UC-NRLF ■<' f> \ k \ • LIBRARY UNJVBR3ITY OF CALrPCRNIA POEMS This edition is limited to 550 copies POEMS BY ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON rjv XI xai raa)(rjTe, ;:aaysiv tot? LONDON Elkin Mathews and John Lane 1893 ijOAN STACK Edinburgh : T. and A. Constaki.e, Printers to Her Majesty. ^53 9^^ o TO MY FATHER loved and honoured, truest, best Of friends and fathers , mine though death Divide us, mine through toil and rest, Since first I drew uncertain breath, There, where the desert bloomed with towers. Subdued, replenished, starred with praise. With memories of diviner hours. When thou, through glad laborious days, Didst nurse and kindle generous fires. That, as the old earth forward runs, May fit the sons of hero sires To be the sires of hero sons. V 284 From that grey choir, whose purer lines Are fair above the humimng town, A western land of jmrts and mines. The watered vale, the bleaker down, Desired thee, welcomed as her own, Till fateful voices, surely heard. Constrained thee to an ancient throne, A larger, more majestic word ; What though the years grow loud and late, Though spoiling hands seem overbold, Though thunders of a troubled state About Augustine's chair are rolled^ True sire, true son of Aaron's line, Still, as the sacred burden grew, 'Mid pomp and policy divine, A fonder, gentler father too. vi / need your patient trust, I need Your fond forgiving welcome; hear Your son who loves his childhood's creed Because you loved it, made it dear. For we have fared by hills and waves, And paced by many a hallowed site. And bent together over graves That first estrange, and then unite: So shall the Lord of Life, who sets On faithful hearts His seal of fire. Make music of our weak regrets. And crown our impotent desire. Eton, April 1893. Vll PREFACE There is a feverish tendency at the present day among writers, to he artist first, and man afterwards with such shreds oftijne as are left; if a reputation is to he made, it cannot he made at leisure. Such was not the way of the old masters, the norma veterum. JEschylus had his hald pate broken by a dropped tortoise, as he sate in the sun. Sophocles as a stripling danced in processions, and was a general in middle age. Dante was a violent political schetner. Shakespeare, when he had realised a competence, wrote no more than he was obliged: he planted his wand and it became a mulberry tree: he drowned his book in the reedy Avon: Dr. Johnson loved to stretch his legs and have his talk out : Byron, in his ix PREFACE coarse way, lived: Scott was a country gentleman : Mr. Steverison takes a hand in Samoan politics. Again, in these days, the critics sit in Parnassus itself, and adopt a sacerdotal tone of authority about literature which is both bewildering and saddening. Yet to make the candid avowal that any era is an era of criticism, is in itself a confession of decadence; it is but an adorning of the sepulchres of the j^rophets ; and with a view to the future of the world, one rude experi- mentalist in the devising of an adequate creed is better than any nwnber of well-dressed persons in search of a religion. Where criticism of literature directs our enraptured attention to great master-pieces, it is wholly valuable ; wherever it diverts our pleased notice to itself, and enthralls us only by its mastery of graceful expres- sion, it is almost wholly pernicious. The poet Gray, who occasionally spoke out, said in one of his inimitable lettei's that to him the worst verse ever written was a better thing than the best criticism ever printed about it. X PREFACE In sad rehelUon against these overmastering tendencies, the author of these poems has tried, with his eye on life, to present certain aspects of men and nature that have coins home to him icith force in an uneventful and sheltered existence. The poems make no claim to be a coherent philosophy: they are merely an individual ex- pression of a little share in the great inheritance of life. Behind the burning questions of the day, which after all affect legislators and politicians and writers of articles and preachers more than the classes whom they claim to represent, which interest those who talk more than those who listen, there lies a large region of simple facts, and quiet experiences. The almond-tree blooms, the rook strides over the new-turned furrovj, and the streams hurry through the meadows with a singular indifference to the promises of Socialism and the mysteries of Home Rule : there is a land in which we can always rest, so far as rest is possible in an over-populated community: and whatever may be the fate of political theories and xi PREFACE Maithusian prophecies, life is very real to the ordinary man and duty very plain. The author of these poems believes in Divine guidance even more than in human insight, in love even more than in truth, in men even more than in Man : if he has failed to indicate this, it is from his deficiency in the power of material expression, more than from any want of deep conviction. A. G. B. XII CONTENTS FRITILLARIES SEEDS THE THISTLEDOWN IN THE PINEWOOD BY THE GLACIER BERRIES OF YEW- OUT OF WEAKNESS OLD NESTS THE CARRIER PIGEON THE MOLE THE TOAD THE BEETLE PAGE I 9 II 15 19 22 24 27 30 34 37 41 Xlll CONTENTS PAGE THE DANDELION • • • 43 ^HIDDEN LIFE .... . 46 ■^AZALEA ..... • • • 48 ■^THE DRAGONFLY . 51 ^KNAPWEED . . . • • * • 54 %HE WATER-OUSEL • • > 58 ON THE HITiT, .... . 60 A RECANTATION .... . 62 ■^SECRETS ..... • • • 64 ■^DRIFTING ..... • • • 66 UTRUMQUE NOSTRUM INCREDIBILI M ODO CONSENTIT ASTRUM .... • • • 69 NOT HERE ..... . 75 A CHILD ..... . n FLOWER CROWNS • • • 81 *MY FRIEND .... . 83 *THE DEAD POET . 87 OMAR KHAYYAM .... . 90 EDWARD FITZGERALD . • • • 92 XIV CONTENTS ■'^iN cowper's letters \VILLIA3I COLLINS *DEAN SWIFT ■^TH03IAS GRAY . ^GILBERT WHITE CHALVEY . ■^ON THE WESTERN CLIFFS ^ NORTHWARDS f-IN THE SOUTH . C(ELUM_, NON ANIMUM IN EXILE . REDITURUS MY WILL ST. luke's summer ■^HOMEWARDS *\'IAT0R *STORM AND TEMPEST SHADOWS , THE DEEPS OF GOD PAGF 94 96 TOO 103 105 107 III 119 124 127 130 132 136 147 150 152 XV CONTENTS PAGE CHURCH WINDOWS . • • • 154 THE VOICES OF THE WORLD . • • * * 160 *MOIJNOS . . • " • • • * 164 *OLD FOES . . . • 167 •*^HOC UN*UM CUPIO . 170 TWENTY YEARS AGO 172 IN THE IRON CAGE . 176 WINTER HAR^TISTS . 182 WASTE . 184 "^STAND ASIDE . 186 THE poet's doom . 189 iV.^.— The poems distinguished by an asterisk are selected from a small volume, Le Cahierjautie, privately printed in 1892. XVI FRITILLARIES Ay, he was dull and churlish, slow of speech And diffident ; he had no piteous arts, No tricks of sly imposture ; — but betrayed The pride of rustic unaffectedness. The sick disdain that frets a simple life. Thrusting itself in unaccustomed haunts. For now he plucked his faltering courage up. And now the throng unnerved him; — long he stood In wistful indecision, holding out His sorry packages of wizened flowers, 111 tied with clumsy fingers, trebly rude ; FRITILLARIES Yet half ashamed to seem to recommend Then- sordid hmpness ; shamefaced, with the air Of some shy woodland creatm'e that, ensnared To make a show for gazers, is too proud To win their welcome by caressing wiles. Yet dumbly vexed at their indifference. The summer day drew on ; the early mists That hid the topmost branches of the lime. And screened the parapets and pinnacles. Melted beneath the morning ; the hot sun Stared o'er the chimneys, and the dust was deep : Then once again I saw him, as he stole A furtive hand to break a crust of bread, And ate ashamed — while still his sorry stock Was undiminished ; so again I came Upon him, when the sun was flaring hot. And his poor wares were undiminished still. FRITILLARIES Then I was lost in pity, and drew near. And asked him whence he came and what he sold. And he 'from Ensham, o'er the Oxford downs' — (Muttering a score of undistinguished names) — 'Had walked all night, starting when twilight fell ' ; ' And these,' I questioned, ' are fritillaries ? ' 'Snakeheads,' he answered, 'rareoutlandish things. For such as love them ; saw them in a croft That fringed an upland down, a spot remote From roads and houses, all unvisited ; — Had thought that townsfolk cared for curious things ; Himself he loved them, thought them magical ; Had now no work ; — no fault of his ; — the time Was difficult, and there were hands enough And mouths too many ; so he brought them here ; Had thought he might have made a little by them.' 3 FRITILLARIES All this and more in simple speech he told, Wondering and pleased that one should hearken to him. I bent and fingered ; rare and curious things Indeed ! no kinship theirs with homely flowers. That bloom on gravelled hills, or in the waste. Or in the tumbled pasture ; — withered, dry. Faint-tinted, spotted like an ocelot's skin. Streaked like the banded viper, with their lean Sleek stalks ; uncanny, indeterminate ; Left, like the wrack of some unmeasured flood. From dim primeval flora, fronds that waved And branched long since in solitary fens. Spurned by the bear and ragged buffalo ; Then, — when the blue-eyed tribes made head, and pierced The forest, pricked the waste and made a home, — 4 FRITILLARIES Flared out, too wild to blossom 'neath the eyes Of prying man ; expired in sick disdain. Yet left some score of shameless progeny. In secret woods, like those resisting hordes. That driven to Cornwall's fretted promontories. Or hid in far Menevia, skulked and writhed In mountain fastness, spake a clumsy tongue. And kept unheeding their untutored ways. ' Would I buy more ? ' I would not : yet I gave A coin, that made him stare and think me fool Or foolish : then in gratitude he spoke. Because I loved them, he would dig me roots. And I should raise the strange unsightly things Far from their own securer wilderness. And so he did me reverence, and was gone To ponder on the ways of city folk, 5 FRITILLARIES To cast his wasted wrecks unsold away. Then seek elate the inviolable depths Of woodland, far sequestered villages. Where never stranger comes from year to year, — Since in the world is no fit place to dwell. So dreams the poet, rises, breaks away From his austere, unenvied reverie. And strides toward the indifferent world, to learn If he have power to move, to break their mirth. To bid the laughter dwindle into sighs, Or fill hard eyelids with absolving tears. Strange growths he carries, children of dismay And madness, echoes of the eternal voice Half-heard through April woodlands, sound of winds 6 FRITILLARIES And bubbling streams, and devry fancies pure Pulled in dim thickets, when the upward rays Gush from the intense rim of the hidden sun. He proffers, but the world will none of these ; — They clutch their toys, they strive for sensual bliss. And few have leisure for the scent of Spring, Save such as flying to the woodland, gain Sharp sight through grief that tames the fevered pulse. Or such as walking swiftly, find old Death Sit in a sheltered arbour by the road ; And start from lean conventions, wrinkled fears. To cast their eyes for once upon the stars. And so the wistful poet is disowned. Draws back into himself, and drowns his soul 7 FRITILLARIES In some ethereal vision ; to the sea He hears the streams grow larger, feels the day Shine purer, though uncleanly voices call. And though the funeral horns blow harsh and high, He sees the smile upon the face of God. 8 SEEDS One fell in the dull ground^ and hopeless lay Hearing the secret waters murmuring ; Till his dark life was quickened by the spring, And with soft hands he climbed to meet the day. And one was winnowed in his nakedness, And in the humming mill was bruised and rolled, And indistinguishably bought and sold, To feed the folk that toiled in heaviness. The choice is purs : we know not which to ask ; For either way is bounteous, either blest ; 9 SEEDS To feed the frail, to give high hearts rehef ; And each were well ; but oh^ the matchless grief, To fail and falter in the heavenly quest_, And miss meanwhile the homely humble task ! lo THE THISTLEDOWN As through the summer land we sped, — (The busy wheels rushed on,) — I turned the tedious page, and read The woes of Jill and John. Oh for a breath of frosty breeze, I sighed, for the chill sharp weather, To arrest the languorous mood, and freeze The melting soul together. Over the soiled page, suddenly. With pinions golden-brown. Came drifting, drifting, delicate^ shy. An arrowy thistledown. n THE THISTLEDOWN In the gust the flapping curtain beat ; It started, light as the fawn. Stepping at dusk with dainty feet On the pine-girt mountain-lawn. I closed the book with zealous care, I prisoned the fair frail thing, That rode so free on wings of the air. Aimlessly wandering. One glance I cast on the fleeting scene ; — (The turning wheels flew fast) — A pasture, ridged with tumbled green ; — A spring through the rushes passed ; 'Twas here your merry kinsmen stood In glory self-decreed, Bonny trespassers, fearless, rude. Close-packed with feathery seed. There hung a wood, that wheeling showed A shade-flecked avenue, 12 THE THISTLEDOWN Deep-rutted climbed the woodland road, The castle towers looked through. A grey high-shouldered church beside The green downs, steep and tall. With wind-swept pastures, terraced wide. And blue sky over all. Ten years ago ! and memory tossed The tiny thought aside ; I deemed that picture whelmed and lost. In the dim years' shadowy tide ; Again I turn the tedious page. Alone in the sombre town. And here lies prisoned, and wan with age. The faded thistledown. Out of the dark the visions swim. The high downs terraced green, 13 THE THISTLEDOWN The huddling church, the avenue dim. The castle peers between. I praise the cunning thought that lays Her hoarded sweetness bv, And half surprised, half proud, betrays Her hidden treasury ; Darts through my soul a sudden fear, A thought too dark to spell ; — My heart, if all things are as clear Recorded, is it well ? 14 IN THE PINEWOOD Below the fields of splintered stones That tumble from the mountain's head,- (The wind across the cranny moans) — Above the torrent's bed ; — Amid the rushing milkwhite streams. The rocking boulders buffet low ; Yet from their mellow thunder seems A deeper peace to grow ; Among the strong leaves glossy green The empurpled beriy dully glows. The juniper her thorny screen About the hillock throws. 15 IN THE PINEWOOD The grey frog stares across the pool, With measured chant of tranquil bliss. On trailing streamers balanced cool ; — His throat the ripples kiss : My forest armies hither stream, 1 The tall battalions thronging come. Not panoplied in angry gleam, ! I With thunder of the drum, j But silent, breathing scented breath, j And through the dim green-tufted aisles, j (The hill-rose screens the stone beneath) The level sunlight smiles. | The straggler from the mounting troop Bears the fierce brunt of snow and wind, i6 IN THE PINEWOOD The draggled tassels start and droop Over his tortured rind. From bough to bough small titmice flit. The pie, who flirts an upstart tail. Screams harshly from the topmost spit. And scolds the indifferent vale. Where else the livelier forest glows In indistinguishable green, His duskier foliage sterner shows The slender larch between. The ruddy bark is ridged and torn. And weathered black with volleying rain ; Dry lichens fringe the withered horn. And flaunt their rusty stain. With writhing root he coils and clings. And strains the boulder in his grip. And binds a hundred trailing rings Over the streamlet's lip. B 17 IN THE PINEWOOD He sees the moon unearthly still Peer coldly o'er the ridges brown ; He hears the thunder in the hill, When ice-crags topple down. O strong and patient as the hills About thee, smile thy rugged smile ; Bear proudly thy encircling ills. Befriend me for awhile ! Like thee, I would not estimate The harshness of o'ermastering woes. But brave the suns intemperate. And every wind that blows. i8 BY THE GLACIER Crawl on^ old ice-worm, from the solemn hills ; Press deep thy burrowing snout among the stones. Mutter and murmur with thy turbid rills, And crush the old Earth's bones ; Gnaw, grind the patient cliffs with ravenous teeth. The crumbling crag shall feed thy snaky spine, The dim unfathomed caverns gape beneath, Azure and crystalline. From those high fields with dazzling whiteness piled. From crests too lofty for the eagle's wing, 19 BY THE GLACIER By icy precipices, undefiled. Thou creepest, wondrous thing. We fear thee not, old monster ; see, we go In pleasing awe to trace thy writhings vast ; Soft laughter rings above thy crusted snow, Light footsteps hurry past. Haste thee, for thou art destined to decay, High in the valley thy old scars are set ; Dost thou take thought of thy diminished sway f What, art thou tyrannous yet ? The high peaks crumble, topple to their fall. The torrent whirls the boulder to the vale, A thousand voices to surrender call ; — And thou shalt not prevail. 20 BY THE GLACIER Light;, fairy hands, the noontide and the rain Deface yon bristling horrors, one by one. Daily they pass to feed the fertile plain. And drink the steady sun. 21 BERRIES OF YEW Underneath the down, with its vast limbs sweeping Southward, ever southward to the restless sea. In a rounded hollow, desolately sleeping. Dreaming solemn dreams, stands the grave yew-tree. When the heavy-headed corn is glad and glowing, Wlien the golden grass is waving on the slope. Then my yew-tree wakes to dreams of fruitful sowing. Loads her silly branches and abides in hope. Red and translucent, orbed in soft completeness, Hung hke fairy lamps in the sombre shade ; 22 BERRIES OF YEW Yet the merry-hearted thrush abhors the sickly sweetness_, And the glutton sparrow flirts his wing, and flees afraid. Then, sick at heart, the ripe and ruddy burden Spills its unregarded treasure underfoot. No welcome from the world, no grateful guerdon. Save a sheltered grave beneath the parent root. Poor patient tree, that dost distil and cherish By thy dark alchemy no gift of grace ; We too are doomed to bear the fruits that perish. Yet we have dreams of some diviner place. Lord of sorry waste and impotent endeavour, Raise us, embolden us to strive in vain ; Surely far hence, hereafter, and for ever We shall reap the harvest of our fruitless pain. 23 OUT OF WEAKNESS To-day, as far as eye can see. Or thought can multiply the sight, In tangled croft, on upland lea, A message flashed along the light Has worked strange marvels underground. And stirred a million sleeping cells. The rose has hopes of being crowned ; The foxglove dreams of purple bells ; No tiny life that blindly strives. But thinks the impulse all his own. Nor dreams that countless other lives Like him, are groping, each alone ; 24 OUT OF WEAKNESS What dizzy sweetness, when the rain Has wept her fill of laden showers, To peep across the teeming plain, Through miles of upward-springing flowers ! The brown seed bursts his armoured cap. And slips a white-veined arm between, White juicy stalks, a touch would snap, And twisted horns of sleekest green Now shift and turn from side to side. And fevered drink the stealing rain, As children fret at sermon-tide. When roses kiss the leaded pane. The tender, the resistless grace. That stirs the hopes of sleeping flowers. Could shake yon fortress to her base. And splinter those imperial towers ; 25 OUT OF WEAKNESS Concentred,, bound, obedient, The soul that lifts those dreaming lids Could mock old Ramses' monument. And pile a thousand pyramids. 26 OLD NESTS The angry sun engulphed apace Is flaring in the watery west, Swiftly the ragged vapours race, Uneasy wanderers, craving rest. As drowsy ring the muffled chimes. The weary footsteps homeward go : The phantom moon half-hearted climbs Above the plough-lands, large and low. In yonder hedgerow by the gate There swings a sodden crumbling nest. That lately held a living freight. That bore a warm and brooding breast. 27 OLD NESTS There woke to life with sweet surprise, Where now the lingering leaf is hurled, Young mouths that cried for food, young eyes That opened on a merry world. When the poor drudge that dumbly slept. Awoke to pile the sordid fire. Alert to view the world they leapt. In ardent, innocent desire. The parent thrush, with heart too glad For aught but crooning tender things. Had never leisure to be sad. Nor yearned to stretch her tethered wings. When that unwavering instinct wore A sweeter, a diviner dress, And nature for a moment bore The aspect of unselfishness. 28 OLD NESTS Unmindful of the sheltered days, The devious brood abroad is flown ; They linger in the accustomed ways. To make a music of their own. They pile new homes in croft and lane, They follow where the summer goes. And if they meet their sire again. They greet as strangers, even foes. The nest is down : the dream is o'er ; Do we too love because we must ? Or shall the fruit our passion bore. Be quickened, when the heart is dust ? 29 THE CARRIER PIGEON O'er leagues of clustered houses, where The long town flies its streamers black, Aloft upon the smoky air, Thou didst divine the homeward track ; Then out o'er park and sandy heath Thy chartered pinions bore thee well, The indifferent world was spread beneath ; How could we tell ? Why didst thou stay thy wandering That day within my fatal pine ? The leaden hail that rent thy wing. The fault, if fault there were, was mine. 30 THE CARRIER PIGEON Thou didst pursue thy cherished trust. With shattered plume and fihny eye, Again I flung thee in the dust, Only to die. Indeed, indeed, I deemed thee one Of that astute rapacious crew. That pluck the blade before the sun Is gracious, ere it drink the dew. Beneath the beech thy fellows toil. Grey specks upon the trampled floor Of rusty gold, to gorge and spoil The squirrel's store. How couldst thou guess thy confidence Would such unkindly welcome find ? The folk that trained thy trustful sense, God help me, were a gentler kind. 31 THE CARRIER PIGEON Thou didst not crave for alien air, No restless impulse bade thee roam, Thy sweetest hope, thy fondest care To hasten home. The words that tied by gentle hands. Beneath thy ready pinion lay, I, sorrowing, loosed their careful bands ; They passed a less ethereal way. Lest wanton time should violate Thy pious bones, thy tender frame, I bade the holt commemorate Thy nameless name. Then ere I hid the piteous feet, — Poor rosy feet ! — I rent away The ring that told thy customed beat. The scant duration of thy day. 32 THE CARRIER PIGEON Sleep well beneath the hanger's side. So shalt thou be, through my regret, As never duteous dove that died. Remembered yet. 33 THE MOLE Dig deeper yet, sir mole, in the patient ground. Score not my sloping park With starting turf uplifted, crumbling mound. Old delver in the dark ! For thee no gin with iron shears is set. To nip thy velvet hide ; But tempt me not, or I shall pinch thee yet. Seeing the world is wide. I make no claim to ampler dignity. Nor check the tiny scale. We live our destined hour, nor when we die Shall meet successors fail. . 34 THE MOLE I do not ask from thy vicarious pain, To win ambiguous good, Or draw strange secrets from thy shattered brain And palpitating blood. Like thee I feast on what I did not earn, And quake at destiny, But seeing I am stronger, thou shalt learn To do my will, or die. The earth-worm hears thee scraping overhead, To push thy tunnel dim. In vain he writhes across his oozy bed. If thou encounter him. Thy comfortable cape so deftly dight. Unnoted girds thee round : Who set those hands so scholarly and white To fumble underground ? 35 THE MOLE But shouldst thou think thyself too fine to hide, Too dainty to be foul^ Oh, wait awhile till thou hast proved and tried What frets a human soul ! I mine, and countermine, and blindly run. Beset with snare and gin, And even beneath free air and merry sun Dark fancies shut me in. For both alike the darkness and the day. The sunshine and the showers ; We draw sad comfort, thinking we obey A deeper will than ours. 36 THE TOAD Old fellow-loiterer, whither wouldst thou go ? The lonely eve is ours. When tides of richer fragrance ooze and flow From heavy-lidded flowers. With solemn hampered pace proceeding by The dewy garden-bed. Like some old priest in antique finery. Stiff cope and jewelled head ; Thy sanctuary lamps are lit at dusk. Where leafy aisles are dim ; The bat's shrill piccolo, the swinging musk Blend with the beetle's hymn. 37 THE TOAD Aye something paramount and priestly too, Some cynic mystery. Lurks in the dull skin with its dismal hue, The bright ascetic eye ; Thou seem'st the heir of centuries, hatched out With aeons on thy track ; The dust of ages compasses about Thy lean and shrivelled back. Thy heaving throat, thy sick repulsive glance Still awes thy foes around ; The eager hound starts back and looks askance, And whining paws the ground. Yet thou hast forfeited thy ancient ban. Thy mystical control ; We know thee now to be the friend of man, A simple homely soul ; 38 THE TOAD And when we deemed thee cui'iously wise, Still chewing venomed paste. Thou didst but crush the limbs of juicy flies With calm and critic taste. By the grey stone half sunk in mossy mould, Beside the stiff boxhedge, Thou slumberest, when the dawn with fingers cold Plucks at the low cloud's edge. O royal life ! in some cool cave all day. Dreaming old dreams^ to lie, Or peering up to see the larkspur sway Above thee in the sky ; Or wandering when the sunset airs are cool Beside the elm-tree's foot. To splash and sink in some sequestered pool. Amid the cresses' root. 39 THE TOAD AbhoiTed, despised, the sad wind o'er thee sings ; Thou hast no friend to fear, Yet fashioned in the secret mint of things And bidden to be here. Man dreams of lovehness, and bids it be ; To truth his eye is dim. Thou wert, because the spirit dreamed of thee, And thou art born of him. 40 THE BEETLE Whither away so fast, Bold beetle, say ? Spurning the sand-grains in thy busy haste. Across the trodden way ? In purple mail bedight, So dark and truculent. Armed cap-a-pie like Lancelot for the fight. Or on love's errand bent. For thee the wheatfield towers In high dim colonnades. Still hurrying down the overarching bowers .'' Still pressing through the blades ? 41 THE BEETLE The midgets in thy track Shrink trembhng and aghast. To see thy jointed horns and armour black Sweep proudly, proudly past. What, wilt not stay thy feet ? No rest, no leisure yet ? Ere those dark clouds in toppling thunder meet. And all the world be wet ? Well, I will onward too, Into the western sky: We'll think great thoughts of all we mean to do. Old beetle, you and I. 42 THE DANDELION Dandelion, dull of sense, I that love thee, praise thee, spare thee In the nook whence others tear thee. Hear me in thine own defence ; Hear me, herb of insolence. Dandelion, hear me call, Shouldst thou, dainty, seek to sigh on Velvet pillows, dandelion, — (Thou shalt hear me) — see thou sprawl Where I will, or not at all. 43 THE DANDELION See, the close-cropped lawn is mine ! Let the wilderness invite thee. Let the broken shade delight thee. Let the golden celandine See thee, and in envy pine. Shun the waste, the common wood, Where the cottage-children sally : Stalk, that snapped so musically. Oozing thick with milky blood. Solitude for thee were good. Dandelion, dost thou crave For some maiden breast to lie on, Smiling, dying, dandelion. Some soft hand to stoop and save. Save thee from thy felon's grave ? 44 THE DANDELION Leave thy dreaming ! know that eyes Sad as mine have wit to bless thee, Though I bend not, nor caress thee. He that sports with Passion dies, Seal thy heart : be pure, be wise. Dandelion, see thou shun Hope of fickle adoration : Crush thy larger aspiration, Flaunt thee, till thy race be run. Stare and glow, a mimic sun. Blow thy feathered aureole ; Let the shadowy arrows quiver Down the glade, across the river. Then at eve, when flower-bells toll. Then release thy dreaming soul. 45 HIDDEN LIFE The turf is marble underfoot. The fountain drips with icy spears ; And round about the cedar's root The hungry blackbird pecks and peers. The mud that rose beside the wheel In liquid flake, stands stiff and hard ; Unbroken lies the dinted heel. With icy streaks the rut is barred. Behind the knotted black tree-tops The solemn sunset waning burns. The pheasant mutters in the copse And patters through the crackling ferns. 46 HIDDEN LIFE Yet down below the frozen rind The silent waters creep and meet ; The roots press downwards unconfined^ Where deeper burns the vital heat. As when the summer sky is clear. And heat is winking on the hill. The swimmer rests beside the weir To feel the fresh luxurious chill. So earth lies still beneath the night, And takes no thought of wintry woe, She shudders with a keen delight. And nestles in her robe of snow. 47 AZALEA A WINDOW into a dusty street : A weary head, and a task that brings Scanty profit nor aught of sweet To the hours that lag on their leaden wings. Some one dropt me a charm to-day, Dropt and vanished and bade me hope ; Yellow azalea, one tall spray, Caught from a flashing fairy slope. Bursting out like a starry shower, Petals curled like a hanging wave, Who that fashioned you, dainty flower. Dreamed of a spirit so sweet and brave ? 48 AZALEA See my brow to your charm is bent : Where you pour from your mystic springs. All in prodigal alchemy blent Scents that quicken and lend me wings. What stirs first in the dreaming brain ? Sweetness infinite, unaware, Aching pleasure and happy pain, Drowned in a glory of sunny air. Forest nooks in a summer world : Waters slipping from ledge to ledge ; Bowery woodlands heaped and hurled Down to the stream from the mountain's edge. Boats that slide on a brimming stream Under the shelter of willowy isles ; Thoughts that wind in a mystic dream ; Idle laughter and loving smiles ; D 49 AZALEA Yet there lurks in the honied wine Something bitter and fresh and strong ; Wholesome savour of breeze and brine, Wise and wild as the linnet's song. Sinks the fragrance perilous sweet, Suddenly open the startled eyes ; Drowsily hums the teeming street, Thunder broods in the lowering skies. 50 THE DRAGONFLY ; 1 Restless dragonfly, darting, dancing ' Over the ribbons of trailing weed, , Cease awhile from thy myriad glancing, i Poised on the curve of the swinging reed ; i Where the lilyleaf smooths her creases. Rest like a warrior carved in stone ; Then when the crisp edge starts, and the breezes | Ruffle the water, arise, begone ! | Mailed in terror, thy harness gleaming, Soldier of summer, a day's desire Lantern eyeballs lustrously dreaming. Mirroring woodland, hill, and spire, 51 1 THE DRAGONFLY Wondering gaze at the depths that pent thee Crawhng soft on the dim-Ht floor ; Was it the fire in thy heart that sent thee Brave through the ripple, to shine and soar ? Then when the piled clouds big with thunder Smite thee down with a summer's tear, Floating, lost in a languid wonder. On to the deadly swirl of the weir, Dream of the days of thy sunny playing. Take no thought of the depths beneath, Till the eddies that smile in slaying Draw thee down to the deeps of death. I too come in the summer weather, Dropping down when the winds are low. Float like birds of an alien feather. Weary of winter and Northern snow, 52 THE DRAGONFLY Cool depths under us, blue above us. Carelessly drifting side by side. Is there a heart to guide us, love us ? Are we but made to be tossed aside ? Wherefore question of what befall thee Winds that blow from the sunless shore ? One hath made thee and One shall call thee ; Dream in the sunlight, and ask no more. S3 KNAPWEED By copse and hedgerow, waste and wall, He thrusts his cushions red ; O'er burdock rank, o'er thistles tall. He rears his hardy head : Within, without, the strong leaves press. He screens the mossy stone. Lord of a narrow wilderness. Self-centred and alone. He numbers no obser\^ant friends. He soothes no childish woes. Yet nature nurtures him, and tends As duly as the rose ; 54 KNAPWEED He drinks the blessed dew of heaven, The wind is in his ears. To guard his growth the planets seven Swing in their airy spheres. The spirits of the fields and woods Throb in his sturdy veins : He drinks the secret, stealing floods. And swills the volleying rains : And when the birds' note showers and breaks The wood's green heart within, He stu's his plumy brow and wakes To draw the sunlight in. Mute sheep that pull the grasses soft Crop close and pass him by. Until he stands alone, aloft, In surly majesty. 55 KNAPWEED No fly so keen, no bee so bold. To pierce that knotted zone, He frowns as though he guarded gold. And yet he garners none. And so when autumn winds blow late. And whirl the chilly wave. He bows before the common fate. And drops beside his grave. None ever owed him thanks or said ^A gift of gracious heaven.' Down in the mire he droops his head ; Forgotten, not forgiven. Smile on, brave weed ! let none inquire What made or bade thee rise : Toss thy tough fingers high and higher To flout the drenching skies. 56 KNAPWEED Let others toil for others' good. And miss or mar their own ; Thou hast brave health and fortitude To live and die alone ! 57 THE WATER-OUSEL A SHADOW by the water's edge, — A flash across the mossy ledge. That stems the roaring race. Dark were his plumes as dim twilight^, The crescent on his throat gleamed white. The breeze was in his face. I follow, but he flies before. And when I gain the sandy shore Close, close, methinks, behind : — His tiny footprints speck the beach. He fleets to some sequestered reach, A shadow on the wind. 58 THE WATER-OUSEL Love flies me as that dusky bird, I too have marked his flight, and heard The rustle of his wings. He leads me with divine deceit. To trace the print of vanished feet, Not where he nests and sings. 59 ON THE HILL The curlew whistles on the waste^ The lapwing wheels in air, The skimming heathcock cries in haste To bid his mates beware. The alders whisper by the fall. The hazels in the lane. The headstones by the chapel wall Are black with clinging rain. From barns high-piled with fragrant grass The children peep to see The stranger from the city pass — Yet none hath need of me. 60 ON THE HILL Woodland and hill together run Where earth and sky combine. There beats not, underneath the sun, A lonelier heart than mine. For love acquired or duly paid Is not the same as given. And they on earth of love afraid Are half afraid of heaven. 6i A RECANTATION Too proud to plead, too old to be ashamed ; There lay the stah' that climbed the vault of heaven ; And yet I know not why I never claimed The love you would have given. What was it held me back ? The chilly fear That shrinks within itself, and dreads the touch Of those warm hands, that make the world too near. And loved, alas ! too much. Not the lone rapture of the aspiring saint. That fears to blind, to dim the single eye ; But wisdom's counterfeit, too cold, too faint To venture, lest she die. 62 A RECANTATION Who curiously weighs the sacrifice, Who nicely calculates the loss, the gain. Pays a sad price for being overwise. And wins the fierce disdain Of those who in the world were bought and sold. Who fell, and fell again, and sinning died. Yet brood and nestle in the eternal fold. When prudence pines outside. 63 SECRETS Home of my heart, when wilt thou ope Thy silent doors to let me in ? What ! not one glimpse to quicken hope Of all that I aspire to win ? So near, and yet so oft denied ! The roses on my trellis throw Their heedless scent from side to side. Yet will not whisper what they know. The yellow moon, that hangs and peers Amid the icy horns on high, Leans to the listening earth, yet fears To tell the secret of the sky. 64 SECRETS pines, that whisper in the wind, When lingering herds from pasture come. Breathe somewhat of your steadfast mind : The hour is yours : yet ye are dumb. Sweet answering eyes, you too have learned The secret that you will not tell — 1 should have known it, but you turned That moment, and the lashes fell ! Home of my heart, why stand so cold And silent ? There is mirth within : The sun sinks low : the day is old : Oh let the baffled wanderer in ! 65 DRIFTING I SAILED with a witch in a car of foam. Over the sleeping lake : And she said : Sail on to my haunted home ; Then did I answer make : — Not so, I cried, I will ride and roam, I will sail all day in our bell of foam. But I may not go to your haunted home. And your hand I will not take. She smiled a smile like an icy lake When the warm winds over it quiver. Yea, wise, she said, is the choice you make. We will sail, sail on for ever ; 66 DRIFTING Over the sleeping forest go, And scale the unvisited heights of snow, And ride unharmed where the whirlwinds blow. And skim o'er the deadly river. She spoke of marvellous things with me, On her knee I pillowed my head : We heard the surge of the tumbling sea As westward we fared and fled : — And my heart was steeped in her fantasy, Till once as we floated merrily. Oh, here is your hand in mine, said she, And here is my home, she said. The idle music died in my brain. And left me alone, awake, And I was aware of a stony plain. And a dizzy, haunting ache ; 67 DRIFTING I sigh all clay, but I sigh in vain For a sound of the murmuring voice again. For a draught of healing to ease my pain, And a hand for mine to take. 68 UTRUMQUE NOSTRUM INCREDIBILI MODO CONSENTIT ASTRUM We were friends, as the world would say. Boys together m April weather ; Lounged in a reprehensible way Under the elm-trees, half the day_, Seldom serious, under the shade. Talking of trifles, rides and rifles. Finding each for the other made, I the scabbard and you the blade ; Not that we spoke of it save to joke of it ; — 69 UTRUMQUE NOSTRUM INCREDIBILl That was the story ; nothing new ; Yet it was strange to me and you. You were gladdest and I was saddest, You were tender and I was true ; — So it seems to me now ; but then, I was slave to the king of men. Many a year since then has died ; First we were parted, grew half-hearted. Worked and worried and worse beside, Thought with a sigh of the vanished prime ; Yesterday, on a morn in May, As the matin-bells began to chime. Who but yourself should cross my door ? Looking much as you looked before. Somewhat grimmer and somewhat dimmer, Smiling less than you smiled of yore. 70 MODO CONSENTIT ASTRUM There as we talked the wonder grew ; Was it my comrade ? was it you ? You that I sighed for^ ay, would have died for ? Why did you frown ere your tale was told. Chide the thrush that piped in the bush. Curse the laburnum's hanging gold ? I like the brooding bird was prest Warm and fond in a narrow nest, Sweetly bound in a simple round. Under the shadow of mellow towers. Softly chiming the measured hours. You had drunk of the cup of life. Drained its sweetness, mocked at completeness. Nibbled at fame and dallied with strife. Sipped the sweets of a thousand books. Basked in laughter and loving looks, 71 UTRUMQUE NOSTRUM INCREDIBILI Nestled close to the merry world ; — Why were your bright wings suddenly furled ? Why did you lapse in your soaring flight. Stoop and dive to the tides of night ? What have you done with your soul, my friend? Where is the ray you were wont to send, Glancing bright through the outer night. Touching with hope what was dark before. Glimmering on to the further shore ? God suffers the light to know eclipse. Dashes the cup from the eager lips ; You perchance would have drunk too deep ; Fallen, lulled in a magic sleep, Now you strain through a surge of pain. Whirled and whelmed in the streams of death ; Hardly touching the rock beneath. 72 MODO CONSENTIT ASTRUM I meanwhile, in my slumberous isle. Hear the trumpet blown for the fray, Wild war music that winds away ; Then the struggle when heroes die. Strong helms shiver, and I not by. Fair you think is the quiet vale. The branching courts of the nightingale ; Loud and long is her idle song ; — Yet she suffers before she sings. Folded fast are the quivering wings. Under the leaf, to the throbbing breast Closely the rankling thorn is prest. Courage, my comrade ! say, we miss All that was possible once of bliss. Say we gave to the eager wave. Scattering free without fear or heed. What would have made us kings indeed. 73 UTRUMQUE NOSTRUM Where we buiy our hopes outworn, Doubts, and dreams that have died of scorn. Ah ! and a thousand sorry things. Love hke a flower unbidden springs. Let it bloom in a faithful breast : — That is our treasure : leave the rest. 74 NOT HERE O SOUL that we have loved, O vanished light Of those true eyes, O hands that ours have pressed. Where art thou ? Dost thou spurn thy proffered rest. And weep to see us stumbling in the night ? Or is the spirit in its starry seat As alien, as indifferent to the praise That swells and gathers round thy human days, And dost thou dwell in some austere retreat, 75 NOT HERE Serene, forgetful of the ancient pain. There in that world, where peace makes all things well. As when the heavy rollers swinging slow Are fretted with innumerable rain That fine as slender needles pricks the swell. But never stirs the enormous peace below ? 76 A CHILD Look in my eyes : I do not ask for love : Lay hand in mine, and when thou wilt be free, The oak may shelter the home-coming dove. And thus I welcome thee. The oak that battles with the bitter sleet Is grim and hard, but e'er the summer come. Thrills through and through to feel the flying feet Alight, and nestle home. Not that he claims her as his captive guest. Not that he dreams she will no longer stray. But loves the natural trust, and bids her rest His darling for a day. 77 A CHILD Dear, wilful child, that dost with sweet caprice Scatter at heedless feet thy fairy fee, Be good, be gracious ere thy empire cease. And waste a smile on me. Here where the pine, knee-deep in scented brake. Throws his long shade across the sloping lawn, By knoll and terrace dipping to the lake. In valleys far withdrawn. Climbing, by downs and precipices grim. To yon high pinnacle, erect and grey. That flushes rose when all the vale is dim. And guesses at the day. Here for a moment let our fates be one ; By no blind chance the cunning maidens bring You from the sway of some diviner sun. Me from our harsher spring. 78 A CHILD Old signs are written in thy tender face, Desires, regrets that thou hast never known. Thou art the heir of thy aspiring race. Heir of a troubled throne. Of hope, that hardly dost portend the morn. And sadness, that hast scarcely guessed at pain, God takes the characters of fate outworn. And writes them fair again. Those little feet that scarce the light turf press. Those little hands so brown with wind and sun, God grant they tremble not for weariness Before thy course be done. And thou shalt love, and learn what love is worth. And thou shalt trust, and learn to value men. And all the sudden mysteries of earth. Shall open to thy ken. 79 A CHILD j Nay, no austere philosophies, sweet child ! I will not muse in churlish reverie, i 1 It is enough for me that thou hast smiled, i That thou hast smiled on me ; I I Come, talk of all thy wayward soul desires ; < i What, wilt thou listen ? Then I '11 not be wise, \ I But weave a tale of fantasy and fire j To light those wondering eyes. i i What, wilt be flying ? Am I then too staid ? Can I not smooth the meditative brow ? ! Flash through the sun and flutter through the shade, j As birds from bough to bough ? What ? dost thou linger ? Ah, my dear, how much Thou givest, couldst thou only understand ! The kiss of childish pity, and the touch Of thine absolving hand. 80 FLOWER CROWNS No radiant diadem For heroes' brows I twine ; Roses and bay for them. Sad leaves for thine ! Not the sepulchral yew_, That wears a solemn grace ; That were more meet to strew Some dear dead face. Heartease and violets In sweet humility ; These are for calm regrets. And not for thee. F 8i FLOWER CROWNS Thorns for the holy brow Of royal suffering ; A crown of pain, and thou Art more than king. But flowers that close at eve, When dews of healing fall ; Frail weeds of night shall weave Thy coronal. Or those rude herbs that shed Their seed in miry ways ; The lark sings overhead. With none to praise. Lilies for innocence. Snowdrops for hope divine, The rue for sad suspense, And that is thine ! 82 MY FRIEND Where is my friend to-day ? 'Twas but a week ago That he smiled in my face with his care- less grace_, Loved me — but could not stay, — What of his work, would I know ? Little as yet to say. Nothing as yet to show ! Where is the soul austere ? Nourished from springs remote, Delicate, bright with a wizard light. Shy as a maiden's fear, 83 MY FRIEND Bold as a trumpet's note, Sweet as the woodlark's throat ? — Only he is not here : Ever some hint perplexed Spoke in the quivering flame, Some shadow of doom from the gates of gloom ; Often I cheered him, vexed. Chiding his tardy fame ; Oh, when I see him next Will he be still the same ? Where are the restless feet ? Where are the stariy eyes ? The caressing hand — and the brain that planned 84 MY FRIEND Never to realise ? Ohj when we next shall meet, How shall I dare to prize What seemed so incomplete ? Hark to the world to-day ! Yesterday some one said That he masked with a smile a world- ling's wile ; Self-centred, cold and gay ; Now that my friend is dead. Hark to the prayers they pray ! See the false tears they shed ! What lies here on the bed ? What is this pinched white thing. With a stony eye and a lip that 's dry ? See I drive from the stiffened head, 85 MY FRIEND Yon fly with the buzzing wing ; Presently when I am fled. He will return and bring — Nay, but I do him wrong, Nothing of him I see. Save the shrouding dusk, the chrysalis husk. Oh but we loved it, we ! He is serene and strong. Hath he a thought of me Under the angels' song ? If it be well with him. If it be well, I say, I will not try with a childish cry To draw him thence away : Only my day is dim. Only I long for him. Where is my friend to-day ? 86 THE DEAD POET The child that leans his ear beside the shell. Grows grave to hear the multitudinous roar. Remembered echoes of the pulsing swell That sets from shore to shore ; But heeds not that the cool and rosy rim Once bulged with shuddering growth of beard and horn. That pushed with loathly grasp about the dim Untrodden caves forlorn : That day by day from ooze and weltering slime Built up his filmy chambers, cell by cell. Yet only schemed to shelter for a time His shrinking softness well. 87 THE DEAD POET My poet^ thus I drink thy dreaming soul, I scan the self-wrought fabric line by line.. I mark the mounting music surge and roll, Inviolate^, divine ; Yet when thy weary eyes grew hard in death, The busy crowd laid hands upon thy bones. They probed the impulse of thy lightest breath. And analysed thy groans ; With down-drawn lips where lurked a curious smile, They traced the devious error of thy days ; They said. We will be strong and stern awhile, Before we dare to praise. They ask by what dark alchemy he drew So sweet a savour from so rank a root, 88 THE DEAD POET So while the yeasty slander worked and grew^ I sighed irresolute. I thank thee, O my poet ! What thou art Is mine, and what thou wert is not for me ; Perchance the very sin that clutched thy heart, Thy fruitless agony. Winged most the soaring spirit : hadst not erred. Thou hadst not raged the dragging mire to shun With battling pinion, as the lowliest bird Sails nearest to the sun : I take the airy structure, lean my ear Beside it, and the wizard echoes roll ; My heart grows clean and I forget to fear, O thou imperious soul ! 89 OMAR KHAYYAM Out of the tombs, across the centuries The chill voice called and answered '^Yea, I knew ! I prayed the prayers that bring no peace to you, I paid the same sad price for growing wise ; I knew the sick despairs that vex you still. The same duml) night, the old unwavering stars. The same wild lust that in a moment mars The patient barriers of the labouring will. And this was mine, to inweave the tender dream With shame and pain, and all that hope ignores; To catch the whispers of Eternity ; 90 OMAR KHAYYAM To gaze beyond the whirlpool^ see the stream, The steady stream, that sets to desert shores Far off, and those dim continents to be/ 91 EDWARD FITZGERALD I HEAR a stronger music in the air, I mark a richer harmony combine With those thin eager melodies of thine ; I look for thee and find another there ; — And dost thou beckon from the ages dim. My cynic minstrel, Omar ? Is it thou ? Or do I trace, behind the furrowed brow. The shy and sober lineaments of him Who lingered listless in a land of streams ; — As when some laughing child endues a mask Of frozen horror, whence the pure eye shines 92 \ EDWARD FITZGERALD In smiling softness ; 'twas thy destined task To dig new ores from those imgarnered mines, And flush with young desires those pallid dreams. 93 IN COWPER'S LETTERS Poet of home^ green walks and fireside ease^ The trivial joys in which our days are spent. How cheerfully thy tender merriment Falls on our ear in such dark hours as these ! — When the sick thoughts that did thy spirit freeze Hover about our mortal tenement. And unsubstantial fear and vague lament People the sighing of the restless breeze. Thy hedgerow elms that stand so starved and sere When winter crusts each twig with crystal rime, 94 IN COWPER'S LErrERS Still break in cloudy greenness, when the year Wheels into warmth_, and 'tis the budding time : If I grow old and sad, why so didst thou ! Yet love hath crowned the pale world-weary brow. 95 WILLIAM COLLINS Still on the misty flat^ below the down, In miry creeks the slow brine comes and goes ; The minster tower across the red-roofed town From dawn to eve its circling shadow throws ; The walls that echoed to thy shuddering groan Are vocal now with heedless boyish talk ; The pigeons huddle on their ledge of stone, Beneath, the brawling daws confederate stalk. » Hushed the long echo of the vesper hymn ; Across thy grave the solemn shadows grow : 96 WILLIAM COLLINS And art thou grateful for the coolness dim ? Sad singer, dost thou slumber well below ? The glimmering evening thou hast made thine own Surely and silently in softness falls. She draws the colour from the mellow stone. And veils the majesty of stately walls. Ay^ we can leave thee : thou art born again. Thy wistful smile shines sweet across the years ; Lapt in the still contentment born of pain. Reaping the harvest of thy shadowy fears. And seems it strange a younger singer's hand Should falter over griefs so long decayed. Should lean across the century, and stand Weighing a woe irrevocably weighed ? G 97 WILLIAM COLLINS The red rose beckons from his garden-plot ; And ^Life/ she says^ 4s mme, and thme to-day.' The fond abstracted singer heeds her not. O'er mouldering bones he sighs himself away. Nay, when a fiery soul that might have made Immortal music, mute and voiceless lies. Only in dull hearts is the sorrow laid. The loss, the bitter wonder never dies. Thine was the pain with startled eyes to see The larger range of undiscovered art ; Though the blind world in critic mockery Curbed the fierce beat of thy prophetic heart. Risen like a star, extinguished like a star In some brief conflagration, when the light 98 WILLIAM COLLINS That orbed itself in secret tracts afar Flares out, and slips engulphed in ancient night. And shall we plead the yearnings of our race. Our shattered hope, our faltering innocence. Brandish our faint ideals in the face Of Him who thrusts us hither, draws us hence ? Who knits the ravelled thread with prescient ruth. Sad schemings, unendurable despair ; Though reeling minds may totter. He is Truth; Though hearts may ache to view Him, He is there. 99 DEAN SWIFT AlaSj alas ! sad, bitter, loving man ; With jests for others, to thyself least kind ; That didst with studied boldness dare to scan The shadowy horrors of the darkened mind. A heart that ached for love, by nature made 'Neath loving lips to grow more sweet and mild. Mutely itself upon the altar laid. From that true self by truer self exiled. As that prophetic roll, upon the lip Of acrid savour. Heaven's own manna proved ; Ay ! there was sweetness here, 'mid stain and slip Of word and thought, to witness how he loved ! 100 DEAN SWIFT Thou didst look love and sorrow in the face. And sorrow choosing, didst but love defer. And love hath cro\\Tied thee in a calmer place. With her who soothed thy aching life, and her Whose weakness made thee cruel, who designed A jealous thrust and fell upon the steel ; Let those who blame the unforgiving mind Learn from thy caustic silence how to feel. Alas ! what means for us thy troubled face ? The pure in heart still striving to be foul ? The generous spirit scheming for a place ? The filthy jest that masked the serious soul ? This : that our days are wholly incomplete ; — Some baseness mars them, some unbanished taint, 101 DEAN SWIFT That clogs in miry ways the aspiring feet, '. And specks the robe of many a willing saint. We, in the dust of some disordered room, j For our dropt treasure peer and grope aghast ; i Then if the hand encounter through the gloom i The golden circle, seize it, hold it fast ! I02 THOMAS GRAY Singer most melancholy^ most austere. So overcharged with greatness, that thy frame Was all too frail to feed the aspiring flame. And sank in chill disdain and secret fear. Save that thy idle fingers now and then Touched unawares a slender chord divine ; Oh, if but half the silence that was thine Were shared to-day by clamorous minstrel-men ! I thread the woodland where thy feet have strayed. The gnarled trunks dreaming out their ancient tale 103 THOMAS GRAY I Are fair as then ; the same sad chime I hear That floats at eve across the purple vale ; The music of thy speech is in my ear. And I am glad because thou wast afraid. 104 GILBERT WHITE Thou wast a poet, though thou knew'st it not, Then, on a merry morning, when the thrush Fluted and fluted briskly in the bush, And blackbirds whisked along thy garden-plot. Didst watch an hour beside thy hanger s foot The quivering kestrel hung aloft the skies To mark aught stirring, or with pensive eyes In cherry-orchards didst forecast the fruit. And shall I deem it idle thus to scan The myriad life, and reverently wait. GILBERT WHITE A patient learner, auguring, behind The restless hand, the unhesitating mind ? This was thy daily task, to learn that man Is small, and not forget that man is great. io6 CHALVEY Chalvey stream, dear Chalvey stream, There are not many singers Would think you worth a minstrel's dream, And very weary fingers. 1 sing your praises Ufideterred j — In days ivhen sight was sharper, Another Jordan ivas prefen^ed To Abana and Pharpar. A mile across the level land (A pool is set with willows), You toss a cone of restless sand. And leap in tiny billows. 107 CHALVEY So cool and calm, from hidden springs, Out of the dark that bound you. You join a hundred living things, Sweet sights, sweet scents around you. You ripple on 'neath summer skies. With grassy banks to guide you^ Where to and fro swift laughter flies Of boys that play beside you. And all at once, before you know. Beneath the bridge you shiver, You thread the stately pool, and lo ! You topple in the river. By weir and lock, by bridge and mill. You roll and roar and rumble. And fouler things and fouler still Within your eddies tumble, io8 CHALVEY And soon beneath a smoky pall The city hums about you^ And churned by iron wheels you fall In tides that toss and flout you. Then waking after fevered days, You see, beyond the shipping. The shadowy headland through the haze. The red buoy dipping, dipping ; The air intoxicates like wine. And in the merry weather. The flying sail, the hissing brine Keep carnival together. Oh, in that larger place, amid The ecstasy of motion. When you are free and fearless, hid Within the leaping ocean, 109 CHALVEY When fond constraint to freedom yields. With all the world before you. Forget not the familiar fields, The quiet source that bore you. Chalvey stream, dear Chalvey stream, Flow onward unabated, What though to careless eyes you seem A little overrated. I'm not ashamed to call you fiiend, To own our fond relations, Like all things mortal you depend 0?i your associations. no ON THE WESTERN CLIFFS Out of the windy waste Of waters rolling gray, Homeward the red sails haste Across the bay. Over the downs I see The summits black and sheer, When evening on the lea Is pale and clear. There as the twilight falls. The seabirds float and cry ; (Only the mountain walls Make faint reply) ; III ON THE WESTERN CLIFFS Or with broad wing decline Down to their rocky home. Warm in the chilly brine, Nestled in foam. Over the oozy weed The flying feet haste on. Hither and thither speed Ere day be done. For them the fry that dive Poise in their liquid bed. They neither fear nor strive. Sleep and are fed. Then comes the night, the end. What should their dying be ? Death steals, a silent friend. Out of the sea. 112 ON THE WESTERN CLIFFS Under the rocky edge They close then* languid eye. While shrill from tuft and ledge Their brethren cry. Or where the stranded wrack. Rimmed on the stunted grass, Rattles so dry and black As the winds pass, The draggled feather flies, The frail denuded bones Bleach, and the sightless eyes, On the grey stones. Under the weary hill The wandering footsteps cease ,* He that must wander still Envies your peace. H 113 ON THE WESTERN CLIFFS Wasted by harsh events, Sighs to be large and free, Mix with the elements And breathe and be. 114 NORTHWARDS An orb of fire behind the grove The sun speeds on ; The shding streams that seaward move Are chill and wan : The mire is ridged with icy crusty The tufted meads Are specked with hoary flakes, where thrust The frozen reeds. The mellow light begins to pale ; The moon on high, Too dim, too cloudlike to prevail, Hangs in the sky, 115 NORTHWARDS Through this bleak hour that brings the dark, Ere daylight fade, We fly on iron wheels, and mark The changing glade. Northwards the shuddering axles reel, With merry din ; Like moving spokes on some slow wheel The furrows spin. The copse, the farmstead shifts ; and both Fly like the wind. Swift runs the distant spire, as loth To lag behind. What means the transient glimpse, the sight Of waste and home ? What stirs the roving heart so light To choose and come ? ii6 NORTHWARDS They wave a welcome back, ' Oh stay Thy course severe, A truce to wandering ! Here/ they say, ' Lies peace, and here. Rest, rest,' they call, ' unquiet mind. Here learn to dream. To love, and wander unconfined As breeze or stream.' ' Ah no,' I answer, ' night is near ; Not mine to set The bourne I crave : what most I fear Runs with me yet. I hurry, hurry through the night, I hasten on To see what lands the Northern hght Next shines upon, 117 NORTHWARDS When I have learnt what longings are, What means regret^ Something,— beyond the furthest star — Shall call me yet/ ii8 IN THE SOUTH In the sunny summer weather^ in a garden by the sea, Where the breeze scarce stirs the drooping fans of many a tropic tree. Only all the lazy morning to attend my listless dreams, Doth the languid eucalyptus breathe the sound of falling streams ; High above the huddling houses blinking white with shuttered eyes, You may see the city, roof by roof, and tower by tower arise, 119 IN THE SOUTH Dazzling walls embowered in greenness, spires that peep through palm and plane. Vines that droop o'er trellised terrace, runlets that forget the rain, Upward ever upward climbing, till the high- piled tops are won. Streaked with tracts of sombre woodland quiver- ing in the steady sun. Or about the league-long crest the vaporous cloud is folded gray. When the sea is white with breakers and the beach is wet with spray. And the hills are flecked with coursing shadows, and the hasty wind Blusters through the tumbled garden, late so indolent and kind. I20 IN THE SOUTH But to-night sweet peace enfolds me j only from the lazy town Floats the hum of summer voices,, and the mighty ships swing down^ Blowing here a mellower horn to bid the wander- ing truant home, Or the solemn convent bells are rung in many a sounding dome^ Or the watch-dog bays belated, and with shrill effusive note Cocks are challenging the morning perched in homesteads far remote ; Idle sounds that come and go in gusty pauses of the breeze, Hurrj'ing to cool vales of sunrise o'er the crests of rippling seas. 121 IN THE SOUTH Man, unlike his fellow-brutes, who wounded creep apart to die. Flies from shelter, basks in light, and smiles in alien company. Mocked by life and hope that flies before him, drawing fiercer breath. Darkens light and poisons laughter with the un- dertone of death. Oh, the world is strong and careless, soft the sky and still the sea ; What avails the myriad gladness, if it be not glad for me ? What for me the brooding sunlight and the creeper's scented breath. When a thousand trembling hands are beating at the doors of death ? 122 IN THE SOUTH What avails the fragrant passion of the clustering spires of bloom^ If I chafe in hopeless longing, if I pine in lonely gloom ? Yet I think the load would lighten, could I dream that endless pain Were the seed of love and laughter, when the world is born again. I could laugh at suffering, were it pledge of some imparted joy, Gave it but a sudden moment's gladness to a thoughtless boy. • ••••• Thus I wrote beneath the trailing vines, not knowing what might be, In an island ringed about by the interminable sea. 123 ^CGELUM, NON ANIMUM ' I FELT the soul within me yearn, Take life, and quicken into speech : She said, ' What God hath bid thee learn. To-day He bids thee teach. He weighed the pain and dealt the blow. He made thee patient, almost brave ; Then came the hope, the after-glow ; All this, and more He gave.' I said, ' Amid the trivial noise. The natural stir, the ingenuous strife, 124 *C(ELUM, NON ANIMUM' I dare not bid these secret joys To bourgeon into life. I '11 seek/ I said^ * some sheltered grange, Where suns are sweet and winds are low ; From day to day with scarce a change Beneath my elms I '11 go. There in the silent sunlit air The heavenly voices linger best. Soft songs shall thrill and echo there About my home of rest.* I lingered late : the eve was mine : The voice was clear, the lute was strung ; And yet no messenger divine Thrilled through the expectant tongue. 125 'CCELUM, NON ANIMUM' ^ Nay/ said the chiding voice at lengthy Thou hast done ill to heed thy fears, My strenuous amplitude of strength Speaks not to vacant ears. Return, resume thy destined task. Who labours most, he hearkens best, A faithful heart is all I ask, My peace is not thy rest.' 126 IN EXILE How fares the world at home to-day ? The road, the high familiar trees, The climbing lane that breaks aw^ay By sandy cuttings, where it please ? The steep and stony field, I trow. That feeds the rushing water-head. Is thick with sorrel tall ere now, A dimpling sheet of filmy red : I know that by the covert side, Where shrill belated lapwings call, The ragwort flaunts his tattered pride. In green and gold majestical. 127 IN EXILE Cool orchids, pulsing purple blood. About the marshy meadows low. Or in the spare sequestered wood With paler grace, unnoted blow. So sharp, so clear the fancies float Before the di-eaming soul, that I Can almost hear the throstle's note. And spell the early cuckoo's cry. How strange a passion in me broods For those green miles, that homely glade. That sweep of undistinguished woods. That little space of sun and shade ; How sick the longings on me crowd To thread again the sunny street, Where now the converse rises loud, (And I lie here) ; to set my feet, 128 IN EXILE Where those who take my place may stand. To dream my own familiar dreams : — And I am loitering in a land, A tumbled land of stones and streams. 129 REDITURUS Green vales of Kent, across the blue My heart unbidden turns to you ; Your woodlands deep, your misty skies To me are more than paradise. Here sprawls the earth, in chaos hurled,— Brute fastness of a ruder world, — Couched dragonlike with spine and horn. And flushed with fury eve and morn. Beyond, aloft, the snow-capped dome Hangs like a bell of fairy foam ; 130 REDITURUS And frowns across the nearer wood. In envious, aching solitude. How free to range 'neath larger skies ! We murmur — yet the eager eyes But change th' horizon, when we roam ; The brooding heart still sits at home. Ye cheer me not, O hills austere ! I may not, dare not linger here : Yet happier, that I carry hence Some touch of your indifference. Farewell, farewell ; I see you fade Far off", a tract of rugged shade ; The sun that quits these darkening skies. Green vales of Kent, on you shall rise. 131 MY WILL I WOULD live, if I had my will. In an old stone grange on a Yorkshire hill ; Ivy-encircled, lichen-streaked. Low and mullioned, gable-peaked. With a velvet lawn, and a hedge of yew. An apple orchard to saunter through. Hyacinth-scented in spring's clear prime. And rich with roses in summer-time. And a waft of heather over the hill. Had I my will. 132 MY WILL Over my tree-tops, grave and brown. Slants the back of a breezy down ; Through my fields, by the covert edge, A swift stream splashes from ledge to ledge On to the hamlet, scattered, gray. Where folk live leisurely day by day ; The same old faces about my walks ; Smiling welcomes and simple talks ; Innocent stories of Jack and Jill ; Had I my will. How my thrushes should pipe ere noon. Young birds learning the old birds' tune ; Casements wide, when the eve is fair. To drink the scents of the moonlit air. Over the valley I 'd see the lights Of the lone hill-farms, on the upland heights ; ^33 MY WILL And hear when the night is alert with rain, The steady pulse of the labouring train. With the measured gush of the merry rill. Had I my will. Then in the winter, when gusts pipe thin. By a clear fire would I sit within. Warm and dry in the ingle nook, Reading at ease in a good grave book ; Under the lamp, as I sideways bend, I 'd scan the face of my well-loved friend; Writing my verses with careless speed. One at least would be pleased to read ; Thus sweet leisure my days should fill. Had I my will. Then when the last guest steps to my side ; — May it be summer, the windows wide, — 134 MY WILL I would smile as the parson prayed. Smile to think I was once afraid ; Death should beckon me, take my hand. Smile at the door of the silent land. Then the slumber, how good to sleep Under the grass where the shadows creep, Where the headstones slant on the wind-swept hill ! I shall have my will ! 135 ST. LUKE'S SUMMER Ah me ! how good to breathe, to hear, to see ! Flown is the languid summer's drooping heat. The large wind blusters, racing boisterously, And whistles in the stubble at our feet. Before the dark November glooms draw near. Before the sad mist, like a veil, is drawn Athwart the leafless covert, and the drear Wet winter shudders at the lingering dawn. To-day, when Autumn over leafy miles Unfurls his crimson banners, brave and bold, 136 ST. LUKE'S SUMMER The pine frowns blacker through the forest aisles^ When all beside is splashed with reckless gold. Pale with chill lustre in the duskier plain^ The brimming river winding I descry, Under the flying footsteps of the rain The hamlet's whirling smoke-wreaths fade and fly. Over the red roofs blinks the solemn tower. With shuttered eyelids, meditating peace. Or stirs itself to strike a pensive hour. And dreams and wonders till the echoes cease. At that calm note a host of broodings rash Take noisy wing, and fly the troubled brain. Bred in the damp hours when the slow rains splash And trickle down the sodden streaming lane. 137 ST. LUKE'S SUMMER Thy soft balms mollify the fretted soul. Fresh wind of autumn : how divine to see The tides of circumstance beneath me roll. Alone, upon a grassy down with thee. Yet back upon themselves the old chimes ring ! Healing is well, yet wherefore wounds to heal? Bear with the listless hour, the suffering ; The breezes blow, and we have learned to feel. 138 HOMEWARDS Comrade, the sun is low ; Now doth the heavy West Burn for leagues like a smouldering coal with a smoky glow ; Oh, the day pants for rest ! Higher, the liquid sky, Green as an ice-fed stream. Deepens to infinite blue, and softly inveigles the shy Stars from their day-long dream. 139 HOMEWARDS Out of the wayside flower Ebbs the colour away : Crocuses deHcate, pink^ that lay like a starry shower, Dapple the dusk with grey. Blackness gathers apace Under the shrouded pines. Over the tumbled stones that stream from the mountain's face Slowly the shade declines. Only the dying fires. Flashes of farewell lights Flush in the old stone crags, and flame in the rocky spires ; Suddenly falls the night. 140 HOMEWARDS Comrade, the dark is come ; Drop to the welcoming vale_, Steer to the winding Hghts and the city's gen- erous hum ; Then when the dawn is pale^ Quitting the kindly street, Leaving the fireside bright. Laugh with the parting guest and smile on the child we meet. Free as the fleeting light ; We too speed from the west. Speed with the rushing earth ; Still the unsatisfied heart and still the imperious quest Mock at our devious mirth. 141 HOMEWARDS Hush, for the world must sleep : Passion and heat are done : Who would the pulsing fervours of clamorous noontide keep Till he fade in the sun ? Twilight, pitiful, sad. Night, so chilly and stern. Breathe your vastness upon us, and make us brave and glad ; Better to brood than burn. Suns in the heart of the night Flame like a restless spark : Only the silence waits till the aching gaps unite Into the infinite dark. 142 VIATOR Is this the February air That breathes in fragrance on my brow ? So soft, methinks, 'twould never dare To nip the bloom or whirl the snow ; — And yet no hint of treachery Lurks in the clear enlivened sky. The speckled arum-spike begins His crumpled glistening cap to thrust : Blithe on the road the dry leaf spins. The yew is packed with yellow dust ; Beneath the elm small things are seen That star the dyke with lively green. 143 VIATOR Wliere smoothly dips the sheltered lea The merry crested plovers run, Or lost in dreamy reverie Hoist their long wings to feel the sun ; Or wheel with melancholy cry. And lessen in the western sky. The eyes that track them draw the soul To fly, to follow where they go ; They came from where the torrents roll — Where those vext lands were dim with snow; They little reck what ways they tread ; Or by what waters they are fed. Huge toppling clouds are piled in air ; — A bluff in billowy vapour rolled, — Faint summits perilously fair, — With thunderous base of sullen gold. 144 VIATOR I thread in thought the eloudland through To win the upper purer blue ; The chestnuts by the timbered grange Are standing as they stood before. Yet somewhat delicate and strange Informs them : they are old no more ; A hundred times I passed this way : — What spirit makes them new to-day ? The soul puts on her summer dress^ And, tired awhile of scheme and gain, Clothes with delight the wilderness. And dreams that she is pure again : Then, idly wondering, tries her wing, Only content to soar and sing. Out of the woods sweet spirits call — Here be at rest, with all forgiven : K 145 VIATOR Thy burden galls thee ; let it fall. And take the flowery road to heaven ; Thou lingerest in the stony way, Custom, not honour bids thee stay. Nay, nay, I answer, I have heard. As in some half-remembered dream, A note that shames the jocund bird, A truer voice than wind or stream ; Ye know not and ye may not know, Ye aid me, cheer me ere I go. The birds sail home : the mouldering tower With measured chime tolls out the day ; Close with the irrevocable hour ; Make thy brief thanks ; thy vespers pay : To-morrow's seed waits to be sown. To-day God gave thee for thine own. 146 STORM AND TEMPEST The gale thunders on the roof; The raindrops splash the wall ; And the stars shine far aloof; And God sees all. Through the rack of flying cloud The watery moon wades on. And the lime-trees whisper loud ; The brief day is gone. Within, the lamp is lit, And the fire burns red and w^arm. And I ponder as I sit, Glad and free from harm. 147 STORM AND TEMPEST Strange that the driving cloud Doth not stay my merriment ! When the wind pipes thin and loud, I am most content. Out on the plunging sea The frail boats dip and spin ; Where the cliffs tower drearily O'er the breakers' din. Men hold their breath for fear Of the shrieking, hissing foam, Wonder if day be near. And think of home. One on the reeling deck Gasps at the thundering wind ; Dreaming of death and wreck. And what lies behind. 148 STORM AND TEMPEST The boy by the gunwale stands Watching his father's face ; The wheel jerks in his hands, In the roaring race. They wish, but dare not pray Weary and tempest-tost. The word they dare not say Would confess them lost. And I sit idly here Watching the embers fall. And they are sick with fear. And God sees all. 149 SHADOWS The imperious soul that bows to no man's will. That takes by right the service of his kind. Floats in free air, unchastened, unconfined. Strikes what he lists, enslaving, spoiling still. But when he falls upon the common ground, Swift, swift the visions falter : his brave wing Sustains him not; and that swift shadowy thing Runs from the darkness, and enwraps him round. So you may see the hovering kestrel beat Over the crag, slow-circling, pinions stiff. Then fall through wind and sunshine, check his flight, 150 SHADOWS And as he wheels to perch below the cliff, His shadow fleets across the limestone white And closes with him^ settling at his feet. 151 THE DEEPS OF GOD O Truth ! how vast thy empire^ how immense^ Lost in thy gracious nearness^ we forget ; Our narrow bounds we strenuously set About us, too intent to wander thence : We dream of majesty and innocence Among a thousand trivial mockeries. Till some high deed soars up, and draws the eyes Aloft, and lightens the bewildered sense. So when we creep beneath the lowering skies_, The lonely hern above the marshland sails High overhead^ slow flapping down the wind; 152 THE DEEPS OF GOD And all at once the grey veil seems to rise And tower, and as the lowlit evening pales The illimitable cloudland looms behind. T53 CHURCH WINDOWS Old craftsmen of the Galilean lake. Seems it not strange to you all day to stand In these high minster windows, looking down Upon uplifted faces, folded palms ? Each in his niche of costly carven work, Crocket and spire and finial overhead. And underfoot such radiant stones as those Ye dreamed of, when your pure uplifted thought. Withdrawn a moment from the raging world That God makes fair and men make horrible. Took shape in bright imaginings, and traced The pearly city, paved with limpid gold Foursquare, mysterious. 154 CHURCH WINDOWS Seems it strange to you To feel the high sun beat and stream at noon Through your ensanguined vesture, through the hands Once rough with spray and cordage, now at length White as some dainty scholar's, wan and thin With long seclusion, while the altered ray, Through curious gems and holy aureoles, Paints hues of Paradise on sculptured stone ? Or when the organ rises, growing bold. With all his crowded trumpets, soaring flutes, Grave mellow diapasons, gushing out With such a flood of sound, the leaden bands That bind you, throb in shattering ecstasy. What wonder if you dream that peace on earth Grows perfect, and your kingdom comes indeed ? 155 CHURCH WINDOWS Start ye to hear, in soft mellifluous tones. When all the throng is hushed, the words ye said In ignorance, before ye yet were wise. The childish question, the uncertain claim. The tale of all your desperate treachery, (Before the Spirit flamed above your brows,) When love and adoration were too weak To meet the stern set look of scribes and priests. The unclean jests of riotous legionaries. And the long gleaming of those Roman spears ? Or when the hush is deepest, and you hear The fiery speech of the forerunner, John, John the wild hermit, the unquiet heart Who cried and yearned and was unsatisfied, And then the mild majestic voice of Him Who was your Master first, and then your God, (Too late for hope, but not too late for faith,) 156 CHURCH WINDOWS And memory deepens till you almost see The rolling wilderness, with ridge and vale, Run to the Northern heights, the Mount, the streets Of white Capernaum, and the boat that swayed Upon the swelling of the azure tide. While He yet spake ; and evermore the ring Of wondering faces, waiting to be fed. And do ye smile in sweet austerity To hear yourselves extolled, your faltering faith. Your weak endeavourings to pierce beyond The night, the stars, the little labouring world. To that high throne so infinitely far ; When the pale preacher waxing eloquent Would make you demigods, not patient men Who wept, and wondered, and but half believed ? 157 CHURCH WINDOWS Then, when the lordly crowd streams out, to join The merry world and shoulder welcome cares. And the mute handful of enraptured souls Bend low in utter prayer, or gather round To hear the words ye heard in Zion once. In that bare upper room, when secret dread O'ershadowed all the board, ere yet the night Fell, and the stammering traitor crept apart Too dark at heart to join the vesper hymn. When bread and wine, too high for angels' food. In paten rich and sacred chalice gleam. Till veiled in secret snowy linen, stands The unfinished feast, too sacred to behold. Unlike the fragments of the meat divine. Called in an instant from the winds of heaven. Ye stored in sorry baskets, so to stay Your hunger in the inhospitable wild. 158 CHURCH WINDOWS Say, is it strange ? The world is full of woe, Sharp torments, drear bewildering agonies. Yet full of sweet surprises, sins forgiven. And hopes fulfilled beyond the reach of hope. And He that in your midst is lifted up. Branded and buifeted and crowned with scorn. Looks with clear eyes beyond the low-hung mist We move in, reads the secret of the stars, Asks of the Father, and is not denied The knowledge not allowed to restless brains. The eternal cause, the all-sufficing end. 159 THE VOICES OF THE WORLD The world is well^ said he, I would not mend it ; — My gold was given to me. And I may spend it. Glory and love and wine^ Freedom and leisure. All these are mine, are mine. And serve my pleasure. As for what lies behind I do not heed it ; Death will be swift and kind When I shall need it. i6o THE VOICES OF THE WORLD The world is hard, one said, I may not mend it ; I make the gold, he said. And others spend it. The huge house hums with din From roof to basement ; I draw the foul air in Through a smoke-dimmed casement. My children moan for bread In the crowded city, I droop my aching head With none to pity. The world, one said, is base ; I cannot mend it ; Yet beauty shines, and grace. Sweet things attend it. i6i THE VOICES OF THE WORLD I sit at home, he saith. With contemplation ; I live by hope and faith And adoration. I breathe melodious breath. Though ill assail me ; And I can summon death, If all else fail me. The world, one said, is weak. And I would mend it ; Hearts were not made to break, Nor death to end it. Meanwhile I must resign Freedom and beauty ; Though sweet things smile and shine Clearer shines duty. 162 THE VOICES OF THE WORLD Yet love and faith grow strong, When Hght is lowest. How long;, my God^ how long ? JesuSj Thou knowest. The worlds God said, is mine, And I shall mend it ; I lend thee what is thine, 'Tis thine to lend it. Thy measm'ed task to turn A few short pages ; I watch, I wait, I yearn. Through endless ages. Then weep thy destined tear. And laugh thy laughter. And I who wound thee here Will bless hereafter. 163 MOLINOS Oh, I wait from hour to hour, Just wait what the next may bring ; A blossom, a bud, a flower. Or a bitter crawling thing. I think, when the tense will bends. Of all I have missed or marred ; Yet I know it is God who sends, And 'tis not so hard. I looked in the years gone by For great flowing gifts from His hand ; I stared at the fathomless sky. And knew I should understand ; 164 MOLINOS Now the folk pass on in the street, And rarely stop at my gate^ I bless them, the careless feet. Though I only wait. Through the open windows the sun Shines rarely, parting the gloom ; He stays e'er his course be run To enliven the lonely room ; Yet over the racing rack He shines without stint or stain. The winds blow keen at his back. And shall I complain ? Ah yes ! I can wait and smile, I can scan the long road where it lies. Like a ribbon for many a mile. Till it melt in the infinite skies ; i6S MOLINOS And when I have watched my fill. And the chill eve cometh late. Let me say, I have learned thy will, I can wait, still wait. i66 OLD FOES WhaTj must I leave the banquet and the laughter. Oh, thou pale visitant that criest low ? Wilt thou be ever thus ? Far hence, hereafter, Oh, art thou other than the thing I know ? As one that listens from his window leaning, When night's slow curtain shuts the glen from view, Now with a thrill of sweetness overweening, Now with a shudder at what may be true, 167 OLD FOES Hears many times, but ever doubts in hearing. Borne by the shifting breeze now loud, now low, Too faint for hope and too distinct for fearing. The distant measured footfall come and go. Fear, silent fear, I deemed that thou hadst left me ; Why dost thou dog my shrinking path again ? Lo of what manliness thou hast bereft me ! Where is the fortitude that comes of pain ? Why dost thou whisper. Love *s a merry madness. Friendship 's the easy brotherhood of youth ? I would not wilfully abide in sadness. Save that I fear thou whisperest but the truth. Nay, but I answer : if indeed thou callest. Grant me a respite while I plead with thee ; Small was my joy : I thank thee for the smallest! Come when thou wiliest and be one with me. i68 OLD FOES Loj I am free ! I choose the pam thou bearest Thou art the messenger of One who waits ; Thou wilt reveal the hidden face thou wearest. When my feet falter at the Eternal Gates. 169 HOC UNUM CUPIO I ONLY ask to know it is Thy will. That Thou hast planned the pain and probed the sore. That when I welter in dark waves of ill They were Thy choice before : Not some blind beating of insensate might, That knows not whence or why, but hastens on. And recks not if its stroke be strong or light. Nor whom it falls upon ; Saying, I know no recompense or stay. By no faint prayers My favour may be won ; 170 HOC UNUM CLTIO Sometimes I spare the sickening life, or slay The bud that drinks the sun. I ask not, answer not : 1 break or bless : Think not I come to ease or end thv woe : Think not thy j'outh so apt for happiness Moves Me to let thee go. Father, that we chide Thee, is it well ? I suffer, but I did not ask to be : And if Thou hurry me from hell to hell. To shake my hold on Thee, 1 am Thy child, though wrecked in stormy seas. Sometime my tears shall Thy compassion move ; I can endure Thy bitterest decrees. If certain of Thy love. 171 TWENTY YEARS AGO I USED to think, beneath the shade. That Hfe was such a simple thing, There ! hke that over ! deftly played ; How high and clear the plaudits ring ! I used to think that Fortune sent At times a swift, at times a slow. You played your best and were content ; — But that was twenty years ago. I thought that if the wickets flew Your honest effort made amends; Your score was blank, but then you drew Such strength and solace from your friends. 172 TWENTY YEARS AGO But now I see from eye to eye A smile of cynic pleasure go. They like to see the wickets fly ; — And did they twenty years ago ? My comrades vanish from the pitch With more of failure, less of fame, And one is spoiled by growing rich, And one is shadowed by a name. And those who keep their wickets up Still shakier, more uncertain grow. And count less surely on the cup They hoped for, twenty years ago. Around the pitch I see a ring Of ugly faces, wild and wan. And by the wickets stands a thing I do not love to think upon. 173 TWENTY YEARS AGO My chances are more tamely sent ; And more depends upon a throw. The game is somewhat different From cricket twenty years ago. And vet we learn, some more, some less, Beneath the showers, beneath the suns, That sense and pluck and kindliness Are braver things than getting runs. And by the old pavilion sits A simple form I used to know. Who marks and claps the humblest hits. Unchanged from twenty years ago. The ball spins on : young faces wait To take our place, to join the sport ; Oh give us leisure, 'tis not late, — We find the innings all too short ; 174 TWENTY YEARS AGO And if the older fellows' play Is to your thinking somewhat slow, Leave them their chance : remember, they Began it twenty years ago. 175 IN THE IRON CAGE The saddest sight ! Oh, there are sights and sounds And thoughts enough in this brief world of ours To wet with tears the stony face of Time, Who has seen the suns flame out, the mountains piled. And guesses at the vast designs of God. What think His angels, as they go and come On some prodigious errand duly bent. Whirled in the howling wind, or veiled in cloud, Or in the shadowy columns of the rain, To battle with the careless mountain peak Or rend the forest, or intently charged 176 IN THE IRON CAGE With storm and ruin for some innocent vale ? Care they for human griefs^ for lifelong woes ? And would they stay the hand that strikes the blow^ Wipe, if they could, the bitter tears away ? And do they hide the head and steel the eye, Too pure to question those permitted wrongs. Too pitiful to see them and be glad ? 'Twas summer, summer on the pineclad mound. On the low pastures and the rushing stream, On the brown ribs of high enormous hills. And on the cold transparencies of snow. The great house blinked through all its shuttered blinds. Light happy laughter echoed in the court. And here and there an eager couple met With interchange of aiiy compliment, M 177 IN THE IRON CAGE Light foot and fluttering vesture : — happy souls Who live and still are fed, they know not how Nor why, and mock the easy heaven that gave And that uneasy doom that waits for all. Or down the steps a dusty climber came Reddened and roughened, ripe with early suns, Attended by a grave and frieze-clad guide : Here in an arbour, screened by trailing vines. A group of sturdy Swabians hourly sate ; — A score of bottles clinked upon the board. And vapour streamed from many an oozy pipe. Meanwhile they made unlovely argument With shrill, insistent voices, of the way They came, and what the cost of bite and sup. I laughed and thought the world was weU content. Not beautiful, nor wanting to be wise, 178 IN THE IRON CAGE But kind and comely, gay and bountiful ; Heedless of all it fared so far to see, The steadfast faces of the monstrous hills. The far white horns, the black-ribbed precipices. The good grave thunder of the waterfall Among his dripping gorges, and the talk Of streams, and whisper of the tasselled pines. Meanwhile I viewed, aside the merry din. An iron cage bedizened and festooned, That grimly in a sunless corner stood ; And peering in, amid the shadow, saw The melancholy brooding yellow eyes Of a great ruffled bird, that moping sate With all his seemly feathers staring rough ; His great claws listlessly involved the perch. His beak close shut, as in a dismal muse. 179 IN THE IRON CAGE Suddenly from the court there broke and blared. With delicate shiver of the violin. And the low crooning of the labouring horn. And piping tremulous flute, a minuet Penned by a merry master of old time, Amid the roses in a bower of May, Thoughtless, and redolent of youth and love ; — Till all the jovial loiterers drew round And hushed their prattle, and had thoughts of heaven. But those wild eyes dwelt ever on the hills. Unmoved and unregarding — and a child That strayed alone came idly to the cage, And pushed a wondering finger : growing bold He smoothed the ruffled down, and felt the mail Of those black horny claws : but when he saw The sad bird heeded not the young caress, 1 80 IN THE IRON CAGE Grew vexed, and reached, and smote him on the wing. So that he staggered sidelong on the perch, But gript again and never turned his head. In that dim brain, and dull bewildered sense He seemed once more to sail aloft the breeze. To feel the strong sun beating on his wings. To tread once more the powdered peak, and peer Through all his cloudy valleys : or beneath The dripping brow of some o'er-arching rock, With harsh screams chide his loitering partner home : Up to the hills he lifted longing eyes. And waited for the help that never came ; Too proud to wonder what had torn him thence, Too sad to mourn, too strong to be consoled. i8i WINTER HARVESTS Pipe, winds of winter. O'er the hill's cold brow. Shatter and splinter The dying, dying bough ; Brim the icy river, Let the dead reeds shake ; Make the wild swan shiver In her northern lake. O'er the empty cover Bid the brown hawk swing, Send the wailing plover, Southward to the spring. 182 WINTER HARVESTS I do not fear thee. Wind, harsh and shrill ; Rather let me hear thee Thunder in the hil Rude, rough December, Thine be all the earth, So the ruddy ember Rustle on the hearth. When the shadow beckons, Home, and bar the door : Then the poet reckons All his summer store ; Coins his gathered gladness Into ringing rhyme. Hugs his merry madness, 'Tis his harvest- time. 183 WASTE Blind fate_, that broodest over human things. That through thy long inheritance of tears Dost bring to birth, through sad and shape- less years. One poet, heart and voice : but ere he sings. Thou dost delight to sever, to estrange. To bid the restless brain reluctant sleep. And toss his glories to the common heap. Waiting thy leisure, and the world's slow change. As some dishevelled garden, when the frost Crusts the dry turf, and blunders through the lines 184 WASTE Of summer's green battalions, laying low The towering lupines that untimely blow ; And o'er the leaves in rich disorder tossed The unavailing sun in mockery shines. 185 STAND ASIDE Stand aside ! The battle is but beginning, And the field is wide ! No room for dreamers ! the fight is worth the winning ; — Wherefore stand aside ! Hark to the clash of steel, the murderous rattle, As the ranks divide ; — Hast thou heart for the fury of the battle ? Stand aside ! Why? I know not; perchance thy leader saw thee ; — He was here anon ; — i86 STAND ASIDE Thou wert wistfully gazing out before thee^ As the flying spears swept on ; Thou didst standi on thy sword a moment leaning, Was it languor, or fear, or pride ? Ask not, answer not — Truth ! it needs no screening ; Only stand aside ! Rage in thy heart? It comes too late for mending ; Rage was best before : Tears in thine eyes ? Good lack, he knows no bending ; Hark to the infinite roar ! Thou hast leisure to frame a million reasons ; — Oh ! but truth is wide : — This be thy task, as seasons slip to seasons ; Only stand aside I 187 STAND ASIDE Thou wilt hear_, on the lonely hillside wending, When the fight is done, Down in the valley the sounds of music blending. And the shouts of victory won ; We fare rudely — and rude will be our laughter ; Yours to think and pray ! You will fight, you say, in the long hereafter ; Stand aside to-day ! It may be we shall fight again together. You will do your part ; — Give me rather the grave beneath the heather, Than the wounds which smart ! You will hover on heights of airy scheming. Heights that we ne'er have tried ; — Ours the slumber without the need of dreaming ; Therefore stand aside ! i88 THE POET'S DOOM I COIN my blood, the poet saith. My heart, my brain, my very breath, I purchase livehhood by death. When throstles sing before the day, I cannot fling myself away, And soar upon the soaring lay ; The sweet impression I must set In word, in rhyme, ere I forget. In epigram and epithet ; I dream beneath the lonely skies. But must recount my ecstasies Before a hundred shameless eyes. 189 THE POET'S DOOxM When generous impulses suggest Some deed that being hid is blest, Some noble unregarded quest. Some selfless, some divine regret, — It passes ; but I dare not let The shrinking memory forget. I pray, I wrestle, but ere long The fickle fancies round me throng, And I must mould them into song ; I dare not keep the words unsaid. Nor leave the dimness overhead Unquestioned, or I die unfed. I cannot simply meditate On mysteries of force and fate. But I must e'en anticipate, 190 THE POET'S DOOM Must draw a moral e'er the deed Be ripe^, and if the ages bleed And stagger^ I must heal and lead. Ay, like Medea, I must keep One eye upon the trackless deep. And one upon the beast asleep. For should my charms avail not, he Will rise and end my melody : Then what are all my dreams to me ? I dream my dreams for others' sake ; My songs not for myself I make ; What use to give if none will take ? If song my labouring breast relieved, 'Twas as Cassandra that I grieved. And as Cassandra none believed. 191 THE POET'S DOOM Ah, brothers, 'tis a sorry trade ! Yet e'er I slip to nether shade. With all the music I have made. Before the sweet compulsion cease, I sing, and fain would find release ; And yet I cannot hold my peace. Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty, at the Edinburgh University Press. List of Books in Relies ]^ttres h^ Mtionsin 2) 1S93 * A WORD must be said for the manner in which the publishers -^~^ have produced the volume {i.e. "The Earth Fiend"), a sumptuous folio, printed by Constable, the etchings on Japanese paper by Mr. Goulding. The volume should add not only to Mr. Strang's fame but to that of Messrs. Elkin Mathews and John Lane, who are rapidly gaining distinction for their beautiful editions of belles-lettres.' — Daily Chronicle, Sept. 24, 1892. Referring to Mr. Le Gallienne's ' English Poems ' and ' Silhouettes ' by Mr. Arthur Symons : — ' We only refer to them now to note a fact which they illustrate, and which we have been observing of late, namely, the recovery to a certain extent of good taste in the matter of printing and binding books. These two books, which are turned out by Messrs. Elkin Mathews and John Lane, are models of artistic publishing, and yet they are simplicity itself. The books with their excellent printing and their very simplicity make a harmony which is satisfying to the artistic sense.' — Sunday Sun, Oct. 2, 1892. ' Mr. Le Gallienne is a fortunate young gentleman. I don't know by what legerdemain he and his publishers work, but here, in an age as stony to poetry as the ages of Chatterton and Richard Savage, we find the full edition of his book sold before publication. How is it done, Messrs. Elkin Mathews and John Lane? for, ^\^thout depreciating Mr, Le Gallienne's sweetness and charm, I doubt that the marvel would have been wrought under another publisher. These publishers, indeed, produce books so de- lightfully that it must give an added pleasm-e to the hoarding of first editions.'— Katharine Tynan in The Irish Daily Independent. ' To Messrs. Elkin Mathews and John Lane almost more than to any other, we take it, are the thanks of the grateful singer especially due ; for it is they who have managed, by means of limited editions and charming workmanship, to impress book- buyers with the belief that a volume may have an aesthetic and commercial value. They have made it possible to speculate in the latest discovered poet, as in a new company — vvdth the difference that an operation in the former can be done with three half-crowns.' St. James s Gazette. July 1893. List of Books IN BELLES LETT RES (Including some Transfers) PUBLISHED BY Elkin Mathews and John Lane VIGO STREET, LONDON, W. N.B. — The Authors and Publishers reserve the right of reprinting any book in this list if a second edition is called for, except in cases where a stipulation has been made to the contrary, and of printing a separate edition of any of the books for America irrespective of the numbers to which the English editions are limited. ADDLESHAW (PERCY). Poems. 121110. 5s. net. \In preparation. ANT^US. The Backslider and other Poems. 100 only. Small 4to. 7s. 6d. net. [ Very few re?nain. BEECHING (H. C), J. W. MACKAIL, & J. B. B. NICHOLS Love in Idleness. With Vignette by W. B. Scott. Fcap. 8vo, half vellum, i2s.net. [Very few remain. Transferred by the Autliors to the present Publishers. THE PUBLICATIONS OF BENSON (ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER). Poems. 500 copies. i2mo. 5s.net. \hi preparation. BENSON (EUGENE). From the Asolan Hills : A Poem. 300 copies. Imp i6mo. 5s.net. \_Very fe"dj remain. BINYON (LAWRENCE). Poems. i2mo. 5s. net. \_In preparation. BOURDILLON (F. W.). A Lost God : A Poem. With Illustrations by H. J. Ford. 500 copies. 8vo. 6s.net. {Very fezo remain. BOURDILLON (F. W.). AiLES d'Alouette. Poems printed at the private press of Rev. H. Daniel, Oxford. 100 only. i6mo. £1^ IDS. net. [Very few remain. BRIDGES (ROBERT). The Growth of Love, Printed in Fell's old English type at the private press of Rev. H. Daniel, Oxford. 100 only. Fcap. 4to. £2^ 12s. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. COLERIDGE (HON. STEPHEN). The Sanctity of Confession : A Romance. Second Edition. Crown Svo. 3s. net. \A feiv remain. CRANE (WALTER). Renascence : A Book of Verse. Frontispiece and 38 designs by the Author. Imp. i6mo. 7s. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. Also a few fcap. 4ta ;£i, is. net. And a few fcap. 4to, Japanese vellum. ;^i, 15s. net. ELKIN MATHEWS 6^ JOHN LANE CROSSING (WM.). The Ancient Crosses of Dartmoor. With 1 1 plates. 8vo, cloth. 4s. 6d. net. [Very few remain. DAVIDSON (JOHN). Plays : An Unhistorical Pastoral ; A Romantic Farce ; Bruce, a Chronicle Play ; Smith, a Tragic Farce ; Scaramouch in Naxos, a Pantomime, with a Frontis- piece, Title-page, and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. 500 copies. Small 4to. 7s. 6d. net. \In Preparation. DAVIDSON (JOHN). Fleet Street Eclogues. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 5s. net. DAVIDSON (JOHN). The North Wall. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net. The few remaining copies transferred by the Author to the present Publishers. DE GRUCHY (AUGUSTA). Under the Hawthorn, and other Verses. Frontis- piece by Walter Crane. 300 copies. Crown Svo. 5s. net. Also 30 copies on Japanese vellum. 15s. net DE TABLEY (LORD). Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical. By John Leicester Warren (Lord De Tabley). Illustrations and Cover Design by C. S. Ricketts. Second Edition. Crown Svo. 7s. 6d. net. DIAL (THE). No. I of the Second Series. Illustrations by Ricketts, Shannon, PissARRO. 200 only. 4to. ;^i, is. net. [ Veryfeiv remain. The present series will be continued at irregular intervals. THE PUBLICATIONS OF FIELD (MICHAEL). Sight and Song. (Poems on Pictures.) 400 copies. i2mo. 5s.net. \yery froj remain. FIELD (MICHAEL). Stephania : A Trialogue in Three Acts. 250 copies. Pott 4to. 6s. net. [ Very few remain. GALE (NORMAN). Orchard Songs. Fcap. 8vo. With Title-page and Cover Design by Will Rothenstein. 5s. net. Also a Special Edition limited in number on small paper (Whatman) bound in English vellum. ;^i, is. net. \_In preparation. GARNETT (RICHARD). A Volume of Poems. 5s. net. \In Preparation. GOSSE (EDMUND). The Letters of Thomas Lovell Beddoes. Now first edited. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. [/« p7-eparation. GRAHAME (KENNETH). Pagan Papers : A Volume of Essays. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. \In preparation. GREENE (G. A.). Italian Lyrists of To-day. Translations in the original metres from about thirty-five living Italian poets, with bibliographical and biographical notes. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. [/w prepai-ation. ELKIN MATHEWS &= JOHN LANE HAKE (DR. T. GORDON). A Selection from his Poems. Edited by Mrs. Meynell. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. \l7i preparation. HALLAM (ARTHUR HENRY). The Poems, together with his essay ' On Some of the Characteristics of Modern Poetry and on the Lyrical Poems of Alfred Tennyson.' Edited, with an Introduction, by Richard Le Gallienne. 550 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net. [ Very few remain. HAMILTON (COL. IAN). The Ballad of Hadji and other Poems. Etched Frontispiece by Wm. Strang. 550 copies. i2mo. 3s. net. Transferred by the A uthor to the present Publishers. HAYES (ALFRED). The Vale of Arden and Other Poems. With Title- page and Cover Design by Lawrence Housman. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net. \_In preparation. HICKEY (EMILY H.). Verse Tales, Lyrics and Translations. 300 copies. Imp. i6mo. 5s. net. HORNE (HERBERT P.). DiVERSi Colores : Poems. With ornaments by the Author. 250 copies. i6mo, 5s. net. IMAGE (SELWYN). Carols and Poems. With decorations by H. P. Horne. 250 copies. 5s.net. [In preparation. JOHNSON (EFFIE). In the Fire and Other Fancies. Frontispiece by Walter Crane. 500 copies. Imp. i6mo. 3s. 6d. net. THE PUBLICATIONS OF JOHNSON (LIONEL). The Art of Thomas Hardy: Six Essays. With Etched Portrait by Wm. Strang, and Bibliography by John Lane. Crown Svo. 5s. 6d. net. Also 150 copies, large paper, with proofs of the portrait. ;^i, is. net. [ Ftv-j/ shortly. JOHNSON (LIONEL). A Volume of Poems. i2mo. 5s.net. \In preparation. KEATS (JOHN). Three Essays, now issued in book form for the first time. Edited by H. Buxton Forman. With Life-mask by Haydon. Fcap. 4to. los. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. LEATHER (R. K.). Verses. 250 copies. Fcap. Svo. 3s. net. Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers. LEATHER (R. K.), & RICHARD LE GALLIENNE. The Student and the Body-Snatcher and Other Trifles. 250 copies. Royal iSmo. 3s. net. Also 50 copies large paper. 7s. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). Prose Fancies. With Cover Design and Title-page by Will Rothenstein. 5s. net. Also a limited large paper edition. 12s.6d.net. Un preparation. LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). The Book Bills of Narcissus. An Account rendered by Richard le Gallienne. Second Edition. Crown Svo, buckram. 5s. ELKIN MATHEWS <&* JOHN LANE LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). English Poems. Second Edition, i2mo. 5s. net. LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). George Meredith : Some Characteristics. With a Biblio- graphy (much enlarged) by John Lane, portrait, etc. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net. LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). The Religion of a Literary Man. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. Also a special edition on hand-made paper. los. 6d. net. [In preparation. LETTERS TO LIVING ARTISTS. 500 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. Very few remain. MARSTON (PHILIP BOURKE). A Last Harvest : Lyrics and Sonnets from the Book of Life. Edited by Louise Chandler Moulton. 500 copies. Post 8vo. 5s. net. Also 50 copies on large paper, hand-made. ids. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. MARTIN (W. WILSEY). Quatrains, Life's Mystery and other Poems. i6mo. 2s. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. MARZIALS (THEO.). The Gallery of Pigeons and Other Poems. Post 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. Transferred by the Author to the present Publisliers. MEYNELL (MRS.), (ALICE C. THOMPSON). Poems. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. A few of the 50 large paper copies (First Edition) remain. I2S. 6d. net. 10 THE PUBLICATIONS OF MEYNELL (MRS.). The Rhythm of Life, and other Essays. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. A few of the 50 large paper copies (First Edition) remain. I2s. 6d. net. MURRAY (ALMA). Portrait as Beatrice Cenci. With critical notice containing four letters from Robert Browning. 8vo, wrapper. 2s. net. NETTLESHIP (J. T.). Robert Browning : Essays and Thoughts. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s.6d.net. Half a dozen of the Whatman large paper copies (First Edition) remain, ^i, is. net. NOBLE (JAS. ASHCROFT). The Sonnet in England and Other Essays. Title- page and Cover Design by Austin Young. 600 copies. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. Also 50 copies large paper. 12s. 6d. net. NOEL (HON. RODEN). Poor People's Christmas. 250 copies. i6mo. is. net. \Veryfew remain. OXFORD CHARACTERS. A series of lithographed portraits by Will Rothenstein, with text by F. York Powell and others. To be issued monthly in term. Each number will contain two portraits. Part I. ready Sept. 1893, will contain portraits of Sir Henry Acland, K.C.B., F.R.S., M.D., and of Mr. W. A. L. Fletcher, of Christ- church, President of the University Boat Club. 350 copies only, folio, wrapper, 5s. net per part ; 50 special copies containing proof impressions of the portraits signed by the artist, los. 6d. net per part. PINKERTON (PERCY). Galeazzo : A Venetian Episode and other Poems. Etched Frontispiece. i6mo. 5s. net. [ Voy few remain. Transferred hy the Author to the present Publishers. ELKIN MATHEWS d;' JOHN LANE n RADFORD (DOLLIE). Songs. A New Volume of Verse. \In preparation. RADFORD (ERNEST). Chambers Twain. Frontispiece by Walter Crane. 250 copies. Imp. i6mo. 5s. net. Also 50 copies large paper. los. 6d. net. \Veryfe^M remain. RHYMERS' CLUB, THE BOOK OF THE. A second series is in preparation. SCHAFF (DR. P.). Literature and Poetry : Papers on Dante, etc. Portrait and Plates, 100 copies only. 8vo. los. net. SCOTT (WM. BELL). A Poet's Harvest Home : with an Aftermath. 300 copies. i2mo. 5s. net. [ Very few remain. *^^* Will not be reprinted. STODDARD (R. H.). The Lion's Cub ; with other Verse. Portrait. 100 copies only, bound in an illuminated Persian design. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net. [ Very few remain. SYMONDS (JOHN ADDINGTON). In the Key of Blue, and other Prose Essays. Cover designed by C. S. Ricketts. Second Edition. Thick Crown 8vo. 8s. 6d. net. THOMPSON (FRANCIS). A Volume of Poems. With Title-page and Cover Design by Lawrence Housman. 500 Copies. l2mo. 5s.net. \In preparation. TODHUNTER (JOHN). A Sicilian Idyll. Frontispiece by Walter Crane. 250 copies. Imp. i6mo. 5s. net. Also 50 copies large paper, fcap. 4to. los. 6d. net. \V'eryfew remain. 12 THE PUBLICATIONS OF TOMSON (GRAHAM R.). After Sunset. A Volume of Poems. With Title-page and Cover Design by R. Anning Bell. i2mo. 5s. net. Also a limited large paper edition. 12s. 6d. net. \_In preparation. TREE (H. BEERBOHM). The Imaginative Faculty : A Lecture delivered at the Royal Institution. With portrait of Mr. Tree from an unpublished drawing by the Marchioness of Granby. Fcap. 8vo, boards. 2s, 6d. net. TYNAN HINKSON (KATHARINE). A Cluster of Nuts : Poems. With Title-page and Cover Design by Lawrence HouSxMAN. 500 copies. 5s. net. \In preparation. VAN DYKE (HENRY). The Poetry of Tennyson. Third Edition, enlarged. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net. The late Laiircatc hiinself gave valuable aid in correcting various details. WATSON (WILLIAM). The Eloping Angels : A Caprice. Second Edition. Square i6mo, buckram. 3s. 6d. net. WATSON (WILLIAM). Excursions in Criticism : being some Prose Recrea- tions of a Rhymer. Second Edition. i2mo. 5s.net. WATSON (WILLIAM). The Prince's Quest, and other Poems. With a Bibliographical Note added. Second Edition. i2mo. 4s. 6d. net. WEDMORE (FREDERICK). Pastorals of France — Renunciations. A volume of Stories. Title-page by John Fulleylove, R.I. Crown 8vo. 5s. net, [/« preparation. A few of the large paper copies of Renunciations {First Edition) remain, los. 6d. net. ELKIN MATHEWS a' JOHN LANE 13 WICKSTEED (P. H.). Dante. Six Sermons. Third Edition. Crown Svo. 2s. net. WILDE (OSCAR). The Sphinx. A poem decorated throughout in line and colour, and bound in a design by Charles Ricketts. 250 copies. £2, 28. net. 25 copies large paper. ^^, 5s. net. \_In preparation. WILDE (OSCAR). The incomparable and ingenious history of INIr. W. H. , being the true secret of Shakespear's sonnets now for the first time here fully set forth, with initial letters and cover design by CHARLES RiCKETTS. 500 copies, los. 6d. net. Also 50 copies large paper. 21s. net. [/« preparation. WILDE (OSCAR). Dramatic Works, now printed for the first time with a specially designed Title-page and binding to each volume, by Charles Shannon. 500 copies. 7s. 6d. net per vol. Also 50 copies large paper. 15s. net per vol. Vol. I. Lady Windermere's Fan : A Comedy in Four Acts. Vol. II. The Duchess of Padua : A Blank Verse Tragedy in Five Acts. Vol. III. A Woman of No Importance : A Comedy in Four Acts. [/« preparation. WILDE (OSCAR). Salom6 : A Tragedy in one Act, done into English, With 10 Illustrations and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. 500 copies. 15s. net. Also 50 copies, large paper. 30s. net. \,In preparation. WYNNE (FRANCES). Whisper. A Volume of Verse. Fcap. Svo, buckram. 2s. 6d. net. Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers. 14 PUBLICATIONS OF ELKIN MATHEWS &- JOHN LANE The Hobby Horse A new series of this illustrated magazine will be published quarterly by subscription, under the Editorship of Herbert P. Home. Subscription £i per annum, post free, for the four numbers. Quarto, printed on hand-made paper, and issued in a limited edition to subscribers only. The Magazine will contain articles upon Literature, Music, Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, and the Decorative Arts ; Poems ; Essays ; Fiction; original Designs; with reproduc- tions of pictures and drawings by the old masters and contemporary artists. There will be a new title- page and ornaments designed by the Editor. Among the contributors to the Hobby Horse are : The late Matthew Arnold. Lawrence Binyon. Wilfrid Blunt. Ford Madox Brown. The late Arthur Burgess. E. Burne-Jones, A.R.A. Austin Dobson. Richard Garnett, LL.D. A. J. HiPKiNS, F.S.A. Selwyn Image. Lionel Johnson. Richard Le Gallienne. Sir F. Leighton, Bart., F.R.A. T. Hope McLachlan. May Morris. C. Hubert H. Parry, Mus. Doc. A. W. Pollard- F. York Powell. Christina G. Rossetti. W. M. Rossetti. John Ruskin, D.C.L., LL.D. Frederick Sandys. The late W. Bell Scott. Frederick J. Shields. J. H. Shorthouse. James Smetham. Simeon Solomon. A. SOiMERVELL. The late J. Addington Symonds. Katharine Tynan. G. F. Watts, R.A. Frederick Wedmore. Oscar Wilde. Etc. Etc. Prospectuses on Application. THE BODLEY HEAD, VIGO STREET, LONDON, W. ' Nearly every book put out by Messrs. Elkin Mathews & John Lane, at the Sign of the Bodley Head, is a satisfaction to the special senses of the modern bookman for bindings, shapes, types, and papers. They have surpassed themselves, and registered a real achievement in English bookmaking by the volume of** Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical," of Lord DeTabley.' Newcastle Daily Chronicle. Edinburgh : T. and A. Constable Printers to Her Majesty \ V