THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES A COUNTRY MUSE Printed November 1892 1000 Copies on laid paper 75 Copies on Demy 8vo Dutch hand-made pa^er (All rights reseriied} A COUNTRY MUSE NEW SERIES BY NORMAN R. GALE AUTHOR OF 'A JUNE ROMANCE' LONDON DAVID NUTT IN THE STRAND 1893 CONTENTS PAGE The Apology . i To a Young Lady in Excuse 3 My Country Love ii The Invitation 12 A Thief 5 The Country Faith 16 A Dead Friend i? Alice Graham . 18 The Shaded Pool 20 A Bird in the Hand . 26 A Song 8 Consolation 29 In the Glade . 31 Refusal . . / 35 A Love Song . 37 Love's Share . . 38 6 / CONTENTS PAGE June in London (with Pupils) . . . -39 To Sleep . . ... 41 To the World . . . -45 Content ...... 46 Three Maids ...... 47 On seeing a Train start for the Seaside . . .49 Strephon to Chloris . . . . .51 The Gipsy King's Song . . . .52 My Cherry-Trees . . . . -S3 Love's Awakening . . . . .56 A Fortunate Island . . . . -57 A Pastoral ...... 59 The Mistress of Bacchus . . . .61 Despair ...... 63 The Rivulet ...... 64 A Song ...... 68 Lullaby . . . . 69 Last Words ...... 70 Gone into Long Frocks . . . .76 Spring ... -77 To a Whitethroat . . . . .78 CONTENTS PAGE My Content . . . . . . <>i Reflective Love . . . . .82 A Song ...... 83 Return! ...... 84 A Song of Thanks . . . . -87 A Woman ...... 89 A Picture ...... 90 The Traveller's Song . . . . .94 To a Parrot .' . . . . -95 Eve . . . . . . .100 Leafy Warwickshire . . . . . 101 A Budding Maid . . . . .103 To a Broken Pipe . . . .105 My Milkmaid . . . . .107 UEn-voi . . . . . .109 Vil THE APOLOGY CHIDE not if here you haply find The rough romance of country love ; I sing as well the brook and wind, The green below, the blue above. Here shall you read of spreading cress, The velvet of the sparrow's neck ; Sometimes shall glance the glowing tress, And Laura's snow without a speck ; The crab that sets the mouth awry, The chestnut with its domes of pink ; The splendid palace of the sky, The pool where drowsy cattle drink ; The stack where Colin hides to catch The milkmaid with her beaded load ; The singing lark, a poet's match, That travels up the great blue road ; The cherry whence the blackbird bold Steals ruby mouthfuls at his ease ; The glory of laburnum-gold, The valiant piping of the breeze ; All, all are here. The rustic Muse Shall sing the pansy and the thrush ; Ah, chide not if she sometimes choose The country love, the country blush ! TO A YOUNG LADY, IN EXCUSE I AM afraid to ask for friends. I am So fierce a lance against the clan you serve ; So rough a wolf where you are but a lamb, So great a doubter where you never swerve : "Tis something like the Spider and the Fly, Save that my soul is ready for your gaze, That in the light of free and open sky I bring me for your blame or for your praise. The many shall not bind me. I am free, A child of fountains, woods and hillsides gay : Thank God I am not chained at Custom's knee, For I must worship in my own wild way ; And this offends. My coat is often light, My hat is wrongly shaped for me to find The Man who had no resting-place at night, And called the great blind leaders of the blind Would Christ if He were raised to-day know Christ ? His creed's magnificent simplicity, Offending those for whom Iscariot priced His life, and cast his own salvation by, Distorted, trodden down in thorns and weeds, Is left a wreck of all its sweet white soul, And by the dress it takes for High Church needs The part seems seven times greater than the whole. I cannot bear it. Give me wisdom, Lord, To plant my footsteps firmly in the right ! Give me conviction keen as two-edged sword And like a sword, O Master, keep it bright ! In wheat that makes obeisance as I pass, In sudden voices from the windy trees, And round my feet that bend green blades of grass There seems a whispering of words like these : 4 The pith of faith is gone. And as there lie Along the desert shanks of lions slain, So in this world whose weeds are grown so high, Half-hid, half -seen, Faith moulders on the plain I Tenderly take the priceless, wondrous bones, And wend away from all that plucks thy dress, And with a few chance boughs or scattered stones Build up thine altar, Child of loneliness. The Master is not only in the court Where doves are sold and money-changers cry ; Nor will He leave the country-side untaught If ears be open as He passes by : In secret paths that thread the forest-land He waits to heal thee and divinely bless ; While from the hill with voice and waving hand The Shepherd calls thee, Child of loneliness. 5 He pours in oil and wine to soothe thy wound, Refills thy heart with secret sympathies; 'Nowhere so barren is thy patch of ground, 'Nowhere so fruitless are thy cherry trees, But He will leave the lustre of a shrine, But He will hasten at thy cry of stress, And make thy burden His, His comfort thine, His face to smile, thou Child of loneliness. But be thou faithful to thine altar set Within the temple of the stilly glade, For Christ is there, nor will His heart forget The striving of thy soul. Be not afraid I O priest and people mingled into one, Within thy green cathedral-aisles no less He stands above thee when, thy prayer begun, Thou callest Him, O Child of loneliness. 6 ' Tis sweet where every downy throat 's a well Of song itself to worship in the grass, Thine altar's base fast-founded on a swell Anear a glade where elms and leeches mass : There is a space for breath, and there, content, If aught should be forgiven, kneel, confess ; Over thy head the boundless firmament, God's love, God's wisdom, Child of loneliness. I cannot help it. I must ever feel The iron lining to the velvet glove ; I must go hence and very humbly kneel Where giant branches rock the evening dove : And so it is that many who were friends Look o'er their shoulders, draw their skirts away, Believing I must have some shameful ends Because I praise so otherwise than they. If kind loved kind in many angered eyes My creed would pass, I should not seem so vile ; But peace like this would need a paradise Asleep afar in some sequestered isle. Oh, hearts of men and hearts of women, stay ! Faith lingers here among these country trees ! She bids you come and learn again to-day Petitions lisped upon your mothers' knees ! Ah, what an age of innocence has flown When we no longer kneel in Mother's sight With little feet that peep beneath the gown That falls adown us in a line of white ! How many grey-haired men for days like these Would give their name, their wealth, their great success To lisp once more those early mysteries, And God bless all in simple childishness ! 8 And now, Most Patient, as I homeward range The question narrows. Outcast of the glade, Both rude and rough am I; too proud to change, But yet the pith from which a friend is made ! Accept me, still ; because I long to find The proper lead to sound your depths, and be More than a mole, or dead man out of mind, Or lace-like foam upon a summer sea. For I have met you in the woodland ways, Your eyes grown wide at music of the birds ; And I have seen your lips translate their praise, Your throat swell out with half unconscious words : O Friend so sweet, come sometimes when the hush, Descending like a dove upon my home, Broadens the fine contralto of the thrush, And brings the pigeons woodward. Come,Friend,come ! 9 Remember I will have no bell or jess, I am not tame, I have my wild-bird wing ; Let me not vex you with my lawlessness, Nor ever frown at melodies I sing : No cage shall rust my feathers I am free ! And this is writ that you may read and run, Lest you should seek to curb the reinless sea Or whistle back the eagle from the sun ! 10 MY COUNTRY LOVE IF you passed her in your city You would call her badly dressed, But the faded homespun covers Such a heart in such a breast ! True, her rosy face is freckled By the sun's abundant flame, But she 's mine with all her failings, And I love her just the same. If her hands are red they grapple To my hands with splendid strength, For she 's mine, all mine 's the beauty Of her straight and lovely length ! True, her hose be thick and homely, And her speech is homely, too ; But she 's mine I her rarest charm is She 's for me, and not for you ! II THE INVITATION COME, thrushes, blackcaps, redpolls, all To eat my Laura's bounty ! There 's not a sweetheart treats you so In all this leafy County, Yes, sparrows too ! for God forbid That here in bloom and grasses My Love and I should rank you birds In low and upper classes ! Both large and little, russet, bright, I call at Laura's asking ; And we shall watch you at your feast, Upon the greensward basking : But this must first be understood By stronger beaks most fully All sweet content ! and, blackbird, Sir, Remember not to bully ! 12 Look down these lovely cherry-aisles At fruit by bills unfretted, A million globes of red and white The gardener closely netted ; For, pirates of the air, your troops To storm the orchard muster, And woe betide the ripest fruit, And woe the scarlet cluster ! My Sweetheart pressed me yesterday To give you of our plenty ; She begged one glowing tree for you From out this line of twenty ; O birds, her cherry mouth more fair Than ever painter figured, Could make me prodigal of gold Had I been born a niggard ! 13 God gave me with a willing hand A share of sky and mountain, And time to idle in the grass And dream beside the fountain : He gave me angels for my house, A wife, a rosy darling I pay my tithe to Him through you, O linnet, finch and starling ! As statues in a town are draped Before their great unveiling, So did we net this cherry-tree Before your bills' assailing : And Laura's is the lovely hand That frees her shining bounty ; Fall to, O birds ! and praise her name Through all this leafy County ! A THIEF THERE goes Love across the meadow, And I know his errand sweet ; Hark ! the God is softly singing To the music of his feet, For he speeds to kiss Clarinda As she milks the mottled kine ; O the thief to steal before me To the mouth that 's only mine ! THE COUNTRY FAITH HERE in the country's heart Where the grass is green Life is the same sweet life As it e'er hath been. Trust in a God still lives, And the bell at morn Floats with a thought of God O'er the rising corn. God comes down in the rain, And the crop grows tall This is the country faith, And the best of all ! 16 A DEAD FRIEND IT hardly seems that he is dead, So strange it is that we are here Beneath this great blue shell of sky With apple-bloom and pear : It scarce seems true that we can note The bursting rosebud's edge of flame, Or watch the blackbird's swelling throat While he is but a name. No more the chaffinch at his step Pipes suddenly her shrill surprise, For in an ecstasy of sleep Unconsciously he lies, Not knowing that the sweet brown lark From off her bosom's feathery lace Shakes down the dewdrop in her flight To fall upon his face. B I 7 ALICE GRAHAM WHEN within my quiet grave Underneath the blue I lie, Alice Graham, I shall muse On the wilderness of sky ; I shall lead my memory back, Alice Graham, to the grass ; I shall hear the foxglove chime Welcomes to the country lass ; From the blackbird's lilac-haunt Songs shall travel down to me; Chants of finer ring and pitch, Alice Graham, may not be. All the viewless lyric lips God has scattered in the glade, Alice Graham, still shall make Music for me in the shade. 18 Alice Graham, there shall come More than this with evening dew ; When the blackbird is asleep There shall fall the thought of you : Just the tremor of your voice, Just the pink of sweet surprise, And the depth in depth of love, Alice Graham, in your eyes. THE SHADED POOL A LAUGHING knot of village maids Goes gaily tripping to the brook, For water-nymphs they mean to be, And seek some still, secluded nook. Here Laura goes, my own delight, And Colin's love, the madcap Jane, And half a score of goddesses Trip over daisies in the plain : Already now they loose their hair And peep from out the tangled gold, Or speed the flying foot to reach The brook that 's only summer-cold ; The lovely locks stream out behind The shepherdesses on the wing, And Laura's is the wealth I love, And Laura's is the gold I sing. 20 A-row upon the bank they pant, And all unlace the country shoe ; Their fingers tug the garter-knots To loose the hose of varied hue. The flashing knee at last appears, The lower curves of youth and grace, Whereat the maidens' eyes do scan The mazy thickets of the place. But who 's to see beside the thrush Upon the wild crab-apple tree? Within his branchy haunt he sits A very Peeping Tom is he ! Now music bubbles in his throat, And now he pipes the scene in song The virgins slipping from their robes, The cheated stockings lean and long, 21 The swift-descending petticoat, The breasts that heave because they ran, The rounded arms, the brilliant limbs, The pretty necklaces of tan. Did ever amorous god in Greece, In search of some young mouth to kiss, By any river chance upon A sylvan scene as bright as this ? But though each maid is pure and fair, For one alone my heart I bring, And Laura's is the shape I love, And Laura's is the snow I sing. And now upon the brook's green brink A milk-white bevy, lo, they stand, 22 Half-shy, half-frightened, reaching back The beauty of a poising hand ! How musical their little screams When ripples kiss their shrinking feet ! And then the brook embraces all The undraped girls so wonder-sweet. Within the water's soft cool arms Delight and love and gracefulness Sport till a horde of tiny waves Swamps all the beds of floating cress ; And on his shining face are seen Great yellow lilies drifting down Beyond the ringing apple-tree, Beyond the empty homespun gown. Did ever Orpheus with his lute When making melody of old, 23 E'er find a stream in Attica So ripely full of pink and gold ? At last they climb the sloping bank And shake upon the thirsty soil A treasury of diamond-drops Not gained by aught of grimy toil. Again the garters clasp the hose, Again the polished knee is hid, Again the breathless babble tells What Colin said, what Colin did. In grace upon the grass they lie And spread their tresses to the sun, And rival, musical as they, The blackbirds' alto shake and run. 24 Did ever Love, on hunting bent, Come idly humming through the hay, And, to his sudden joyfulness, Find fairer game at close of day ? Though every maid 's a lily-rose, And meet to sway a sceptred king, Yet Laura's is the face I love, And Laura's are the lips I sing. A BIRD IN THE HAND LOOK at this ball of intractable fluff, Panting and staring with piteous eyes ! What a rebellion of heart ! what a ruff Tickles my hand as the missel-thrush tries, Pecking my hand with her termagant bill, How to escape (and I love her, the sweet !) Back where the clustering oaks on the hill Climb to the blue with their branches, and meet ! Nay, polished beak, you are pecking a friend ! Bird of the grassland, you bleed at the wing ! Stay with me, love ; in captivity mend Wrong that was wrought by the boy and his sling. Oh for a Priest of the Birds to arise, Wonderful words on his lips that persuade Reasoning creatures to leave to the skies Song at its purest a-throb in the glade ! 26 Bow, woodland heart, to the yoke for a while ! Soon shall the lyrics of wind in the trees Stir you to pipe in the green forest-aisle, God send me there with the grass to my knees ! See, I am stroking my cheek with your breast, Ah, how the bountiful velvet is fair ! Stay with me here for your healing and rest, Stay, for I love you, delight of the air ! A SONG COWARD heart, to dream of yielding When the fray is scarce begun ! "Tis not Spring alone that 's gladdened By the shining of the sun ; Late in Autumn's riper days Love is born and more, he stays ! What 's a sea to Love if Hero Wait upon the other side ? Never came a rosebud's beauty But the guarding thorn was tried 1 'Tis when hope seems spent and past Cupid comes this way at last. 28 CONSOLATION SHAME to soil a cheek like this With tears, fal la ! Come, brush them by and taste the kiss That cheers, fal la ! Though love is sour and glum to-day And brings your bosom sorrow, Fa, la, la, la, Fa, la, la, la, He will not mope to-morrow 1 The shepherd 's but a fool who spurns Such pink, fal la ! 1 know a lusty lad who burns To drink, fal la, 29 His fill of love-light from your eyes, And chase away your sorrow, Fa, la, la, la, Fa, la, la, la, Clarinda dear, to-morrow 1 30 IN THE GLADE FROM bush to bush I followed her, A bird that piped and flew beyond, I saw the little branches stir, I saw her shadow in the pond ; And still she lured me to the wood With cunning notes so round and ripe ; I followed in a dreamy mood This feathered Orpheus and her pipe. We passed a slope where cowslips shook Their yellow blossoms in the breeze ; We passed the shallows of the brook, And reached the temple of the trees : And still her music onward went Through hazel-alleys, beechen groves, Where doves with lulling voices sent Soft salutations to their loves. So down these verdant colonnades I still pursued the woodland note, O'er lawny islands of the glades That echoed to the blackbird's throat. And as I neared^one bright expanse, A cool oasis clothed with green, A perfume, sweeter than romance Than love that only might have been, Came, with a stripling breeze for aid, To stay a moment, stay and pass ; Another step. I spied a maid, Or goddess, sleeping in the grass. Around her in an amber stream There flowed the marvel of her hair, The ransom for a world, the dream To fill the morning with despair : 32 The pink of apple-bloom possessed The virgin cheeks unkissed by man ; And round her throat the sun had pressed To clasp it with his ring of tan : Her lips, half-opened, had the light Of cherries bathed by drops of rain ; Reproachless was the dome of white Unblemished brow without a stain. Then in my heart that love did cry Which from my life shall never pass ; And bitterly I longed to lie Beside her beauty in the grass. The doves in spires of elm and oak Cooed softly in the afternoon, And sometimes from a bush there broke A whitethroat's tenderness of tune. 33 The air was full of nameless joy 1 And, daring all, I threw me down As innocently as a boy Beside her scented film of gown. Now if some secret charm in her Across my aching heart did sweep, Some magic in her bosom's stir, I know not but I fell asleep, And when the day, a patient bride, Was parting from her love, the sun, The girl, or goddess, from my side Had gently risen, and was gone ! 34 REFUSAL CLARINDA 's shy. She 's mute, the rogue, and says me nay Whate'er I ask. Yet all I need is but to touch The velvet of her hand, to hear The rosebud call me Shepherd dear Clarinda 's shy. Clarinda's shy. The rosebud pouts and bids me hence Whate'er I ask. Yet all I need is but to hold, For she has never been embraced, The living circle of her waist Clarinda's shy. IS Clarinda 's shy. Her pinky ears, those lovely shells, Whene'er I speak She floods apace with rain of gold. Yet all I ask is only this, To melt upon her snow a kiss Clarinda 's shy. A LOVE SONG TO think, O to think as I see her stand there With the rose that I plucked in her glorious hair, In the robe that I love, So demure and so neat, 1 am lord of her lips and her eyes and her feet ! O to think, O to think when the last hedge is leapt, When the blood is awakened that dreamingly slept, I shall make her heart throb In its cradle of lace, As the lord of her hair and her breast and her face ! O to think, O to think when our wedding-bells ring, When our love 's at the summer but life 's at the spring, I shall guard her asleep As my hound guards her glove, Being lord of her life and her heart and her love ! 37 LOVE'S SHARE CUPID coming through the wood Met me, and his eyes were bright, So I knew the god had seen Sweet Clarinda's red and white : Love had nestled all day long In a haunt of lace and bliss ; Round his mouth the dimples came, Thinking of Clarinda's kiss. Welcome, Love ! Thine eyes may drink What she has of shy and rare ; Thou a captive lie content In the tangles of her hair. I will share her breast with thee ; Then shall never sorrow come When Clarinda's footstep makes Music in my cottage home. 38 JUNE IN LONDON (WITH PUPILS) BOOKS and heat, the dullard mind Reeling under Cicero ; London landscape, roof and blind Blacker e'en than London snow : Pupils coming all day long, All my pause the thought that she, She I love, my joy and song, Dreams by day and night of me. Ah, might I gather a rose with its dew For her heart on this bright June morning I Doric of the roughest mould Planned to make a Master sour ; Thirty lines of Virgil's gold Slowly melting in an hour ! 39 Ovid's ingots and the gems Horace polished for our eyes In a maze of roots and stems, Hurdy-gurdies, cabmen's cries ! Ah, might I gather a rose in its dew For her heart on this bright June morning / Envious twigs in leafy nook Catch my love's long tresses fair, E'en as Grecian branches shook Down Diana's crown of hair ! While on Caesar 's bridge I stand Fancy brings (but could they speak !) Laura's lips, and, faintly tanned, Peachy glimpses of her cheek ! Ah, might I gather a rose in its dew For her heart on this bright June morning I 40 TO SLEEP ALAS ! how far away it seems Since in an Arcady of dreams Beside a shaded pool I met My early, only love again ! Her face with little drops was wet Like pansy petals after rain ; But when she saw me by the reeds With love enough to feast her needs, Her glowing mouth, that miracle Of rose and sun, did blossom sweet, And at her girdle-band in joy Her traitor heart the swiftlier beat ; It stirred that tender sea to rise, The waves of snow to surge and start ; They ran unchecked a moment's space, Then broke in beauty on my heart ! It was a dream, but, Love, how sweet ! Till Wakefulness on velvet feet Cast shadows over all our bliss And crept between the coming kiss. But thou, O Sleep, bend down and give My fevered frame apparent death ; Receive my hands, caress my brow, And send the incense of thy breath About my temples while I weep, Sleep, lest thou should'st not hear me, Sleep. On aching balls that roam the room Thus set thy seals as one who stirs About the bedside of the dead And weighs down rebel lids of eyes 42 That look beyond for Paradise With silver circles from a purse : And when thy spell is on me cast, And thou from out my chamber passed, If haply Wakefulness be near Say not that I am sleeping, dear, For oftentimes, methinks, her mood Is wry, and not to do me good. O God, 'twould better be if she To wake me should delay too long, And find with face all still and cold Me unresponsive to her song ! The blind grows pale with dawn, and hark ! It is the matin of the lark. 43 Though there be virtue in thy touch I will not pray thee overmuch, Lest I should weary thee, and be Cast out of all thy love by thee ; And, Sleep, I will not moan or weep If thou wilt come to-morrow, Sleep. 44 TO THE WORLD GIVE me my Love's enchanted eyes, The right to lie where'er she lies, And muse on her in wonder ; But never speak a single word Shall harm us more than song of bird, Or rive our souls asunder. 45 CONTENT THOUGH singing but the shy and sweet Untrod by multitudes of feet, Songs bounded by the brook and wheat, I have not failed in this, The only lure my woodland note, To win all England's whitest throat ! O bards in gold and fire who wrote, Be yours all other bliss ! THREE MAIDS Chloris HERE 's Cupid sleeping on a bank ! Let 's steal his bow and break his arrows, Or pinch him till he promises To shoot them only at the sparrows ! Why, what a charming rogue it is, And what a tempting mouth to kiss ! Clarinda Shame fall on any plan to snatch The rosy god's most sacred arrows ! While this my bosom 's loveless still, Pray Cupid spare the world of sparrows ! I have a target soft and fair That longs to feel his arrow there ! 47 Dora Unless his dart he aim apace Our skin will wear from pink to yellow, And not a maid as wife will sleep Beside some strapping shepherd-fellow ! Wherefore my lips the god shall buss That he may wake and shoot at us ! ON SEEING A TRAIN START FOR THE SEASIDE MIGHT I leave this grassy place For spreading foam about my feet ! The splendid spray upon my face, The flying brine itself were sweet If I might hear on Cromer beach The freedom of old Neptune's speech ! Ah, never language like to this For those whose ears can understand Sometimes the coming of a kiss To mate the ocean with the strand ; Sometimes the nameless oath is heard The sea-god thunders through his beard ! 1 have a sea of blue on high, I have a sea of green beneath ; For me sweet inland birds do cry Until with joy I hold my breath ; D 49 But Ocean's harp of wave and stone Is bird and leaf and stream in one ! Upon my dancing apple-sprays The blackbird whistles melodies ; Half through a mellow runs he stays And flashes to a neighbour's trees : He 's rare, but rarer now would be The strident pebbles of the sea. And is it strange that round the shore The lyric water should rejoice ? Ah no ! for ever more and more The happy dead are in its voice. Majestic poet ! might I be As full of song, as finely free ! STREPHON TO CHLORIS CHLORIS, unbend that gathered brow ! 'Twas but a straying touch or twain That followed on this slope of snow The azure runnel of a vein ! Come, sweet, be neither saint nor shrew The heart behind the hand was true. Now had I stormed thy garter-knot I would not christen thee unkind ! But nought of pure hath been forgot, So kiss me, dear, and change thy mind. Be nun-like now I care no groat So I am shepherd for thy throat ! THE GIPSY KING'S SONG MOTHS may flutter round a lamp Stars may haunt the skies ; Bees may plunder roses' hearts Give me Laura's eyes ! Delve for gold, ye misers, delve In the priceless west ; Snatch the diamond from the dark Leave me Laura's breast ! Argonauts, upturn the gems, Guard them home in ships, Cast them in a silken lap Leave me Laura's lips ! Fortune, wreck a kingdom set In the blue above ; Play at bowls with hemispheres Leave me Laura's love ! 52 MY CHERRY-TREES O CHILDREN of the smoke and fog, With faces pinched by early care, Would God you might adventure forth To breathe this country air ! Would God your ears might drink the song Of grasses, birds, and singing trees ! Would God your eyes grew round to see My wealth of cherry-trees ! A hundred thousand shining lamps To light the glory of the green ! The rubies of my orchard hang The sturdy leaves between ; The blackbird pecks them at his will, The brazen sparrow with his beak Attacks some swaying globe of fruit And stabs its ruddy cheek. S3 But in the Covent Garden roads You see the sluttish cabbage-leaf In air that steals away your strength, God's bounty turned a thief! How happy is my growing boy That here in grass which pricks his knees He roams his world so shy and clean Beneath my cherry-trees ! I often lift him to a branch That burns with cherries redly ripe ; A startled thrush in flight displays The shrillness of her pipe ; And down to mother's upturned mouth His baby hand so plumply fair He reaches full of fruit, or drops A cherry in her hair ! 54 Apollo gave my rustic Muse Her artless shepherd-songs to sing ; The sorrel charms her, and the gloss Upon the swallow's wing ; But often dreaming in the wood, When comes the evening gift of dew. Her soul flies forward to your souls, And, children, thinks of you. Your naked feet within this grass Should learn some simple country dance ; Upon your hearts should flash at last The colours of romance. O empty purse of mine, alas That such a happy vision flees ! That all these urchins may not romp Beneath my cherry-trees ! 55 LOVE'S AWAKENING CHLORIS singing through the wood Cupid spied a-sleeping ; Long the troubled maiden stood At the archer peeping : On his pink and perfect cheeks, From the branches shaken, Sprinkled tiny drops of dew, But he would not waken. Chloris in her homespun gown Shyly came a-creeping ; And she bent her beauty down O'er the god a-sleeping : ' Softly, velvet kiss,' she said How her heart was shaken ! * Melt upon this ruby mouth That the Boy awaken ! ' 56 A FORTUNATE ISLAND ACROSS the hills, across the sea, Across the land that lies beyond, An islet slumbers in the waves As languid as a lilied pond : There roses keep a festival Of breaking bud and scented breath ; And on the hills and by the sea There is no dream of death. Festoons of princely purple hang, And crimson creepers to and fro Move to the whisper of the winds That lull to linger, lift to go : The golden birds on blooms of fire, The lowlier larks on flaming heath, Trill, for their happy hearts are sure There is no dream of death. 57 Here are the summer sights and sounds Of untempestuous summer seas ; The strand that as a vast harp rings To foamy fingers' melodies. And all who find this quiet isle Across the hills, across the sea, Across the land that lies beyond, Shall live eternally. A PASTORAL ALONG the lane beside the mead Where cowslip-gold is in the grass I matched the milkmaid's easy speed, A tall and springing country lass : But though she had a merry plan To shield her from my soft replies, Love played at Catch-me-if-you-Can In Mary's eyes. A mile or twain from Varley bridge I plucked a dock-leaf for a fan, And drove away the constant midge, And cooled her forehead's strip of tan. But though the maiden would not spare My hand her pretty finger-tips, Love played at Kiss-me-if-you-Dare On Mary's lips. 59 And now the village flashed in sight, And closer came I to her side ; A flush ran down into the white, The impulse of a pinky tide : And though her face was turned away, How much her panting heart confessed ! Love played at Find-me-if-you-May In Mary's breast. THE MISTRESS OF BACCHUS ' A FIG for love,' said Bacchus, rolling Down aisles of sun and clustered vine, ' While puling innocents are lolling With sallow chaps a-thinning, Give me a leaky butt of wine To set my noddle spinning ! ' ' The grape's the mistress, fair and mellow! Her charms are fresh and ne'er decline ; A maid from pink will change to yellow, And fright you with her wrinkles : Not so this ruddy girl of mine Jove ! how her bright eye twinkles 1 ' 61 ' Hers is the sparkle for my hymning, On hers all day my lips are fed ! I pledge her in a cup that 's brimming, Your whiter virgins scorning, And take the Beauty home to bed, And sleep with her till morning ! ' 62 DESPAIR AH, when I think that all is gone, Thy presence and thy comforting, I would my soul were as a stone The urchin drops into a spring A stone to sink, and not again Feel the boy's hand or break the rain ! I would renounce my lease of mind, And be a fruitless garden-clod, Too base for maids on me to find The simplest blossom of their God. O that I ever thought or loved, Hoped, and so melancholy proved ! THE RIVULET HERE I come and cast me down, Shining rivulet, beside thee ; And thy birds shall sing the frown OS my brow the while I hide me On thy sloping banks that fall In a cataract of grasses, Till the blades can softly call Secrets to the leaf that passes. Let the music of thy speed, And the mist of sacrifices Rising from the stilly mead Sweet with wildwood blossom-spices Teach that Nature's quiet priests Here within her sacred spaces. At the seasons of her feasts Cast all care from off their faces. 64 Me my mother ofttimes bore Here, O rivulet, to view thee ; Here I learned the song-bird's lore, Here I loved and here I knew thee ; What thou spakest to the cress Found an echo in my spirit, And I heard in happiness Foxglove bells that tinkled near it. Good it is to find thee still Faithful to the distant river \ Sweet to think the fruitful hill Grants its rills to thee for ever : Constant height and constant stream, Shall I find where last we parted, Her I love, my hope, my dream, Just as fair and gentle-hearted ? E 65 Am I dreaming? she is dead. Death in envy of her tresses Stole her wealth of white and red, All her bosom's lovelinesses : Then the skies of duller blue And thy lessened music taught me, Stream, the abundance and the hue Of the harvest Time had brought me. Loveless now I come apace Shining rivulet revealing To thy bright familiar face What can find no truer healing : Nature by her mother's skill, Where the greensward's cool and slanting, Soothes me with the wood and hill And the marvel of thy chanting. 66 On thy breast I cast my love ! Let it float adown thy reaches Past the fluting of the dove, Thymy banks and silver beeches : Chance may steer it to those isles Where the tearless walk together In a paradise of smiles, Tenderness and golden weather. A SONG WHAT Laura sings at break of day When robing at her glass My heart and I at sweet of dawn Do gather as we pass. And as we wend, my heart and I, Adown the leafy lane, We sing for Laura at her glass A love-revealing strain. And Cupid with his parted lips Awaits the end to start With what we sing and garner it Upon her unkissed heart. O lucky Love, if speeding through Her sanctuary's pane You see my Laura's white flash back To Laura's white again ! 68 LULLABY SLEEP, my angels, side by side Till the morrow's coming, Till the rosebuds open wide At the brown bees' humming ; Clover-spice and butterfly, Faithful in the meadows, Stay where mottled cattle sigh In the cooling shadows. Angel rosebuds, dream and wait Till the sun is peeping At my maid and at her mate, Rosebud angels, sleeping. 69 LAST WORDS OF you, dear friends, who come to tend A dying man with final love, I ask but this that none may prove Me purer than I was to prove. Strive not with anxious pen to make Some follies pose as good and sage ; Nor with the knife of tenderness Scratch out the blots upon my page. I hate the soft Biographer Who hides the vicious nettle-stings, Conceals the human in a man, And only proves his hidden wings I Oh, as I lie and idly count The paper roses on the wall, Of all my eyes begin to see This is the clearest sight of all 70 That sometimes when my chance was come To speak a helpful word and kind, My hasty tongue too often served The early promptings of my mind. If ever word of dying man Can long direct the friends who stay, Leave larger issues to your God, But trebly guard the instant day. The cultivation of your souls J May warp you as you sit apart ! March out into the light and heal (For all can heal) some broken heart. Think of yourselves as those in whom The gift of miracles is set ; For in his circle each can work These miracles. Do not forget ! So when you hide me in the earth And put aside my vacant chair, Do not be prone to polish o'er The faults I pray you not to spare. But thinking clearly what I was, Review the history of my days, And if you smile on any deeds I may be grateful for your praise ; But spare me for it would not cheat The dullest tramp who stopped to rest That lying tombstone literature Where knaves are saints and bad is best ! Write : He had made a finer man And left increased renown behind, If he had only shut his books To read the struggles of mankind ! 72 For, prisoned 'mid his lexicons, He paced along a narrow way, His life contracting, till he grew Less human-hearted day by day. So when the chance of changing tears To brilliant smiles was lent to him, The mood was foreign to his mind, The energy was strangely dim. Wherejore upon his bed of death, His eyes with boundless vision wide, He ministered to other souls With wisdom until then denied ; Knowing the crown of penitence Was not alone a vague regret, But rather, the activity Of teaching others to forget 73 (Since a late learner, growing mute, May not remain to purge bis heart) The cluster of remembrances That pander to the selfish part. Long was I careless of my path, Till Faith descended broad and bright ; And looking out across the world I felt a spirit in the light, And in a forest-temple found The impulse of a great desire To rear an altar, and to burn My heart in sacrificial fire. But this was only yesterday, And ere you pluck my altered fruits The axe in Death's unswerving hands Is laid against my stronger roots ! 74 Yet I, if I have done aright, Though straying from the usual road, May meet with willing love to ease My shoulders of their heavy load. Howe'er it be, I go in peace, A man whose lips have been desired; A man who held his Love a space, Then lost her. I am very tired. 75 GONE INTO LONG FROCKS SHE 's a woman ! The gracious girl 's in longer dresses, And desecrating hands have piled In one bright crown her flying tresses ; But yesterday she was a child, And joined to mine her frank caresses, Perched in a pretty pose upon my knee To stroke my face or kiss it suddenly. She 's a woman ! O thievish time to steal my pleasure, Her weight, her fingers in my hair ! No more she dangles at her leisure A shapely limb from out the pear. Still in a statelier way this treasure Colours my life, and from the tomboy age Saves me her eyes and voice for heritage. 76 SPRING ALL the lanes are lyric, All the bushes sing ; You are at your kissing, Spring ! Romping with thy children Do not fail to bring Mary to the haystack, Spring ! Froth upon her fingers., Bosom for a king, Speed her from the milking, Spring ! 77 TO A WHITETHROAT IF thou but pipe I will a pilgrim be Along the outskirt bushes of the wood ; Fly forward, Whitethroat, searching still for me Some leafy shrine of utter quietude : There stay awhile and sing, Upon me fling The ditties of the woodland that I love ; And mingling with thy song Sometimes may float along The soft ejaculation of the dove. For, Whitethroat, all the loved of Long Ago Have vanished sleepwards, far and far away, And in the churchyard yonder do but grow To finer dust God rest them day by day ! So stay awhile and sing, Upon me fling 78 The ditties of the woodland that I love ; And call to join the song From out this beechen throng The deep-toned consolation of the dove. The pomp of vast cathedrals cannot ease The grief within me that will not be still. Help, natural magic of the forest trees ! Help, green enchantment of the sloping hill ! And thou, O Whitethroat, sing, Upon me fling The ditties of the woodland that I love ; And may there speed along In union with thy song The mellower reflection of the dove. 79 The Priest has spoken, and I am not healed. The organ pleaded, and my heart was cold. Where is God's widest blessing? In the weald, Beside the sheepcotes and upon the wold. Wherefore, O Whitethroat, sing, Upon me fling The ditties of the woodland that I love ; And call from out this throng Of trees to swell thy song The gentle exclamation of the dove. 80 MY CONTENT WHAT 's my content ? I love the bird, I love the blue That deepens in the firmament, The grass to mate them, and the hush Before the warble of the thrush : At morn and evening from the brake All sweet-throat minstrels choicely make A rare content. How God is good He lends the song, He lends the sky ! And O, my heart has understood The spider's fragile line of lace, The common weed, the woody space ! These miracles that bring me bliss, And one sweet English girl to kiss, Make my content. 81 REFLECTIVE LOVE THE wiser few who snap a thumb At youth when he is hot to tie, Passed through the flame, not seldom come On love mature that cannot die. The helpmeet with her quiet tread That constant music, sweet, assured Moves round him till his need is fed By love in use, by care outpoured. Unshaken by the heats of youth, The spikes of passion and their smart, Man probes the soul of woman's truth And hugs contentment to his heart. 82 A SONG WHEN maids with easy lips consent To feed us all on Cupid's pillage, And daring eyes are fondly bent On strangers even in the village, 'Twere well to pack, my masters, pack Forget the road, and ne'er come back ! But if our fate is not to miss Some lovely slip among the brambles, Who pouts away the proffered kiss When resting from our woodland rambles, Let others trudge, my masters, trudge Here 's one wise fool who will not budge ! RETURN! OF all that's bright and blue Your eyes they were the soul, Or smiling, or if dew Adown your cheeks did roll. O what a crippled heart was mine Till yours did make it whole, Dear love ! My life a waste of sand Where no oasis lay ; A sudden voice, a band Of grass where birds did play, A growing round, the green of God, And you to rule the day, Dear love ! 84 O days so musical, From cape to briny cape We watched the billows fall, The filching ocean's rape; There at the eve I stood and felt Your shape against my shape, Dear love ! Then all God's face grew dark, And joy from heaven fell ; No spark He gave no spark And hate rose up from hell ! But till I touch your cheek again, My bird, my blue, my well, My love ! 85 Once more my life is waste, Where no contentment is. Return, O maid embraced In hours more sweet than this I Enchantress, come ! spurn all and bend These thirsty lips to kiss, Dear love ! 86 A SONG OF THANKS LEANING from my window In the fragrant air Chantings morn and evening, Melodies I hear; For the beak that 's yellow Sings me without fear Lyrics in the lilac, Lyrics in the pear. In the roaring city Sparrows' voices lend Something of the country To the hearts that spend Season after season There, and never hear Blackbirds in the apple, Blackbirds in the pear. 87 But my orchard yonder Is an orchestra ; Birds and leaves and breezes Make in concert there Music of enchantment Country folks may hear, Lyrics in the plum-tree, Lyrics in the pear. 88 A WOMAN SHE is made of a gallon of tears, A pottle of whims ! She is mercy and hate in a breath, Half venom and hymns : If you give her a man to adore A kiss when he smites ! And behold, when the husband retreats The woman still fights ! For the snake in her hisses unscathed, She coos to her mate ; If you scorn her you trifle with hell, You tinker with fate ! She is velvet and scandal and lace And beautiful limbs ; She is made of a gallon of tears, A pottle of whims ! 89 A PICTURE No bell and steeple let there be for me The blackbird calling from his lilac-tree. Grandfather in his broadcloth goes To hear the Parson's Sunday prose ; He sleeps the sermon safely through, Behind his pillar out of view ; For never dangerous doctrine ran From Parson Tom ; he knows his man, And feeling his salvation sure He points the morals with a snore, Whereat with giggles all the girls Do shake their rows of dancing curls. Here is the flame of young romance Oft nourished by a subtle glance, 90 And Cupid lifts beneath the nose Of Dame Theology the rose That quivers on Clarinda's heart Responsive to the looks that dart Whence Colin, tired of parables, The herdsmen's quarrel at the wells, Contents him with the lovely shape That glances through Clarinda's cape. Among the boys some bench is cut, Or one essays the traitor nut That pops, whereat with cheeks aflame The kernel 's fumbled in his shame, And rolling underneath a pew Is out of reach, but still in view. And through the marble, nut and knife Lot's wife, and yet again Lot's wife. Outside his tale the blackbird spins, The tributary thrush begins To praise the blue audaciously With daring turns of melody. And now the Parson ends his prose, The hymn is sung, grandfather goes Serenely home, and quite assured He profited and never snored, And thumps the turfy path apace Says, sleep in Church is sheer disgrace. Now Colin, free of circumstance, Pursues Clarinda with romance. 92 Forgiving all the herdsmen's strife, Lot's wife, and yet again Lot's wife. No bell and steeple let there be for me The blackbird calling from his lilac-tree. 93 THE TRAVELLER'S SONG WHILST Laura lingers by my side With all her woman's help and graces, Nor ever is the look denied She pours upon our children's faces, Equal to Fate my soul shall prove Sirs, take my pence, but not my Love ! But if her whims and altered brow Should stifle joy, and tart responses Be fruit of faith and marriage vow, Or blows bethump the youngsters' sconces, Come, pleasant chance, to lure her hence Sirs, take my Love, but not my pence I 94 TO A PARROT DID Long John Silver bring you here, Past-master in the gibe and sneer, And often, parrot somewhat sere, Rank blasphemy ? You know you shocked my maiden Aunt From Brighton on a solemn jaunt By cursing in one fluent taunt Consumedly. Who trained you in your salad days ? Did Israel Hands amidships laze And teach you all your swearing ways, You horrid bird ? Your lingo 's in a parlous state A pretty knack in Billingsgate ; You speak, and say as sure as fate A naughty word. 95 But when last year for you I dealt You looked as if you really felt Fresh butter even would not melt Within your mouth ; No sooner had I paid my share Than you began to curse and swear, Astounding even London air With oath on oath ! The seller would not buy you in ; You, leagued contentedly with sin, Swore carefully through thick and thin Till passers mocked ; Of course I met Amelia Jones, You lump of bitterness and bones ! Who showed me by her frigid tones That she was shocked. 96 And I would kiss her garment's hem ! To think you, catalogued a gem, With Mr. Mantalini's ' dem ' Should make her start ! Would I had put you to the flames ! Would I had flung you in the Thames Before your Treasure Island games Could wring her heart ! But when at number ninety-nine, The house at Croydon that is mine, All suddenly you aped a fine Sepulchral calm ; You left the dynamite of speech, You clave to virtue like a leech ; The highest point your whim could reach, A tag of psalm. G 97 O shade of Edgar Allan Poe, Had I been schooled enough to know As much of speaking birds as thou, It had been good ! My Aunt Matilda came one day The parrot put his psalms away, No more of Dr. Watts he 'd say In pious mood. Despising preface he began To yell the infamy of man My Aunt Matilda screamed and ran Two flights upstairs ! A broadside followed as she went, Poor, poor old lady, aged and bent, Waiting the falling firmament With moans and prayers ! 98 O parrot, those big oaths you rolled From out your sinful beak, all told, Cost me ten thousand pounds of gold, Such pleasant pelf! Base fowl from the metropolis, You cost me something more than this You stole from me Amelia's kiss, Amelia's self! Enough ! my pocket and my heart Both squandered in that fatal mart Where you were bought ! Tis time to part- Delightful word ! I will not wring your neck. Perchance The fruitful force of circumstance Corrupted you, some lost romance, Blaspheming bird ! 99 EVE A SCARLET bird upon her shoulder's snow Was perched, and whistled to his happy fellows ; A thousand tints of feathers lit the air, Unnumbered shades of brilliant blues and yellows. Primeval glories clustered in her form ; Uncramped her curves ; she was the dawn of beauty Fit mother for a group of stalwart sons To roll along the universe of duty. As innocently naked thus she stood With lion-whelps and tiger-cubs around her, Fast striding o'er the lawns with dazzled eyes Came Adam, threading Paradise, and found her. 100 LEAFY WARWICKSHIRE WHY will your mind for ever go To meads in sunny Greece? Our song-birds have as fine a flow, Our sheep as fair a fleece ; Among our hills the honey-bee, And in the leaning pear I tell you there is Arcady In leafy Warwickshire. Our maids can match Diana's shape, And thread the woodland way ; They sing, and from the trees escape Birds musical as they : As Orpheus once Eurydice, The thrush he draws my dear I tell you there is Arcady In leafy Warwickshire. 101 Our English fountains are not mute, And Fancy's ear may catch The mellow airs of pipe and flute Where blushing maidens snatch The hasty garb lest shepherds see Their bosoms soft and clear I tell you there is Arcady In leafy Warwickshire. Apollo 's in the winding lane ! And Cupid with his smile Comes splendidly across the plain To walk with us a mile : The milkmaid's kiss, the country peace Delight us living here Content to traffic all of Greece For leafy Warwickshire ! 102 A BUDDING MAID CAN you tell me, whitethroat, Where Cicely's steps are bent ? 1 follow till I find her, Since she is my content. Come, whitethroat, pipe the secret, And sing the way she went ! Her gown but reaches midway Between her foot and knee ; All, all her shapely beauties, Her footfall's melody, Will come when she is older, Dear whitethroat, unto me. She is a wildwood goddess, Divine in country hose ; About her neck a river Of flashing splendour flows 103 O where 's my budding maiden ? Pipe, bird, the way she goes. Not yet her waiting bosom For Cupid is prepared, But yet her glances promise By whom it shall be shared ; So fear not, pretty whitethroat, To pipe the road she fared. God bless the red-tiled cottage Shall hold her wifely grace ! God send us laughing children To revel in the place ! O whitethroat, whitethroat, tell me \Yhere hides her lovely face ? 104 TO A BROKEN PIPE A NIGGARD note perchance you blew, Poor shattered pipe ! You broke too soon, before my airs Were round and ripe ; Yet all your harvest has a nest And refuge in Clarinda's breast. O shall I pull a finer reed, And learn from Pan More songs of roses in the hedge, Of summer tan ? 'Tis sweet beneath a beech to rest And warble of Clarinda's breast. 105 Dear pipe, we will not mourn the songs We used to make ; Clarinda knows them, for they praised Her lovely shape. False hope ! we must regret the strain Too simple to be sung again ! 106 MY MILKMAID THOUGH Cleopatra's kiss Was sweet to Antony, No swarthy queen's I miss When you recline with me, My milkmaid dear. Though purple cushions yield Beneath each regal head, Our chamber is the field, The heather is our bed, My milkmaid dear. The blackbird in his bush Our sentinel shall be ; O hear his tameless rush Of alto melody, My milkmaid dear. 107 Here lying undisturbed Our festival we keep, The vespers of a bird To charm us both to sleep, My milkmaid dear. To-morrow come and share This heather that we press ; Bring me your rebel hair, The magic of your dress, My milkmaid dear. 108 L'ENVOI mother, if the lyric god, Have touched my lips with country song, Or if these simple airs are caught From Music as she sings along 1 care not, so their piping find A comfort for your heart and mind. O sweet for mothers growing old To know their boys approach success I And sweet for me if what I bring Can flood your face with tenderness Can wellnigh make you hear again Birds warbling in a Surrey lane. 109 EDINBURGH : T. and A. CONSTABLE Printers to Her Majesty UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 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