee in her hair (Oh ! how blest if thou be there), 6 7 68 A LOVER TO HIS SWEETHEART. Whisper with thy fragrant breath " Love, he loves thee to the death ! " Graceful lily, lifting up Delicate and snow-white cup, Murmur, as she passes by, " Love, his love is pure as I." Tender little violet, With the dew of morning wet, If thou haply find a place On her bosom's snowy grace. Tell her " though I'm near thy heart, Thou to his far nearer art." Flowers all in prayer combine, That she yield her heart to mine. Ladylove, these verses take, Keep them ever for my sake. As for merits, they have one, Truer words wrote poet none. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD, WOE is me ! the thought has fled, Blatant Gossip killed it dead. Oh, I know a hidden lair, I will straightway hie me there. Never yet the prying wind Could its secret entrance find ; There the ivy leaves grow white, There but curious rays of light Pierce the network overhead, All is still as are the dead. There I'll lie until my brain, Tranquillised, can build again Palaces of fairer form Than were wrecked by babble's storm. Out of self, like spider, spinning Thinnest threads of thought's beginning, Till a fairy fabric rise, Set in frame of summer skies. 6 9 LINDA. PART I. IN lovely luxury of languor lapped, The Lady Linda grew from bud to bloom, A gently nurtured daughter of the plain ; 'Midst all soft things most soft and delicate She lived, and knew that she was beautiful, And joyed therein, and joying cared to know Of nothing more. As for the love of man Of which her fellows spake, she needed none, With all its vain perplexings to becloud The perfect azure of her cloudless life, Which had no history, because therein Had neither grief, nor joy, nor strife upraised Their monuments to mark the passing days. It was the hour when balmy summer eve Faints slowly in the soft caress of night ; 70 LINDA. 71 The Lady Linda in her bower sat, Her bower graced by her own sweet device With all fair blossoms that delight the eye, Or waft sweet odour to the sense of man ; The pillars were all tenderly clothed round With twining clematis, the lustrous-eyed ; Here lilies proffered loving-cup of dew, And there grew roses that out-flush'd the dawn With varying plenitude of blended tints ; And from the trellised roof above, down hung Fair passion-flowers, motionless and mild. 'Twas then that first he came into her life, The strong-limbed stranger from the mountain land, Upon whose face rough weather and hard toil Had set their seal, yet had not wholly robbed The beauty thence, and had in no wise dimmed The flashing lustre of the deep-set eyes. 'Twas then, when she was in the pleasant land, The pleasant land of maiden's sunny dreams, Tuned to the music of the fountain nigh, His footfall broke the spell, his voice deep-toned Besought her pardon for his presence there ; " Yet," quoth he, " Lady fair, the night draws on, 72 LINDA. And I, footweary, have mista'en my way, And fain would ask for shelter and repose." Then she, uprising, had it in her mind To speak him scornfully, and bid him thence ; But, whether by his courtesy constrained, Or by some other feeling, who can tell ? She changed her purpose ere it found a voice, And beckoned him to follow her within. Nay, more, she called her maids, and bade them set Choice dainties and rare wines before him there, And bade him stay the night. To them she said, " Lo ! he hath travelled far and needeth rest." Nor was he loth to tarry there the night, Nor loth to linger on through many days In that fair land of all luxurious ease ; Where through the dreamy days kind Nature filled The spaces of their lives with soft delights ; For, as he lingered, lo ! o'er all his soul Love's music burst, and bathed the world in light. But she as yet in maiden innocence, But held him as a friend with whom 'twere sweet To dally 'neath the trees in hot noontide, Or hold calm discourse in the evenings long, LINDA. 73 The cool long evenings Nature deems so fair, She scarce can close them with the kiss of night. For as he spoke she felt his words disclose A whole new world unwotted of before ; Anon to lighter themes he'd turn his speech, But still whatever thoughts his tongue might frame, Or grave, or gay, his eyes looked only love. Now as she walked with him, she felt the dawn Of some new life, vague yet and undefiled, Grow up mysteriously within her soul, Till, as she gazed upon his eyes, behold The new-born passion leapt from out of them, And smote into her soul, until she felt A fire, fire-kindled, start to being there, And neither feared nor joyed, that it was born ; Since she, deep-rooted in luxurious ease, By long indulgence, would not aught were changed. But he, who by the light of love beheld The bright reflection of his spirit's glow, Spake thus with burning words precipitate : " Queen, who hath usurped my life's estate Before whose throne I, who to no man bow, Bend humbly now, oh ! hear and grant my prayer ! 74 LINDA. ' Give me as recompense of thine, thy heart, And come with me across these mountain walls, That fence this narrow valley, till we gain The wider world, where we a wider life, By love's strong union fortified, shall lead. Queen, love, life-blood, come ! for I must hence ! " Then, all her being trembling as she spoke, She answered back, scarce wotting what she said, " Oh strange indeed to humbly call me Queen, And bend thy knee to me, yet, like a slave, To bid me follow where thy whim may lead. What, I, the Lily of the Valley, I, Who would all roughnesses and all constraints, For ever banish far from thought and sight, To thread with thee strange labyrinths of wood, To scale steep heights, fit haunts for shaggy goats, But which the boldest man might fitly shun ! Enough, the thought, were't not a source of mirth, Of such strange things had well nigh angered me ; Go thou thy way, since there it is, not mine ! " Thus far her pride ; then woman's love o'erleapt Its self-raised barriers, " Ah, stay, my love," With eyes uplifted and with pleading voice LINDA. 75 She cried, " Ah, stay with me, while life is life ; And we will wander through these pleasant woods, Where the glad music of the sparkling brooks Shall aye accompany our careless thoughts ; For as the buds unfold to perfect prime So shall our hearts expand from day to day ; So life shall be true love, untroubled love. I dare not go, but do thou rather stay, By these sweet winding streams beneath the trees ; Here let us dwell alone, for are we not Sufficient to each other, if not so I hold thou dost not love me as thou say'st ! " One moment all irresolute he stood, And e'en had stooped to touch her upturned lips, And thus forget his manhood in a kiss ; Then, shamed, he steeled his heart and answer made, " Nay, child, I love thee, fain would do thy will, But there are those who look to me for help, Whom to desert were base ingratitude, And thou thyself would surely love me less, If thus I left my duty for my wish." Then conscious of her weakness, feigning strength, She spake him proudly, " Sir, 'tis better thus, 76 LINDA. For he who leaves me so can love me not. And so they parted, but the waters still Made gentle music through the silent woods. Now when she reached her bower once again, And saw how desolate it looked and lorn, Which late had seemed an earthly paradise, Kemorse despite herself crept o'er her mind, " And wherefore did he come to break the rest, And even tenour of my maiden life ? And wherefore planted he within my heart Strange thoughts of love to grow with none to cull ? Oh, fool to sorrow, rather joy that he Hath left thee free to live, as 'twas of yore, Thy life unhampered by the will of man." So spake she in her effort to subdue Anger against herself, 'neath wrath for him ; Yet love once born can never wholly die, Since e'en the bitter winds of keen regret Do rather stimulate than check its growth, And pride, the pride of self, it laughs to scorn. So day by day she wandered through the woods, And listened to the cooing of the dove, LINDA. 77 Whose song-notes brought no solace to her soul, But rather mocked her with their plaint of love, Until all pride was melted in her heart, And all resentment into sorrow changed. Yet 'twas a change that told her all the truth ; For after many days there came to her The one of all her maidens deemed most true, One who was less a servant than a friend, Telling in broken accents how she loved, And so must leave her for a lover's arms, Quitting a palace for a humble cot. Then she, the Lady Linda, kissed the maid, And praising her fond courage bade her go, Who marvelled, fearing bitterest reproach. But had she seen her mistress left alone, With golden-clouded head bowed humbly down, While bursting sobs shook all her slender frame, She had been filled with greater wonderment. " Aye, she, the pampered favourite, can leave All that is soft and beautiful in life, Quitting a palace for a humble cot, When he, her peasant lover, bids her come ; But thoo, the daughter of heroic race, 78 LINDA. Thou fool, thou worse than fool, for aye has lost Him, who stooped down to honour thee, ingrate, With free bestowal of his priceless love, Because a passing roughness thee dismayed, Thee Thee, the feeble one, who might have dwelt Within the haven of his strong man's heart Until thy littleness was lost therein ! Ah, cruel Nature, wherefore didst thou plan So fair a frame for such a worthless soul ! Ah ! why this outward perfectness of form, Since it is rendered wholly purposeless By reason of the feeble soul within ? Oh winds speed swiftly with my prayer to him, That he return and take me where he list ! Oh vain, vain, vain to charge ye with my plaint, For he, whose passion made him yield awhile His senses captive to the charm of sight, Shall, now that reason hath resumed her sway, But hold in less account the real self. Ah, reckless fool ! to sever at one blow Love's tender tendrils twined with soft caress Around the whilom barrenness of life ! LINDA. 79 Oh ! why hath the thrush this morn, In his song-notes ta'en Such joyance again ? Oh ! why are the scents upborne From the flowers gay Doubly sweet to-day ? Why doth the wind through the corn Now breathe such delight In its whisperings bright ? The thrush he hath viewed him afar, Ere the death of the morning star ; And the wind it hath scarce outsped Him who hastens with eager tread ; And the opening flowers have heard The song of the wind and the bird ; So the thrush and the flowers and the wind, Are all three in one joy combined! 8o LINDA. PART II. The days passed on, but brought no change to her ; The days passed on, but sorrow did not pass ; For her morn, noon, and night were all as one ; The ache of loneliness benumbed her soul, That seemed as dead within its living frame. And so the long, long summer lingered on, Till autumn, struck through all the massive green, Her sunset hues of crimson and of gold ; Next winter stretched his frosty fingers forth, And nipped the leaves, and stripped the branches bare, Gagging with icy bonds the noisy streams, And hushed the carols of the birds on high. One only voice hath he not strength to kill, The voice of keen remorse which cannot die. Now winter's white gives way again to green, And earth's glad voices hail the birth of spring, And all her children drink the draught of hope ! All, all save one ; for spring can bring her none, Whose only hope is death's deliverance ! So spring passed by, and summer reigned again. LINDA. 8 1 That morn, the morn that ushered in for her, Not one poor day alone, but second life, She felt vague influences draw her forth From out her chamber, ere the household yet Had shaken off the kindly bonds of sleep. O'er grass, dew laden, by the light winds fanned, She sped, light-footed, why, she dared not say (For hope oft dies if judged at reason's bar), Toward that fair bower where he met her first ; And all the birds sang greeting as she sped, And all the leaves, breeze-voiced, whispered low. She nears the spot, she hears the heart-beat stop A tread, his tread she dare not lift her eyes, And yet she feels the passion of his gaze Burn through her being to the soul within ; No need to question now, " Love, wilt thou come ? " No need to speak, for eyes have answered eyes, Ere voice found words to frame the heart's strong thought, And lips in one long kiss have sealed the deed. All through the morn, and through the long hot noon, He rested there, for he had need of rest, 82 LINDA. And she bent o'er him, gaining from his strength New strength to nerve her for the coming toil ; But when the long cool shadows from the trees Began to lengthen on the dewy grass, They rose, and set their faces toward the hills. So through the garden fair, 'neath gracious trees, Whose leaves the breezes stirred to soft lament, Through yellow corn-fields ripening into prime, She went with him on to the distant hills : Nor murmured she, although rough labyrinth Of stunted scrub, with tangled undergrowth, And black morasses, wild fowl tenanted, Who with shrill cries made horror resonant, And stubborn-bristled heather, took the place Of trim-kept sward and sea-shell gravelled paths. So upward, ever upward, till they reached The grim grey granite barrier, whose walls, Facing the northward, fastnesses of shade, Frown'd down upon the sunset plain that stretched, Content in harvest riches, unto where The white-lipped billows kissed the golden strand, A sweet soft dream of water, wold, and wood, On which she gazed, and sighed, and turned away, LINDA. 83 But shuddered then, beholding those grim cliffs, And all her heart grew frighted in her breast ; Yet as she felt her weakness born again, She looked into his eyes, and as she looked, Her will, love-fed afresh, was fortified. Then he, with one strong arm around her pressed, Spoke words of love and comfort soft and low. So through the dark they climbed the pathless steep, Until, ere dawn, they reached the topmost crag ; And here they rested weary limbs awhile, Until the great sun, chasing far the rnist, O'er all the southern land the glory burst ! A land more populous, more rich in trees, Where wider rivers rolled with fuller stream, More bright than gardens smiling back the dawn, Than that fair land which they had left behind. From out the greenness of that rich plain, rose A marble palace, now all crimson flushed, Thereto he pointed " Love, behold my home." " Oh love ! who left a pleasant life, To face for me a world of strife, To face a world with troubles rife, Now art thou proved truest wife, 84 LINDA. And I who led thee hardest ways Will smoothe for thee the coming days. " Beyond the night, beyond the sea, In lands of hope and memory, In lands of fadeless fantasy, A land that holds but thee and me, We two will stay, till God's behest Doth call us to His perfect rest ! " SUNRISE. UP sprang the sun, golden red, From his bed, Bursting with night through the shrouds Of the clouds ; And the shadows of night fled away From the day ; And life-giving light once again The darkness hath vanquished and slain ! Oh, would that the sun, golden red, Could but shed Some light from his great heart divine Into mine ; So sorrows that hold life in thrall Might down fall, And gladness triumphant arise, And drive forth the clouds from the skies ! IN THE BEECH WOOD. THE cuckoo's calling, calling, The shadow's falling, falling Athwart the beech en boles ; Sly rabbits from their holes Peep cautiously, wide-eyed, Around on ev'ry side, Grown bolder, venture on with ambling gait. Falls down from far above, The coo of the dove, as he calls his mate, Full of rest and of love ; And where the water's silver glancing gleam Fringes the mead and wood, The large-eyed kine, knee-deep in cooling stream, All idly stand and brood. One moment falls a hush, Then pours the joyous thrush Up to heaven his voice, Bidding the woods rejoice ; 86 IN THE BEECH WOOD. 87 Now loud, now low, his note, Swells out from speckled throat. A low wind whistles through the trees, And murmurs soft applause, Ere rooks, home coming on the evening breeze, Have drowned it in their caws ; Filling with noisy clangour all the sky ; They, one by one, to rest Sink too, and all the woodlands lie Lapt in night's silence blest. ANSWER TO "LOCKSLEY HALL SIXTY YEARS AFTER." WHAT, the past is dead, but darker do the clouds of future lower ? Who are we to gauge Time's movements, creatures of the passing hour ? Sixty years ago 'twas Progress, I myself will lead the van , Now "what vantage ground have gained we?" Sixty years, a paltry span In the history unmeasured of the human race shall be, Other men shall see millennium, though 'tis hid from thee and me. Wrong there is, and wrong there will be, tide of sin will ebb and flow, Sunshine yield full oft to shadow, yet the days shall brighter grow. 88 ANSWER TO LOCKSLEY HALL. 89 Good there is, and good is gaining, though but slowly yet it gains, Can we see the oak-tree growing ? Yet it greater girth attains. All the woe and want thou wailest, ever was, though out of sight, Is it not a small step onward, that 'tis now exposed to light? Tis the age, thy jeremiad tells us in a doleful strain, When our virtue and our manhood have succumbed to vice's reign. Eather 'tis the age when statesmen sooner quit the spoils of strife, Sever all the ties of friendship, friendship lasting half a life, Than do wrong against their conscience, than do wrong against the State, Sooth their voices are not deadened by the gutter-patriot's prate. 90 ANSWER TO LOCKSLEY HALL. 'Tis the age when prince and noble merchant join in holy guild, For the joyless sons of labour palace of delight to build. All our race is sinking downward, dying of a slow decay. All our race ? Nay, is a flock lost, if a few sheep go astray ? Living men there are who never bowed the knee before the fane Of Lubricity, nor branded are with hateful brand of Cain. Youth is fretful, age is jaundiced, hadst thou wrote this in thy prime, Thou hadst surely known and owned that, both in past and future time, There are signs and landmarks certain of a God-directed plan; Backwards look then, aye and forward, upward's still the march of man ! Upwards not without a stumble, not with lightsome leap and bound, But with paces slow and weary, toward the mount with glory crowned ! THE CIRCLE. ARISE and sing of nobler things, Let thought fly forth on stronger wings ; Because thy weakness thou hast found, Dost think the world no longer round ? I hold this little thing called man Is but a trifle in the plan. He breatheth, boasteth for a while, He praiseth or he doth revile, Yet all the time the heavens smile. With solemn impotence he strives To read the riddle of our lives ; With strange assurance he will say (This little thing of conscious clay), That God Eternal is not that, But this ; he hath his lesson pat ; And then he moulders into dust. God will forgive, since He is just ! 91 MUSIC. You say that music's but an art, A pleasant wile for idle hours, That in man's life it plays no part, 'Tis fit alone for beauty's bowers ! Oh, friend, to pity thee I'm fain, For help and stay from it I gain. My brain is dull, obeys me not, I cannot write the thing I would, I strive with all the strength I've got, I will awake, I wish I could ; Floats back to me some soft refrain, I rouse me to my task again. I think of life as life might be, I think of life as life is now, I yield me to despondency To ugly thoughts my mind I bow ; Lo ! David smites the harp amain, And drives the demons from my brain. 92 NATURE AND MAN. WHY wailest thou, mournful wind, What sorrow aileth thee ? Or what the meaning of thy moan, Thou all triumphant sea ? Oh ! mourn ye that the leaves are dead, By cruel winter slain ? Or that the sun the sullen clouds But strives to pierce in vain ? Answer me, answer me, sob of the sea ! Answer me, answer me, wail of the wind ! We weep not that the leaves are dead, For they shall live again ; Nor that the skies are dark, for they Shall soon be free 'from stain ; We sigh for human honour lost, And sorrow born of crime ; The fading of the bloom of life Ere yet it reached its prime. 93 94 NATURE AND MAN, So answered, so answered the sob of the sea ! So answered, so answered the wail of the wind ! Why dost thou greet me, wand'ring wind, With a carol of glee ? Why dost thou laugh, in boundless mirth, thou great-hearted sea ? Are ye glad that cruel winter's gone, And the spring-time is a-bloom ? Or gay because the sky is blue, And vanished winter's gloom ? Answer me, answer me, laugh of the sea ! Answer me, answer me, welcoming wind ! We joy not that the leaves are born, For they shall shortly wane ; Nor that the skies are bright and clear, For clouds must come again. We joy o'er human sin o'ercome, O'er victory over shame, O'er liberty that shall not die, But live a deathless flame ! So answered, so answered the laugh of the sea ! So answered, so answered the welcoming wind ! A CHURCHYARD PATH. PATH by yew and cypress shaded, By no sounds of life invaded, Solemn more than sad ; Bounded thou, here nought is dreary, By the long homes of the weary Good as well as bad. As I stand, the moonlight shining Bathes in light each stone reclining On the trim-kept grass, From the trees their watches keeping Over those who lie a-sleeping, Shadows softly pass. Ghosts I fear not, why should any, E'en most restless of the many Lying here at rest ; 95 96 A CHURCHYARD PATH. Seek to wander back to living, Troublous, troubled, from death giving Peace which is the best. Had I done with life so vexing, With its problems so perplexing, And were I laid here, Then not one of those still living, Once the grave its peace was giving, Need of me have fear. " CREDO." WHAT is love, and what is passion, Ah me, who shall say ? What is mind, and what is body ? How much soil or clay ? Does the great God, arch-deviser, To His lower agent Nature, leave the minor details Of this earthly pageant ? Suffer her to build and fashion, On His broader plan, Varying types that yet resemble His primeval man ? Doth she, with the love that soareth Up to unseen heights, Over self, through self triumphant, In its God-winged flights, 97 98 "CREDO." Softly and yet surely, passions, Passions base entwine ; So man, vie not with his Maker, Brute, but half divine ! In proportion as the vision Of the soul is strong, Does she dim it with earth's weakness, Weakness born of wrong ? I can tell not, and I care not, The design exact Of this complex life to fathom Trusting in this fact That when Nature's work is over, And without one stain, By his God man's recreated ; Love alone shall reign ! THE MILITARY MIKADO; OR, THE PRIVATE WITH A PEDIGREE. BY (THE LATE) H. J. CROFTON AND J. F. PHILLIPS, FIRST WEST YORKS. (^TH) REGT. Dramatis fce'rs'ona:. THE FIELD-MARSHAL (Commander -in- Chief ) THOMAS ATKINS (Son of Field-Marshal) COLONEL No-Go (commanding Regiment) MAJOR ALL-IN-ALL (of Regiment) . CAPTAIN HAW-HAW (of Regiment, Adjutant] LIEUTENANT TOM THUMB ,, PKETTY THING ,, BELL BEAU MAJOR SNORTER (Riding -Master of Field- Marshal] SERGEANTS, CORPORALS, &c. Lieutenants in Regiment . THE MIKADO. . NANKI-POO. . Ko-Ko. . POOH-BAH. . PISH-TUSH. / YUM-YUM. j PlTTI-SlNG. PEEP-BOO. . KATISHA. ACT I. GREEN IN BARRACKS. ACT II. ORDERLY KOOM. ACT I. SCENE 1. Barrack Green. SERGEANTS standing in military attitudes suggested by Drill Book. Chorus. If you want to know who we are, We'reallofusN.-C.-O.'s; And many a drink at the bar It has taken to colour the nose ! With a crop like a convict's pate, We affect a martial gait, With our attitudes stiff and straight ! We are worked by a word of command, Like a wooden-jointed doll ; We are kept so well in hand, We really cannot loll. With a crop like a convict's pate, Our attitudes stiff and straight, We affect a martial gait. Enter THOMAS ATKINS in great excitement. He carries a rifle and several rounds of Hank ammunition. SERGEANT. Here, what do you mean by coming into this mess ? 102 THE MILITARY MIKADO. T. ATKINS. I came here to ask you a question. SERGEANT. Get out of this with your question ; you forget your position. T. ATKINS. I do at times I can't help it ; but still I would please you. Listen ! Song THOMAS ATKINS. A quite full private I, A thing of drills and marches, Of pipeclay, stocks, and starches, Of left wing company. My catalogue is tame, Through each position ranging, And to your orders changing, I turn my supple frame ! Are you in regimental mood ? I'll swear with you, Oh, drillo, drillo ! On soldier's denseness do you brood ? I'll do so too, Oh, drillo, drillo ! Or mark with saddened eyes, The poor defaulter tries To answer to your cries, And walks askew, Oh, drillo, drillo ! But if regimental sentiment is wanted, I've regimental orders cut and dried ; THE MILITARY MIKADO. 103 For where our old corps' colours may be planted, All other orders may be then defied ! Our brave recruits at squad drill all assembled Never stir, or they conceal it if they do ; But I shouldn't be surprised if they all trembled Before the mighty voice of our C.-O. Then if you care for a song of the square, We'll raise the rifle high, With a ho, 'tention, that movement's wrong, Your step's too long, you're a clumsy throng. Hurrah for the Infantry ! Tention! 'Tention! Hurrah for the Infantry ! To stand on the square with bended knees May tickle civilian taste ; But sooner much than stand at ease, I'd be at the bar, From the barracks far, Draining a pot to the lees, 'tention ! Away from the " sergeant baste." Then fall in there, and off we go At our commander's cry ; With attention ho, And a spring up so, Hurrah for the Infantry ! A quite full private I, &c. io 4 THE MILITARY MIKADO. Enter Captain HAW-HAW. HAW-HAW. And what may all this noise be, and what are you doing here ? (to T. ATKINS). T. ATKINS (saluting). Beg your pardon, sir ; but I've been sent by my company to ask the sergeants a ques- tion, so to put 'em in a good temper I sang them a song ! HAW-HAW. A most extraordinary proceeding, on my word. And pray what was the question? T. ATKINS. Well, sir, to tell you the truth, Private Pipeclay and Private Barrel had a bet, that an order had been issued to say, that all colonels not being able to ride would be deprived of their commands ; and as how we all knew that Colonel No-Go was the hossiest man on foot, and the footiest man on a hoss, we were afraid we might lose him, so I came over here to find out the truth of it ! HAW-HAW. Yes, yes ; it is indeed too true, and our Colonel cannot ride. Woe ! woe ! the order is in exist- ence. j4.ll. Ha ! shall we lose him ? HAW-HAW. We shall indeed ! Song Captain HAW-HAW. Our great Field-Marshal, virtuous man ! When he to rule our force began, Kesolved to try A plan whereby Our colonels might learn riding ! THE MILITARY MIKADO. 105 So he decreed in words severe, That those who rode in deadly fear, Or on a horse looked doosed queer, Should forthwith be sent sliding ! And I expect you'll sorry be To hear that this was his decree ; For he can't ride 1 And you can't ride ! And none can ride so well as me ! Chorus. And I expect you'll, &c. This stern decree, you'll understand, Caused great dismay throughout the land ; For colonels old, However bold, Were awfully affected. The one who had a rolling seat, Or fed his horse on sugar sweet, Had ne'er again to leave his feet In fact, he was ejected ! Chorus. And I expect you'll, &c. And so, as Colonel of our corps, We'll see our No-Go nevermore, If they decide That he can't ride, They're certain sure to sack him ! And so, in truth, it's really sad, io6 THE MILITARY MIKADO. Although his seat is very bad, We'll miss the Colonel that we had ; I'm sure, my friends, we'll lack him ! Chorus. And I expect you'll, &c. Enter Major ALL-IN- ALL. T. ATKINS. Beg pardon, Major ; the Adjutant tells us the Colonel cannot ride. Why do you not take his place ? MAJOR. Soldier, I do not ride ! T. ATKINS. I know I am a humble private, and very ignorant ; while you you are of the highest rank. How is it you cannot. ride? You are a credit in every way to your station ! MAJOR. I am, in point of fact, a particularly haughty and exclusive Major, of pre-examination purchase days, consequently I never learnt to ride. I was born strutting ! As for the Colonel, he rose from the ranks. Of course, he cannot ride. T. ATKINS (aside). Ha, ha ! No rankers can ride, eh ! I can! MAJOR. I mortify my importance. When all the other officers of the corps resigned, because they would not serve under an ex-sergeant-major, did not I smother my importance, overwhelm my sense of worthiness, and un- hesitatingly accept their appointments ? ADJ. And the salaries attached to them ? You did. MAJOR. It is in consequence my degrading duty to THE MILITARY MIKADO. 107 serve this upstart as Paymaster, President of all Courts- martial, Senior Major, Mess President, Band President, Canteen President, President of the Library, all rolled into one. I accept the salary. I, Major All-in- All, am paid for these services. It revolts me, but I do it. T. ATKINS. And it does you credit. MAJOR. But that is not all. I dine at the Sergeants' Mess on reasonable terms; I accept drinks from any hands, however lowly. I also retail official secrets at a very low figure. For instance, Lieutenant Tom Thumb is going to personate Colonel No- Go at the inspection, in order that the latter may avoid having to ride. Any further infor- mation on that subject comes under the head of official secrets. (T. ATKINS gives money.) More salaries, and I think a small one. Song Major ALL-IN-ALL. Young man, I swear That this is true, Tom Thumb won't dare The job to do; I can assure you, Between us two, He's no great equitationer ! This very day, From drill Tom Thumb Will wend his way, Parade-ward come, io8 THE MILITARY MIKADO. With beat of drum, And a rum- turn- turn, To ride as Colonel probationer ! And the brass will crash, And the trumpets blare, And they'll cut a dash On the barrack square. From what I say, you'll see of course It's no child's play to manage a horse ; It'll gallop away, as all aver, With the Colonel probationer ! All. The brass will crash, &c. Recitative. T. ATKINS (aside). So on this point I can at once decide, That none of my superiors can ride. (Aloud). Then do you think Tom Thumb will have a try? MAJOR. And if he does, I'd sooner he than I. But here's No-Go, equipped as suits his station, Although he's not got up for equitation. Enter COLONEL. Chorus. This the C.-O. that's no equitationer ! Though Colonel he of noble rank and title, THE MILITARY MIKADO. 109 A personage in judgment most acute, To ride for him he gladly would invite all. Salute, salute, To our C.-O. who's no equitationer ! Solo COLONEL. Taken from the common ranks By a set of curious chances, To good luck be all the thanks, Or my superior's fancies. When a boy, my shapely shanks Quickly caught the sergeant's glances ; Closely watching all their cranks, I rise by long and weary dances. Surely never quainter pranks Were played by circumstances, Catching hold of divers planks, No need now to make advances. Chorus. Behold the C.-O. whose no equitationer, &c. COL. Gentlemen, I assure you I'm deeply touched by this reception. I assure you that as long as you all do your duty as heretofore, I shall continue my command in happiness. I assure you I will look after your welfare. But Song COLONEL. As some day it may happen that I shall lose command, I've got a little note, I've got a little note, i io THE MILITARY MIKADO. Of martial offenders, whom I well might reprimand, And some of them I'll quote, and some of them I'll quote. There's the pestilential butcher who gives us skinny cows, All soldiers who are fond of drinks and fonder still of rows, And those who know too much of drill, and floor you with it flat, All men who in .saluting, salute you just like that, And subalterns who all their time to scribbling rhymes devote. Chorus. He's got them on the note, he's got them on the note; Oh, it's kind of him to quote, it's kind of him to quote. There's the savage drill-instructor, and others of his race, I've got another note, I've got another note ; And the men who will smoke pigtail, and puff it in your face, I'm going too to quote, I'm going too to quote ! And the idiot who praises with enthusiastic tone All regiments but his, and each service but his own; The recruit who from the provinces is dressed just like a guy, Who doesn't think he knows his drill, and wouldn't like to try ; The officer whose loud commands stick ever in his throat, I've got him on the note, I've got him on the note. Chorus. He's got him on the note, &c. [Exeunt all saluting, leaving MAJOR and COLONEL. THE MI LIT A R Y MIKA DO. 1 1 1 COL. It seems the approaching inspection is to be next month. I should like to consult you as to how- much we shall spend, as we must keep the Field-Marshal in a good temper. MAJOR. Certainly. In which of my capacities, as Paymaster, President of all Courts-martial, Senior Major, Mess President, Band President, Canteen President, or President of the Library ? COL. Suppose we say as Quartermaster. MAJOR. Don't stint yourself, as the regiment will have to pay for it. COL. Exactly ; as the regiment pays for it, that is your advice ? MAJOR. As Quartermaster. Of course you will under- stand as Paymaster I am bound to see that due economy is preserved. COL. Oh, but you said just now don't stint yourself, do it well. MAJOR. As Quartermaster. COL. Now you say due economy must be preserved. MAJOR. As Paymaster. COL. Come over here where the Paymaster won't hear us. Now, as Mess President what do you advise ? MAJOR. Oh, as Mess President I should have no hesi- tation in saying, Do the regiment credit. COL. Thank you, I will. MAJOR. But as Canteen President I must see that the men's interests are looked after. 112 THE MILITARY MIKADO. COL. I see. Come over here where the Canteen Presi- dent can't hear us. Now, as Senior Major? MAJOR. Oh, as Senior Major I can see to a special note to cover all expenses, if it were not that as Quarter- master it would be my duty to resist it tooth and nail ; or as Paymaster I could so cook the accounts that as second in command I should never discover the fraud. But then it would be my duty to give myself into my own custody as President of Courts-martial. COL. That's extremely awkward. MAJOR. I don't say that all these officers couldn't be squared ; but it is right to tell you that I shouldn't con- sider myself degraded or insulted by receiving allowances in their various names. COL. The matter shall have my careful consideration. But my subalterns approach, therefore extra attention to me as your Colonel would be desirable. MAJOR. I don't like boys. COL. Come, come, Major; they are very small ones. Enter Chorus singing. Chorus. Comes a train of young lieutenants, From the drill-ground trammels free, Each of them been doing penance, Each as stiff as stiff can be. THE MILITARY MIKADO. 113 It is but a world of drilling, Pacing in slow time, Always angry voices thrilling, Breaking step a crime. Are its ante-rooms and messes Fantasies that fade, And the glories of its dresses Nothing but parade. Last joined they, two years and under, Have they left the R.M.C., And we wonder how we wonder For how long they stiff will be ! Enter three SUBS. Trio. The Three. Three little Sandhurst subs are we, Weak in the back and limp in knee, All that we ought not to be, Three little Sandhurst subs. TOM THUMB. Service is but a source of fun. B. BEAU. Duty a farce, since we do none. PRETTY THING. Life is a joke that's just begun. The Three. Three little Sandhurst subs. Three little subs who, all unwary, Come from a college military, Always caught in some vagary, Three little Sandhurst subs. H H4 THE MILITARY MIKADO. TOM THUMB. One little sub will a captain be. B. BEAU. Two little subs drink his health with glee. PRETTY THING. Three little subs are the whole of we. The Three. Three little Sandhurst subs. TOM THUMB. From three little subs take one away, B. BEAU. Two little subs remain, and they PRETTY THING. Won't have to wait very long, they say, The Three. Three little Sandhurst subs. Three little subs who, all unwary, Come from a college military, Always caught in some vagary, Three little Sandhurst subs. COL. (to TOM THUMB). Well, I'm very glad you've come, as I want to have a talk with you on the subject of riding. TOM THUMB. Of on the subject of er? COL. Riding, riding. TOM THUMB. Oh yes. [Shoves BEAU to the COLONEL ; BEAU shoves PRETTY THING ; COLONEL collars TOM THUMB. COL. My dear young man, when I was your age B. BEAU. Think of it. TOM THUMB. So I am, very much so; only but, Thing rode very well at Sandhurst ! COL. Humbug, my dear young man, humbug. TOM THUMB. Well, Colonel, I am sure the Major rides. MAJOR. Young man, don't talk nonsense. THE MILITARY MIKADO. 115 Three Subs. Yes, Major, you can ride. MAJOR. Go away, little boys, go away. [Three SUBS pirouette round MAJOR. MAJOR. I am not in the habit of talking to any one below the rank of Quartermaster. COL. (to SUBS). Here, don't laugh at him ; he is under treatment for it. [SuBS examine MAJOR. COL. Well, look here, one of you must ride for me, and I select Tom Thumb if the others decline. Song SUBS in despair. So please you, sir, we've often sighed That we have never learnt to ride, Although we've been to riding-school, We really always played the fool ; As youths of course we've had our fling, So pardon us, So pardon us, And don't in boyhood's happy spring Be hard on us, Be hard on us, If we had rather dance and sing. Chorus. As youths, &c. MAJOR. I think you ought to recollect, That from these youths you can't expect Obedience to your high behest, Since they are all but as the rest ; u6 THE MILITARY MIKADO. For youths of course must have their pride, So pardon them, So pardon them. To ask of them a suicide, It's hard on them, It's hard on them ; It isn't odd if they won't ride. Chorus. For youths of course, &c. [Exeunt COLONEL and rest sorely puzzled, leaving TOM THUMB. Enter THOMAS ATKINS. TOM THUMB (considers). You know this is all rot ; how the d d deuce here, I didn't mean that ; but really, you know, I can't ride in the place of the Colonel. My legs are much too long and my back is much too short ; besides, mess makes me so nervous. They used to tell me I had to learn to grow to my horse, but the brute never gave me time to take root even. T. ATKINS (aside). Here is Lieutenant Tom Thumb. Now I've half a mind to tell him. He's innocent look- ing enough. (Saluting). Please, sir, is there anything wrong ? TOM THUMB (aside). Why, here's a private. Dignity, dignity, Tom Thumb ; you're a lieutenant. (Aloud). Well, my fine fellow, why do you address me ? You are a private, remember / am a lieutenant. THE MILITARY MIKADO. 117 T. ATKINS. Hush! (seizing LIEUTENANT by his arm and dragging him about the stage). Hush ! Is no one here ? TOM THUMB. You forget yourself. Here, that hurts. T. ATKINS. Hush ! I am no private. TOM THUMB. Oh yes, you are, you know. I'm not so green as all that. T. ATKINS. I am no private. You see in me the son of the Field- Marshal. TOM THUMB. The son of a what? T. ATKINS. Field-Marshal ; and he's not a what. TOM THUMB. Joy, joy ! I have it ! Why, bless me, of course. T. ATKINS. What's the matter? TOM THUMB. Why, you can ride ! T. ATKINS. Of course I can ! TOM THUMB. Did you ever hear such a thing, " Of course I can ! " T. ATKINS. Look here, what do you mean ? TOM THUMB. Why, that you must ride instead of the Colonel. T. ATKINS. What, me ? TOM THUMB. Yes, you. (Both pause, then dance a break- down, stopping suddenly.) TOM THUMB. But here, you know, remember my rank (draws himself up to full height). T. ATKINS. Deuce take your rank. TOM THUMB. I wish it would, but it won't. If it wasn't for the rank, we might go on dancing. ii8 THE MILITARY MIKADO. T. ATKINS. Instead of my saluting you, if it wasn't for the rank. But when I ride for the Colonel, you will have to be saluting me. TOM THUMB. Oh, deuce take the rank ! T. ATKINS. But you have promised to ride for the Colonel. TOM THUMB. Oh, well, you see, of course, I can ride ; but, well it's you know it's rather below a subaltern's station to ride for his Colonel. Duet TOM THUMB and THOMAS ATKINS. Were you not to No-Go plighted, I would really be delighted To be riding in your place, Though I want not rank or station, Empty honour's nought to me. Though 'twould give me no elation, I'd 'have you saluting me. /I'd ("you I Both. < salute -j > smartly thus. ( He'd [ me J I'd (you} salute < > smartly thus. He'd ( me j TOM THUMB. But I'm not engaged to No-Go, And my riding is all smoko, Since 'twould clearly be no joko For a failure to get toco. Both. Toco, toco, toco, toco. THE MILITARY MIKADO. 119 T. ATKINS. Well, I'll yield to your temptation, And your scheme I'll not dispute, And on no consideration Will I you again salute ! Now, my boy, you'll understand That thus oh, thus (saluting), Ne'er again I'll raise my hand. [Exeunt swaggering. Enter COLONEL. COL. To think that all my future happiness is wrapt up in that little thing. Enter MAJOR and ADJUTANT. Now, then, what is it ? Don't you see I'm soliloquising ? ADJ. I'm the bearer of a letter. COL. (taking it from him). A letter from the Field- Marshal. Ha ! here it is come before its time, like bills and other d d things. (Heads it.) Oh, gracious ! (Nearly faints. MAJOR supports him, and reads it over his shoulder. He nearly faints. ADJUTANT, supporting him, reads it.) ADJ. Inspection in a week. Oh, Tom Thumb can't learn to ride in a week. (Drops COLONEL and MAJOR, who remain sitting.) But this means ruin. COL. (getting up). What shall I do? MAJOR. Buy some cobbler's wax ! COL. Wax, that's nothing. I shall get enough of that. Here, I can't ride. MAJOR. I'm too proud to ride. ADJ. I won't ride. 120 THE MILITARY MIKADO. COLONEL. My brain it teems With endless schemes, So well I've meant My regiment ; And if I flit, The benefit That I diffuse The corps would lose. Now officers all, Both short and tall, Their wits should call To save my fall. And so, Although I'm sorry to go, Yet I expect That they'll direct, And men collect, And me eject With disrespect. So I object, So I object, So I object. Trio. MAJOR. I am so proud, If I allowed Myself to ride, 'Twould give me side. Not that I fear To hoist this sphere Instead of you, For an hour or two. But a major's pride Must be denied, And set aside And mortified. And so, Although You'll have to go, I much repine That I can't shine, And take the line Of a rider fine. With grief condign I must decline, I must decline, I must decline. ADJUTANT. I heard one day An officer say, That colonels who With funk turn blue, Can scarcely hear Their soldiers sneer, And must retire With boiling ire. If this is true, It's jolly for you, Your courage screw To bid us adieu, And go And show Both friend and foe, That you don't dare To take the air On a charger fair. Yet I declare, I'd do your share, But I don't much care, I don't much care, I don't much care. All. To sit in solemn silence on a great gaunt gee, On a slippery sloping saddle with a nerveless knee, Awaiting the sensation of a short, sharp shock, Of a cropper from the crupper of a cheap old crock. [Exeunt all but No-Go. COL. This is simply appalling. I, who have laboriously THE MILITARY MIKADO. 121 struggled up from the ranks of a common private to be colonel of my . regiment. By Jove ! I, Colonel No-Go , to be deprived of my command because, forsooth, I cannot ride a horse. Bah ! a horse. I hate the name of the brute. It's an animal to be avoided ! Its only powers are to kick at one end, and bite at the other ! Confound it all, my dear boys, my dear boys, confound it all. Enter TOM THUMB with THOMAS ATKINS. TOM THUMB. Here he is. I've got him. COL. Go away at once, sir ! Stand to attention and salute, sir ! What the deuce do you mean ? Don't you see I'm soliloquising ? TOM THUMB. Well, but I've got him Private Thomas Atkins I've got him. COL. I see you have. Let go of his ear. What is the necessity of saying you've got him. It's perfectly obvious. TOM THUMB. But, sir, he can ride. COL. (tremulously admires Private). He can ride ! (grasping TOM THUMB). And what then ? TOM THUMB. Why, that he must ride for you. COL. The devil! (Gives war-whoop, &c., suddenly draining himself up). But I, Colonel No-Go, cannot change places with a private. T. ATKINS. It's only evolution. You began as a private, and evolution is always after nature, and therefore natural. 122 THE MILITARY MIKADO. COL. True ; but I, the living example of what a Colonel should be, the flower of the British army. T. ATKINS. Better to suffer for a day than suffer for ever. COL. Yes, yes; but how I should be degraded. Couldn't you teach Tom Thumb to ride ? T. ATKINS. Not in a week. Why, he is the tenderest- seated little creature in the world. COL. Well, what must be must. We will test your abilities. On the next parade we will change places, and see how it acts. But remember I charge you to be secret. Ha ! if it were known. Mum ! [They go out "by various doors, fingers on their lips and on tiptoe. Finale of First Act. Enter MAJOR and ADJUTANT with Chorus, COLONEL, and THOMAS ATKINS. Chorus. With aspect stern And gloomy stride, We come to learn Who's going to ride. Don't hesitate The man to seek ; You'll be too late You've but a week. THE MILITARY MIKADO. 123 MAJOE. To ask you what you mean, we punctually appear. COL. Congratulate me, gentlemen, we've found a volunteer. All. Three cheers for Colonel No-Go, with a hear, hear, hear ! COL. This soldier true. All. Hail, soldier true. COL. I think he'll do. All. Yes, yes, he'll do. COL. He'll mount the horse as Tom Thumb does surrender, For sad to say, Tom Thumb is somewhat tender, And has not, alack, a steady seat. In fact, like me, He'd sooner be At home, on mother earth, upon his feet. All. Ah, yes, At home, on mother earth, &c. Enter three SUBS. Three Subs. Here, who's to ride ? All. Our noble Thomas Atkins. ADJ. Curtius-like he's stepped into the breeches. PRETTY THING. They'll fit him better than they would do us. 124 THE MILITARY MIKADO. Officers ensemble. The threatened cloud has passed away, He's going to ride that awful day. What though inspection comes so soon, We still can act the gay buffoon. Then let us all Our joy advance, Nor saddles gall, Or mad steeds prance. With joyous shout and ringing cheer Shout Thomas Atkins, hear, hear, hear! Chorus. Then let, &c. TOM THUMB. The fleeting hours will quickly pass, When you'll be as you was, alas ! Inspection's all too quickly over, But for a day you'll be in clover ! Chorus. Then let us all, &c. MAJOR. As in a week you've got to ride, If No-Go tells us true, You'd better quickly get astride, And see what you can do. So now that in a week you'll be A Colonel commandant, This toast with three times three give we, May heaven victory grant ! (Dance.) THE MILITARY MIKADO. 125 Enter RIDING-MASTER, Major SNORTER. II. -MASTER. Excuse me, gentlemen, where is the Colonel ? I am the Riding-Master sent down by the Field- Marshal to find out if there is any truth in the report that Colonel No-Go cannot ride, and to warn him that if he fails to satisfy me he will be instantaneously reduced to the ranks. Where is your Colonel ? COL. (aside, behind Major ALL-IN-ALL). Oh ! T. ATKINS (behind TOM THUMB). Here, he'll recognise me. Don't let him find the Colonel. [COLONEL and THOMAS ATKINS escape. ADJ. Well, he isn't here. He's indisposed ! R.-MASTER. I must see the Colonel. Take me to his quarters. MAJOR ALL-IN-ALL. Would^you care to see the Pay- master, Senior Major, President of all Courts-Martial, Pre- sident of the Canteen, President of the Mess, President of the Band, or President of the Library they are all here ! R.-MASTER. No. What the deuce have they to do with me ! Where's the Colonel ? [Turns to go off the stage ; they close round him. TOM THUMB. Away, nor probe into your quest, The Colonel's gone to seek his rest, You'd better stop it. We know our Colonel you'd abuse, We would not have him in the Blues, You'd better drop it. 126 THE MILITARY MIKADO. He's told us all to be dumb, dumb, All. Dumb, dumb. TOM THUMB. Inspections pray bury, For all would be merry, I think you had better succumb, All. Cumb, cumb. TOM THUMB. And give up the searching for he, For we on the subject are dumb, dumb. All. Dumb, dumb. TOM THUMB. You'll find when the day is, The Colonel au fait is, The word for our guidance is mum, mum. All. Mum, mum. TOM THUMB. Oh yes, our great Colonel can ride, You'll find when the day is, &c. Solo RIDING-MASTER. My hour of gladness Shall quickly come ; In hopeless sadness Under my thumb, The Colonel you cherish Shall helpless lie, His honour perish, Though you shall vainly cry. R-MASTER. Will you let me see the Colonel ? All. No. (Howl commands.) THE MILITARY MIKADO. 127 R -MASTER. I will go straight back to the Field- Marshal. All. Hurrah ! Break into double time double ! R. -MASTER. My vengeance on you all. RIDING-MASTER. Ye trumpets blare, Ye bugles howl, Your brass throats bare With angry growl. I will have vengeance for it all, And on your shoulder shall it fall. Prepare for woe, You lose your swords ; At once I go, Field-Marshal- wards ; And when he learns how I have fared, Not one of you will then be spared. The others. We'll hear no more, Ill-omened man, We think we'll score, Despite your ban, The praises of our Colonel, We shall triumphant ever tell. 128 THE MILITARY MIKADO. Away you go And tell your tale, Prepare your woe Without avail ; You'd better in our joy have shared, For we your wrath have gladly dared. [RIDING-MASTER rushes swearing off the stage amidst howls. Curtain. THE MILITARY MIKADO. 129 ACT II. SCENE Orderly-room. THOMAS ATKINS discovered seated in the centre, surrounded ~by SUBALTERNS, who are dressing him as Colonel, painting his cheeks, and putting on false moustache. Chorus. Smooth the golden sash, Weave the supple knot ; He a private flash, His a Colonel's lot. Place the long moustache On the upper lip ; Pray do not be rash, Best of hands may slip ; Art and nature in relief Go to make a perfect chief. Solo TOM THUMB. Here are hints for you Hold on to the mane, 130 THE MILITARY MIKADO. Clutch the pommel do ; If that is in vain, When he kicks, slip off Like a frightened roe ; Better than pip off Is it thus to go. These manoeuvres I have tried, Well become the youth who'd ride ! Chorus. Smooth the golden sash, &c. T. ATKINS (looking at himself in glass). Yes, I am in- deed smart. I sometimes sit and wonder at my military appearance ; why should it be so much smarter and more martial than any one else's. Can this be vanity no it is soldierly self-respect. I am a soldier, therefore I re- spect myself. Song THOMAS ATKINS. It's very fine, Indeed I'll shine In this my short-lived glory ; They can't deny My majesty, They can't tell such a story. Onward I'll go, . A fine C.-O., To them I'll be indulgent ; For fierce and bold, In red and gold, THE MILITARY MIKADO. 131 In glory all effulgent, That .day they'll walk on earth, I'll ride on high ; That's our respective worth, These three and I. together. F.-MARSHAL. My inconsiderate son ! COL. You see, your Highness, your son was indeed condemned to be shot ; but I, with superhuman perspi- cacity, observing about him a certain well a certain inexpressible ha! likeness or something indefinable which showed him to be the son of no uncommon man, I in short allowed him to escape. F.-MARSHAL. You did wrong, sir. No consideration whatsoever must come between you and discipline. But for all that, my son, your father welcomes you back. 152 THE MILITARY MIKADO. T. ATKINS. But suppose I won't come back. F.-MARSHAL. Then the rigour of the law must be enforced. T. ATKINS. Then I suppose I must make the best of a bad job. COL. I am indeed glad to have brought about this reconciliation. E.-MASTER. You'd better keep your gladness till after the riding exam. COL. Your Highness, you'll forego this. F.-MARSHAL. Colonel No-Go, I do not see why, be- cause you have committed a breach of discipline aggra- vated by deceit, that I should commit one also. COL. Is there then no hope. (Turning to EIDING- MASTER.) You miscreant ! But stay ; the pimple surely (EiDiNG-MASTER claps his hand to his nose) that pimple can belong to no one but No. 999, Private Snort, who deserted twenty years ago from my company in the Fuddle- headed Fusiliers ! Yes, it has grown, but it is still the same. F.-MARSHAL. Can this be true ? E.-MASTER. Ked ruin ! (Tries to fly.) COL. Bind him. See here (tears off EIDING-MASTER'S wig) the broad arrow. F.-MARSHAL. Ah, I have cherished in my bosom a ser- pent ; I have been a Cleopatra. Eemove him ! And now, sir (turning to THOMAS ATKINS), I see a way of placing you in a position worthy to be held by the son of a Field- THE MILITARY MIKADO. 153 Marshal, also of providing for you at the country's expense. I promote you Rid ing-Master. A II. Three cheers for new Riding-Master ! COL. (whispers). You won't be hard on me. T. ATKINS. Oh no. I'll get a rocking-horse especially made for you. COL. Don't you think you might get one that didn't rock? R-MARSELAL. Well, it seems we are all getting on very nicely, but I am afraid rather at the expense of Military Discipline. (Musical Drill ! Curtain.) THE END. MAN AND WOMAN. JUST come a few paces on with me Here, stand here ; now, my boy, canst thou see The end of that long black wall of rock ? Aye, there where the sea-gulls thickest flock ! Well, now look closer, canst see a slit In and out of which the sea-gulls flit, Like white souls freed from a gloomy grave ? Well, that, my boy, is the Lawder's cave. Twenty-five years ago ! I was then Strongest of all 'mongst the Seacombe men, And never a one on land or sea Could hold his own in those days with me ; There were none like me to drain a glass, There were none like me to woo a lass. Aye, yes ; I mind me that morning well, How she cried and prayed, my poor sweet Nell, For sake of her darling yet unborn To save her name from the hard world's scorn. 154 MAN AND WOMAN. 155 I think her sobs would have thawed the heart Of Satan ; yet I was fain to part From those clinging arms, that wild embrace (I hated the sight of a tearful face) ; I, would I hamper my free wild life With such a load as a helpless wife ? I left her there on the shore to moan, Pushed off my boat, and away alone I rowed, unthinking, to Lawder's cave, Fearless and free as an ocean wave. I moored my boat and I entered there ('Twas winter-time, but the day was fair), And I felt a feeling strange to me A yearning for rest ; so carelessly I laid myself down awhile to sleep, Not thinking slumber would long me keep Her captive there on the bare cold stone. I woke. Great God ! but how dark 'tis grown, And how the spray in my face is blown ; The wind has risen, how wild it raves Over the crests of the surf-crowned waves. I must to the boat, 'tis time to go ; Where did I moor her ? Close by, I know ; 156 MAN AND WOMAN. And yet heaven ! no hope, no hope The rock hath severed the straining rope ! I shouted for help, again and again, But seamews only shrieked, " In vain ! " As they passed me by like ghostly things, And flouted me with flapping wings, Whilst the water laps my naked feet, And the driven spray is blent with sleet. Slowly and surely the numbing cold Grips each strong limb in its icy hold ; The seaweed, swept at the wind's wild will, Lays its death-like fingers, dank and chill, Against my neck and across my brow, Ah, where is my vaunted courage now ! For now is mingled with nature's moan The echo faint of a woman's groan, And through the black of that dungeon place I see the whiteness of Nell Dare's face ! I pray for death yet I dare not die, And so till the break of day I lie Twixt her wraith and the vengeful sea ! My God ! am I mad ? Who calleth me ? Do I dream ? No, no, I see it plain. MAN AND WOMAN. 157 " Ahoy ! Boat a-hoy ! " I shout amain, For the sight hath given me second strength. It comes my way : it is here at length, For the oars by four strong arms are plied That have battled long 'gainst wind and tide. But who is this at the tiller there ? 'Tis Nell ; no wraith, but a woman fair ! Dost see these crutches ? well, since that night, I never have walked alone aright. And she, ah, boy ! she is buried there ; But through twenty years of joy and care, My stay, my comfort was sweet Nell Dare. Since she I had scorned then saved my life, I, helpless, leant on a helpful wife. "LOOK ON THIS PICTURE AND ON THAT." THE General sat in his easy chair, And warmed his toes at the fire, But he frowned as he spoke to his A.D.C., In scarcely dissembled ire. " Why, what the plague can those fellows want, With their stories of drenching rain ; Their tents in Crimea kept out the wet, I suppose they can do so again. " The blackguards ! they say they are starved with cold, Why, blankets they've got galore ; And if they've not, they can draw, I suppose, An extra supply from store. " I've told them before, not once nor twice, And, by George, I repeat it still, I'll keep on this camp till musketry's done, Or until the men all get ill. 158 "LOO K ON THIS PICTURE AND ON THAT" 159 " I said they should do it, and so they shall, I have never yet changed my mind ; I rule in this part of the world, by Jove, As they to their cost shall find." The soldier crouched in his reeking tent, Sunk deep in the mud and mire, And the rain through the rotten canvas fell, As though it would never tire. The flickering light of a tallow dip, Shows a face rough tanned by sun, Whilst ribbons twain on his manly breast Speak tales of the deeds he has done. And thus he muttered in accents hoarse, " Well, this here go seems queer ! Though for seventeen years I have served my Queen, Yet they send me to rot out here." GARSTON HEARS HIS OWN SONG. GARSTON dwells in a garret alone, And gaunt and haggard has Garston grown, For little of work has come his way, And less of money this long, long day. He is one of those slaves of the pen, As penny-a-liner known to men, But pence are few, and his lines are hard. Time was when Garston, a fervent bard, Had at the call of the muse, poor fool, Quitted his work and his office stool, And further, thirty shillings a week Laurels, not shillings, would Garston seek. The muse was ever a fickle jade, Garston like others she soon betrayed, And now he lies in his garret there, With stomach empty and cupboard bare. Now, as he lay on his hard straw bed, This on a newspaper scrap he read, 160 GARSTON HEARS HIS OWN SONG. 161 " Popular concert each night this week, Monsieur Basso and Madame La Chicque." He laughed a chuckle of grim despair, " I've one more shilling, 'twill take me there." He left his bed and he hastened down, A shabby figure in black worn brown. When he reached the hall and took his seat, Madame la Chicque oh, her voice was sweet ! Was singing a song that held all there Spell-bound and breathless, with talent rare, Such meaning out of the words she drew ; They told the fate of a shipwrecked crew. No heart so sluggish it did not throb, And men, like women, could not but sob. Garston sat dazed for the song thus sung, Which had tears from men and from women wrung, Was born of his brain, though one poor pound Was all the recompense he had found. The concert over, he made his way To Madame's sanctum without delay. " Madame," he said, " I have lost my strength, Yet good has come of my life at length ; I came to thank you. It was my own song, 1 62 GARSTON HEARS HIS OWN SONG. Oh, how you sang it ! I'm Garston Long." So saying Garston fainted away. Then Madame la Chicque, in great dismay, Cried out, " Here, help him, he's Garston Long, The poet who wrote that splendid song And now, what a shame, I do declare, He's starved to death." Madame, good as fair, Sent for a doctor, and food and drink, Till Garston, revived, began to think That she was an angel, and heaven won, And all the troubles of life were done. To end the story This queen of song Was married shortly to Garston Long And whether all trouble is done with quite, He still declares she's an angel bright ! Though heaven itself be not in sight, Still she he declares is an angel bright. That none like Garston such songs can write, To ever affirm is his wife's delight ; That none can sing those songs like her, Will Garston equally sure aver. In truth, I fancy they're not far wrong, And praises to Author and Singer belong. SEDGE. WATER, and rushes, and reeds, And still pools clothed with weeds- Very slow I push my boat Through this wilderness remote. Enough ; let me drift ; no more Will I strive with lab'ring oar ! West the wind, and soft the day, Warm and soft, and sad and gray. Here I'll lie awhile and dream Of the things that are and seem, For I fancy that my thought Is with larger kindness fraught, When unruffled harmony Of friend Nature sootheth me ; Vaguely then I recognise Sympathy for life there lies In each several element ; Peace they would, I rest content. 163 1 64 SEDGE. Such a clucking, such a scurry ! Such a frantic, causeless hurry ! All because a coot has lit Just beside me, as I sit Motionless, for well he knows Men are Nature's children's foes, Short-lived truce ! since man must be With all else at enmity, I will row me hence, for here I but kill-joy must appear. THE LORD MAYOR'S DREAM. TWAS at a civic banquet, held in London's hall of wealth, When with the honours, three times three, my comrades drank my health ; I rose and thanked them for the deed, and all elate with pride, I boasted of the honours heaped on me from every side. And what a glorious thing it was our city's chief to be, The heart of Britain and the cause of her prosperity ; The richest town in all the world, the bulwark of the State, More populous as time rolled on, for ever grand and great ! That night when on my cushioned bed I, worn out, lay at rest, I thought how I exceedingly by Providence was blest ; I thought upon my speech extolling all the glories of the State, And the sound heart of Old England in its riches grand and great. 165 166 THE LORD MAYOR'S DREAM. Then my eyelids gently closing, easily I went to sleep, Till I dreamt a dream so vivid, it disturbed my slumbers deep. Slowly rolled a fog towards me, blotting out the landscape wide, Thick and yellow, creeping onward, closing in on every side, Dragging with it choking vapours and a foul and fetid smell, Whilst from out it, horror striking, more than words of mine can tell, Eose a weird unceasing tumult of strange, ever- varying sound, Growing louder, growing wilder, filling all the air around ; Throbbing now with strong pulsation, as of Titan in despair, Brooding o'er his gnawing sorrows with a brow down bent with care ; Changing now again to laughter not the ringing laugh of gladness, But the wild, unmeaning clangour of discordant hopeless madness ; THE LORD MAYOR'S DREAM. 167 Every note within the gamut of the human creature's grief, Vaguely blended in the m4lfo y mournful, moaned without relief. In the thick mist all around me, dimly dusky forms I see, Groping through the outer darkness, through the shroud of misery. Women without look of women, children wizened hard and old, Men like beasts (but no ! I shame them) do my troubled eyes behold ; Each one warring with his neighbour, with no law of right but might, Till the weaker sinks unheeded in the blackness of the night. Moved at last to awful wonder by the horror of the scene, " Is there no one who can tell me what these fearful phantoms mean ? " Cried I. Back me answered, in a voice that mocked my tone, " Dost thou not then recognise this this which thou didst call thine own ; i68 THE LORD MAYOR'S DREAM. 'Tis the sound heart of Old England in its glory grand and great ; This the oak from which is fashioned the firm bulwark of the State ; This the centre of the city, England's safeguard, England's pride, Happy in her boundless riches, match for foes on every side. This " I woke me from my slumbers, and the dream clouds rolled away, Vowing deep that no more lobster would I touch for many a day ! THE POET AND THE ANGEL. HUNGRY and weary a poet sat In a garret lone and bare, Ah ! where were the words that used to flow When the world was young and fair. His fingers clutched but an idle pen, He strove, but he strove in vain ; Thought will not come when the heart is sick, Nor words to an anxious brain. An angel saw, and he bent him down, And whispered into his ear. Lo ! the willing pen poured forth in verse Words noble, and wise, and clear. 169 LULLABY. LiGHT^and love and laughter, Fearing no hereafter, Little one, whose living Joy by joy is giving. You and I and he, We are only three, Yet we need no other Father, babe, and mother. 170 A FRAGMENT. O RESTLESS soul, that strives in vain To farther go, nor knowest aught, How confines to the sea are set, E'en to the mighty sea of thought ! ATRA CUR A. ATRA Cura, so they say, The rider sits behind alway, Little matters that to me, Cura there I cannot see. Rather would I ask of Care, That she stir not forth from there ! 172 FRAGMENT. GOLD-FRINGED, that summer evening, lay the land Beneath the blessing of the good God's hand. All lay at rest. The guardian hills now slept, As if their watch was no more needed. Crept Upward in dreamy spirals, slow the smoke From the thatched cabins. Never sound awoke The happy restfulness of that fair place. 173 LIGHT IN DARKNESS. BATTLING alone midst the buffets of angry waves strong to devour, To his right, to his left, mighty crags, adding dark to the night, grimly lower, Urgeth, with dogged despair, through the tortuous channel, to where, Endeth the chasm at length, a gravelled beach gently slopes there, One, scarcely more than a youth, his slender and shallow- built skiff: Standeth a figure of light on the verge of black horror of cliff, Shows him the way, and he sees, and his strength and his courage redouble ; So is there light in this world to guide our frail bark through its trouble ! 174 FRAGMENT. As gems in a mine, Flashing bright through the cave ; As the colour divine In the curl of the wave ; As the sun's golden crown, When it sets in the west ; As the stars, shining down, On a world laid at rest ; As the green of the leaves when in spring they unroll, Is the beauty of thought in a pure maiden's soul. 175 LINES. I HAVE seen snowflakes in July, And whitest hairs in gold-crowned head ; Soon summer snowflakes melt and die, The tears of youth are dry ere shed. Bid hope grow strong spite reason's plaint, Youth, strength, and health need not despair ; Take courage, weak heart and faint, No more grey threads in golden hair ! 176 THE MESSAGE. HURRY on, stream, and stay not to loiter where Green boughs above form a screen from the heat ; Hurry on, stream, and say that I come to him, Would thou could'st lend thy swift speed to my feet ! Stay not to prattle here, stay not to babble there, Silent flow on till thou meet with my love, Then raise thy voice again, soft be its cadence then, Whisper " she cometh, I passed her above." "SPRITE" TINY water sprite, that dwells I' the hollow of the shells, Listen how he moans and moans, With such piteous, hopeless groans ; They have ta'en his fairy dwelling, In its daintiness excelling (Though it measures but a span) All the cunning works of man. List, in pity end his pain, Take him whence he came again 178 LINES. BY where the solemn waters flow, With silent motion toward the sea, I sat and mused an hour ago. Upon their surface floated by A huge still living forest-tree, I watched its progress with a sigh. For so the silent force of Fate Bears man though strongest man he be Resistless to the ocean great. 179 AT LAST. THEY stand upon the moorland's edge, The sun sinks slowly down, The white road winds beneath their feet, Towards lights of far-off town. Behind them all is bleak and rough, In front a smiling land ; He whispers softly in her ear, " Love, dost thou understand ? " The hills of life are left behind, We look before and see, Until we reach the city gates, Life's plain from troubles free." i so LINES. ACROSS the silent night-time swung The solemn stillness of the sea, Like requiem by Nature sung, For all the bright day's harmony. Across the stillness of my soul There swept a voice from times afar, Ere death my brightness from me stole, . So might have spoken some clear star. 181 Jn flDemorfam. STILL is the generous heart and warm, The eager thoughts have cease ; He, who sang Nature's every charm, Lies in her earth at peace. Aye, he is laid to his sleep in the West, Hard by his childhood's home, 'Midst the wild scenes that he loved the best, Mountains and salt sea foam ; Cawing of rooks on autumn eaves, O'er the trees he held so dear ; Singing of birds 'mid the fresh spring leaves, All that he loved to hear. Over his grave when the wind blows loud Drifteth the sleet and hail ; Over his grave the summer-cloud Floateth, a golden veil. 185 1 86 IN ME MORI AM. So let him rest with his fathers there, At the foot of the purple hill, Under the dome of the clear free air, With the sea beneath him still. We who are left must mourn for a space Loved brother and truest friend ; Trusting yet that the vanished face Will greet us at the end. M. C. THE END. PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. EDINBURGH AND LONDON.