THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES felNES Crave and Cay BY W. EL C B%E C B WqARTDE. LONDON : Field & Titer, The Leadenhall Press, E.C. Simpkin, Marshall & Co. ; Hamilton, Adams & Co. New York : Scribner & Welford. Field & Tuer, The Leadcnhall Press, E.C, T. 4l 26 3 . PREFACE. I (^ OVRTEO US READER t — The under- quoted passage gives, in better language than anything I can say, the wish of your Author's heart. W. E. W. Bath, 1885. ' All is well If this suit be won. That you express content.' — King John. LINES GRAVE AND GAY. THE LEGEND OF SIR RUPERT. Sntvobwction. . \ EE where yon river runs beneath the wood, Mark where the ruins are ; there once hath stood A castle fair, whose outlines still do rise, Like ancient emblems to the far-off skies. Here is the courtyard gate, now crumbling fast, Thro' which the busy throng hath ofttime passed ; And there the dungeon where the prisoners lay, All heedless of the passing light of day ; 2 The Legend of Sir Rupert. Around the place stretch woods and meadows green, Which once the scene of tournays brave have been, Whilst jackdaws build within the chapel wall, And on its ruined aisle the rains do fall. O ruthless hand of Time, thou hast been here ! Hushed is the castle bell, which once so clear With lusty tongue proclaimed the passing hours, Thro' hall and chantry of these stately towers ; Gone is the pageant of the days of yore, When mailed knights bestrode the polished floor, Gone are the voices of the faithful hounds, Gone are life's scenes, its sorrows, and its sounds — All these have passed ; while still thy tireless feet Press on unto the end which all must meet. There is a curse about the place, 'tis said, And country folks approach its towers with dread ; For in the darkest hours a cry is heard, Which even stills the voice of that strange bird Lines Grave and Gay. 3 The dusky night-jar ; and when evening falls, The countrymen will scarce go near its walls. XTbe Xeoenfc. Sir Rupert was the bravest knight which olden times Have e'er brought forth ; and on his records bore The memories of great deeds, of doughty tourna- ments, Of mighty battles ; and of better things, forsooth, Which often blush unseen, but which the Almighty eye, Doth treasure ; and which do not fade, although The world will pass them with a scornful mien. Such as the timely help to those in need, The hand extended to the starving poor, The kindly heart, the gifts of boundless sympathy, And all those arts of grace which some men have, Nor think it vain to use them in their sphere. In this fair vale he lived, where the tall pines 4 The Legend of Sir Rupert. Did compass in his castle, and where great red deer Would browse in all the pastures without fear, And birds did sing in all the leafy groves, Whilst the bright river wandered on below, Still on, in ceaseless flowing to the sea. It seemed, indeed, as if all things were his Which man could want : peace from the outer world, A sort of little Paradise on earth; and yet, Such is man's nature, Sir Rupert had one want — A heart to love him ; and when Winter's hand Had clothed the woods in annual snowy garb, And the birds' songs were hushed, and round the place The north wind moaned in melancholy mood, He forth would ride on ever faithful steed, In snow or tempest, till folks thought him odd, And even whispered strangely of his mind. It chanced that once, at least so stories say, He turned his horse, one biting winter's day, Lines Grave and Gay. Down the long vista of some snow-capt trees, Where all around was white ; and as thus silently He rode, save for the crisp short steps Which the good steed did make upon the ground, A wailing cry broke thrice upon his ear ; A cry so pitiful, and yet so sweet, That thrilled him with desire to find it nigh. And so it happened, that in drifts of snow, So deep that they had almost done their work, He came upon a little sweet- faced maid Nigh unto death, save for his timely aid. Scarce sixteen summers had passed o'er her head, Her blue eyes, strangely bright, looked up at him With such a depth of seeming trustfulness That touched with interest his inmost soul, And made him wonder, ' Can this be the heart Which I have longed for all this weary time ?' Straightway, in nights of idle Fancy flew 6 The Legend of Sir Rupert. His thoughts, thro' realms where fancy has her sway, And passing quickly o'er his sight there came The fateful horoscope of future years. Then, waking to a sense of what was due To this poor wayfarer, from saddle he Dismounted quickly, and the maid placed there, Wrapped in his own warm cloak ; and so they went. Keen was the northern wind ; he heeded not, Nor scarcely felt the swiftly spreading snow — Only he saw it fall on sweetest face Which e'er had looked at him ; and still they went. Down the long vistas of the waving pines, Where starving squirrels peeped at them amazed, Past pools whose waters long had lain enchained In icy Winter's grasp, where birds lay dead, Or feebly flew from the strange cavalcade. Then did Sir Rupert blow a mighty blast, Which wakened echoes from the forest round, Lines Grave and Gay. 7 And to his side brought his retainers there. Gently they led the maid thro' court and hall Where the great hounds came up to her As if in sympathy, but strangely turned And held aloof. Round her the women pressed, And spoke in whispers of that beauteous face So pale and death-like ; while her loosened hair Fell in most glorious clusters on her breast And shoulders, and e'en seemed to reach Per very waist, such wondrous length was there. Yet was there one in all that pitying throng On whom her beauty came not with that charm Which all the rest had felt. An aged crone- One who had well-nigh reached the end Of her long life — an old retainer she, Marked with the furrowing hands of Time and work : She gazing on the maid had started back, And stood there muttering, with her bony hand 8 The Legend of Sir Rupert. Uplifted as amazed, and struck with fear, Until Sir Rupert came, and gently asked Where all her ancient courtesy had flown ; Then moved her lips as if in speech, but yet She uttered not, and straightway left the room. He marvelled at her manner, and then feared To see his dogs slink noiselessly with her From out that chamber, where the lithe pale form Lay as tho' Death had claimed her for his own ; And thought that it was even so, and he Had brought her to his castle but to die. But with the bright returning light of day, When the great orb of heaven was rising high, Shining on snow-clad landscape, came the life, And gently seemed to call the maiden back. And so she dwelt, and lingered there for months, Seeming to reck not of a former home ; Whilst the snow left the world, and budding Spring Lines Grave and Gay. 9 Took all the forest in its joyous arms, As if to say, ' Forget the dreadful past — The howling tempest with its rude alarms — And only trust in me. See what I bring.' Then came fair Summer following in its train, [down When nights were short, and glorious moons looked Through thickest trees ; and all was cool and still, Whilst trickled gently the once frozen rill. She dwelt there with them, but her ways were strange ; Scarce spake she even to the gracious lord Who from that dreadful storm had rescued her, And who now loved her with a mighty love, Seeking that she his beauteous bride should be, Until he wondered sorely ; but yet thought That he did please her not, and strove yet more To gain her heart. And so thro' seasons' change Her beauty grew apace, till all men said They ne'er had seen so beautiful a maid. IO The Legend of Sir Rupert. So passed the months, and once more Winter's hand Bound the fair country with its iron grasp — Yet was it not like what had been before — And quickly fled. And when the springtime came The maid relented, and Sir Rupert's heart Was full of joy, and vied in happiness With the fair mating birds within the trees. Then did they wander in the fresh-leaved woods, To pluck the wild flowers from some mossy bank, By meadows where the horned cattle stood And looked at them with eyes of wonderment ; Down by the river where the bare-legged boys Sailed countless fleets upon its flowing tide, And where the fi^h would leap quite high in air, To feed them with the insects hovering there. Yet still the maid was silent, dark and sad, And all along the hounds still left her path, Although the master's voice bade them draw nigh, Lines Grave and Gay 1 1 And round the castle loudly howled at night, Until the serving-people, filled with timorous fright, Would scarce remain within its frowning walls. And things of evil omen grew apace — The screech-owls round the highest towers flew When all was dark, and ravens croaked, And in the midnight hour the cock did crow, Whilst when the new moon shone, she showed The old moon cradled in her brilliant arms. Sir Rupert heeded not, for wondrous love Had filled his heart for the strange beauteous maid, Like those of ancient times who deeply drank Of the weird waters of the Evil Stream, And never thought again of what their fate Had led them to ; but onward pressed, Like some mad steed who dashing o'er the plain Sees the grim precipice before him stretch, Yet checks not in his fearful flight, until 1 2 The Legend of Sir Rupert. Too late. Or, like the fable of the Lotos fruit, Which if a man do taste, straightway forgets All that has passed. So the retainers came, And fitted sumptuous chambers for the bride; With tapestry they hung the oaken rooms, And gorgeous rarities from Eastern climes — Nought was there that could be too good for her — Yet beamed there still that strange look in her face Which seemed to take from her her wonted grace. - As on the bridal eve Sir Rupert paced his hall, All gay with preparations for the feast, The aged crone stood by him as he turned, And, making low obeisance to her liege, did crave That she might speak with him. So, having leave, She thus spake out unto that master dear, Whom she had served with zeal full many a year : ' Sir Rupert, I do pray thee have a care In what thou dost regarding this fair maid ; Lines Grave and Gay. 1 3 For if thou wed, know this, thy luck must pass From thee. Reck you not what she is ? This wondrous beauty whom thy timely aid Saved from the storm, she is not of thy kind ; And by the Heaven above, which hears me swear, She is an Elfin maid — of such beware !' Then was Sir Rupert wroth, and answer gave, That ere the morrow's sun had set beneath The soughing pine-trees, he would wed his love. And other words of anger spoke he then, Which in his heart he fain would have recalled. Then bowed the aged woman wearily, and passed From the vast hall, nor was she seen again. — Upon that bridal night, when all was still, And hushed were all the feastings of the day, A charcoal-burner in the thickest woods Looked wonderingly towards the east, and thought To see the sun rise earlier than his wont ; H The Legend of Sir Rupert. Then, with a startled look upon his face, Rushed as tho' seized with horror from the place, And speeding on, ne'er stopped until he came To where the castle was one seething flame Of fire ; and the dreaded cry rang out, And round and over all the country-side, And men and women, aye, and children too, Came hastening to the evil-fated place, But all too late ; and when the morning dawned, Only the ruins stood. And the dear lord Was found untouched by flame, but cold in death. Yet, strange to say, no trace was ever seen Of his fair bride. So has this story been For ages grafted in the rural mind, and yet They seem to hear the Elfin maiden call, Among the forest trees when night doth fall. Here stand the ruins, let us breathe a prayer For the good souls of those who perished there. GENERAL GORDON. B £ USH ! while the death-bell rings across the land, Hush ! while in humble solemn mood we stand, To mourn the fatal death of one who fell Beneath a traitor's blade, when all seemed well ; One Englishman who midst a savage race Went forth, scorning rank, pride of place, And all the charms of homely peace and life, To do his duty in the bloody strife. Gordon ! thy name will dwell on every lip, To thy proud ensign will all standards dip, Until this very earth and sky and sea Have passed away into the great ' to be.' 1 6 General Gordon. Gordon ! though rests thy form in unknown lands, Amongst the desert of great Egypt's sands, Still dost thou seem with us ; no chains control The dauntless courage of thy unslain soul. Yet mourn we sorely that in time too late The gallant band of rescue neared the gate Of that grim city midst the arid plain, Where thou hadst looked for it so long in vain. Gordon is dead ! Hush ! while the death-bell rings — So passes life, so passeth life's best things. Gordon is dead ! hundreds do bless thy name And never in this land will fade thy fame. All thro' that sad and weary time of gloom, When thou didst battle in the far Khartoum, What must have been thy thoughts of those afar, Who left thee helpless in a hopeless war ? Brave spirit ! now thy form is stiff and cold; Powerless the mighty arm, erstwhile so bold; Lines Grave and Gay. 17 Dimmed is the lustre of thy searching eye ; Thou hast gone forth to duty, and to die. Yet death was nothing to a mind like thine, Which saw in everything the Fate Divine ; Thou oftentimes before had faced its power, Thou hadst no terror in its mystic hour. Let scoffers laugh ; there is a power in this Which men not of thy mould do surely miss. There is no name of Englishman will shine, In after ages, with such light as thine ; There is no deed, 'neath the Creator's sun, Can equal that which thou hast nobly done. Thou midst the stormy tempest of the world, A spotless banner ever kept unfurled ; Thou 'twas who, midst the very fiercest strife, Preserved the earliest tenets of thy life ; True, loving, generous, a faithful friend, So thou remained unto the bitter end. 2 i8 General Gordon. Would that the hearts which now thy loss do mourn, Thy countrymen, and dearest friends forlorn, Had seen thy gallant form return once more, A glorious victor, to thy native shore ! Yet victor art thou, friend of the oppressed, Of England's heroes wisest and the best. — Forth to the battle goes the modern knight, Skilled in war's arts, with every craft bedight ; The trumpets sound, and men his voice obey ; But thou hast scorned such a vast array. Great was thy heart — in it was put thy trust; To conquer by the means thou heldst were just. Men from far-distant lands have owned thy grace, Children have loved thee for thy kindly face ; Thy wondrous faith hath many a lesson taught, And good things out of evil oft hath brought. In the far East, and in thy native land, Thy deeds of goodness gloriously do stand, Lines Grave and Gay. 19 Clear midst a world which in its darkest days Would seem illumined by thy life's bright rays. Hail to thee ! chieftain of the eagle eye ; Hail to thee ! leader, fearing not to die. A nation mourns, and spreading o'er the earth, Its mourning gives to brighter feelings birth. We see thee, Gordon ! once thus basely slain, Endowed with all thy richest powers again ; We see Hope standing by thy valiant side ; We see Faith waiting, fit to be thy bride ; And over all, and round, the blessed Love Which went before thy footsteps from above. Thus may we stand beside great Gordon's tomb, Though he be buried in grim Egypt's womb ; May his fair name be honoured evermore, And memory waft it on from shore to shore. Hush ! while the tidings pass across the land ; Hush ! while in contemplation sad we stand ; 20 General Gordon. Gordon is dead ! list while the death-bell rings- So passes life, so passeth life's best things. Ope wide thy portals, shades of noble dead ! A form as great as any now doth tread Your outer gates j look ye, and heed its fame, And all your honour pay great Gordon's name. A LOVE SONG. M< ORN is now breaking, and all nature waking, Waits for the light of thine eyes, my love ; At thy lattice kneeling, a little glance stealing, You gaze on the earth and the skies above. Then list to my song, for Love bids thee not stay ; Beloved, come forth ; let us wander away. The flowers unfolding, dews no longer holding, Wait for the sound of thy voice, my love ; A rival they know of, now peeps at the sunrise, 'Tis well they endeavour their sweetness to prove. 22 A Love Song. Then, in the hot noontide, rest here in the shadows, Thy lover shall guard thee, and harm from thee keep; And when night o'er thy vision is once again stealing, Will join with the angels in watching thy sleep. Then list to my song; let us wander away. Beloved, come forth ; for Love bids thee not stay. SHIPWRECKED. ft /£ SUMMER eve, a setting sun, A cottage with an open door; A fisherman, whose work is done, Nearing his home beside the shore. A loving heart, a trustful eye, Mother and wife she sees him come, His form so clear against the sky, Waving a welcome to his home. A winter's night, a mighty storm, A barque in peril on the main ; A loving heart, so soon forlorn, Which prays for its return in vain. 24 Shipwrecked. A summer eve, a setting sun, A cottage with a fast-closed door ; A fisherman, whose work is done, Laid to his rest beside the shore. IN THE WOODS. ? <7* i HERE is a breathless silence in the air, A sort of spell which holds all nature still, Whilst amidst skies of wondrous colouring, The sun is setting fast 'neath yonder hill ; Thus yet another day of life, of earth, Fades into that strange hour that tells decline, As once again I wander in thy paths So softly carpeted, sweet groves of pine. Who can but feel the ever-hallowed charm Of these weird woods in which no footsteps sound, And all the noise of day is gently hushed, While the sweet scents of trees are wafted round ; 26 In the Woods. Within these aisles the song-birds' notes are hushed, But faintly comes the murmur of the sea, And ever and anon I hear the hum Of some late-wandering, returning bee. Across my path there falls no ray of sun ; The bare stems rise, crowned with e'erlasting shade; I wander on and on, and muse — ah me ! — On things of earth, which in far ages fade, When we have passed from all our earthly scenes Into the boundless future of our race : When sunsets are no more, and human life Is merged in death or everlasting grace. But let me wake, let me but linger now, And gather peaceful thoughts in hope divine, As once again I pass adown thy paths At mystic eventide, sweet groves of pine. Lines Grave and Gay. 27 Here let me leave all troubles which perplex, As grows apace the soothing shades of night, Assured that on me, as on thee, O woods ! Will rise the blessedness of morning light. AT NEWARK ABBEY. ON THE RIVER WEY.