km iwSSSw^^^ mm m^""^' iesHMifiAUJU LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. Chap. Copyright No Shelf..J:_£... UNITED STATES OF AMERIckr Aa/^^^V /^/^-^...«aA-AAAA*AA ^;:A^:;;^^**'^'^^^ ■m^iM-i^^A^mr^imr :' :■■ W^^lmJi ^^mm^' "^m^^m^m ^m± '^.r*A.,.« '^^^ fl«^AA-,^.«>, :/^n,^A^'^.^-!>' AAA,/^A^^^fl^'-^'r^'-,r^' .^A,'*/^/»^(^^A^A*A^ ?^«!i m^md: AC^^r^r^ ^^^^.„' '^tf^i^^^ A. ^A.AA The Father of the Forest and Other Poems The Father of the Forest and Other Poems BY WILLIAM WATSON y *^ CHICAGO: STONE & KIMBALL LONDON: JOHN LANE MDCCCXCV COPYRIGHT, 1895 BY STONE «r KIMBALL THE FRONTISPIECE IS FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY FREDERICK HOLLYER Contents THE FATHER OF THE FOREST 3 HYMN TO THE SEA 17 THE TOMB OF BURNS 31 SONNETS " I THINK YOU NEVER WERE " 43 TO WITH A VOLUME OF VERSE 44 THE TURK IN ARMENIA 45 LYRICS " I DO NOT ASK " 49 "O, LIKE A QUEEN" 50 APOLOGIA 53 The Father of the Forest TO JOHN ST. LOE STRACHEY The Father of the Forest I /^LD emperor Yew, fantastic sire, ^-^ Girt with thy guard of dotard kings, What ages hast thou seen retire Into the dusk of alien things? What mighty news hath stormed thy shade, Of armies perished, realms unmade? Already wast thou great and wise, And solemn with exceeding eld, On that proud morn when England's eyes, Wet with tempestuous joy, beheld Round her rough coasts the thundering main Strewn with the ruined dream of Spain. 3 4 The Father of the Forest Hardly thou count'st them long ago, The warring faiths, the wavering land, The sanguine sky's delirious glow And Cranmer's scorched, uplifted hand. Wailed not the woods their task of shame, Doomed to provide the insensate flame? Mourned not the rumouring winds, when she, The sweet queen of a tragic hour, Crowned with her snow-white memory The crimson legend of the Tower? Or when a thousand witcheries lay Felled with one stroke, at Fotheringay? Ah, thou hast heard the iron tread And clang of many an armoured age. And well recall'st the famous dead ; Captains or counsellors, brave or sage, Kings that on kings their myriads hurled. Ladies whose smile embroiled the world. The Father of the Forest Rememberest thou the perfect knight, The soldier, courtier, bard in one, Sidney, that pensive Hesper-light, O'er Chivalry's departed sun? Knew'st thou the virtue, sweetness, lore, Whose nobly hapless name was More? The roystering prince, that afterward Belied his madcap youth, and proved A greatly simple warrior lord, Such as our warrior fathers loved — Lives he not still? for Shakespeare sings The last of our adventurer kings. His battles o'er, he takes his ease. Glory put by, and sceptred toil. Round him the carven centuries Like forest branches arch and coil. In that dim fame, he is not sure Who lost or won at Azincour ! 6 The Father of the Forest Roofed by the mother minster vast That guards Augustine's rugged throne, The darling of a knightly Past Sleeps in his bed of sculptured stone, And flings, o'er many a warlike tale, The shadow of his dusky mail. The monarch who, albeit his crown Graced an august and sapient head. Rode roughshod to a stained renown O'er Wallace and Llewellyn dead, And perished in a hostile land. With restless heart and ruthless hand. Or that disastrous king on whom Fate, like a tempest, early fell. And the dark secret of whose doom The Keep of Pomfret kept full well ; Or him that with half-careless words On Becket drew the dastard swords ; The Father of the Forest 7 Or Eleanor's undaunted son, That, starred with idle glory, came Bearing from leaguered Ascalon The barren splendour of his fame, And, vanquished by an unknown bow, Lies vainly great at Fontevraud ; Or him, the footprints of whose power Made mightier whom he overthrew ; A man built like a mountain-tower, A fortress of heroic thew ; The Conqueror, in our soil who set This stem of Kinghood flowering yet ; These, or the living fame of these, Perhaps thou minglest — who shall say? — With thrice remoter memories, And phantoms of the mistier day Long ere the tanner's daughter's son From Harold's hands this realm had won. 8 The Father of the Forest What years are thine, not mine to guess ! The stars look youthful, thou being by ; Youthful the sun's glad-heartedness ; Witless of time the unaging sky, And these dim-groping roots around So deep a human Past are wound, That, musing in thy shade, for me The tidings scarce would strangely fall Of fair-haired despots of the sea Scaling our eastern island-wall, From their long ships of norland pine, Their " surf-deer," driven o'er wilds of brine. Nay, hid by thee from Summer's gaze That seeks in vain this couch of loam, I should behold, without amaze, Camped on yon down the hosts of Rome, Nor start though English woodlands heard The selfsame mandatory word The Father of the Forest As by the cataracts of the Nile Marshalled the legions long ago, Or where the lakes are one blue smile 'Neath pageants of Helvetian snow, Or 'mid the Syrian sands that lie Sick of the Day's great tearless eye. Or on barbaric plains afar, Where, under Asia's fevering ray. The long lines of imperial war O'er Tigris passed, and with dismay In fanged and iron deserts found Embattled Persia closing round. And 'mid their eagles watched on high The vultures gathering for a feast. Till, from the quivers of the sky, The gorgeous star-flight of the East Flamed, and the bow of darkness bent O'er Julian dying in his tent. lo The Father of the Forest II Was it the wind befooling me With ancient echoes, as I lay? Was it the antic fantasy Whose elvish mockeries cheat the day? Surely a hollow murmur stole From wizard bough and ghostly bole ! " Who prates to me of arms and kings, Here in these courts of old repose? Thy babble is of transient things, Broils, and the dust of foolish blows. Thy sounding annals are at best The witness of a world's unrest. '• Goodly the ostents are to thee, And pomps of Time : to me more sweet The vigils of Eternity, And Silence patient at my feet ; The Father of the Forest 1 1 And dreams beyond the deadening range And dull monotonies of Change. " Often an air comes idling by With news of cities and of men : I hear a multitudinous sigh And lapse into my soul again. Shall her great noons and sunsets be Blurred with thine infelicity? " Now from these veins the strength of old, The warmth and lust of life depart : Full of mortality, behold The cavern that was once my heart ! Me, with blind arm, in season due, Let the aerial woodman hew. ** For not though mightiest mortals fall, The starry chariot hangs delayed; 12 The Father of the Forest His axle is uncooled, nor shall The thunder of His wheels be stayed. A changeless pace His coursers keep, And halt not at the wells of sleep. " The South shall bless, the East shall blight, The red rose of the Dawn shall blow ; The million-lilied stream of Night Wide in ethereal meadows flow ; And Autumn mourn, and everything Dance to the wild pipe of the Spring. " With oceans heedless round her feet, And the indifferent heavens above. Earth shall the ancient tale repeat Of wars and tears, and death and love ; And, wise from all the foolish Past, Shall peradventure hail at last The Father of the Forest 13 " The advent of that morn divine, When nations may as forests grow, Wherein the oak hates not the pine. Nor beeches wish the cedars woe. But all, in their unlikeness, blend Confederate to one golden end — ■ " Beauty : the Vision whercunto, In joy, with pantings, from afar. Through sound and odour, form and hue. And mind and clay, and worm and star — Now touching goal, now backward hurled — Toils the indomitable world." Hymn to the Sea TO HENRY NORMAN Hymn to the Sea* I RANT, O regal in bounty, a subtle and delicate largess ; Grant an ethereal alms, out of the wealth of thy soul : Suffer a tarrying minstrel, who finds, not fashions his numbers, — Who, from the commune of air, cages the volatile song, — Here to capture and prison some fugitive breath of thy descant. Thine and his own as thy roar lisped on the lips of a shell. ♦Copyright. 17 1 8 Hymn to the Sea Now while the vernal impulsion makes lyrical all that hath language, While, through the veins of the Earth, riots the ichor of Spring, While, with throes, with raptures, with loos- ing of bonds, with unsealings, — Arrowy pangs of delight, piercing the core of the world, — Tremors and coy unfoldings, reluctances, sweet agitations, — Youth, irrepressibly fair, wakes like a won- dering rose. II Lover whose vehement kisses on lips irre- sponsive are squandered. Lover that wooest in vain Earth's imper- turbable heart ; Hymn to the Sea 19 Athlete mightily frustrate, who pittest thy thews against legions, Locked with fantastical hosts, bodiless arms of the sky ; Sea that breakest forever, that breakest and never art broken, Like unto thine, from of old, springeth the spirit of man, — Nature's wooer and fighter, whose years are a suit and a wrestling. All their hours, from his birth, hot with desire and with fray ; Amorist agonist man, that immortally pining and striving, Snatches the glory of life only from love and from war ; Man that, rejoicing in conflict, like thee when precipitate tempest. Charge after thundering charge, clangs on thy resonant mail, 20 Hymn to the Sea Seemeth so easy to shatter, and proveth so hard to be cloven ; Man whom the gods, in his pain, curse with a soul that endures ; Man whose deeds, to the doer, come back as thine own exhalations Into thy bosom return, weepings of moun- tain and vale ; Man with the cosmic fortunes and starry vicissitudes tangled. Chained to the wheel of the world, blind with the dust of its speed. Even as thou, O giant, whom trailed in the wake of her conquests Night's sweet despot draws, bound to her ivory car ; Man with inviolate caverns, impregnable holds in his nature. Depths no storm can pierce, pierced with a shaft of the sun ; Hymn to the Sea ai Man that is galled with his confines, and burdened yet more with his vastness, Born too great for his ends, never at peace with his goal ; Man whom Fate, his victor, magnanimous, clement in triumph. Holds as a captive king, mewed in a pal- ace divine : Wide its leagues of pleasance, and ample of purview its windows ; Airily falls, in its courts, laughter of foun- tains at play ; Naught, when the harpers are harping, un- timely reminds him of durance ; None, as he sits at the feast, whisper Cap- tivity's name ; But, would he parley with Silence, withdraw for awhile unattended. Forth to the beckoning world 'scape for an hour and be free. 22 Hymn to the Sea Lo, his adventurous fancy coercing at once and provoking, Rise the unscalable walls, built with a word at the prime ; Lo, immobile as statues, with pitiless faces of iron, Armed at each obstinate gate, stand the impassable guards. Ill Miser whose coffered recesses the spoils of eternity cumber. Spendthrift foaming thy soul wildly in fury away, — We, self-amorous mortals, our own multitud- inous image Seeking in all we behold, seek it and find it in thee : Hymn to the Sea aj Seek it and find it when o'er us the exquisite fabric of Silence Perilous-turreted hangs, trembles and dul- cetly falls ; When the aerial armies engage amid orgies of music, Braying of arrogant brass, whimper of querulous reeds ; When, at his banquet, the Summer is purple and drowsed with repletion ; When, to his anchorite board, taciturn Winter repairs ; When by the tempest are scattered magnifi- cent ashes of Autumn ; When, upon orchard and lane, breaks the white foam of the Spring : When, in extravagant revel, the Dawn, a bacchante upleaping, Spills, on the tresses of Night, vintages golden and red ; 24 Hymn to the Sea When, as a token at parting, munificent Day, for remembrance, Gives, unto men that forget, Ophirs of fabulous ore ; When, invincibly rushing, in luminous palpi- tant deluge. Hot from the summits of Life, poured is the lava of noon ; When, as yonder, thy mistress, at height of her mutable glories. Wise from the magical East, comes like a sorceress pale. Ah, she comes, she rises, — impassive, emo- tionless, bloodless. Wasted and ashen of cheek, zoning her ruins with pearl. Once she was warm, she was joyous, desire in her pulses abounding : Surely thou lovedst her well, then, in her conquering youth ! Hymn to the Sea 25 Surely not all unimpassioned, at sound of thy rough serenading, She, from the balconied night, unto her melodist leaned, — Leaned unto thee, her bondsman, who keep- est to-day her commandments, All for the sake of old love, dead at thy heart though it lie. IV Yea, it is we, light perverts, that waver, and shift our allegiance ; We, whom insurgence of blood dooms to be barren and waste ; We, unto Nature imputing our frailties, our fever and tumult ; We, that with dust of our strife sully the hue of her peace. 26 Hymn to the Sea Thou, with punctual service, fulfillest thy task, being constant ; Thine but to ponder the Law, labour and greatly obey ; Wherefore, with leapings of spirit, thou chantest the chant of the faithful, Chantest aloud at thy toil, cleansing the Earth of her stain ; Leagued in antiphonal chorus with stars and the populous Systems, Following these as their feet dance to the rhyme of the Suns ; Thou thyself but a billow, a ripple, a drop of that Ocean, Which, labyrinthine of arm, folding us meshed in its coil, Shall, as now, with elations, august exulta- tions and ardours. Pour, in unfaltering tide, all its unanimous waves, Hymn to the Sea 27 When, from this threshold of being, these steps of the Presence, this precinct, Into the matrix of Life darkly divinely resumed, Man and his littleness perish, erased like an error and cancelled, Man and his greatness survive, lost in the greatness of God. The Tomb of Burns TO THE HON. MRS. HENNIKER The Tomb of Burns* T T THAT woos the world to yonder shrine? ^ ^ What sacred clay, what dust divine? Was this some Master faultless-fine, In whom we praise The cunning of the jewelled line And carven phrase? A searcher of our source and goal, A reader of God's secret scroll? A Shakespeare, flashing o'er the whole Of Man's domain The splendour of his cloudless soul And perfect brain? ♦Copyright. 31 32 The Tomb of Burns Some Keats, to Grecian gods allied, Clasping all Beauty as his bride? Some Shelley, soaring dim-descried Above Time's throng. And heavenward hurling wild and wide His spear of song? A lonely Wordsworth, from the crowd Half hid in light, half veiled in cloud? A sphere-born Milton cold and proud. In hallowing dews Dipt, and with gorgeous ritual vowed Unto the Muse? Nay, none of these, — and little skilled On heavenly heights to sing and build ! Thine, thine, O Earth, whose fields he tilled, And thine alone. Was he whose fiery heart lies stilled 'Neath yonder stone. The Tomb of Burns ^^ He came when poets had forgot How rich and strange the human lot ; How warm the tints of Life ; how hot Are Love and Hate ; And what makes Truth divine, and what Makes Manhood great. A ghostly troop, in pale amaze They melted 'neath that living gaze, — His in whose spirit's gusty blaze We seem to hear The crackling of their phantom bays Sapless and sere ! P'or, 'mid an age of dust and dearth, Once more had bloomed immortal worth. There, in the strong, splenetic North, The Spring began. A mighty mother had brought forth A mighty man. 34 The Tomb of Burns No mystic torch through Time he bore, No virgin veil from Life he tore ; His soul no bright insignia wore Of starry birth ; He saw what all men see — no more — In heaven and earth ; But as, when thunder crashes nigh, All darkness opes one flaming eye, And the world leaps against the sky, — So fiery-clear Did the old truths that we pass by To him appear. How could he 'scape the doom of such As feel the airiest phantom-touch Keenlier than others feel the clutch Of iron powers, — Who die of having lived so much In their large hours? The Tomb of Burns 35 He erred, he sinned : and if there be Who, from his hapless frailties free, Rich in the poorer virtues, see His faults alone, — To such, O Lord of Charity, Be mercy shown ! Singly he faced the bigot brood, The meanly wise, the feebly good ; He pelted them with pearl, with mud ; He fought them well, — But ah, the stupid million stood. And he — he fell ! All bright and glorious at the start, 'Twas his ignobly to depart, Slain by his own too affluent heart. Too generous blood ; And blindly, having lost Life's chart. To meet Death's flood. ^6 The Tomb of Burns So closes the fantastic fray, The duel of the spirit and clay ! So come bewildering disarray And blurring gloom, The irremediable day And final doom. So passes, all confusedly As lights that hurry, shapes that flee About some brink we dimly see. The trivial, great, Squalid, majestic tragedy Of human fate. Not ours to gauge the more or less. The will's defect, the blood's excess. The earthy humours that oppress The radiant mind. His greatness, not his littleness, Concerns mankind. The Tomb of Burns 37 A dreamer of the common dreams, A fisher in familiar streams, He chased the transitory gleams That all pursue ; But on his lips the eternal themes Again were new. With shattering ire or withering mirth He smote each worthless claim to worth. The barren fig-tree cumbering Earth He would not spare. Through ancient lies of proudest birth He drove his share. To him the Powers that formed him brave. Yet weak to breast the fatal wave, A mighty gift of Hatred gave, — A gift above All other gifts benefic, save The gift of Love. 38 The Tomb of Burns He saw 'tis meet that Man possess The will to curse as well bless, To pity — and be pitiless, To make, and mar ; The fierceness that from tenderness Is never far. And so his fierce and tender strain Lives, and his idlest words remain To flout oblivion, that in vain Strives to destroy One lightest record of his pain Or of his joy. And though thrice statelier names decay. His own can wither not away While plighted lass and lad shall stray Among the broom, Where evening touches glen and brae With rosy gloom ; The Tomb of Burns 39 While Hope and Love with Youth abide ; While Age sits at the ingleside ; While yet there have not wholly died The heroic fires, The patriot passion, and the pride In noble sires ; While, with the conquering Saxon breed Whose fair estate of speech and deed Heritors north and south of Tweed Alike may claim. The dimly mingled Celtic seed Flowers like a flame ; While nations see in holy trance That vision of the world's advance Which glorified his countenance When from afar He hailed the Hope that shot o'er France Its crimson star ; 40 The Tomb of Burns While, plumed for flight, the Soul deplores The cage that foils the wing that soars ; And while, through adamantine doors In dreams flung wide, We hear resound, on mortal shores. The immortal tide. Sonnets T THINK you never were of earthly frame, -*- O truant from some charmed world unknown ! A fairy empress, you forsook your throne, Fled your inviolate court, and hither came ; Donned mortal vesture ; wore a woman's name ; Like a mere woman, loved ; and so are grown At last a little human, save alone For the wild elvish heart not love could tame. And one day I believe you will return To your fair isle amid the enchanted sea. There, in your realm, perhaps remember me, Perhaps forget ; but I shall never learn ! I, loveless dust within a dreamless urn, Dead to your beauty's immortality. 43 To With a Volume of Verse. TF, on these pale and trembling blooms, "*■ full soon The winter of oblivion should descend, Remember, it was in my summer's noon I gave you the poor posy, gentle friend. Remember, how a fickle gust of praise Ruffled my foliage in that perished time, And by the after-light of these dead days Read once again my world-forgotten rhyme. Say: "Fame his mistress was; he wooed her long, She toyed with him an hour — and flung him by ; With me alone the memory of his song Reluctant fades, and hesitates to die." Then burn the book, that eyes less kind than those Vex not the haunted dusk of its repose. 44 The Turk in Armenia XT 7 HAT profits it, O England, to pre- ^ ^ vail In camp and mart and council, and bestrew With sovereign argosies the subject blue, And wrest thy tribute from each golden gale, If, in thy strongholds, thou canst hear the wail Of maidens martyred by the turbaned crew Whose tenderest mercy was the sword that slew, And lift no hand to wield the purging flail? We deemed of old thou held'st a charge from Him Who watches girdled by His seraphim, To smite the wronger with thy destined rod. Wait'st thou His sign? Enough, the sleep- less cry Of virgin souls for vengeance, and on high The gathering blackness of the frown of God ! March 2, 1895. 45 Lyrics T DO not ask to have my fill -■■ Of wine, or love, or fame. I do not, for a little ill, Against the gods exclaim. One boon of Fortune I implore, With one petition kneel : At least caress me not^ before Thou break me on thy wheel. 49 /^ LIKE a Queen's her happy tread, ^-^ And like a Queen's her golden head ! But O, at last, when all is said. Her woman's heart for me ! We wandered where the river gleamed 'Neath oaks that mused and pines that dreamed. A wild thing of the woods she seemed, So proud, and pure, and free ! All heaven drew nigh to hear her sing, When from her lips her soul took wing ; The oaks forgot their pondering, The pines their reverie. And O, her happy queenly tread, And O, her queenly golden head ! But O, her heart, when all is said, Her woman's heart for me ! 50 Apologia Apolog 'T^HUS much I know : what dues soe'er -*- be mine, Of fame or of oblivion, Time the just. Punctiliously assessing, shall award. This have I doubted never ; this is sure. But one meanwhile shall chide me — one shall curl Superior lips — because my handiwork. The issue of my solitary toil. The harvest of my spirit, even these My numbers, are not something, good or ill. Other than I have ever striven, in years Lit by a conscious and a patient aim, With hopes and with despairs, to fashion them ; 53 54 Apologia Or, it may be, because I have full oft In singers' selves found me a theme of song. Holding these also to be very part Of Nature's greatness, and accounting not Their descants least heroical of deeds ; Or, yet again, because I bring naught new, Save as each noontide or each Spring is new, Into an old and iterative world, And can but proffer unto whoso will A cool and no-wise turbid cup, from wells Our fathers digged ; and have not thought it shame To tread in nobler footprints than mine own. And travel by the light of purer eyes. Ev'n such offences am I charged withal, Till, breaking silence, I am moved to cry, What would ye, then, my masters? Is the Muse Fall'n to a thing of Mode, that must each year Apologia 55 Supplant her derelict self of yester-year? Or do the mighty voices of old days At last so tedious grow, that one whose lips Inherit some far echo of their tones — How far, how faint, none better knows than he Who hath been nourished on their utterance — can But irk the ears of such as care no more The accent of dead greatness to recall? If, with an ape's ambition, I rehearse Their gestures, trick me in their stolen robes, The sorry mime of their nobility, Dishonouring whom I vainly emulate. The poor imposture soon shall shrink re- vealed In the ill grace with which their gems be- star An abject brow; but if I be indeed Their true descendant, as the veriest hind 56 Apologia May yet be sprung of kings, their lineaments Will out, the signature of ancestry Leap unobscured, and somewhat of them- selves In me, their lowly scion, live once more. With grateful, not vain-glorious joy, I dreamed It did so live ; and ev'n such pride was mine As is next neighbour to humility. For he that claims high lineage, yet may feel How thinned in the transmission is become The ancient blood he boasts ; how slight he stands In the great shade of his majestic sires. But it was mine endeavour so to sing As if these lofty ones a moment stooped From their still spheres, and undisdainful graced My note with audience, nor incurious heard Whether, degenerate irredeemably, Apologia 57 The faltering minstrel shamed his starry kin. And though I be to these but as a knoll About the feet of the high mountains, scarce Remarked at all save when a valley cloud Holds the high mountains hidden, and the knoll Against the cloud shows briefly eminent ; Yet ev'n as they, I too, with constant heart, And with no light or careless ministry, Have served what seemed the Voice ; and unprofane, Have dedicate to melodious ends All of myself that least ignoble was. For though of faulty and of erring walk, I have not suffered aught in me of frail To blur my song ; I have not paid the world The evil and the insolent courtesy Of offering it my baseness for a gift. And unto such as think all Art is cold. All music unimpassioned, if it breathe 58 Apologia An ardour not of Eros' lips, and glow With fire not caught from Aphrodite's breast, Be it enough to say, that in Man's life Is room for great emotions unbegot Of dalliance and embracement, unbegot Ev'n of the purer nuptials of the soul ; And one not pale of blood, to human touch Not tardily responsive, yet may know A deeper transport and a mightier thrill Than comes of commerce with mortality. When, rapt from all relation with his kind, All temporal and immediate circumstance In silence, in the visionary mood That, flashing light on the dark deep, per- ceives Order beyond this coil and errancy. Is led from the fretful hour he stands alone And hears the eternal movement, and be- holds Apologia 59 Above him and around and at his feet In million-billowed consentaneousness, The flowing, flowing, flowing of the world. Such moments, are they not the peaks of life? Enough for me, if on these pages fall The shadow of the summits, and an air Not dim from human hearth-fires, sometimes blow. hu V y ■' i»P' 'f^mii ^^$^M%M, %^tuim^^y^'^'' :«..««««*>^^;« !ll«A.A&A, ^,0CJ*fi5«SSW fl^^AWHij /SMsi^iV ,A-./^A^i^w;:jjs. ...^sOSii^' ■^^.^^^m Mmm^-' t:&m ■^■r> 'a: a -^ '^''^;'^. A .'^ ,«^ ^ mfi^m^ ':*A*AA-.*^ .», ^^^gfiS^ini 'AAwAAA/^ Aa^^A eSa^2!3««^ ..A A^A^ M'^A^ ^««S^:S^S^^^ ^m^:,^^:^^^ v.^...iis^!iwfmELjffl3LiTTTO^ '■^^VK^ «8^ .'2:^aiiiliiAliiSs£2SA^A:0^SiM^A/^fl iZ:i°'^oNo^.