THE BACKSLIDER AND OTHER POEMS BY ANTAEUS LONDON PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR 1890 y ^ t X (x^ *^'»- ^^^*^rrc Of ill is book oily loo copies have been printed. THE BACKSLIDER AND OTHER POEMS THE BACKSLIDER AND OTHER POEMS BY ANTAEUS LONDON PRINTED FOR TllE AUTHOR iSoo CHISWICK- PRESS :-C. VVHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCF.RV LANE. My dear Willie, When you said the other day, " Does — Jesus — make — it — rain —Washing — Days ? " you made us laugh heartily. You are now only a little boy three years old ; but perhaps at some time your father's book will make you laugh too. mi a 1 S7!o55 1 CONTENTS. t'AGE The Backslider i Ad Futurum 8 The Heart of Dorset 9 Translation 13 To Dr. Huxley, on the Ckedibilitv of Miracles . 14 The B.\llad of William and Mary . . . .17 To a Dead Mistress 21 To a Friend after prematurely disclosing to his Daughter some Verses dedicating a Book to her . 27 Exit 29 THE BACKSLIDER. AN OLD STORY. The pride of Epsom's Baptist Chapel Was Chariie Cook. Of Adam's apple Well could he preach, and loudly taught That fleshly joy is less than naught. Six days the world him glazier styled ; The seventh saw him meek and mild Devoutly walk to Bethel's bliss, The cold despair of every miss Who sailed the other way to church Where gaudy rites the pure heart search. No less from grace the lad had slipped And lived a sinner ; but was dipped Before he reached his fifteenth year ; Yet fell again, as you shall hear. ***** THE BACKSLIDER. The Sabbath ere that fatal day When Satan dances blithe and gay, And opens Hell's dark portal wide For many a bet-wrecked suicide, Is Show-out Sunday. Then a crowd Of Sabbath-breakers rough and loud Throng past the chapel with their girls All decked in finery and curls, And scandalize with loud guffaw The saved who have fulfilled the law. These with sad thoughts repress a frown While those career to Epsom Down, Where clowns and coker-nuts invite The giddy crew to vain delight, And show to Britons once a year A continental Sunday clear. For many a year the pastor's flock Had borne with pain this dreadful shock ; And once again it seemed their doom To pass the day in patient gloom ; But ere their pastor's final prayer Dismissed to cold and righteous fare Up rose Charles Cook, and spirit- taught THE BACKSLIDER. Expressed this new and happy thought : " What these poor sinners want is Facts ; " I'll combat their vain joys with Tracts ; " If Heaven will, I'll to this show " And deal the Evil One a blow " This very afternoon." A hush Of joy fell on the flock. A blush O'erspread the face of Charlie Cook, Who first saw Fame and liked her look. Some had, indeed, the gravest doubts About attendance on such routs, And told their fears when Charlie's fall Came to the knowledge of them all, And shook their wiser heads and sighed At overweening spirit-pride. * :;= * :ic * Cold Mutton filled young Charlie Cook As to the Down his way he took ; But though his creature-comforts cold, His face was flushed, his heart was bold. Along the sin-bedizened way He scattered tracts, and none so gay As he among that careless throng, THE BACKSLIDER. For he was right and they were wrong. At length the fair met Charhe's view, And sure the sight was very new To his chaste eyes, that scarce had seen Such bravery of varied sheen. Bright flags and pennons struggle free ; Bright women dance in fineiy ; The shows present their wonders rare ; Relentless music fills the air ; The switchback rolls its golden round ; The scarlet balls in armies bound ; Blue swings strain to the duller sky, And ceaseless laughter babbles by. But Charlie smiled, for well he knew With what devices Satan drew The thoughtless crowd to sin and hell. And then he gazed ; but what befell Needs a more potent Muse than mine Who's scarcely numbered with the Nine. I said he gazed — a mournful gaze Deploring all those wicked ways, A sheaf of Tracts in one hand tight, The other stretched to every wight THE BACKSLIDER. Who hurried by his sHm, young form, So meekly taking Hell by storm. Among these wights was Mary Clarke. What shall I say? Her hair was dark ; Her eyes were black and laughing too ; Her form was fair ; her beads were blue. She glanced at him : he waved his hand With winning smile ; appeal so bland No lonely maiden could resist. Then low he spoke, " Will you assist ? " Assist me in this holy task ! " Is it indeed too much to ask? " I know the worldlings scoff and jeer, " But what is that to heaven here?" He pointed to his simple heart Fair target for a hellish dart. Then quick she looked at him and smiled ; He looked at her and she beguiled From him a poor, submissive blush Begot of carnal heart-blood's rush. A very devil was her eye — O Charles, O Baptist ! fly ! fly ! fly ! But Charlie never moved a l^ii, THE BACKSLIDER. Forgot his tracts and lost his wit ; He sat upon the sinful ground And thought of her, and looked around Till his poor eyes met hers again, But fell abashed in struggle vain, " Well, shall I go ? " at length the maid. " Oh no, don't, don't ! " young Charlie said. " What shall we do then ? " quoth she clear. " It seems so stupid sitting here." " Do ! What indeed you like with me." " Then let's get up and walk and see " The people and the shows and swings, " The whirligigs and all the things ; " It seems to be too wicked, but " I should so like a coker-nut ! " " Would you ? " cried Charles, and straight forgot His soul and his eternal lot, And lost his hope of heaven high Most freely in a woman's eye. But she was bounteous to her swain, For well she read his loving pain. And gave him all the sweet delight That maids may give. That very night THE BACKSLIDER. They plighted troth, they learnt to kiss, And Satan roared for very bliss. ■x- * * * * What of the tracts ? It came to pass Charles used the tracts to wipe his glass. AD FUTURUM. O FRIEND that art to be, I'll tell thee all, And thou shalt fold me in thy greater heart, Regarding with a smile the funeral Of my lone past displayed with simple art. All questions answered after weary toil. The fruitless loves each feebler dying down, The nothings I have worshipped, and the coil Of snaky formal wisdom hatched in town ; The poor impertinence of all I hear, The maze of words in which my mates are lost. My solitude of love, the nameless fear That stung me dead-like as I hopeful tost In long night-watches for the coming friend Who marches on slow days that never end. THE HEART OF DORSET. I. Dorset is so fair and free And its people are so kind, It shall be my own country', All its beauties to my mind. Dorset ends the golden age ; Dorset is the poet's cage. 11. Devon 'bounds with steamy cloud, Somerset with shadowed glade, Hampshire with its cities' crowd ; Only Wilts is sister-maid ; Yet poor Wilts a maid must be, Dorset's wedded to the sea. lo THE HEART OF DORSET. III. Men of old lie in its breast, Wander not in ghostly fear ; Gentle footsteps o'er their rest Bear no dread to fathers' bier. Shepherd's whistle wakes them half Just to turn with well-pleased laugh. IV. In the midst of Dorset lies Fair and trim its chief city, Shunned of cockneys' restless eyes, Brief the land's epitome With the image of its poet And rejoicing men to show it. V. In the middle of the town Stands the quiet Antelope, Cleanly inn of fair renown And potent ale. I pray and hope Soon to taste its pleasant cheer, Soon to see its jewel clear. THE HEART OF DORSET. VI. For above the rustic tales Of the ruddy farmers there, And the men of honest scales Purified by honest air, Shines a woman bright and bland With the beauty of the land. VII. Dorset born, sweet Jenny reigns O'er the chat of her snug room, Babble of the downs and lanes, Shepherd's joy and shepherd's gloom. Lightens she the dullest day With a happy face's ray. VIIl. She's not old, but she is kind ; She's not young, but she is wise ; All the Dorset people find Kindly will in Jenny's eyes ; Ever round her gladsome bowers Wrcathdd with her lover's flowers. la THE HEART OF DORSET. IX. Thus to Jenny do I bring Little verses for a part Of the scanty offering I can pay to Dorset's heart ; What are years and what are miles To the sight of Jenny Biles ? TRANSLATION. Lightly flit within my breast, Pretty echoes of the spring ; Little song that vvhisperest, Grow to lusty carolling ! Travel to the leafy home Where the lowly violet grows. If the red rose spy you come, Say the poet greets his rose. TO DR. HUXLEY, ON THE CREDIBILITY OF MIRACLES. O PICTURED grasper of the skull, You snatch at all our mythic bones And grind them 'tween your wordy stones. Is not your lonely labour dull ? " Incredible ! " you loudly shout " The miracle is rampant folly, " And yet — 'tis very melancholy — " So many millions do not doubt. " For faith is still in woman's breast, " And foolish men still love their church, " Nor even care to make a search " For flaws in what they hug for best." ON THE CREDIBILITY OF MIRACLES. 15 O Sage, you beat the passing wind, For faith is not that grass is green. That ginger 's hot or razor 's keen, Or that the seed 's within the rind. Regard, I pray, with quiet eye The decent crew in fair array Slow passing down the leafy way That meets the church you bid them fly. They tread the road their fathers trod ; They walk the way their neighbours walk. What care they for polemic talk ? Their mates and sires they call them God. They sit within the pillared frame : The myths are toned with antique drawl ; They love the well-known words that call Affectioned past with constant name. This then is faith ; — the sacred deed That links them with their fathers dear, That brings their neighbour fellows near. Why mock their way of love ? What need, D i6 O.V THE CREDIBILITY OF MIRACLES. But need of manners, deals a blow At ancient phrase for social act? Be wise ! The miracle 's a fact, Translated into passing show. THE BALLAD OF WILLIAM AND MARY, It was the fair Maiy, I ween, A-lying in her bower, And she was wan for many a clay And sad for many an hour. Young William long had left her love For far-off lands to sail, And whether he was dead or gone She waxed large and pale. The child it thumpdd in her womb The child it grew so strong, " O William dear, O William dear, " The days are drear and long." " What ails you. Mar)' ? tell nic true, " O tell me ne'er a lie, i8 THE BALLAD OF WILLIAM AND MARY. " Some man hath broke your maidenhead." " O mother, let me die." " What makes you pale, my daughter dear ? " And who hath done you hurt ? " I'll smite him with my heavy sword " And make him kiss the dirt. " I'll hew him into pieces small " And cut his heart in twain ! " " O father dear, I'm strong and hale, " I'd run along the lafte." Along the lane fair Mary ran, And when she reached the shore, The child it thumpdd in her womb Till she was passing sore. The child it thumped in her womb, The child it waxdd strong, " O William dear, O William dear, " The days are drear and long." THE BALLAD OF WILLIAM AND MARY. 19 The rain it washed the sah sea-shore And Mary she must lie. The rain it washed a bonny boy And Mary she must die. Young William came along the shore To see his leman dear, And when he stumbled on her corse He dropped a bitter tear. He bore her to her father's house And bore the child withal, " Rise up, rise up, and let us in " To sit within the hall." The father held his heavy sword, The mother held her woe, Young William set his burden down, And stood before the two. The father smote him to the ground, The mother took the boy, The father clave a heart in twain And lau;jhed willi biltcr joy. 20 THE BALLAD OF WILLIAM AND MAA'V. " O take away my daughter dear " And take away the man, " And bury 'em on the salt sea-shore " Within each other's span." TO A DEAD MISTRESS. " Our deathlessness is in what we do, not in what wc are." Rhoda Fleming. I. You laughed with me and then you died, Dead darling, in your beauty's prime, But your sweet laugh has glorified The dim arcade of after-time, As day-slain cactus, starr>'-white, And rich with unimagined scent, Makes all the darkness purely bright And gaudy dawn a dreariment : And yet not like ; for He and She Droop sadly in their ghostly cup, IJut you, you laughed so joyously That I, who helped you laugh, look up Through long dull years with happy eyes To your gay face that never dies. 22 TO A on AD A f IS TRESS. II. The nightingale, unlike the twite That squats and chews the coarser grain, Leaps restless while his large-eyed sight Records the motion in the lane ; At night he higher mounts the thorn And tells his varied tale in song So clear and full that through the morn Praise runs from house to house along : Thus your sweet love of all quick things, That fed itself the livelong day, Gave tune to all your utterings And harmonied your roundelay ; The years of Philomel's great name Shall hardly weary out your fame. TO A DEAD MISTRESS. 23 III. The little lizard all the day Basks sun-filled on the baked road, Or nimbly skips along the way, His airy prey a scanty load ; The loutish wain that threatens near He flees, a flashing vanishment, And yet his tiny, transient fear Quick changes to his old content : So glanced your light and cheerful wit Aside from dull and drear result Of neutral fact and statement, fit To be a dying blind man's cult. To little mounds of phantasy To dainty dells of Arcady. 24 TO yi DEAD A//STA'/:.SS. IV. The goldfinch 'neath the fir-tree top, With crimson face and twit and sneer And dandy sways,— the naughty fop ! — Brags forth his little greypatcs dear Packed tight within their spangled cup,— Then preens his gold-emblazoned wings And sharps his pale-pink needle up To touch the good in little things : So all your morning words expressed A pretty pride in deeds of home, A pretty taste, a pretty zest, Distilling perfume in the room ; And then you'd concentrate the bliss And quick record it in a kiss. TO A DEAD MISTRESS. 25 V. The moon that silvers silence brings Such golden memory of you Who warmed my poor dumb shiverings, Before you smiled your last adieu, With frankest joy in sunny rays, In throstle's song and little tlowers, With dainty love in idle days. And happy words in duller hours. That I have not the will to mourn Your absence from my present day, Nor e'en to hold myself forlorn. Nor chant alone a dismal lay, Unless, dear memoiy, the chief Of all my bliss be very grief. 26 TO A DEAD .U I STRESS. VI. The sun that golds the leafy glade And mountain-top with equal touch Behind your form casts no dark shade In envy of your beauty's flush ; But purifies the lily's white, Brings butterflies to joyous birth, Sets man's responsive face alight, With burning joy in varied earth. Unchanged it keeps those lively parts That gave your living mirth its food To be the mould of your deserts And kind expressers of your good. The sun by day, the moon by night, Make deathless you their whole delight. TO A FRIEND AFTER PREMATURELY DISCLOSING TO HIS DAUGHTER SOME VERSES DEDICATING A BOOK TO HER. Urban kept a little treasure Closely hidden from his girl, Who must glow with sudden pleasure When she tripped across the pearl. Whispered he his pretty kindness To an ox he fondled by. Straight the brute in clumsy blindness Roared the secret to the sky ; Trampled down the dear intention To surprise with thrilling good His sweet darling's bright ascension On tlic way of maidenhood. 23 TO A FA'IF.XD. Kow did Urban treat the creature ? Only smiled and scratched its skull ; Even praised its blank-eyed feature. How should not an ox be dull ? EXIT. Go, little book ! I may not look At blushing ruth That meets your truth, Nor may I see, Unhappy me ! The smiles that find Your meaning kind. You'll be a friend Beyond my end, So shall I die Right royally. ^■^ ^l-t^fKy CHISWICK PRESS :- WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. UC SOUTHFRN Rf_G!ONAL I IPRARY FACILITY :ililll llll illiiil AA 000 590 301 8