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 Samukii Rexo 
 
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 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OP 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
9 TV* ^p/-eyn^l^>^^ 
 
 Pansies and Folly-Bells 
 
Pansies 
 
 and 
 
 Folly-Bells 
 
 BY 
 
 SAMUEL REID 
 
 LONDON 
 ISBISTER AND COMPANY Limited 
 
 15 & 16 TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN 
 1892 
 
Printtdby Ballantyne Hanson & Co. 
 London and Edinburgh. 
 
Ml 
 
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 W 
 
 The Poems contained in this volume have appeared during 
 the past ten years in " Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine," 
 " Good Words? " Chambers's Journal? " The Comhill Maga- 
 zine," "Life and Work? "Hood's Comic Annual? "The 
 Weekly Citizen," and other periodicals. My thanks are due 
 to the Editors of the above-named publications for permission 
 kindly granted to reproduce them here. 
 
 Privately issued as a modest brochure about a year ago, 
 they met with such a kindly and encouraging reception that I 
 have been induced to offer them in their present dress to the 
 public generally, and to those of my friends who hitherto may 
 have desired but been unable to possess my verses in collected 
 form. 
 
 S. REID 
 Stirling, 1892 
 
 266 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PANSIES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MENDELSSOHN'S " DUETTO " BY MOONLIGHT ... 3 
 
 WATER LILIES 7 
 
 THE MESSAGE OF THE SNOWDROP 10 
 
 IN THE FOREST II 
 
 AT TWILIGHT 13 
 
 AT PARTING 15 
 
 IN AN AUTUMN GARDEN l6 
 
 ON THE GARDEN TERRACE, HADDON HALL, DERBYSHIRE . l8 
 
 ROMANCE 21 
 
 A SONG 23 
 
 AT DAWN OF DAY . 2$ 
 
 THROUGH SUN AND SHADE 26 
 
 LOVE IS THE LORD OF ALL 28 
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S SONG 3° 
 
 NOT YET . 31 
 
 THEN AND NOW 34 
 
 SCOTLAND'S DEAD 3& 
 
 A PINE-WOOD IN WINTER 3$ 
 
 TO A ROBIN 39 
 
viii Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "1 MOURN NOT FOR THE DEAD'' 4° 
 
 UNATTAINABLE 4* 
 
 OCTOBER — NOVEMBER . . . . • ■ • • 4 2 
 
 IN THE SAD SEPTEMBER GLOAMING 43 
 
 A PLATONIC IDYL 45 
 
 THE POET FROM HIS HAMMOCK 51 
 
 NATURA REGINA 53 
 
 THE LINKS OF FORTH 5^ 
 
 LAST YEAR'S LEAVES 5$ 
 
 FOLLY-BELLS 
 
 FROM THE MAJOR TO HIS NEPHEW 63 
 
 CORISANDE THE HAUGHTY J OR, THE PENALTY OF PRIDE . 66 
 
 A SONG OF THE ROAD 7^ 
 
 PARTED (A FRAGMENT) 79 
 
 THE LAMENT OF THE UNPUBLISHED ONE . . . . 8l 
 
 LINES BY A SCHOOL-BORED PARENT 87 
 
 THE LADY KIRK 9° 
 
 A RURAL REVERIE 94 
 
 THE TALE OF A TRAMP 9^ 
 
 THE IRONY OF "IF" 99 
 
 ODE TO THE GREAT FURTH O" SCOTLAND RAILWAY . . IOI 
 
 OUR LADY OF SULKS IO4 
 
PANSIES 
 
MENDELSSOHN'S "DUETTO" BY 
 MOONLIGHT 
 
 To-night the sea is sleeping, and the air 
 
 Sleeps on its bosom. Tis the mild mid June, 
 And never saw I yet a scene more fair 
 
 Beneath the shining of a summer moon, 
 Or purer moonlight flood a purer sky. 
 And never, sure, did ripples softlier shed 
 
 Recurrent lengths of pearl and amethyst, 
 Quiv'ring to flash and die, 
 Along the margin of an ocean bed 
 
 Whose stainless sands were worthier to be kissed. 
 
 An hour ago, the burden of the days 
 
 Bore on me, and my rebel heart was sad, 
 
 Because the earth seemed all of thorny ways 
 Whose labyrinth nor end nor meaning had. 
 
Tansies and Folly-Hells 
 
 And evermore I heard the weary cry 
 Of human nature, and the answering moan 
 
 Of earth and sea : "Whence are we? Wherefore come?" 
 And the old, sad reply : 
 " Out of the void, into the void, — alone, 
 From the dead Past, into the Future dumb." 
 
 So, restless, ere the lighting of the lamp 
 
 I left the threshold, and my outstretched palm 
 Brushed from a jasmine spray the odorous damp, 
 
 And all my soul drank in the tranced calm 
 
 Of the high moon, and the wide, windless night. 
 And under dreaming trees I crossed the turf 
 
 To where, beneath their level browsing- line, — 
 A thread of glimmering white, 
 I saw the 'broidered fringes of the surf 
 
 Heave to the breathings of the slumbering brine. 
 
 And now, to brim the measure of delight, 
 A strain that from yon open casement floats 
 
 Seems strangely pertinent to this sweet night. 
 Yet well I know whose fingers wake the notes, 
 And each full sequence of melodious tone 
 
 In that duet of passionate hopes and fears, 
 
Mendelssohn's li T)uetto" by Moonlight 5 
 
 Where 'plaining love with love's fond chiding wars. 
 Divinest Mendelssohn ! 
 Thy songs are only wordless to the ears 
 Which never heard the voices of the stars. 
 
 Oh, wearers of the ever-verdant bays ! 
 
 Why have ye told us your delicious dreams 
 To fret us, groping in these grimy ways, 
 
 With airs from long-lost vales and vanished streams, 
 And pipings of departed Arcadies ? 
 Or thou, whose touch the immortal marbles bear, 
 
 Why didst thou set us in a world like this — 
 Godlike Praxiteles ! — 
 Peerless ideals, stony shapes more fair 
 
 Than ever thrilled beneath a lover's kiss ? 
 
 Oh for a breath of God's omnipotence, 
 
 To mould the world to this one perfect hour 
 For ever ! and in this calm heaven's immense, 
 As in the folded petals of a flower, 
 
 Enclose it. Never more should the chill morn 
 Flash at reveille upon haggard eyes, 
 And waken misery to all its needs. 
 Never, by mad winds torn, 
 
6 Tansies and Folly-Hells 
 
 The billows of this lisping sea should rise 
 To tear a helpless prey that gasps and bleeds. 
 
 Still should the skies be cloudless, and the sight 
 
 Trust the safe guidance of a light like this, 
 Serenely pitiful, unmindful quite 
 
 If ugliness exists, or evil is, 
 
 But rich in tender hint and sweet suggesting. 
 And ever thus the charmed earth should sleep, 
 
 And each tired heart of all her seething throng, 
 Its fevered pulse arresting, 
 Beat as mine own does now — content to keep 
 
 Time to the rhythmic cadence of a song. 
 
 Oh, foolish heart ! God sets His times and places, 
 
 Like these thou art so loth to quit to-night, 
 Not as abiding homes, but breathing-spaces 
 
 Wherein anew to gird thee for the fight. 
 Already falls a change on earth and ocean, 
 The music ceases and the awakening main 
 
 Crisps its fresh billows to a breeze of dawn. 
 In ever-circling motion 
 The round moon sinks. Wherefore should I complain 
 
 Who of His peace one full, deep breath have drawn ? 
 
WATER LILIES 
 
 I xMuse alone as the twilight falls 
 Over the grey old castle's walls, 
 Where a sleepy lake through the lazy hours 
 Crisply mirrors the time-worn towers ; 
 And scarce a whisper rustles the sedge, 
 Or a ripple lisps to the water's edge, 
 As far and wide, on the tideless stream, 
 The matted water-lilies dream. 
 
 I stood in the quiet even-fall, 
 
 Where, in the ancient banquet-hall 
 
 Over the hearth, is a panel placed, 
 
 By some old Florentine chisel chased 
 
 Showing a slender, graceful child 
 
 In the flowing robes of a wood-nymph wild, 
 
 Bending over the wavy flood 
 
 As she stoops to gather a lily bud. 
 
Tansies and Folly -'Bells 
 
 In words as quaint as the carving old, 
 An aged dame the story told, 
 How an Earl's daughter, long ago, 
 A strange, pale child, with a brow of snow, 
 Had loved, and lost her life for the sake 
 Of the lilies that grew in her father's lake, 
 Holding them ever her favourite flower ; 
 Till once, in the hush of a twilight hour, 
 Floating among them, out in the stream, 
 Where the passionless blossoms nod and dream, 
 They found her lying, white and dead, 
 " Like a sister lily," the old dame said. 
 
 And a sadness, born of the old-world tale, 
 Haunts me still, while the starlight pale 
 Gleams on the leaves, so green and wet, 
 Where the changeless lilies are floating yet ; 
 And a message I fain would read aright 
 Seems to lurk in each chalice white — 
 A secret, guarded fold on fold, 
 As it guards its own deep heart of gold, 
 And only told to the listening ear 
 Of him who humbly tries to hear. 
 
Water Lilies 
 
 Oh ! mystic blossom floating there, 
 Thing of the water, thing of the air, 
 We claim thee still, as we hold the dead, 
 Anchored to earth by a golden thread. 
 
THE MESSAGE OF THE SNOWDROP 
 
 Courage and hope, true heart ! 
 
 Summer is coming, though late the spring, 
 Over the breast of the quiet mould 
 With an emerald shimmer — a glint of gold, 
 Till the leaves of the regal rose unfold 
 
 At the rush of the swallow's wing. 
 
 Courage and hope, true heart ! 
 
 Summer is coming, though spring be late ; 
 Wishing is weary and waiting long, 
 But sorrow's day hath an even-song, 
 And the garlands that never shall fade belong 
 
 To the soul that is strong to wait. 
 
IN THE FOREST 
 
 The wind had gone with the day, 
 
 And the moon was in the sky, 
 As I walked last night, by a lonely way, 
 To a lonely path in the forest grey, 
 
 That we loved, my love and I. 
 
 They said she had gone to her home 
 
 In a land that I did not know. 
 And the winds were still, and the woods were dumb, 
 But I knew that she could not choose but come 
 
 To a soul that loved her so. 
 
 I had longed for her return, 
 
 And she came and met me there, 
 And I felt once more the swift blood burn 
 Through my heart, as a foot-fall rustled the fern 
 
 And a whisper stirr'd the air. 
 
12 Tansies and Folly-'Bells 
 
 And through where the moonlight streamed 
 
 She passed, and never a trace ; 
 Yet sweet in the shadow the glad eyes gleamed, 
 And the shade more bright than the moonshine seemed 
 
 For the brightness of her face. 
 
 And I stretched my empty hands, 
 
 And I cried in my weary pain, 
 " Is there — away in the unknown lands, 
 A heaven, where Time reverts his sands 
 
 And the past returns again ? " 
 
AT TWILIGHT 
 
 Since from the castle's belfry, old and grey, 
 
 I heard the chimes ring out a slow-spaced seven, 
 
 The flame-fringed west has burned its fires away, 
 The lake lies like a downward-curving heaven 
 
 All pulsing with the light of coming stars ; 
 
 And night and rest float downward, hand in hand, 
 As, merging at the sunset's saffron bars, 
 
 A dreaming heaven melts in a dreaming land. 
 
 Spirit of Peace ! outbreathed on mere and wold, 
 Be with me when the night has passed away, 
 
 And swathe my restless heart, as, fold on fold, 
 Thy robes have gathered round the parting day, 
 
 Till on my life's brief hours the twilight falleth, 
 And far away I see the shadowy hands 
 
 That beckon me, and hear a voice that calleth 
 My faltering steps into the unknown lands. 
 
14 Tansies and Folly-Hells 
 
 Softly, as yon last lingering flush uncertain 
 Faints on the bosom of the darkening west, 
 
 So may my spirit pass the cloudy curtain 
 Into the portals of His perfect rest. 
 
AT PARTING 
 
 I dare not plead "Remember me;" 
 But if I pray you, " Do not quite forget," 
 It is not that I wish to set 
 
 Within your life's pure harmony 
 One single note of vain regret. 
 
 I only plead how hard it seems 
 
 To wake again to life's unbroken grey — 
 To live once more the weary day ; 
 
 Nor from the summer of my dreams 
 To strive to bear one flower away. 
 
IN AN AUTUMN GARDEN 
 
 In an autumn garden olden, 
 When the yellow leaves did fall, 
 
 Sunflowers flamed and apples golden 
 Redden'd on the gable wall, — 
 
 One was pacing, grief-infolden. 
 
 Look'd he at the ash-tree sober, 
 As her leaves fell one by one, 
 
 " Leaf by leaf the winds unrobe her, 
 Thus and thus, my hopes have flown, 
 
 All my heart is like October. 
 
 " Never more when frosts have bitten, 
 Flows the sap within the leaf; 
 
 He whom cruel claws have smitten 
 Scarce again will come to grief, 
 
 Trusting still the velvet mitten. 
 
In an zAutumn Qarden 17 
 
 " Love is dead and Cupid's missiles 
 Now shall storm my breast in vain ; 
 
 Through my heart a cold wind whistles, 
 Where no flower can bloom again, 
 
 But a crop of weeds and thistles." 
 
 In an autumn garden olden, 
 
 Thus the hapless lover sighed ; 
 Cared not if the leaves were golden, 
 
 Cared not if the skies were wide, 
 He so sad and grief-infolden. 
 
 In the Spring, as I've been told, 
 Happiest youth and fondest maiden 
 
 Those some garden walls infold ; 
 Spring, with bud and blossom laden, 
 
 Brings a new love for the old. 
 
ON THE GARDEN TERRACE, H ADDON 
 HALL, DERBYSHIRE 
 
 Surely this leaf-screened terrace-path, 
 
 This moss-flecked stair of time-worn stone, 
 Some strange inherent magic hath, 
 
 Some witching glamour of its own ! 
 So lingeringly my feet have strayed, 
 
 As loth to break the spell, which seems 
 To breathe o'er this long balustrade 
 
 A very atmosphere of dreams. 
 
 No miracle of art is here, 
 
 No feat of engineering skill, 
 For ever bidding us revere 
 
 The triumph of a master-will ; 
 Yet surely he was blest, whose thought 
 
 Conceived yon sombre screen of yew, 
 Then reared his pillar'd walls, and wrought 
 
 This living idyl from the two. 
 
On the Qarden Terrace 19 
 
 Since first those deep-set windows gleamed 
 
 O'er this green square of velvet sward, 
 And ladies from the terrace beamed 
 
 To watch the bowlers, and reward 
 With buzz from each applauding group 
 
 Some winning stroke — and all the place 
 Was crisp frou-frou of ruff, and hoop, 
 
 And farthingale, and rustling lace, 
 
 So tenderly the touch of Time 
 
 Hath wrought its will with Haddon Hall, 
 So deftly guided in their climb 
 
 The draping ivies on its wall, 
 That changing moons and seasons bring 
 
 No phase to make that beauty less 
 Which lives in every perfect thing 
 
 By its own right of loveliness. 
 
 And I — who watch the gloaming's dyes 
 Fade to a blush ; and by-and-by, 
 
 Low in the east, a pale moon rise 
 
 Through filmy bands of dove-grey sky — 
 
 Can picture yet those shapes of yore, 
 And dream my vagrant fancy hears 
 
2o Tansies and Folly-Hells 
 
 The softly-clicking bowls, once more 
 Rolled by gay, gallant cavaliers. 
 
 V ENVOI 
 Dear record of a peaceful past, 
 
 I cannot think thee senseless stone, 
 A very living heart thou hast, 
 
 Kept warm by memories of thine own. 
 
ROMANCE 
 
 Where brooding rain-clouds, grim and hoar, 
 
 Drag and drip for evermore 
 
 On a sailless sea, and a sullen shore ; 
 
 On the nether rim of a northern clime, 
 Where year to year it is winter-time, 
 And all things taste of the salt sea-rime ; 
 
 In a brine-bleached tower, with beetling walls, 
 Where the raven breeds, and the seamew calls. 
 But never a shaft of sunshine falls, 
 
 There lived a maid, from her natal hour, 
 To whom the wilful Fates for dower 
 Had given a heart like a cactus flower — 
 
22 
 
 Tansies and Folly- ( Bells 
 
 Warm, and vivid, and flame-like keen. 
 Such was her soul \ but her face, I ween, 
 Was the ice-cold face of a polar queen. 
 
 And I — I came from a land of fire, 
 
 Where the pitiless sun-rays parch and tire, 
 
 And the shower and the shade are a man's desire. 
 
 I had drifted far on the sailless sea, 
 
 I had come long leagues. For it was to be, 
 
 And her woman's love leapt out to me. 
 
 Time and distance, longing and hate, 
 Wooing and winning, and all things, wait 
 For the rounded sweep of the scythe of Fate. 
 
 And the bars and the bonds of sea or land 
 That the stride of a destined step withstand 
 Are as bars of pith and as ropes of sand. 
 
A SONG 
 
 I gave my love a ripe red rose, 
 
 Which to her mouth she pressed ; 
 I gave my love a wild, white rose — 
 
 She pinned it near her breast. 
 With envy paled the crimson rose 
 
 Against her redder lip — 
 The white rose, blushing, stained its snows 
 
 In vanquished rivalship. 
 
 I pluck a peach-bloom from the wall, 
 
 Sunned with the westering beam ; 
 I see, by chance, a pansy fall 
 
 Into a bowl of cream ; 
 And straightway I each semblance note 
 
 In sweet, symbolic guise, 
 Because I think of my love's throat, 
 
 And think of my love's eyes. 
 
24 Tansies and Folly-Hells 
 
 Her voice has health's melodious ring, 
 
 And speaks her mind in tune j 
 Her laugh is like the jargoning 
 
 Of morning birds in June. 
 Her hair is like a helm of brass, 
 
 So glorious is its gloss ; 
 But oh ! 'tis soft and subtle as 
 
 The thistle's floating floss. 
 
 Such are her lips, voice, eyes, and hair, 
 
 But now I helpless prove ; 
 What semblance fair, in earth or air, 
 
 Can symbol all my love ! 
 
AT DAWN OF DAY 
 
 At dawn of day, from her window-pane, 
 A maiden looked over moor and wold, 
 
 And she saw how the spring-time once again 
 Came trailing its garments of green and gold. 
 
 And she sighed "Ah, me ! how the seasons bring 
 Their shadow and sun to the green earth's breast ; 
 
 I am tired of a heart that has known no spring, 
 And a life that is changeless rest." 
 
 There came a youth ere the thorn was white, 
 And he stayed when the rose was gone, 
 
 And the moon was bright in the autumn night, 
 And the heart of the maid was won. 
 
 And she sang " Ah, well for the golden sheaves 
 
 That the grateful land doth bear, 
 And Love, that awakes the heart, and leaves 
 
 An endless summer there ! " 
 
THROUGH SUN AND SHADE 
 
 While youth and pleasure 
 In boundless measure 
 Shall pour their treasure 
 
 For you and me, 
 I know that never 
 A thought can sever 
 
 My heart from thee. 
 
 But if the morrow 
 From gloom and sorrow 
 Its hues should borrow 
 
 For you and me, 
 The tempest over 
 Would find thy lover 
 
 More close to thee. 
 
Through Sun and Shade 27 
 
 When doubts are fewest, 
 And vows are truest, 
 And love is newest 
 
 To you and me, 
 I know that never 
 A thought can sever 
 
 My heart from thee. 
 
 When love is older, 
 And foes are bolder, 
 And earth is colder 
 
 To you and me ; 
 When life is drearest, 
 'Twill find me nearest, 
 
 My love, to thee. 
 
LOVE IS THE LORD OF ALL 
 (a song) 
 
 When life is like the May-time. 
 And hearts are like the morn, 
 And every hour is play-time, 
 And Love is newly born ; 
 Then maidens shyly greet him 
 
 With glances soft and coy, 
 And hold him when they meet him, 
 A little harmless boy. 
 Love is a little child, 
 Love is a master mild, 
 Love has a whip, Love has a sting, 
 Love is a crowned despot king. 
 Coming before we know, 
 Love is the last to go ; 
 Still in our breast, ruler or guest, 
 Love is the lord of all. 
 
Love is the lord of all 29 
 
 When hearts are like October, 
 
 And life is like the leaf 
 That falls when days are sober, 
 And skies are glum with grief, 
 Though Fancy fondly ranges 
 To mem'ry's distant shore, 
 The Love that never changes 
 Abides for evermore. 
 
 Love is a little child, 
 Love is a master mild. 
 Love has a whip, Love has a sting, 
 Love is a crowned despot king. 
 Coming before we know, 
 Love is the last to go ; 
 Still in our breast, ruler or guest, 
 Love is the lord of all. 
 
THE SHEPHERD'S SONG 
 
 His wallet round his neck was slung, 
 A simple shepherd lad was he ; 
 
 As down the hill he came, he sung 
 A song of ancient chivalry. 
 
 His home was far amid the hills, 
 Small store of worldly gear he had, 
 
 And yet the lark that o'er him trills 
 Scarce pipes a lay so careless glad. 
 
 His face was towards the rising day, 
 
 With lightsome step he pressed the heath, 
 
 Beyond the mists that round him lay 
 He saw the unknown world beneath. 
 
 And sweet and clear arose his song, 
 As downward to the plain went he, 
 
 " My heart and arm are stout and strong, 
 And these shall win a home for me." 
 
NOT YET 
 
 I met Content upon a flowery way. 
 
 And "Sweet Content," said I, "be thou my friend; 
 
 Keep pace with me until the glad day's end. 
 Fresh are the skies, and all the world is May, 
 
 And the wide landscape, like a brimming cup, 
 
 Creameth its foam of lavish blossom up." 
 
 " Not yet," replied Content, and strode before ; 
 " Dost thou not know, this garish blossom-time 
 Is but the promise of the after-prime — 
 
 A pledge to thee for golden fruit in store ? 
 Less fickle friends than I thy coming stay 
 To bear thee company upon thy way." 
 
 I cried, " Oh, sweet Content ! be thou my guest ; 
 The rose is heavy on my perfumed bowers, 
 The linked circle of the dancing hours 
 
 Alone awaits thy coming to be blest. 
 
32 Tansies and Folly -'Bells 
 
 Dear friends have I, true Love and Labour sweet, 
 Be thou my guest to make our band complete." 
 
 " Not yet," replied Content, nor turned his head j 
 " The fairest rose grows perfect but to fall, 
 And while the sun of summer gladdens all 
 
 He brings the corn its gold, the wine its red, 
 
 Still dearer friends than Love and Toil may grace 
 Thy proffered board, and fill my vacant place." 
 
 I prayed, " Oh, sweet Content ! stay with me now, 
 My fields are cumbered with the ranked sheaves, 
 My fruits are ruddy 'mid their bronzed leaves, 
 
 And leaves of laurel are about my brow, 
 
 For Fame has joined my band of comrades brave. 
 Stay with me, thou, no further boon I crave." 
 
 " Not yet," replied Content, and onward strode ; 
 " The spacious barns are gaping for their store, 
 The flail hangs idle on the threshing-floor. 
 
 The fragrant must is waiting to be trod. 
 
 Perchance the worthless wreath thou vauntest now 
 May wax a golden circlet round thy brow." 
 
$(ot Tet 33 
 
 " Oh, blest Content ! " I sobbed, with heavy moan, 
 As still I followed, weary-paced and slow, 
 " My orchard boughs are black against the snow ; 
 
 My wreath of bays a thorny crown hath grown ; 
 Of little worth my garnered treasures be 
 Since thou wilt still refuse to lodge with me." 
 
 " Not yet," replied Content, but turned his face 
 Radiant upon me from the further side 
 Of a dark stream, a river deep and wide. 
 
 " Ne'er on thy confines is my resting-place, 
 
 But when thy feet have touched this distant shore 
 Thy home shall be mine own for evermore." 
 
THEN AND NOW 
 
 When first we met — when first our eyes did meet, 
 
 A love immortal into being sprung, 
 And soul awoke a kindred soul to greet. 
 Life strewed a rosy -pathway for our feet, — 
 Had we been wise enough to tread it sweet ! 
 
 But you and I, and life, and love, were young 
 When first we met. 
 
 Since first we met, the world has gone awry ; 
 
 We drifted down the slowly-parting ways ; 
 We had such want of wisdom, you and I, 
 Unguessed by both each heart's unuttered cry. 
 Love, — we have learned the meaning of "good-bye," 
 
 In the grey silence of these after-days 
 Since first we met ! 
 
Then and Ch(jw 35 
 
 When first we met you seem'd a radiant thing ; 
 
 A shape of light— to vanish at a touch ; 
 A gem beyond the buying of a king ; 
 A star of dawn j a spirit of the spring, 
 Making the poet in me wake and sing ; 
 
 Not a sweet woman to be woo'd as such, 
 When first we met. 
 
 Since first we met we have grown widely wise 
 
 In bootless wisdom of the barren years ; 
 But vainly now the yearning spirit cries 
 To touch once more those gates of Paradise 
 Where once we stood,— but stood with blinded eyes. 
 Poor eyes— that have been purged with bitter tears 
 Since first we met ! 
 
SCOTLAND'S DEAD 
 
 Written in the Old Churchyard of Qilross 
 
 Who, being Scotsman, has not somewhere known 
 
 Some holy haunt like this, remote and still — 
 
 Some kirkyard nestled on a ferny hill, 
 Some quiet burial-plot retired and lone — 
 And found, in after years, his mem'ry keep 
 
 Its picture still unfaded in his breast, 
 
 The fixed ideal of that place of rest 
 Where, if God willed it so, he too would sleep ? 
 
 Few are the dead who mix with kindred clay 
 In these " God's-acres " of their native land, 
 Lulled by the waves around her granite strand, 
 
 Soothed by the winds from heath-clad mountains grey ; 
 
 Wherever keel can cleave or herbage wave, 
 Wherever air can waft, or sunlight falls, 
 Where enterprise invites or duty calls, 
 
 The wide-strewn records mark the Scotsman's grave. 
 
Scotland's Dead 37 
 
 Their bones lie buried under Arctic snows, 
 
 Laved by the Ganges, bleached beside the Nile, 
 Hid by the palms of many a tropic isle, 
 
 Lost in far jungles where the banyan grows ; 
 
 Their graves are guarded by the cactus spear 
 In western woods where hoary mosses hang, 
 And the Red Indian on his swift mustang 
 
 Sweeps in the traces of the flying deer. 
 
 Yet in God's book their bones are numbered, 
 And scattered thus He holds the tale complete, 
 Till once again with brothers, brothers meet, 
 
 When the great Sea hath rendered up its dead. 
 
A PINE-WOOD IN WINTER 
 
 Dim forest-ways, e'en in mid-winter sweet ! 
 
 As virgin-fresh your mossy carpets grow 
 
 As if, laid down long centuries ago, 
 They waited until now my tardy feet. 
 And you, ye pines ! whose sombre branches greet 
 
 My brows in welcome as I pace below, — 
 
 So closely meshed that here the drifts of snow 
 Which bar the late-turned fields scant lodgment meet, — 
 Silence as deep as yours is eloquence, 
 
 And breathes a nobler message in mine ear 
 
 Than crash of tortured boughs, or roar of flame, 
 Or the wild tempest's stern magnificence ; 
 
 For not in these, but in your hush, I hear 
 
 That still, small voice, which speaks your Maker's 
 name. 
 
TO A ROBIN 
 
 Brave little bird ! you sing alone to-night, 
 Your cheery treble the one woodland note 
 Unsilenced, and the red beneath your throat 
 
 Sole touch of colour in a world of white. 
 
 That slender bill seems but a fragile thing 
 To win a living from this ice-bound land, 
 Yet are your wants supplied with bounteous hand,, 
 
 And you are pert, and plump, and quick of wing, 
 
 And pipe at leisure on the leafless bough. 
 If, then, a message in your music be, 
 As fain I'd fancy — is it to make known 
 
 The truth that fills my heart with comfort now, 
 That He who feeds the robins feedeth me, 
 And that the Lord is mindful of his own ? 
 
/ MOURN NOT FOR THE DEAD 
 
 I mourn not for the dead, — the happy dead, 
 Whose smiling lips, and folded, waxen hands 
 Are with us here ; whose blessed spirit stands 
 
 Clothed in full radiance of the perfected 
 
 And changeless splendour of her angelhead. 
 I mourn for him who lives, and takes to-day 
 The lonely road, the vista drear and grey, 
 
 Which waits henceforward for his joyless tread. 
 
 His is the frequent grief, the well-known woe, 
 The world-old commonplace of mortal pain ; 
 
 Yet now he moves as guideless wanderers go 
 Across the vastness of a desert plain, 
 
 Where many feet have been, from many lands, 
 
 But left no print upon its drifting sands. 
 
UNATTAINABLE 
 
 Dear troubled eyes, white throat and tawny hair — 
 
 Sweet face that will not let me be at rest ; 
 
 I would not drive you from my haunted breast, 
 I cannot clasp you from the empty air. 
 To woo your coming is to court despair, 
 
 Yet not to seek you were to be unblest. 
 
 No solace can I ask — no boon request ; 
 Such love as mine hath neither hope nor prayer. 
 Though lips — athirst from memory of your kiss, 
 
 Like parched flowers, — must suffer and be mute ; 
 
 Though love may bear but harsh, unripening fruit, 
 The seed was His of whom love's essence is, 
 And surely He some pitying thought will give 
 His plant, — which hath outlived its right to live. 
 
OCTOBER— NOVEMBER 
 
 A week of quiet mist and rain, 
 A night of sudden, silent frost, — 
 And all unstirred or tempest-toss'd, 
 
 The woods are naked once again. 
 
 Last night beneath the sycamore 
 I could have deemed it summer still, 
 Save that the twilight air was chill, 
 
 So brave a canopy it bore. 
 
 This morn beneath the self-same tree — 
 So swift a spell the Frost-King weaves,- 
 I stood knee-deep in fallen leaves 
 
 And scarce a leaf was over me. 
 
 In one brief night old Autumn died, 
 His grandeur and his glory fled ; 
 And Winter reigning in his stead 
 
 Is with us at a single stride. 
 
IN THE SAD SEPTEMBER GLOAMING 
 
 In the sad September gloaming, when the pallid mists 
 
 are drawn 
 O'er the meadow and the river, like a web of ghostly 
 
 lawn, 
 And dark and still the moorland rolls for many a 
 
 purple mile, 
 'Tis then, my love, I miss you most, who miss you all 
 
 the while. 
 
 Our wedded days were sweet as swift, and since we've 
 
 been apart 
 Your memory, like a twilight mist, clings ever round my 
 
 heart, 
 And oft-times on a night like this, I rest beside the stile, 
 And lose the present in the past, to dream of you awhile. 
 
44 Tansies and Folly -"Bells 
 
 The lagging hour — the lonely life — is sometimes hard to 
 
 bide, 
 Yet if 'twere but to ask, to have a helpmate by my side, 
 I could not patch a broken heart where ancient longings 
 
 brood, 
 Or garnish for a second bride its haunted solitude. 
 
 Through the years, with all their changing, I have held 
 
 that somewhere still, 
 There's a white soul holds unbroken that old faith no 
 
 change can kill, 
 And I'll keep the troth an angel trusts, though given a 
 
 simple girl, 
 And with clean lips shall meet her kiss within the gates 
 
 of pearl. 
 
A PLATONIC IDYL 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 So, my lady Alice, you've been dipping 
 
 In some page of old Platonic lore, 
 And you deem its rhythm sympathetic 
 
 To a melody you've known before. 
 
 And you ask me to define its music 
 
 From my own heart's wilder wanderings ; 
 
 Reach me down my zither;— well my dreamings 
 Suit the sleepy music of its strings. 
 
 I will sing to you a song Platonic, 
 For I, too, have felt the mystic power 
 
 Of the questionings love wakes within us, 
 Deepest felt in such an evening hour. 
 
46 Tansies and Folly -"Bells 
 
 For the day is ended, and the sunlight 
 Lingers only on the highest height 
 
 In a long-drawn kiss, as loth to leave it 
 To the colder wooing of the night. 
 
 Here, within thy chamber's ivied lattice, 
 Not a murmur breaks the hour serene, 
 
 Even the lesser restlessness of motion 
 Scarce disturbs the stillness of the scene. 
 
 Only here and there from distant casements 
 Gleams a twinkling flame into the night ; 
 
 Little earth-stars, mocking those in heaven, 
 Born and brightening with the fading light. 
 
 Under us, a boat — as wearied birds do — 
 Folds its long wings as it nears the bay, 
 
 And the wavelet lisping to the pebbles 
 Lends a dreamy cadence to my lay. 
 
 i 
 In the land of the Sybarite's vision, 
 
 In the Paradise-garden of earth, 
 Whence the mind of the poet is peopled 
 
 With the fancies his lyre giveth birth j 
 
t/f Tl atonic Idyl 47 
 
 Far away in the blue of the ocean, 
 
 In the realms most beloved of the sun, 
 
 Long ages ago, in earth's childhood, 
 The life of my soul was begun. 
 
 And my young life drank in of earth's fulness 
 
 A deep draught of thrilling delight, 
 In that first joyous sense of existence 
 
 That woke me to life and to light. 
 
 11 
 
 Ah ! faultlessly fair was the face of earth 
 
 In the bloom of its first spring-tide ; 
 Ah ! thrillingly sweet was the dawn of life 
 
 On my soul's first morning-tide. 
 
 And earth with a bountiful boundless love 
 Spread her stores for the lives she caressed ; 
 
 For the treasures she gives are transcendently more 
 Than the wealth that is torn from her breast. 
 
 Linked to a life that was half mine own, 
 
 Knit to a soul that was part of mine, 
 Grew my life, two in one, indissolubly bound, 
 
 Blent with a soul in a separate shrine. 
 
48 Tansies and Folly -"Bells 
 
 And vague as the dawn's recollections 
 Of a dream that was dreamt in a dream— 
 
 A memory less strong than remembrance — 
 That far-off existence doth seem. 
 
 As the forms we behold in our slumbers, 
 Dimly sweet with a deeper repose — 
 
 Half fancies from misty dream-regions— 
 Half memories of lost long-agos, 
 
 That seem in their very unknownness 
 A lingering remembrance to move 
 
 Of a life that was more worth the knowing- 
 Of a love that was better than love. 
 
 So still with a sweet indistinctness 
 The face of that loved one I see ; 
 
 So still in a time-softened beauty 
 The scenes of that life come to me. 
 
 in 
 The dream of a heaven of throbbing blue 
 
 That was over a glorious land ; 
 Of a sea that swayed in a summer sleep 
 
 On a shore of amber sand. 
 
z/f Tlatonic Idyl 49 
 
 A land that teemed to the ocean's rim 
 With the wealth that it scarce could hold ; 
 
 Clothed in a verdure sunshine-flecked, 
 Like a green robe decked with gold ; 
 
 Crowned to the peak of its highest hill, 
 
 That was swathed in the blue heaven's hem, 
 
 With feathery branches that waved like the plumes 
 Of a royal diadem. 
 
 Where the trellised aisles of forgotten trees 
 
 A murmurous shadow made, 
 And their high crests arched in a fretted roof 
 
 Like a vast cathedral's shade, 
 
 While a myriad streams of music joined 
 
 In a mighty melody. 
 We were linked in a bond that will bind till time 
 
 Shall be lost in eternity. 
 
 As a chord rung out by a master hand 
 
 From a harp of perfect tone 
 Receives from a chord reverberate 
 Amelody more than its own ; 
 
50 Tansies and Folly -"Bells 
 
 So blent were our souls in the perfect bond 
 
 Of a dual identity, 
 Like the harmony found in the music of chords 
 
 That are strung in affinity. 
 
 And an echo reverberate lingers yet 
 
 That ages have failed to kill. 
 For we loved with a love that was stronger than death, 
 
 And a dream of it clings to me still. 
 
THE POET FROM HIS HAMMOCK 
 
 I am captain and crew of a fairy boat 
 
 That sails over deep green seas, 
 And the billows that roll to a shore remote 
 Are all of the loveliest green ; and I float 
 
 In a boat that is steered with ease. 
 
 Many a headland, isle, and cape 
 
 Glides by in a long review ; 
 And I watch each vanishing tint and shape 
 As they softly melt, or my ken escape 
 
 Down the plain of the pendant blue. 
 
 O, stout is the craft that owns me king, 
 
 Though it boasts nor sail nor mast ; 
 It is only a boat of twisted string, 
 And it rocks as the wind-swayed pear-boughs swing 
 
 At its stern and its stem bound fast. 
 
52 Tansies and Folly -'Bells 
 
 But think not thus I am stranded high 
 
 In a haven-loving ease ; 
 For many a wondrous voyage I, 
 And many a far-off venture, try 
 
 Upon strange and shoreless seas. 
 
 And swift, sweet shapes with winnowing wings 
 
 Flit round me as I sail ; 
 And a hint of the vague melodious things 
 I hear from my boat is the freight it brings 
 
 When it moors at the pilot's hail. 
 
NATURA REGINA 
 
 Within its banks this little brook includes 
 A world, remote from all the world of men, 
 And hides a kingdom far from mortal ken 
 
 In these green deeps where never foot intrudes. 
 
 The fairest forms its wayward frontiers follow 
 In twig and tendril, bud and leaf and blade, 
 And evermore the wild-flowers bloom and fade — 
 
 A rainbow-tinted mist, on slope and hollow. 
 
 The pine-tree's crest, which many a gale hath wea- 
 thered, — 
 The sands which glimmer round the boulder's base, — 
 Where'er I turn me is the dwelling-place 
 
 Of tiny natives, furred, or scaled, or feathered. 
 
54 Tansies and Folly-Bells 
 
 In this community is no exclusion 
 From home, or heritage, or means to live : 
 And there is naught that takes and does not give, 
 
 Nor any waste in all this rich profusion. 
 
 Here comes no revolution, no upheaval, 
 No sleek apostate pricks his kindred fools 
 To mad disdain of adamantine rules 
 
 Or vain revolt against a code primeval. 
 
 There is no envy here, no emulation ; 
 
 The ungrudged tribute of a moss-bell's dew 
 May swell a bud high in the shimmering blue, 
 
 And all things serve each other in their station, 
 
 And every life some other life sustains ; 
 
 Queen Nature reckons not of great or small, 
 
 But metes a passionless award to all, 
 And over all her empire order reigns. 
 
 A pilgrim in her realms, I long have wooed her 
 As one who steals some happy race among, 
 And longs to learn its customs and its tongue, 
 
 Yet feels himself an alien and intruder. 
 
Shatura %jgina 5 5 
 
 Mine is that newer world where man is master, 
 A world of noise and glitter, gilt and grime, 
 Of wealth, and war, and poverty, and crime, 
 
 Whose laws are changed to meet each fresh disaster. 
 
 The world of fad and faction, sham and shoddy, 
 Where Honour's tinsell'd diadem is thrown 
 To him who shrillest claims it for his own, 
 
 High-poised on its last wearer's prostrate body. 
 
 Where fat Success still hugs the chains which link him 
 To Mammon's heel ; and Failure sits a-cold ; 
 Where all things have a price, and only gold 
 
 Is god, and God is — what we please to think Him. 
 
 O Sovran Mother ! thou whose shelt'ring pinions 
 Are over all who own thy tranquil sway, 
 May the sweet solace I have known to-day 
 
 Await me ever in thy dear dominions. 
 
THE LINKS OF FORTH 
 
 We stood together on the height ; 
 
 We watched the brimming river flow, 
 With many a loop to left and right, 
 
 Far through the smiling plain below ; 
 With many a coil from shore to shore, 
 
 So roundly curved \ it seemed as though 
 Its waters strove to lave once more 
 
 The banks they swept an hour ago. 
 
 And slight the barrier seemed to be 
 
 That held them from their whilom bed ; 
 Yet onward, onward to the sea 
 
 Ever the restless river sped. 
 And then we sought each other's eyes, 
 
 And read the lesson as we stood, 
 And knew in what small spaces lies 
 
 The wideness of infinitude. 
 
The Links of Forth 57 
 
 Alas ! the irony of fate — 
 
 The past that almost comes again ; 
 Alas ! the love that learns too late 
 
 That once it was not all in vain. 
 We woke ; — we lived \— I saw you stand 
 
 A breathing presence near me there ; 
 My hand might clasp responsive hand, 
 
 My lips had brushed your golden hair ! 
 
 Through youth's hot veins there thrilled and yearned 
 
 A rapture from the far-off time ; 
 Immortal as my spirit, burned 
 
 The one deep passion of my prime. 
 And yet — unchanged, and face to face, 
 
 We watched the river seek the sea, 
 And knew that 'twixt us twain the space 
 
 Was wide as all eternity. 
 
LAST YEAR'S LEAVES 
 
 Over sullen ribs of snow 
 
 And the bitter, brown March grass, 
 As the eager east winds blow, 
 
 Before them as they pass, 
 In a swirl the dead leaves go. 
 
 Vagrant ghosts of last year's leaves 
 Hurried hither — hurried thither ; 
 
 There were swallows in my eaves 
 When I watched them wane and wither. 
 
 And my fields were full of sheaves. 
 
 I have seen the uplands bare, 
 And the sleet i' the swallow's nest ; 
 
 I have closed against Despair 
 The doorway of my breast 
 
 With a hasp to hold him there. 
 
Last Tear's Leaves 59 
 
 But the sere leaves wander yet 
 From a year for ever fled, 
 
 Like the sleepless, vain regret 
 For the buried and the dead 
 
 That my heart will not forget. 
 
FOLLY-BELLS 
 
FROM THE MAJOR TO HIS NEPHEW 
 
 "Are you dead to all feminine charms?" you inquire 
 when you've scribbled to me, all 
 The sweet traits of your soon-to-be bride in a fashion 
 delirious ; 
 And I answer, " Dear nephew, not so, for / also possess 
 my ideal, 
 And I'll hymn you her charms if you please, just to 
 show you I'm serious. 
 
 "No light, tintinnabulant bell, with a drawing-room 
 jingle 
 Is she, nor an 'ology'd fog-horn to boom through the 
 hours • 
 But a spirit of May, and a woman of wit, who can 
 mingle 
 The ripe delight of old wine with the freshness of 
 flowers. 
 
64 Tansies and Folly -"Bells 
 
 " Deep are her eyes as the sea, and the red of her 
 exquisite mouth 
 Has a charm in its sensitive curves which eludeth my 
 power of expressing, 
 And her voice, like the voice of the woods when a wind 
 sigheth out of the south, 
 Is gentle, and soothing, and low, with a monotone 
 full of caressing. 
 
 " And if of angelic perfection she fails by the tenth of an 
 inch, 
 And a creature of pins, not of pinions, remains on 
 humanity's level, 
 Tis because there is mixed with her blood just that 
 piquant preservative pinch 
 Which I like — of the spice of the World, and the 
 Flesh, and the Devil. 
 
 " And now, do you ask where she hideth, this dame 
 debomiaire and divine ? 
 Is she fled? Is she wed? Is it mine or is it her faith 
 that is fleeting ? 
 
From the Major to his O^ephew 65 
 
 Ah ! the reason I pine is a sadder one still than all 
 these, nephew mine, 
 For I've searched for the maid half my life, but we've 
 never succeeded in meeting." 
 
CORISANDE THE HAUGHTY; OR, THE 
 PENALTY OF PRIDE 
 
 In the days of which I write, 
 Guy de Vere he was a knight 
 
 Of renown, 
 Where he lived I cannot say, 
 But 'twas in a castle grey, 
 And I fancy 'twas some way 
 
 Out of town. 
 
 And Sir Guy he had a daughter, 
 And a paragon he thought her : 
 
 Corisande. 
 There were no poetic phrases, 
 Then in use could paint her graces, 
 What the ancient record says is — 
 
 Sbe was gran&e. 
 
Cor is an de the Haughty 67 
 
 But although her many beauties, 
 From her top-knot to her tooties, 
 
 Were allowed ; 
 Yet her rivals, frilled and flounced, 
 On one shocking blemish pounced, 
 And by all she was pronounced 
 
 " Mighty proud." 
 
 Now, this haughty maid could boast 
 Of admirers quite a host, 
 
 Great and small, 
 Of her father's own selection, 
 For their riches or connection ; 
 But she fancied some objection 
 
 To them all. 
 
 There were Barons by the score ; 
 There were twenty Lords and more. 
 
 Think of that ! 
 From Longshankes Mac Auchterlonie, 
 Who was angular and bony, 
 To young Stilton Maccaroni, 
 
 Who was fat. 
 
68 Tansies and Folly -"Bel Is 
 
 For this loveliest of girls 
 Languished Marquises and Earls 
 
 And a Duke, 
 And the record also mentions 
 Several Squires who had intentions, 
 But they shrunk in their dimensions 
 
 At her look. 
 
 Could it be, O haughty beauty, 
 There was nobody to suit ye ? 
 
 Could it be 
 That within your pretty head it 
 Was resolved you'd live unwedded ? 
 Could you mean it though you said it ? 
 
 We shall see. 
 
 One fine day within her garden, 
 So discreetly railed and barred in, 
 
 As she walked 
 Like one Villikins before her, 
 Her papa began to bore her 
 About choosing an adorer ; 
 
 And he talked 
 
Corisande the Haughty 6g 
 
 Till he'd fairly put his Corrie — 
 Who to ruffle him was sorry — 
 
 In a pet, 
 And she cried, " What makes me quite ill 's 
 Your perpetual talk of titles, 
 Tis enough to sap the vitals 
 
 Of Debrett ! 
 
 "Though my favour yet to win is, 
 I am sick of all these ninnies, 
 
 Short and tall, 
 But I'll tell you what I'll do, sir, 
 Just to decimate the crew, sir, 
 And to settle who is who, sir, 
 
 Once for all : 
 
 : If a tourney you'll proclaim, 
 And advise them of the same — 
 
 Let me see ! 
 This is Tuesday— for next Monday, 
 Bid them all come here that one day 
 (We might board some over Sunday), 
 
 And they'll be, 
 
70 Tansies and Folly-Hells 
 
 "To avoid all further bother, 
 Pitted one against the other, 
 
 Hit or miss. 
 And the man who proves the strongest, 
 And who fells his foes ding-dongest, 
 And survives the fray the longest, 
 
 I'll be his." 
 
 As the wilful maiden willed it, 
 Heralds cried and posters billed it, 
 
 And 'twas done. 
 Came the Monday— fateful day ! 
 Came the Squires a long array, 
 With the chargers white and grey, 
 
 Black and dun. 
 
 And her suitors all attended, — 
 Glad to have the matter ended, — 
 
 Brisk and bold ; 
 Save a Baronet, who said 
 He was languishing in bed, 
 And the Duke, who in his head 
 
 Had a cold. 
 
Corisande the Haughty 71 
 
 And a field was fenced about, 
 And the lists were all laid out 
 
 Full in view. 
 And the morning sun shone bright 
 Upon many a mailed knight, 
 And on palings painted white 
 
 Picked with blue. 
 
 But where everything was fair, 
 Yet the brightest object there, 
 
 I surmise, 
 'Mid her beauteous maiden band, 
 Sate the peerless Corisande, 
 Whose bejewelled little hand 
 
 Was the prize. 
 
 Oh, the bucklers and the bands ! 
 Oh, the banners and the brands ! 
 
 How they flashed ! 
 Oh, for Homer's wit to write 
 Of that fierce and gory fight ! 
 Knight and horse, and horse and knight, 
 
 How they crashed ! 
 
72 Tansies and Folly -"Bells 
 
 How inflamed the rivals grew ! 
 How the shattered armour flew 
 
 Right and left ! 
 How the horses charged and reared ! 
 How the people jumped and cheered 
 When a stout cuirass was speared — 
 
 Helmet cleft ! 
 
 Although active for his size, 
 Poor young Maccaroni lies 
 
 In his gore. 
 Lord Mac Auchterlonie groans, 
 Tumbled out upon the stones 
 Like a kettleful of bones — 
 
 Nothing more. 
 
 Till at last, of all the band 
 Who had battled for her hand, 
 
 Only two — 
 Each a champion of renown — 
 On a stallion black, or brown, 
 Lance in rest and visor down, 
 
 Met her view. 
 
Corisande the Haughty 73 
 
 And she felt a palpitation 
 And a newly-born sensation 
 
 In her breast ; 
 And her heart awoke within her, 
 For she knew — the little sinner ! — 
 That the one who'd wear and win her 
 
 Was the best. 
 
 Blare the bugles ; and her sight 
 Waxes misty, as each knight 
 
 Forward pricks ; 
 And the startled echoes wondered 
 As the steeds together thundered 
 Like the crashing of two hundred- 
 Weight of bricks. 
 
 Though their lances are deleted, 
 Neither rider is unseated 
 
 By the shock ; 
 For a moment on they dash, 
 Then they wheel, and with a clash 
 They're exchanging slash for slash- 
 Knock for knock. 
 
74 Tansies and Folly -'Bells 
 
 Hech, what sinews tough and supple ! 
 What a most pugnacious couple ! 
 
 What a fray ! 
 Sure they're greatly to be pitied ; 
 There's a brasset has been spitted, 
 There's a greave a blow has slit it — 
 
 Well-a-day ! 
 
 They are far too fairly matched. 
 Now there flies an arm detached, 
 
 Now a leg ! 
 What a memorable whack ! 
 What a most stupendous smack ! 
 That was some one's casque went crack 
 
 Like an egg. 
 
 But I feel I'm growing pale, 
 And I really can't detail 
 
 Any more. 
 So sufrlceth it to say 
 At the closing of the day 
 All her lovers mangled lay — 
 
 Very sore. 
 
Corisande the Haughty 7$ 
 
 And of all that gallant train 
 Who had bled for her in vain, 
 
 Not a coon 
 Did survive to claim the hand 
 Of the haughty Corisande, 
 Who surceased, I understand, 
 
 Very soon. 
 
 Though the theme is wild and gory, 
 There's a moral in my story, 
 
 I opine ; 
 And I fancy it must be 
 That the days of chivalry 
 Were too hot for you and me, 
 
 Maiden mine. 
 
A SONG OF THE ROAD 
 
 The earth and the sky 
 
 Are one grey monotone, 
 As stolidly I 
 
 Trudge onward alone, 
 In a thick but impalpable drizzle that chills to the bone. 
 
 My footsteps sink dumb 
 
 In the mud that they scatter ; 
 All is still, as if some 
 
 Solemn thing were the matter, 
 And the mis'rable rain is too tiny the silence to break 
 with a patter. 
 
 I am splashed to the eyes, 
 
 You careless land-holders ! 
 For surely there lies 
 
 Much blame on your shoulders ; 
 This road is one long alternation of quagmires and 
 boulders. 
 
A Song of the %oad yy 
 
 From the finger-posts, weather 
 And rustic stone-throwing, too, 
 
 Have effaced altogether 
 
 What name they were showing to, 
 And I fear I've entirely forgotten the place I was going to. 
 
 Yet I'm happy and gay, 
 
 And I sing as I trudge, 
 Though I slip in the clay 
 And adhere in the sludge, 
 And I laugh where the average man would be grave as a 
 judge. 
 
 For you see I'm a plumber, 
 
 And paid by the hour, 
 And winter or summer, 
 In sunshine or shower, 
 I have one cherished thought in my bosom which blooms 
 like a flower. 
 
 Which is this that — if rosy 
 
 Or leaden the day, 
 The mortal who knows he 
 Must pass it some way, 
 And as soon as he's passed half a dozen can call for his 
 
 pay, 
 
78 Tansies and Folly-Hells 
 
 Has approached just as near 
 
 As we've reached through the ages 
 To that Paradise here 
 So desired of the Sages j 
 For if two things are certain on earth, they're "time 
 flies," and — his wages. 
 
PARTED 
 
 (a fragment) 
 
 Hand in hand, as the red moon rose, 
 
 They stood by the Witch's Oak ; 
 His breath came quick as he held her close, 
 And pale was his cheek as the drifted snows, 
 
 But never a word he spoke. 
 
 He kissed her once, and he kissed her twice, 
 
 And her lips were cold and dry ; 
 Her teeth were set like a steelyard vice, 
 And her hand in his, like a hand of ice, 
 
 Chilly and white did lie. 
 
 "Good-bye !" he groaned, and again "good-bye !" 
 
 And he turned and left her there ; 
 She stirred no step, and she gave no cry, 
 But she watched him go with a glazing eye 
 
 That was gaunt with a great despair. 
 
8o Tansies and Folly -"Bells 
 
 And this is as far as I ever got 
 With the story of these two j 
 For who they were, or what their lot, 
 Or whether it all came right or not, 
 I know no more than you. 
 
THE LAMENT OF THE UNPUBLISHED 
 ONE 
 
 I have a literary turn ; 
 To win poetic fame I burn ; 
 Yet, though I do the best I can, 
 Somehow my lines will never scan. 
 My simplest prose is full of flaws, 
 If judged by grammar's rigid laws. 
 Another fault — I know it well — 
 Is mine : I don't know how to spell ; 
 My sentences all leak like sieves, 
 And drop their verbs and nominatives. 
 Whene'er I try my hand at rhyme, 
 My stanzas will not close in time, 
 But leave a ragged word or two 
 With which I don't know what to do, 
 Unless by three or more lines adding, 
 Which means a puzzling deal of padding. 
 
82 Tansies and Folly -"Bells 
 
 Then long parentheses come in ; — 
 These things are easy to begin, 
 But end by leading one away 
 From what one meant at first to say. 
 And then those tiresome, plaguy "stops," 
 All heads and tails, like Rupert's drops ; 
 Though constantly I seem to want 'em, 
 I never can tell where to plant 'em. 
 
 Blank verse I've tried upon a time, 
 
 As something neither prose nor rhyme j 
 
 Blank verse, indeed ! Awhile I toss'd 
 
 A drifting wreck, all bearings lost, 
 
 Then gave it up. The fault was this — 
 
 One is so very apt to miss 
 
 The proper place to drop the hatchet 
 
 On one line, so's the next may match it — 
 
 I mean in length ; a first condition 
 
 In this odd form of composition. 
 
 Long time in modest little things- 
 Idylls and songs— I tried my wings j 
 But evermore (except when burned), 
 Like Noah's dove, they straight returned. 
 
The Lament of the Unpublished One 83 
 
 At last a solemn oath I took 
 To vent my genius in a book. 
 
 "No tiny booklet," said I, "no, 
 No slender duodecimo ; 
 No flimsy tract, nor pamphlet lean ; 
 Tis not on works like these I mean 
 To found my fame. Let faint hearts grovel- 
 Be mine the grand three-volume novel." 
 
 I struck the iron while 'twas hot. 
 I did not pause to build a plot 
 (When you've got incidents to spare, 
 A plot is neither here nor there ; 
 Besides, all novel-writers know 
 That plots confine one's fancy so), 
 But planned a great catastrophe, 
 About the end of volume three, 
 To slay the bad and spare the bonnie 
 Among my dramatis persona. 
 
 For deftly, like a dramatist, 
 
 I drew a very tempting list 
 
 Of all the "persons" who should wage 
 
 Their mimic war upon my page 
 
84 Tansies and Folly- c Bells 
 
 First came my hero, six feet three 
 
 Or more, a splendid fellow he, 
 
 A black moustache— tremendous strength— 
 
 (Details filled in to any length), 
 
 A lord— although he did not know it, 
 
 And clever — if he did not show it. 
 
 My heroine, a wealth of hair ; 
 Dark lustrous eyes, " surpassing fair ; " 
 A flirt, of course, much in the fashion j 
 With "unsuspected depths of passion ; " 
 A naughty duke, a naughtier earl ; 
 A vain but virtuous servant-girl ; 
 A curious will, a hidden hoard ; 
 A clergyman, a sporting lord 
 (This latter of the grand fast stock, 
 Who seek the moors at six o'clock ; 
 And always breakfast ere they go, 
 On " ortolans and curac,ao ") ; 
 Murders, divorces, picnics, balls, 
 Ghosts, secret doors, and marble halls ; 
 A smart detective :— all the train 
 Took shape at once within my brain, 
 And played their parts in word and action 
 
The Lament of the Unpublished One 85 
 
 To my entirest satisfaction, 
 Filling, to meet my soul's desires, 
 The regulation heaps of quires. 
 
 For many weary, watchful years 
 
 Of gloom and gladness, hopes and fears 
 
 I've sent it, like my other things, 
 
 In parcels, neatly tied with strings, 
 
 To all the editors, and all 
 
 The publishers, both great and small, 
 
 Of every book and magazine 
 
 Whose names I've ever heard or seen. 
 
 They've sent replies which make me weep ; 
 
 I have them here — a dismal heap ! 
 
 And some are curt, and some polite ; 
 
 Some print the message — others write. 
 
 Some seem to bow, and whisper low, 
 
 While others fell you at a blow ; 
 
 This seems to let you gently down, 
 
 This next, to sneer, and snort, and frown ; 
 
 But, whether lively or severe, 
 
 Evasive, brutal, terse, or clear. 
 
 One watchword runs through all their ranks, 
 
 One phrase of doom — " Declined with thanks" 
 
S6 Tansies and Folly-'Bells 
 
 Ah, woe is me ! I fear that when 
 
 My nerveless fingers drop the pen, 
 
 And I am bound — my labours done. 
 
 In my last sheet— a winding one ; 
 
 And when— a first, and last time for— 
 
 Some stony-hearted editor 
 
 Shall print my name within his solemn 
 
 (Prepaid) obituary column, 
 
 My wandering soul shall hover o'er 
 
 The confines of the Stygian shore, 
 
 And roam for aye its dreary banks, 
 
 Unblessed, undoomed— "Declined with thanks, ." 
 
LINES BY A SCHOOL-BORED PARENT 
 
 " Ah ! si la jeunesse savait." — French Song. 
 
 " Ir youth but knew," the greybeards sigh, 
 Who'd fix old heads on baby necks ; 
 
 Meaning that (fit did, thereby 
 
 It much would 'scape of things that vex. 
 
 I argue from the premises 
 
 (The progress of our times is such), 
 
 That what we've now to mourn is this — 
 
 Youth knows too soon and knows too much. 
 
 It once was happy childhood's right 
 
 To linger long in fairyland. 
 We speed him now with all our might, 
 
 And push him with impatient hand. 
 
 It once was happy childhood's right 
 
 To skim the air in mazy tracts. 
 We cage him now in black and white, 
 
 And clog his filmy wings with facts. 
 
88 Tansies and Folly -"Bells 
 
 Shall he not shun, while shun he can, 
 What all too soon with wisdom comes, 
 
 The prosy world where walks the man 
 With all the bloom rubbed off his plums ? 
 
 Why "ding his airy castles down" 
 With the blunt battering-ram of truth ? 
 
 Why change to worthless leaves and brown 
 The glittering " fairy-gold " of youth ? 
 
 Hold learning's grindstone to his nose, 
 Or scowl his childish brow to seams, 
 
 O'er some wise volume's weary prose, 
 And rob him of his time of dreams ? 
 
 His foolish, vain, delightful dreams 
 Of pirate king and brigand chief, 
 
 His wonder which the sweeter seems — 
 To crack the crib, or track the thief. 
 
 His pond'ring, o'er each charm of " what 
 He's going to be when he's a man," 
 
 Whether to wear a gen'ral's hat 
 Or wander with a caravan, 
 
Lines by a School-'Bored Parent 89 
 
 A careless, comic, circus clown ; 
 
 Or sail a ship in far-off seas, 
 Or (less enticing) settle down 
 
 As bishop of a diocese ; 
 
 Or rest, perchance, a banker gay, 
 
 And buy whole tons of lollipops, 
 Filling his pockets every day 
 
 With costly things from all the shops ; 
 
 Or— doubtful whether of the twain 
 
 Be nearer splendour's maximum — 
 The driver of a railway train, 
 
 The bandsman with the big, big drum. 
 
 So let him clasp each ling'ring bit 
 
 Of boyhood's birthright— innocence, 
 And bid the School Board " 'spector " flit, 
 
 And call again— say, ten years hence. 
 
THE LADY KIRK 
 
 Once — near where Scotland's southern bounds 
 
 Touch England's north — 
 I came upon a chapel, built 
 
 By James the Fourth. 
 
 Called — since the Popish " our " was dropp'd — 
 
 The Lady Kirk ; 
 And rich in many a quaint detail 
 
 Of mason work. 
 
 O'er all from sturdy buttress-base 
 
 To gargoyled devils 
 (Save where some deep-set window lurks) 
 
 The ivy revels, — 
 
 A clinging robe of dusky green 
 
 With red bespattered, 
 Tangled and massed, like tapestry 
 
 Fivefold and tattered. 
 
The Lady KJr^ 91 
 
 And ever, as the old stone roof 
 
 The sunlight catches, 
 The russet gold of moss gleams out 
 
 In streaks and patches. 
 
 With furrows wrought on it by storms 
 
 And frosts unnumbered, 
 All heedless of the flight of time 
 
 It soundly slumbered, 
 
 Save that its creeping shadow marked 
 
 The lazy minute 
 On graves, whose tenants erst had knelt 
 
 Ofttimes within it. 
 
 Here they — where all spake rest and peace — 
 
 Certes had found them ; 
 A peace within its walls, a rest 
 
 Later — around them. 
 
 I chose me out a mossy stone 
 
 From whence to view it ; 
 And having come to sketch, began 
 
 Straightway to do it. 
 
92 Tansies and Folly -'Bells 
 
 Then — all in black — a gentleman 
 
 Did walk to me, 
 Who very affably began 
 
 To talk to me. 
 
 "A lovely place, sir ! Yes, indeed, 
 
 That name it bears, 
 But it is very much in need 
 
 Of some repairs. 
 
 11 That something shortly will be done 
 
 Can not be doubted — 
 Although my people, being poor, 
 
 Are long about it. 
 
 " Pull down the ivy, scrape the roof — 
 Or else renew it ; 
 
 And then whitewash those grimy walls- 
 Yes, that would do it." 
 
 " Yes, that would do it, sir," I said, 
 
 "Very completely;" 
 And as we parted, each on each 
 
 Did smile most sweetly. 
 
The Lady KJrk 93 
 
 But, as I climbed the steps which led 
 
 From the churchyard up, 
 " God save it from its friends ! " I said, 
 
 " And keep them hard up." 
 
A RURAL REVERIE 
 
 How pleasant 'tis in sunny May, 
 To listen to the blackbird's chorus, 
 
 Along the leafy woodland way — 
 
 Before the flies have come to bore us ; 
 
 Or by the reedy, rippling brook 
 
 To smoke the fragrant, pensive pipe, 
 
 While violets scent each sheltered nook — 
 And wish that strawberries were ripe ; 
 
 To mark the humble cottages, 
 
 Their blue smoke curling fainter, thinner, 
 Against the background of the trees — 
 
 And wonder what they've got for dinner ; 
 
 To watch the little lambs at play, 
 
 The daisy-head scarce downward beaten 
 
 By their light tread, and think that they 
 Some day must all be sold — and eaten ; 
 
A %ural *Bj)>erie 95 
 
 To cross the clover-scented lawn, 
 Its nodding grasses zephyr-kissed, 
 
 To to hallo ! ! my muse has gone — 
 
 Sorry am I for what you've missed. 
 
THE TALE OF A TRAMP 
 
 The air was chill, the earth was damp, 
 The driving mist was thick and fine ; 
 
 I came upon an aged tramp, 
 Who sat beneath a stunted pine. 
 
 His coat was bad as bad could be, 
 I saw his toes within his boots ; 
 
 The hands which clutched about his knee 
 Were like the pine-tree's gnarled roots. 
 
 But though his matted beard was white, 
 He seemed a sturdy rogue enough ; 
 
 He kept a grimy pipe alight 
 
 With many a long deliberate puff. 
 
 And as I drew anear to him, 
 
 He took his hat from off his head, 
 
 And, holding out its battered brim, 
 " A copper, sir," he humbly said. 
 
The Tale of a Tramp 97 
 
 Now, I was on my way to dine 
 
 With Mr. Granger at the Hall, 
 And did not seriously incline 
 
 To interchange remarks at all 
 
 With this unprepossessing tramp. 
 
 Besides, I had no time to lose, 
 And there was danger lest the damp 
 
 Might permeate my overshoes. 
 
 And so I said, " My aged friend, 
 
 It is a cause for grave regrets 
 That all I have to give or lend 
 
 Is one small case of cigarettes. 
 
 " A watch and chain, two diamond rings, 
 A right and left foot patent shoe ; 
 
 And these are not the sort of things 
 To offer to a tramp like you." 
 
 He took my watch, and chain, and rings, 
 And flung me in a neighbouring bog ; 
 
 As I went home to change my things 
 The vagrant vanished in the fog. 
 
THE IRONY OF IF 
 
 The stranger stretched him where a white-tongued sea 
 
 Licked an eroded cliff; 
 A spell came o'er his spirit dreamily, 
 And all earth's myriad voices seemed to be 
 
 One universal "If"! 
 
 He heard the sound in surf and shore and sky, 
 
 And swoop of circling bird : 
 Each hollow roller had the same low cry, 
 And dripping rocks behind him lisped reply 
 
 In that one pregnant word. 
 
 If ! — hiss'd the spray that lashed around the stone, 
 
 If ! — said each foaming mass ; 
 If ! — was the downward-dragging shingle's moan ; 
 The wind's reiterated monotone 
 
 Along the bleached sea-grass. 
 
The Irony of If 99 
 
 And as he lay and listened to their speech, 
 
 There, where his trusty skiff, 
 With half its keel above the rude wave's reach, 
 Fretted its grapnel in a crumbling beach 
 
 And made a sound like " If" ! 
 
 He sighed, " Oh, woful word with sorrow rife, 
 
 Small word that stands so stiff, 
 The very sound is like a keen-edged knife ; 
 As the old riddle says : Three-fourths of life 
 
 Is lie, and one-half — If. 
 
 " If Jones had failed before he got that loan, 
 
 Things might have all gone straight ; 
 If little Partington had only known, 
 Or if that prowling bagman had not blown, 
 Duke would have won the plate. 
 
 "If Uncle Dick had never met Miss B., 
 
 Or if he'd stayed away ; 
 If Susan's mother had been drowned at sea — 
 It would have made a difference to me 
 
 In divers things to-day. 
 
ioo Tansies and Folly-Hells 
 
 "And if— ah, iff my little Loo had had 
 What is described as ' means ' ; 
 And if her brother had not been a cad, 
 Or Aunt Jemima — ah, it was too bad ! 
 
 Caused those disgraceful scenes. 
 
 " And if I'd sold those bloated mining shares 
 
 That Tuesday afternoon, 
 I might — who knows ? — have bid adieu to cares, 
 And lived a millionaire 'mid millionaires, 
 
 Wielding a golden spoon." 
 
 But here he thought another voice did call, 
 
 Filling him with dismay ; 
 Straight from the topmost heaven it seemed to fall 
 As if it echoed down the beetling wall 
 
 To blast him where he lay. 
 
 A raucous voice, which cried, " Yer bloomin' ass, 
 
 The tide has took yer skiff! 
 You're in as nice a fix as never was — 
 If yer can't swim, by gum ! ye'll have to pass 
 
 A night upon the cliff! " 
 
ODE TO THE GREAT FURTH } 
 SCOTLAND RAILWAY 
 
 BY A DELIGHTED TRAVELLER 
 
 Oh ! tell me not of joyful days, 
 
 By Alp, or Lake, or desert sand, 
 Nor Cook, nor Gaze shall guide my ways, 
 
 Or tempt me from my native land. 
 Whene'er I'd join in Pleasure's race, 
 
 Or for some wild excitement pine, 
 I book myself for a far-off place 
 
 On the Furth o' Scotland line. 
 Oh ! sing again the glad refrain 
 Which the porters shout to the rattling train. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Auchindachy ! Change for Old Meldrum or Wartle, 
 Lumphanan, Scotscalder, Pittoddrie, or Murtle ; 
 All right for Brucklay, Kinbrace, Achnasheen — 
 Change for Knock, Alford, New Maud, Aberdeen. 
 
102 Tansies and Folly-Hells 
 
 With headlong speed we dash along 
 
 At thirteen miles an hour ; 
 For our engine's iron sinews strong 
 
 Exceed three horses' power : 
 And he reads to his mate does the stoker gay, 
 
 And his boiler banks the while, 
 Nor often in a day lets a crank give way, 
 
 Or " the watter aff the bile." 
 And he joins the strain of the glad refrain, 
 Which the porters shout to the rattling train. 
 
 Chorus — Auchindachy ! Change for, &c. 
 
 Tis fun, on my life, when an old fishwife, 
 
 With her bundles all prepared, 
 Attempts in vain to board the train, 
 
 As it passes her ain kail-yaird. 
 For a weary tramp is hers, good lack ! 
 
 And she trots behind instead, 
 With her creel on her back, till our speed we slack 
 
 At the station, miles ahead, 
 Where we hear again the wild refrain 
 Which the porter shouts to the coming train. 
 
 Chorus — Auchindachy ! Change for, &c. 
 
I' he Qreat Furth o' Scotland Railway 103 
 
 'Tis sweet indeed, when we slack our speed 
 
 At the peaceful wayside station, 
 To list, as we doze, in soft repose, 
 
 To the driver's conversation. 
 And we almost hate — while we fain would wait 
 
 Some lovely field or bog in — 
 To hear him prate to his nimble mate, 
 " Weel, Geordie, we's be joggin'." 
 And we hear again the glad refrain 
 Which the porters shout to the rattling train. 
 
 Chorus — Auchindachy ! Change for, &c. 
 
 No terrible tales that the courage shake 
 
 Are told of this dear line, 
 Save once, when the brakes made some mistake 
 
 At the top of a long incline ; 
 And the 7.8, which was rather late 
 
 In leaving Aberdeen, 
 Went sliding back, on the homeward track, 
 
 And ran into the 12,15. 
 Sing once again the glad refrain 
 Which the porters shout to the rattling train. 
 
 Chorus— Auchindachy ? Change for, &c. 
 
OUR LADY OF SULKS 
 
 She is fierce in the feminine fashion ; 
 
 She is fairer of form than of speech ; 
 When moved to give tune to her passion, 
 
 Much acheth each ear within reach. 
 You may dine, and be-deck, and be-drape her, 
 
 But her grievance your giving out-bulks, 
 For a week not a word will escape her, 
 
 Our Lady of Sulks. 
 
 She is sunk in a silence splenetic ; 
 
 She is dumb with a dynamite calm ; 
 With a scowl that is antipathetic, 
 
 She coucheth her chin on her palm. 
 Oh ! lighter the lawbreaker's life is, 
 
 Consigned for his sins to the hulks, 
 Than his, to whom wedded and wife is 
 
 Our Lady of Sulks. 
 
 K