CUCKOO SONGS ** Of i his Edition 500 copies have been printed for England. LONDON ELKWKATHEWS AND JOHN LANE BOSTON COPE L AND & DAY 1 TO MY DEAREST FRIEND MY HUSBAND CONTENTS PAGE CUCKOO SONGS . . . . ix THE RESURRECTION: A MIRACLE-PLAY . . 3 THE OAK SAID TO THE EAGLE . . .17 SINGING STARS . . . .19 THE SAD MOTHER . . . .22 THE WOOD-DOVE . . . .24 THE STORY OF BLESSED COLUMBA AND THE HORSE 26 THE CHRISTMAS BABE . . . -33 THE RED-HAIRED MAN'S WIFE . . .35 AN ISLAND FISHERMAN . . . .38 MAGPIE . . . . .41 THE WIDOWED HOUSE . . . .43 BROTHER RONAIN OF THE BIRDS . . 45 THE ONLY DAUGHTER . . . 5i ASPIRATION . . . . .S3 WINTER SUNSET . . . .55 THE DAWNING OF THE DAY . . .58 A PLOVER ON GUARD . . .61 CEANN DONNDEELISH . . .63 viii CONTENTS PAGE GEOFFREY BARRON . . . .65 A GARDENER SAGE . . . .71 THE DEAD COACH . . . .74 GRAMACHREE . . . .76 SWEETS . . . . .78 IVY OF IRELAND . . . .80 THE MASTER OF THE ROSES . . . 83 GOD'S BIRD . . . .85 HOUSE AND HOME . . . .87 OUR LADY OF PITY . . . .90 S. A. . . . " . ' . -95 COMFORT . . . . .96 A YOUNG MOTHER . . . .98 A GARDEN OF OLIVES . . . 100 COLLEEN RUE . . . . .102 POT POURRI . . . . 104 CUCKOO SONGS I sing of fields we loved of yore, Old hills and woods we knew, Where oft we heard Spring's voice, asthore, Cuckoo! Cuckoo! A small monotonous song I sing, My notes are faint and Jew Like his, whose coming wakes the Spring, Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! I sing my coimtry song again, I sing my song of you, Like him, to make my meaning plain, Cuckoo! Cuckoo! CUCKOO SONGS Without him Spring -would drop her flowers, The sky forget its blue: Hail! dearest voice in all the bowers, Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! Because I make your heart its Spring And its full Summer, too : My cuckoo songs for you I sing, Cuckoo ! Cucko o ! You will not do my song more wrong, That to your heart rings true, Than the Spring does his jubilant song, Cuckoo! Cuckoo! CUCKOO SONGS CUCKOO SONGS The Resurrection : A Miracle-Play PROLOGUE {Spoken by an ANGEL, before the curtain riseth. He carrieth a go/den trumpet, -which he soundeth lustily) /~*OOD Christian folk, rejoice this morn He is arisen who died forlorn. Sing Alleluia, sing, my horn! Good folk, send heralds to proclaim By market-place and square the same Great tidings in the Lord His Name! Let mounted heralds spur and ride By village street and mountain side, Proclaiming He is risen who died! CUCKOO SONGS His Mother kneeling at day-dawn, Musing that mournful death upon, Was ^ware a great light grew and shone. And in the midst thereof He stood, The three-days' dead upon the rood. His wounds His Father hath made good. His Mother, with great ache of love, Leaning to touch Him, saw Him move, Floating a little farther off. To her with thrilling voice He spake : ' / am not risen, but come to slake Thy bruised maternal hearfs heart-ache. ' I am not dead] He said, ' but live, Thou Mother of men and second Eve, Through whom all men new life receive.' 1 THE RESURRECTION: A MIRACLE PLAY $ Thereat the vision 'gan to fade, And grew the morning light instead The Easter world was gold-enrayed. Tantarara / Go out and shout The joyful news the world about, This day the fires of hell are out. Fling the good tidings far and near, That sea and vale and mountain hear, From east to western hemisphere. The earth puts on her cloth of gold, The sky her sapphire folds rmr oiled, The spring-day world is blithe and bold. Now hearken to our miracle-play, How the dear Christ has risen to-day, And Alleluia sing and say, Alleluia! Alleluia! 6 CUCKOO SONGS SCENE I (Time early dawn. Through the gardens shadows to the sepulchre, come the holy women.) SALOME Here we bring spice, and balm, and myrrh, To wrap Him in the sepulchre, The white death-chamber, stark and drear, Where we have laid His head. MAGDALENE My flowers will brighten in the gloom ; He is not lonely in the tomb, Forgot, while we keep warm at home, As are the patient dead. MARY And yet He said : ' Three days, and I, Who on the shameful Cross shall die, Will rise again beneath the sky.' What if He should arise ! THE RESURRECTION : A MIRACLE PLAY 7 MAGDALENE Then blessed dawning that should see The stone rolled from His Heart and me. And if He said it, this will be, Though all the world denies. SALOME But who will roll us off the stone ? We could not, all and everyone : The great stone weigh eth nigh a ton. How shall we entrance win ? MARY See, the great door is open wide. It may be some are gone inside ; Peter and John, too tearful-eyed To sleep while birds begin. ( They enter the sepulchre. There are the empty cere-cloths, and two ANGELS sitting at head and foot of the slab -where the BODV ha!h lain.*) CUCKOO SONGS MAGDALENE O while we slept, the foe hath come And rifled this most precious tomb. Here is but linen of the loom, Wherein He shrouded was. Kind gentlemen, who now keep guard Over His death-place, watch and ward, Who were they, cold of heart and hard, That stole my Lord ? Alas ! SALOME We are but women come with spice, And Eastern herbs, and nard of price, And linen wrought with fine device, To wrap away our Dead. Do Caiaphas and his tribe pursue Our Master, dead and living too, And come by stealth at night, and do Outrage where He is laid ? THE RESURRECTION: A MIRACLE PLAY MARY Hush, Salome. And, Magdalene, Weep not so hard ! These gentlemen Perhaps will speed us, might and main, To where our dead may be. FIRST ANGEL Why seek ye here among the dead Who lives ? Have ye remembered His words, while yet He taught and prayed, And healed in Galilee ? He said : ' The Son of Man must then Die on a cross for sins of men, But the third day will rise again.' See, the third dawn is dim : Go say to His disciples, He Hath [risen as He did prophesy, And hath departed speedily Into Jerusalem. to CUCKOO SONGS SECOND ANGEL Blessed are ye for love and faith, Ye women, who have feared not death, Nor chains nor stripes, nor mortal scathe, Nor portals of the grave ! MAGDALENE Now though ye speak a tongue like ours, I know ye, folk from heavenly bowers, Seraphim, cherubim, thrones and powers, These be your kinsfolk brave. SCENE II (A garden in the rase and gold of high dawn. Between the flowers goeth MAGDALENE, listlessly.') MAGDALENE They said, Peter and James and John, 'Twas but in dreams we looked upon Those angels in the faint, sweet dawn, And heard their tidings glad. THE RESURRECTION: A MIRACLE PLAY n O if a dream it were, I would Go dreaming all my life ; and good Never to wake to daylight rude, If such sweet dreams I had. Yet He is gone, themselves avow ; For Peter saw them even now, The grave-clothes that from foot to brow Did swathe Him yesternight. Dear Master, send your messenger. My heart is heavy, faint with fear, Lest the sweet tidings I did hear I did not hear aright. (JESUS comelk u6 the path ; His glory veiled \ He seemeth as a gardener?) MAGDALENE Are you the gardener of this place ? Kind sir, I cannot see your face, Because the tears so quickly race That they have drained me blind. 12 CUCKOO SONGS I am in trouble, sir, or else Should say how sweet your garden smells, Your musk and Canterbury-bells, In this most sweet south wind. Perhaps, kind sir, you know who hath Opened the chamber-door of death That's yonder in your garden path, And my dear Lord hath ta'en. {She u-eepeth.~) JESUS Woman, why dost thou weep ? MAGDALENE For ruth Of my King, murdered in His youth. They will not let Him rest in truth Even when they have slain. THE RESURRECTION : A MIRACLE PL AY 13 Tell me where He is gone, that so My feet may follow high and low, By crags of fire and wastes of snow, Seeking Him everywhere. JESUS Mary ! MAGDALENE Rabboni ! as they said Come from the dead, come from the dead, Living and bright in Thy Godhead, And all Thy wounds so fair ! {Falkth at His feet.) JESUS Touch Me not, till I shall arise Unto My Father in the skies. Go tell the brethren thine own eyes Have seen My living face. 14 CUCKOO SONGS MAGDALENE Most blessed day and blessed hour, All in a dawn-lit garden bower, When Thou hast shown at last Thy power, Thy glory and Thy grace ! (The ANGEL of the golden trumpet speaketh, after th* falling of the curtain,*) Our play is done now everyone Safe to his home by set of sun ; The Holy Weed's great Acts are done. The fasts are over that are Lenfs, But all good folk keep abstinence From sin -yet not from penitence Go, brethren, all in charity, For His dear sake who died on tree, And is arisen for all of ye. THE RESURRECTION: A MIRACLE PLAY 15 Daughters, take note that first He came Unto His Mother without blame, Next to a sinner, purged of shame. A Woman brought Him forth, a Maid, On whose sweet lap the Babe was laid Her foot is on the serpenfs head. Woman was last beside the cross, And earliest in the garden was. Well she atones for Eve's great loss. Yet be not vain, since that would ill Repay His love and honour; still Meek and obedient to His will } Be virtuous wives and housekeepers ; Keeping the home as sweet as Hers, The first of happy home-builders. 16 CUCKOO SONGS Upon Our Lord's Ascension Day We give another miracle-play. Till then, fare all as well as may! Alleluia! Alleluia! The Oak said to the Eagle (From the IrisK) Oak said to the Eagle . How old art thou ? Clouds and the sunlight regal Are on thy brow. But the Eagle : Thine age, brother, Tell it again. We are old, both one and the other, Past dreams of men. And the Oak : Mine age hath thriven A thousand years, 'Gainst the winds and the rains of heaven, And lightning's spears. 18 CUCKOO SONGS I have seen men born and buried, How long, how long ? The race of the red deer harried, That was so strong. But the Eagle laughed out scornful : Thou dost not know Thou greybeard, ragged and mournful, How youth doth go. As an eaglet cock I knew thee An acorn smooth, When the wind from the tree-top blew thee. Look at my youth ! Thou that art groaning and hoary That Time doth kill, Look at me, clouds for my glory, An eaglet still ! Singing Stars ' \ T 7" HAT sawest thou, Orion, thou hunter of the star-lands, On that night star-sown and azure when thou cam'st in splendour sweeping, And amid thy starry brethren from the near lands and the far lands All the night above a stable on the earth thy watch wert keeping ? ' ' Oh, I saw the stable surely, and the young Child and the Mother, And the placid beasts still gazing with their mild eyes full of loving. 20 CUCKOO SONGS And I saw the trembling radiance of the Star, my lordliest brother, Light the earth and all the heavens as he kept his guard unmoving. ' There were kings that came from Eastward with their ivory, spice, and sendal, With gold fillets in their dark hair, and gold broidered robes and stately, And the shepherds gazing star-ward, over yonder hill did wend all, And the silly sheep went meekly, and the wise dog marvelled greatly. ' Oh, we knew, we stars, the stable held our King, His glory shaded, That His baby hands were poising all the spheres and constellations ; SINGING STARS 21 Berenice shook her hair down, like a shower of star- dust braided, And Arcturus, pale as silver, bent his brows in adorations. 1 The stars sang all together, sang their love-songs with the angels, With the Cherubim and Seraphim their shrilly trumpets blended. They have never sung together since that night of great evangels, And the young Child in the manger, and the time of bondage ended.' The Sad Mother WHEN the half-light weaves Wild shadows on the floor, How ghostly come the withered leaves Stealing about my door ! I sit and hold my breath, Lone in the lonely house; Naught breaks the silence still as death, Only a creeping mouse. The patter of leaves, it may be, But liker patter of feet, The small feet of my own baby That never felt the heat. THE SAD MOTHER 23 The small feet of my son, Cold as the graveyard sod; My little, dumb, unchristened one That may not win to God. ' Come in, dear babe,' I cry, Opening the door so wide. The leaves go stealing softly by ; How dark it is outside ! And though I kneel and pray Long on the threshold-stone, The little feet press on their way, And I am ever alone, The Wood-Dove 'T^HE skies they were leaden, the snowflakes were falling; No blackbird or linnet was courting or calling : But the wood-dove's soft moaning was heard in the distance, And her song, all of love, came with dulcet persistence. O what though the nests were all flooded with water, And the cold eggs should give them no sweet son or daughter, THE WOOD-DOVE 25 She was dreamy with pleasure for her true love beside her, And the day shone as fair as though young leaves did hide her. O Love, moaned the wood-dove, the sweet voice of * Summer, 'Twere death, it were madness, were my love a. roamer. But Love, true and faithful, what power has cold weather To still our sweet songs, Love, since we are together ? Then I to my true love, true love is enough, Love, And how wise is the wood-dove who learns that lore off, Love; 'Tis our charm for the winter, when wintry winds cry, Love, And when in the grave on your heart I shall lie, Love. Tlte Story of Blessed Columba and the Horse was kept back Four years from his reward, The brethren's prayers, alack, Prevailing with the Lord. O Children, let me go ! ' 'Twas oft and oft he prayed, Yet still with prayer aglow They held him from the dead. They held him back with might, Kissing his habit's hem, His soul's wings set for flight Were prisoned long by them. BLESSED COLUMBA AND THE HORSE 27 His soul was sick for death; Yea, anguished long and dumb To take the lonely path Should lead the exile home. At last one Autumn day When woods were red and gold, And the sea moaned alway For summers dead and cold, Columba, weary foot, Went out and saw the sheaves, And flames of yellow fruit Trembling among the leaves. He saw the sheep and swine, The oxen and the ass, The drying swathes in line Of rich and honeyed grass : Opened the granary door, And saw the brethren had 28 CUCKOO SONGS Of fruit and grain great store To last through winter sad. Upon a brother's arm The great Columba leant; Bowed was that stately form, The holy head down-bent. Yet peace was in his eyes, Happy and satisfied: He blessed the granaries, The beasts and pastures wide. As slowly home they came, There limped along the road, The old horse tired and lame, That long had borne his load. The horse that night and morn Drew home the abbey milk, Drew home the loads of corn, And swathes of grass like silk. BLESSED COLUMBA AND THE HORSE 29 With a low whinnying neigh, He ran full wild and fast, And hid his forehead grey Against Columba's breast, And wept against his neck, Till any heart of stone Were very like to ache, Hearing the creature moan. ' O little horse, so kind,' The dear Columba said; ' How hast thou well divined I should so soon be dead ? Thou wouldst not keep me, thou, From glory and from grace And from Queen Mary's brow, And from the Lord God's face ! ' But while the horse sobbed on, Columba stroked his mane. 30 CUCKOO SONGS O any heart of stone Had ached to see that pain ! And still as home they went, The horse came following yet; His head deject and bent, His eyes still strained and wet. The brethren they ran out, Columba, speaking then, His tender arm about His patient friend's grey mane. * O kinder is the beast That grieves, but lets me go, Than ye who keep from rest An old man, sad and slow ! ' Far kinder is the horse : He knows how pastures dim, With many a water-course, Beckon so sweet to him. BLESSED COLUMBA AND THE HORSE 31 He too is tired and old, And knows how sweetly call The harps and hymns of gold To me this evenfall. ' Long they have called to me, My soul is hungered The dear Lord God to see, With glories round His head. Sweet is the thought of rest, While all the ages roll, In that eternal Breast : Yea, lovely to my soul ! ' They cried then with one voice : ' No more we will retard, Go, elect soul, rejoice, Receive thy great reward ! And yet forget not there Thy little ones who go 32 CUCKOO SONGS Like some sad wayfarer When heaven lets out the snow ! ' They led the horse away Unto his manger brown. Three days the sorrel-grey Let the big tears fall down. Three days the horse did mourn; The fourth day-dawn came faint : lona woke forlorn, But Heaven received its saint. The Christmas Babe \ LL in the night when sleeping I lay in slumber's chain, The Christmas Babe came weeping Outside my window-pane. The Christmas Child whom faithless Men turn from their hearthstone My dream was dumb and breathless, The Christmas Babe made moan. The small hands beat impatient Upon my close-locked door. The small hands they have fashioned The world, the stars, and more. He heard no sound of coming, His cries broke wild and keen, 34 CUCKOO SONGS The Christmas Babe went roaming For one to take Him in. A burning bush of splendour Enfolds the Christmas Child, Like some meek bird and tender In gold thorns undefiled. I listen long to hear Him Come crying at my door. Voices of night I fear them, And He comes by no more. The Red-haired Mans Wife (/i Variation) r*HE sky is golden, the fields are blooming, the hills are mild, I go bewailing, all unavailing, that grey-eyed child Whom kindred cruel have sold, dear jewel, to wedded life. The girl, I mean, is my sad heart's queen, and the red-haired man's wife. I sent a letter unto my sweetheart that long was mine, Grown tired of roaming, that I was coming across the brine. 36 CUCKOO SONGS They stole my letter, and far, far better, with sword or knife Have slain my pearl that he wears, the churl she's the red-haired man's wife. If I came by where she stands so lonely, tender and sad, Then she might follow by hill and hollow her own dear lad. I sail to-night when the moon is bright o'er the salt sea's strife, And 1 flee to France from the fatal glance of the red-haired man's wife. The lark and blackbird are singing ever low songs of you, And thrush and starling lament my darling from dawn to dew. THE RED-HAIRED MAN'S WIFE 37 Your eyes appealing make wood and shieling with danger rife, the pleasant walks and the happy talks with the red-haired man's wife. But, child and sweetheart, had you withstood them till I could come, 1 need not go with my bitter woe o'er the hungry foam. My hopes are fled, and my parents dead, and on my old life My back I turn, lest I bring to scorn the red-haired man's wife. An Island Fisherman T GROAN as I put out *" My nets on the say, To hear the little girshas shout, Dancin' among the spray. Ochone, the childher pass An' lave us to our grief, The stranger took my little lass At the fall o' the leaf. Why would you go so fast With him you never knew ! In all the throuble that is past I never frowned on you. AN ISLAND FISHERMAN 39 The light of my old eyes ! The comfort o' my heart ! Waitin' for me your mother lies In blessed Innishart. Her lone grave I keep From all the cold world wide, But you in life an' death will sleep The stranger beside. Ochone! my thoughts are wild; But little blame I say; An ould man hungerin' for his child, Fishin' the livelong day. You will not run again Laughin' to see me land. O what was pain an* throuble then, Holdin' your little hand ? 40 CUCKOO SONGS Or when your head let fall Its soft curls on my breast ? Why do the childher grow at all To love the stranger best ? Magpie T LOVE the sweet linnet, the lark, and the thrush, * And the gold-throated blackbird with a song in each bush; The finch and the robin, I love every one, But not the pied magpie that's walking alone. For whether you're going your sweetheart to meet, On business or pleasure, in market or street, To church or to chapel, a bad sign it is If you meet that one magpie a-taking his ease. But if it should chance you to see that ill sight, First look well around you to left and to right ; For if he's companioned, the two are for mirth, And three for a wedding and four for a birth. 42 CUCKOO SONGS Yet if he's alone show not wrath to the bird. A little politeness, I've heard it averred, Will please men and magpies; so throw not a stone, But lift your hat kindly, and bow, and pass on. Bow once, twice and thrice, and the bird, I've heard say, Will return you a curtsey, both merry and gay. And this is a charm, sirs, that, well understood, Will take away bad luck and bring you the good. Now all ye sweet lovers, I've told ye my charm The magpie's ill-luck to evade and disarm. And I wish you in due time two magpies for mirth, And three for a wedding and four for a birth. The Widowed House (F. W., Obiit, August*), 1893) TT7ITHIN your house that's widowed Love's nest is bitter cold, Love goes with drooping pinions, his pulses slow and old ; Your baby cries all night long for you he never knew, The dust is over all things: the grave dust over you. Drear day and night go over and yet you never come, To all that lonely weeping so obdurate and dumb. Twere liker you to hasten, putting the glory by, To kiss your love's cold forehead and still your baby's cry. 44 CUCKOO SONGS 'Twere liker you'd come stealing, a little ghost in white, To rock a tiny cradle all in the hushed moonlight, To whisper to a sleeper till he should dream and wake, And find the strange new comfort and lose the old heart-break. With you the years go over fleeter than words can say, And one shall lose her lover but the half-length of a day; And one shall lose her baby but 'twixt a sleep and sleep. The dead are glad in Heaven, the living 'tis that weep. Brother Ronain of the Birds VER the sea-mists and the foam, The birds had built their island steady, With many a trove of leaf and loam, And sprays of coral, ripe and ruddy. They built it strong, they built it fair, Moored to the rocks and time-deriding ; Thither flocked citizens of air To make a city on land abiding. And some there settled for life because Of sea and tempest they were weary. The ancients made the equal laws For sparrow and eagle in his eyrie. 46 CUCKOO SONGS And there torn-tit and goshawk went In equal yoke, like brothers loving ; The vulture to the robin leant With his old tales of blood and roving. Never was such a simple land, With such a happy buzz of building, And twigs and moss for lime and sand, And beaks for tools the masons wielding. And each sang blithely at his task, From nightingale to husky starling, At the dear house wherein should bask That pearl of price his bright-eyed darling. So all went gaily till each nest Was built and ready for occupation, And one Spring morn all sang their best At morning-song, as was their fashion. Praising the Lord of sea and sky Who kept them all the night from peril, BROTHER RONAIN OF THE BIRDS 47 And gave them love and wings to fly, And worms and grubs when earth was sterile. When one who was a chief of birds, Said, ' Brothers, is it meet we marry And die like any Pagan hordes, With never a priest to bless or bury ? ' c It is not meet ! ' the birds replied : 1 And would some priest of God came fleetly Over the sunset and the tide, And here would bide to bless us sweetly ! ' Then spake a blackbird from the west: ' In Erin dear that's over the water, There is a cleric loves birds best, Father and mother, son and daughter. ' When by the sands he walks at morn The flight of birds his meek head covers, His pocket full of crumbs and corn He carries for his feathered lovers. 8 CUCKOO SONGS How many a morn have I that speak Picked juicy tit-bits from his fingers; And fed, his thanksgiving so meek To join the wildest blackbird lingers. He knows the bird-tongue, every word, Knows well our notes of joy and grieving; And Ronain singing to the Lord Would melt the hardest bird-heart living.' Thereat, they counsel took, and made A raft for human weight and feathered, And sailed the wild seas undismayed Till by St Mel's the raft was tethered. And Ronain, reading in his book, Was 'ware a cloud fell o'er the letter, And heard the myriad wings that shook And sweet ' tweet -tweet ' of birdly chatter. Then all the birds swept down on him, Fluttering in a wild commotion, BROTHER RONAIN OF THE BIRDS 49 And prayed him for their island dim, Far away in the middle ocean. What dream fell over Ronain then ? Or did God's guiding whisper rather Bid him go out from haunts of men Apostle to the folk of feather ? Who knows ! The last saw Ronain's face Was Brother Aiden, who beheld him Down by the rocks, a lonely place Where the good brothers walked but seldom. And Aiden said a cloud of birds Was circling round his head and habit, Singing so sweet, ' Perchance the Lord's Good Will hath rapt him,' said the Abbot. They searched for him among the rocks, Parted the seaweed o'er the shallows, And dived in water depths where flocks Of cormorants fished the ocean fallows. 50 CUCKOO SOAGS But never a relic came to light Of him, so they at last desisted, And prayed that his dear soul so white, With Christ the Lord supped joy and rested. And Ronain, he was with his flock. They built his house of shell and wattle Against the brown lee of a rock, That sheltered him from the wind's battle. There he abode : but -when he died I know not. You shall ask some other Who hath more learning to decide, And if the birds found a new brother To be their priest. It well may be. Ronain still lives, young and unfailing In that sweet island over the sea Whence never a mariner comes sailing. The Only Daughter NEW love that I'm going to And wonderful and bold love ! Yet not more tender, not more true, More faithful than the old love. The dear love, the old love, The love as good as gold, Love, Ochone, the love I leave for you ! My father's hand is cold, Love. They say a mother's love is best : My mother died long syne, Love, My father's heart hath made my rest, And heavy fret is mine, Love, That I, Love, must leave, Love, That constant heart to grieve, Love. 52 CUCKOO SONGS Och wirrasthrue, Love's empty nest Where spiders spin and weave, Love ! Long will my father stand and gaze His lonely pastures o'er, Love, Ere I come gaily up the ways, As many a time before, Love. His head, Love, is low, Love, And he is old, you know, Love. Mavrone, the love of happy days But where you go I go, Love ! Aspiration r I "'HE rarest of honeysuckle is on the hedgetop 4 high, The reddest of rose-red apples swings on the good tree's crest; The gladdest of songs and singers are lost in the heart of the sky. Hark to the lark, and his anthem, soaring away from the nest. Go higher and higher and higher, the highest is ever the best ! Green are the fields of the earth, holy and sweet her joys; juya , Take and taste, and be glad as fruit and blossom and bird, 54 CUCKOO SONGS But still as an exile, Soul : then hey ! with a sing- ing voice, For the stars and sun and sweet heaven, whose ultimate height is the Lord ! Ripe, lovely and glad you shall grow, in the light of His face and His word. Winter Sunset ~F) OSES in the sky, ^ Roses in the sea ; Bowers of scarlet sky-roses, Take my heart and me. God was good to make, This December weather, All His sky a rose-garden, Rose and fire together. To the East are burning Roses in a garden, Roses in a rosy field, Hesper for their warden. 56 CUCKOO SONGS Yonder to the West Roses all a-fire, Mirror now some rare splendid Rose of their desire. Pulsing deeper, deeper, Waves of fire throb on. Never were such red roses At sunset or dawn. Roses on the hills, Roses in the hollow, Roses on the wet hedges, In the shining fallow. West Wind, blow and blow ! That has blown ajar Gates of God's great rose-garden Where His Angels are, Gathering up the rose-leaves For a shower of roses WINTER SUNSET 57 On the night the Lord Babe His sweet eye uncloses. All the sky is scarlet Flaming on the azure. O, there's fire in heaven ! My heart aches with pleasure. Leagues of rose and scarlet, Roses red as blood: All the world's a rose-garden. God is good, is good. The Dawning of the Day TH* ROM your own wife and your babies, was it hard to go at last ? Mavourneen dawn ! you laboured, and your breath came thick and fast, The sweat was on your forehead, and your eyes were far away, And I knew your soul was travelling at the dawning of the day. It is far far to Glanealy, and far to Wicklow Hill, But the place your true heart loved of old your true heart loves it still ; And you could not rest in Heaven if you had not said good-bye To the home you brought your bride to, where you heard your first child cry. THE DA WNING OF THE DA Y 59 That night beside your quiet bed I lay as cold as stone, My lips against your trembling hand, my lips that had no moan, My heart had never a prayer at all and you were far away, Still faring on to Wicklow Hills in the dawning of the day. Did you see the bonny hawthorn where we kissed for once and all ? And the stile we used to linger by in the quiet evenfall ? When the great gold moon put out the sun. Mavrone, but you are gone, And I am in the widow's cloak and here on earth alone. I heard the women whispering that you had far to go, You travelled all the winter night; the grey day came with snow, 60 CUCKOO SONGS And then your soul returned again with that long loving gaze, And hearts and lips were close once more as in the happy days. But I break my heart for that long night you travelled all alone, Yet I'd gladly go that journey if the little ones were grown. O sweet sweet was Glanealy and the love we had of yore, But sweeter far to lie at rest on your proud heart, asthore. A Plover on Guard O LITTLE plover still circling over Your nest in clover, your house of love, Sure none dare harm it and none alarm it While you are keeping your watch above. 'Tis she doth love you and well approve you, Your little love-bird so grey and sweet ; If hawk and falcon swept down above you, 'Tis she would trust you the twain to meet. Now let me pass, sir, a harmless lass, sir, With no designs on your eggs of blue. I wish your family both health and wealth, sir, And to be as faithful and kind as you. 62 CUCKOO SONGS But not a shadow steals o'er the meadow That he will swoop not to drive away; The bee in clover and Wind the rover He fears mean ill to his love in grey. The showers so sunny and sweet as honey Have power to trouble his anxious breast. Now might one purchase for love or money That watchful heart and that pleasant nest ! Ceann Donn Deelish S~*EANN donn deelish, dear brown head, Light and sunshine still be near me ! Life were gone and hope were fled, Should my brown head shun and fear me. Browner than the thrushes are When the Springtime makes them busy; Browner than the waters clear, Where the salmon sails so easy. Velvet soft and velvet-dark, Dear brown head whose hairs have net me One sweet nest where care and cark Shall not trouble, shall not fret me. 64 CUCKOO SONGS Dear brown head, lie warm and close ! Browner than all fur or feather, Browner than the rabbit goes When the purple's on the heather. Lie so still, O dear brown head, Let me comb you and caress you ! With my bosom for your bed, What shall trouble, what distress you ? Dear brown head, O dear brown head, Every hair's more dear a treasure Than the gold and silver thread Spun by fairies for their pleasure, Ceann donn deelish, dear brown head ! Geoffrey Barren (A Ballad of 1642) EOFFREY BARRON of Clonmel Dies the traitor's death. Hark the toll of the death-bell ! Pray t the chime saith. Ireton has set his ring And the ink is dry On the warrant that shall bring Geoffrey Barren to die. Many an one in Limerick street, With a pale face Passes, and with hurrying feet By the market-place. 66 CUCKOO SONGS There the scaffold blurs the sun, And when noon is high : That most shameful hill upon Geoffrey Barron shall die. O were Owen Roe but here That's stark in his grave, He should smite with sword and spear Every crop-ear knave. Ululu! but Owen's dead ! And the hour is nigh When shall fall the comeliest head, For Geoffrey Barron must die. He stood up a six-foot man Strong as an oak : Down his neck gold love-locks ran On a grass-green 'cloak. Strength and manhood in his smile, Laughter in his eye : GEOFFREY BARRON 67 Noble, without wile or guile, Geoffrey Barren must die. When they led him to the place Where the General stood Mid his crop-ears, lank of face, Godly men of blood; Prayed the dying man, 'A boon: Mine own house is nigh, Let me rest there till the noon, When Geoffrey Barren shall die.' Clocks had struck three-quarters chime, When he went in : All the bells rang out noon-time With great shock and din, When the old house door flew wide, And in noon-day's eye, All in splendour like a bride, Came Geoffrey Barren to die. 68 CUCKOO SONGS Taffeta as white as milk Made all his suit : Threads of silver in the silk Trailed like moonlight through't. Silver cap and white feather; Stepping proud and high, In his shoon of white leather, Came Geoffrey Barron to die. Then the Roundhead General said, Fingering his sword : ' Art thou coming to be wed Like a heathen lord ? Go ! thy bride the scaffold is, Give her sigh for sigh, Breath for breath and kiss for kiss ! For Geoffrey Barron must die.' But he laughed out as he ran Up the black steps : GEOFFREY BARRON 69 ' Never happier bridegroom man With his wife's lips ! If for some mortal woman's sake In silks should go I, I shall for Heaven the same pains take : Now Geoffrey Barren must die. ' Sweet death,' he laughed, ' that I have wooed On many a stiff field, Sweet are the eyes below the hood To my glad eyes revealed ! Sweet Death that leads me home to Christ, Whose leal man am I ! And sweet the altar and the priest ! Now Geoffrey Barren must die.' He kissed the cross on his breast, Then smiled with rapt eyes As they beheld the vision blest Of Christ in Paradise. 70 CUCKOO SONGS O many die for God and the green ! But never an one saw I Go out with such a bridegroom mien As Geoffrey Barren to die ! A Gardener Sage T T ERE in the garden-bed, * * Hoeing the celery, Wonders the Lord has made Pass ever before me. I saw the young birds build, And swallows come and go, And summer grow and gild, And winter die in snow. Many a thing I note, And store it in my mind, For all my ragged coat That scarce will stop the wind, I light my pipe and draw, And, leaning on my spade, 72 CUCKOO SONGS I marvel with much awe O'er all the Lord hath made. Now, here's a curious thing : Upon the first of March The crow goes house-building In the elm and in the larch. And be it shine or snow, Though many winds carouse, That day the artful crow Begins to build his house. But then the wonder's big ! If Sunday fell that day, Nor straw, nor scraw, nor twig, Till Monday "would he lay. His black wings to his side, He'd drone upon his perch, Subdued and holy-eyed As though he were at church. A GARDENER SAGE 73 The crow's a gentleman Not greatly to my mind, He'll steal what seeds he can, And all you hide he'll find. Yet though he's bully and sneak, To small birds bird of prey He counts the days of the week, And keeps the Sabbath Day ! The Dead Coach A T night when sick folk wakeful lie, ^ I heard the dead coach passing by, And heard it passing wild and fleet, And knew my time was come not yet. Click-clack, click-clack, the hoofs went past, Who takes the dead coach travels fast, On and away through the wild night, The dead must rest ere morning light. If one might follow on its track, The coach and horses, midnight black, Within should sit a shape of doom That beckons one and all to come. THE DEAD COACH 75 God pity them to-night who wait To hear the dead coach at their gate, And him who hears, though sense be dim, The mournful dead coach stop for him. He shall go down with a still face, And mount the steps and take his place, The door be shut, the order said ! How fast the pace is with the dead ! Click-clack, click-clack, the hour is chill, The dead coach climbs the distant hill. Now, God, the Father of us all, Wipe Thou the widow's tears that fall ! Gramachree r I ""IS I would be flying across the high hills, * Or tracking, unresting, the amber-clear rills That flow to the river and on to the sea : O 'tis fain I'd be following my own Gramachree ! Where'er he is wandering, in France or in Spain, The noble fair ladies will turn round again For a sight of my true love ; and the tall chevaliers May go clanking unheeded their spurs and their spears. Gramachree, with your love-locks still flowing so free, Your laced coat and doublet, my brave Gramachree, GRAMACHREE 77 Your hat with fine feathers, your eyes blue and bold, 'Tis yourself might be marrying the Queen and her gold! i But at home in a valley your true maiden lives : O 'tis lonely that valley of mornings and eves, With the dove's lonesome crooning, and the wind's silken sigh, And the voice that will whisper, ' If your true Love should die ! ' O come home from the wars, then : there are roses for you, And a dish of red strawberries gathered in dew, A comb of gold honey, and wine of the best, And a head of dark ringlets to lie on your breast. Sweets HE blackbird sang his old refrain, Sweet 1 sweet I T So sweet he sang it over again. Which word did every thrush repeat : Sweet ! sweet ! The grey spring world was exquisite. O thrush and blackbird, now refrain ! Sweet! sweet/ Because the sweetness grows to pain. Ye that go sweeting many a mile, Sweet! sweet! Put by your sweeting for a while ! SWEETS 79 Ye that go sweeting soon and late, Sweet/ sweet! Peace ! for the sweetness grows too great. And yet for all my sick-sweet prayer, Sweet ! sweet t Those little fowl sang lustier. Ivy of Ireland (Charles Stewart Parnell. Obiit., October 6, 1891) /^A'ER many an Irish castle great and hoary, The Irish ivy clings, That now shall creep about your ruined glory, Greater than kings. And over Round Towers that forget their building, The Irish ivy trails ; And o'er grey fanes that catch the sun's last gilding, See the last sails. And o'er our precious graves, of love undying, Stealing, it whispers soft, And wraps the patient dead when night is sighing, And storms are up aloft. IVY OF IRELAND 81 And so because you were our Tower, our Castle, Tall in the landscape grey, Though all the lights are out, and over wassail, And night usurps the day. And since our sorrow ! in the grave you're sleep- ing, The ivy you shall have, Wrapping your towering height in tender keeping, Kissing your grave. The birds shall build, shall build their pleasant places Under its leaves, From whence shall wing their songs to tell your praises By many eaves. Like Cashel, or like Muckross, famed in story, Your name shall arch the sky 82 CUCKOO SONGS Against the sunset and the sunrise glory, So mournful and so high. All your sad splendour shall the ivy cover With dew and rain-drops wet, And ever greener as the years go over, Closer and greener yet. The Master of the Roses Master of the roses Lies dead this evenfall. The roses, scarlet, gold, and pied, Are clustering by the wall. The Master of the roses Was old and bent and grey; And but one human heart is left To miss him every day. But the dejected roses, Since June hath brought them here, Have sorely missed his ancient form, His withered face and sere. 84 CUCKOO SONGS For who will save the roses When wind and dust will blow ? And who will guard in winter Their trees from frost and snow ? And who will cool the roses With showers of gentle rain ? The roses miss their Master, They whisper and complain. Soft cheek to cheek, the roses Wonder and muse and sigh, ' Where is he gone, sweet sister ? We need him, you and I.' And while they grieve, the roses, And while one woman grieves, The roses' Master, he is rich Under the mould and leaves. God's Bird "V T AY, not Thine eagle, Lord, No golden eagle I, That creep half-fainting on the sward And have not wings to fly. Nor yet thy swallow dear, That, faring home to Thee, Looks on the storm and hath no fear And broods above the sea. Nor yet Thy tender dove, Meek as Thyself, Thou Lamb ! I would I were the dove, Thy love, And not that thing I am ! 86 CUCKOO SONGS But take me in Thy hand To be Thy sparrow, then ; Were two sparrows in Holy Land, One farthing bought the twain. Make me Thy sparrow, then, That trembles in Thy hold ; And who shall pluck me out again And cast me in the cold ? But if I fall at last, A thing of little price, If Thou one thought on me hast cast Lo, then my Paradise ! House and Home T T 7 HERE is the house, the house we love ? By field or river, square or street, The house our hearts go dreaming of, That lonely waits our hurrying feet; The house to which we come, we come, To make that happy house our home. Is it under grey London skies ? Or somewhere hid in fields and trees, With gardens where a musk wind sighs, Or one brown plot to grow heartsease ? I know not. Where it stands it holds Our secret that the days unfold. O dear dream-house, for you I store A medley of such curious things 88 CUCKOO SONGS As a wise thrush goes counting o'er, Ere the glad moon of songs and wings, When a small nest makes all her heaven, And a true mate that sings at even. Up those dim stairs my heart will steal, And quietly through the listening rooms, And long in prayerful love will kneel, And in the sweet-aired twilight glooms Will set a curtain straight, or chair, And dust and order and make fair. O tarrying Time, hasten, until You light our hearth-fires, dear and warm, Set pictures on those walls so chill, And draw our curtains 'gainst the storm, And shut us in together, Time, In a new world, a happier clime ! Whether our house be new or old We care not; we will drive away HOUSE AND HOME 89 From last year's nest its memories cold, And all be gold that once was grey. O dear dream-house for which we pray, Our feet come slowly up your way ! Our Lady of Pity QHE stands, Our Lady of Pity, ^"^ Over the old church porch, Outside the walls of the city; The sea creeps up to the church. She is worn and dim with the weather, No Baby is on her breast; Her crown is browner than leather, Where swallows have made a nest. Your Lady of marble is rarer, Your Lady of silver is fine, But Our Lady of Pity is dearer, Stained with the rain and brine. OUR LADY OF PITY 91 O, lonely she leans for ever, Her arms outstretched to take in The city with woe and fever, The city with want and sin ! Once, the old folk aver it, Her hands were clasped on her heart, Till the cry of a broken spirit Brought them in blessing apart. Was a young maid wailing and crying In her chamber under the moon, Of a hurt heart, hurt and undying, That must be hid at the noon. Her cheeks were greyer and greyer, Her hands were fevered and dry; Her lips would murmur a prayer But only fashioned a cry. 92 CUCKOO SONGS She was hurt past human recover, With a mortal pain in her side ; And she dared not think of her lover, Her lover was with his bride. She said, ' I will out of the city Where naught of comfort is found, And the kind, kind Lady of Pity Will give me staunch for my wound.' The wind is growing, and blowing The snow on her silken head, The casements no light are showing, For all the folk are in bed. But she struggles on through the city, And out where the surges roar, And the lonely Lady of Pity Is over the old church door. OUR LADY OF PITY 93 She sobs her pitiful story To the silent Lady of stone; The stars look down in their glory, The wind flies by with a moan. The stars look down in their splendour. What marvel then doth betide ? The Lady of Pity so tender Hath opened her arms out wide. And the heart that hath suffered and striven Is filled with a blessed peace. 1 Is this the rapture of Heaven ? ' She cries, in her pain's surcease. In the wild, wild morning they found her Dead as a frozen bird; And the snows had drifted around her Like the ermine cape of a lord. 94 CUCKOO SONGS And Our Lady of Pity be praised ! She leant from her place above, Her arms outstretched and upraised, In tender pity and love. And so she's leaning for ever, Her arms outstretched to take in The city, with woe and fever, The city, with want and sin. S. A. (Died, July 8, 1893) were like a light In your place; Fires of love burned bright In your face, Full of grace. You were like a light in your place ! Like a light put out, You are flown ; Night is dark about, Ullagtone 1 Cold as stone. Like a light put out you are flown ! Comfort (To a Bird) S~\ MY blackbird might grow pale, Just to hear the nightingale. Be not troubled, golden-throat, He is singing, far away In a country dim, remote, Singing twixt the dark and day. Sleep, sweet, in your house of wattle, By your tender mate and true; Till 'tis time to call the cattk From their dreams in grass and dew. Should you ask her, she will swear There was never a voice like yours, COMFORT 97 Nor such coat of silk and fur, Nor such bright eyes full of lures. So sing songs to your brown sweeting, Let no cares disturb your rest, While below her fond heart beating Speckled eggs are in the nest. You've a house, and a house-mate, Feathered daughters and a son; So your duty to the State, As bird-citizen you have done. Therefore shall he keep you waking ? That brown bird of night, afar, Singing songs, divine, heart-breaking, Of a bird's love for a star. Yet my blackbird might grow pale Just to hear the nightingale. G A Young Mother {Frances Wynne) LITTLE mother, gone so far, Fresh from your baptism of pain ; Its dews upon your forehead were Within your heart its happy gain. So far that none could track your feet. Though one should weep, and yearn, and pray, You would not turn a moment, Sweet, Back from your high celestial way. If I might tell you how I loved, And hold you once so close and fast, And prove you all my love unproved, Alack, the happy time is past ! A YOUNG MOTHER 99 Over is over, dead is dead ! I did not see you while I could, Ten days ago I might have said Words to bring pleasure in a flood Staining your dear brown cheeks. O fret, O trouble, that I did not come And speak and kiss you long, ere yet The darkness beckoned, cold and dumb. But vain the tears. Dear lamb, that lies So safe in the Good Shepherd's arms, Lifting to him your trustful eyes, Undimmed by sorrow or alarms. Home from all danger and all fear He bears His lamb in dusk and dew; You to that Shepherd are as dear As your own lambkin was to you. A Garden of Olives T WILL out into my garden to hear the birds sing, The dawn is green and golden, the night hath taken wing; The dews so fresh and fragrant the world to smiles will win, I will out into my garden, where many birds begin. Within my walled garden the morning's like wine, With rue and balm of healing, and rose and lily fine; And in the wide green dawning there's naught of soil and sin, I will out into my garden to hear the birds begin. A GARDEN OF OLIVES 101 And through mine olive garden perchance that One goes, As in an Easter dawning of sapphire and rose, With blessed feet still bleeding where bitter nails went in, I will out into my garden, where many birds begin. O in mine olive garden the ransomed ones sing, And in mine olive garden the clear waters spring, With lilies white and golden, and balm of life and spice ; And in mine olive garden are bowers of Paradise. Colleen Rue A S I went walking by hill and lea, * ^ The birds were talking in bower and tree; The birds were singing so kind and true, And the song they sang was of Colleen Rue. The doves were preening them in a grove, Each grey companion beside its love ; The low love-crooning my ear unto Did whisper love of the Colleen Rue. The bee for honey afar will roam, Heavy and bonny he flies for home. No palest honey the rose can brew, Excels the sweets of the Colleen Rue. COLLEEN RUE 103 Like flax-flowers growing her radiant eyes, Like poppies blowing her cheeks' rare dyes; Both sun and starlight I'd give them too For the proud, kind smile of the Colleen Rue. But if in Connaught I only were, My hand upon it I give and swear, Kisses a hundred, not one or two, Would win me love of the Colleen Rue. while I wander so far away, 1 dream and ponder the live-long day On stately bearing and eyes of blue, And the deep, deep heart of the Colleen Rue. B Pot Pourri UT in the bleak December j One only can remember May, sweet May, The sweetest name to say. The one dear syllable Beseems her beauty well. Alack ! the flight together Of brilliant leaf and feather. One warms one's heart acold, Because the year grows old, And all her flowers are dying, And all her voices sighing. POTPOURRI 105 By the sweet memories Of May and sweet increase. Sweet are the thoughts of her As rose-leaves in a jar ! Many of these poems have appeared in the ' National Observer j ' Good Words, ' Atalanta] ' The Sunday Magazine* ' The Anti-Jacobin] ' The Ave Maria] ' Merry England] and ' The Irish Monthly? To the Editors of these I am indebted for the permission to reprint them here. List of Books in gelles J^ettres 1894 ALL BOOKS IN THIS CATALOGUE ARE PUBLISHED AT NET PRICES Telegraphic Address ' BODLEIAN, LONDON ' A WORD must be said for the manner in which the publishers ** have produced the volume (i.e. "The Earth Fiend"), a sumptuous folio, printed by CONSTABLE, the etchings on Japanese paper by MR. GOULDING. The volume should add not only to MR. STRANG'S fame but to that of MESSRS. ELKIN MATHEWS AND JOHN LANE, who are rapidly gaining distinction for their beautiful editions of belles-lettres.' Daily Chronicle, Sept. 24, 1892. Referring to MR. LE GALLIENNE'S ' English Poems ' and ' Silhouettes ' by MR. ARTHUR SYMONS : ' We only refer to them now to note a fact which they illustrate, and which we have been observing of late, namely, the recovery to a certain extent of good taste in the matter of printing and binding books. These two books, which are turned out by MESSRS. ELKIN MATHEWS AND JOHN LANE, are models of artistic publishing, and yet they are simplicity itself. The books with their excellent printing and their very simplicity make a harmony which is satisfying to the artistic sense.' Sunday Sun, Oct. 2, 1892. ' MR. LE GALLIENNE is a fortunate young gentleman. I don't know by what legerdemain he and his publishers work, but here, in an age as stony to poetry as the ages of Chatterton and Richard Savage, we find the full edition of his book sold before publication. How is it done, MESSRS. ELKIN MATHEWS AND JOHN LANE? for, without depreciating MR. LE GALLIENNE'S sweetness and charm, I doubt that the marvel would have been wrought under another publisher. These publishers, indeed, produce books so de- lightfully that it must give an added pleasure to the hoarding of first editions.' KATHARINE TYNAN in The Irish Daily Independent. To MESSRS. ELKIN MATHEWS AND JOHN LANE almost more than to any other, we take it, are the thanks of the grateful singer especially due; for it is they who have managed, by means of limited editions and charming workmanship, to impress book- buyers with the belief that a volume may have an aesthetic and commercial value. They have made it possible to speculate in (he latest discovered poet, as in a new company with the difference that an operation in the former can be done with three half-crowns.' St. James's Gazette. January 1894. List of Books TN BELLES LETTRES (Including some Transfers) PUBLISHED BY Elkin Mathews and John Lane VIGO STREET, LONDON, W. N. B. The A uthors and Publishers reserve the right of reprinting any book in this list if a second edition is called for, except in cases where a stipulation has been made to the contrary, and of printing a separate edition of any of the books for America irrespective of the numbers to which the English editions are limited. 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THREE ESSAYS, now issued in book form for the first time. Edited by H. BUXTON FORMAN. With Life-mask by HAYDON. Fcap. 4to. IDS. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. LEATHER (R. K.). VERSES. 250 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 35. net. Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers. LEATHER (R. K.), & RICHARD LE GALLIENNE. THE STUDENT AND THE BODY-SNATCHER AND OTHER TRIFLES. [Small paper edition otit of print. There remain a very few of the 50 large paper copies. 75. 6d. net. LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). PROSE FANCIES. With a Portrait of the Author. Cr. 8vo. 55. net. Also a limited large paper edition. i2S.6d.net. {In preparation. LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). THE BOOK BILLS OF NARCISSUS. An Account rendered by RICHARD LE GALLIENNE. Second Edition. Crown 8vo, buckram. 33. 6d. net. ELKIN MATHEWS &> JOHN LANE LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). ENGLISH POEMS. Third Edition, cr. 8vo. 55. net. LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). GEORGE MEREDITH: Some Characteristics. With a Biblio- graphy (much enlarged) by JOHN LANE, portrait, etc. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 53. 6d. net. LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). THE RELIGION OF A LITERARY MAN. Cr. 8vo. 3rd thousand. 35. 6d. net. Also a special rubricated edition on hand-made paper. 8vo. IDS. 6d. net. LETTERS TO LIVING ARTISTS. 500 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 33. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. MARSTON (PHILIP BOURKE). A LAST HARVEST : LYRICS AND SONNETS FROM THE BOOK OF LOVE. Edited by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. 500 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 53. net. Also 50 copies on large paper, hand-made. los. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. MARTIN (W. WILSEY). QUATRAINS, LIFE'S MYSTERY AND OTHER POEMS. i6mo. 2s. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. MARZIALS (THEO.). THE GALLERY OF PIGEONS AND OTHER POEMS. Fcap. 8vo. 45. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers. MEYNELL (MRS.), (ALICE C. THOMPSON). POEMS. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 35. 6d. net. A few of the 50 large paper copies (First Edition) remain, I2s. 6d. net. THE PUBLICATIONS OF MEYNELL (MRS.). THE RHYTHM OF LIFE, AND OTHER ESSAYS. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 35. 6d. net. A few of the 50 large paper copies (First Edition) remain. I2s. 6d. net. MURRAY (ALMA). PORTRAIT AS BEATRICE CENCI. With critical notice containing four letters from ROBERT BROWNING. 8vo, wrapper. 2s. net. NETTLESHIP (J. T.). ROBERT BROWNING : Essays and Thoughts. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s.6d.net. Half a dozen of the Whatman large paper copies (First Edition) remain. i, is. net. NOBLE (JAS. ASHCROFT). THE SONNET IN ENGLAND AND OTHER ESSAYS. Title- page and Cover Design by AUSTIN YOUNG. 600 copies. Crown 8vo. 55. net. Also 50 copies large paper. 125. 6d. net. NOEL (HON. RODEN). POOR PEOPLE'S CHRISTMAS. 250 copies. i6mo. is. net. [ Very few remain. OXFORD CHARACTERS. A series of lithographed portraits by WILL ROTHENSTEIN, with text by F. YORK POWELL and others. To be issued monthly in term. Each number will contain two portraits. Part I. contains portraits of SIR HENRY ACLAND and Mr. W. A. L. FLETCHER, and Part II. of Mr. ROBINSON K. ELLIS, and LORD ST. CYRES. 200 copies only, folio, wrapper, 55. net per part ; 25 special copies containing proof impressions of the por- traits signed by the artist, los. 6d. net per part. PINKERTON (PERCY). GALEAZZO : A Venetian Episode and other Poems. Etched Frontispiece. i6mo. 55. net. [ Very few remain. Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers. ELKIN MATHEWS <& JOHN LANE RADFORD (DOLLIE). SONGS. A New Volume of Verse. [/ preparation. RADFORD (ERNEST). CHAMBERS TWAIN. Frontispiece by WALTER CRANE. 250 copies. Imp. i6mo. 5 s - ne ^- Also 50 copies large paper, xos. 6d. net. [Very few remain. RHYMERS' CLUB, THE BOOK OF THE. A second series is in preparation. SCHAFF (DR. P.). LITERATURE AND POETRY : Papers on Dante, etc. Portrait and Plates, loo copies only. 8vo. los. net. SCOTT (WM. BELL). A POET'S HARVEST HOME : WITH AN AFTERMATH. 300 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 55. net. [ Very few remain. ** Will not be reprinted. SHAW (A. D. L.). THE HAPPY WANDERER. Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 55. net. [In preparation. STODDARD (R. H.). THE LION'S CUB; WITH OTHER VERSE. Portrait. IOO copies only, bound in an illuminated Persian design. Fcap. 8vo. 53. net. [ Very few remain. SYMONDS (JOHN ADDINGTON). IN THE KEY OF BLUE, AND OTHER PROSE ESSAYS. Cover designed by C. S. RICKETTS. Second Edition. Thick Crown 8vo. 8s. 6d. net. THOMPSON (FRANCIS). A VOLUME OF POEMS. With Frontispiece, Title-page and Cover Design by LAURENCE HOUSMAN. Second Edition. Pott 410. 53. net. TODHUNTER (JOHN). A SICILIAN IDYLL. Frontispiece by WALTER CRANE. 250 copies. Imp. l6mo. 5 s - ne ^ Also 50 copies large paper, fcap. 410. IDS. fid. net. [ Very few remain. THE PUBLICATIONS OF TOMSON (GRAHAM R.). AFTER SUNSET. A Volume of Poems. With Title-page and Cover Design by R. ANNING BELL. Fcap. 8vo. 55. net. Also a limited large paper edition. 125. 6d. net. \lnpreparation. TREE (H. BEERBOHM). THE IMAGINATIVE FACULTY : A Lecture delivered at the Royal Institution. With portrait of Mr. TREE from an unpublished drawing by the Marchioness of Granby. Fcap. 8vo, boards. 2s. 6d. net. TYNAN HINKSON (KATHARINE). CUCKOO SONGS. With Title-page and Cover Design by LAURENCE HOUSMAN. 500 copies. Fcap. 8vo. $s. net. \In preparation. VAN DYKE (HENRY). THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. Third Edition, enlarged. Crown 8vo. 55. 6d. net. The late Laureate himself gave valuable aid in correcting various details. WATSON (WILLIAM). THE ELOPING ANGELS : A Caprice. Second Edition. Square i6mo, buckram. 33. 6d. net. WATSON (WILLIAM). EXCURSIONS IN CRITICISM : being some Prose Recrea- tions of a Rhymer. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 5s.net. WATSON (WILLIAM). THE PRINCE'S QUEST, AND OTHER POEMS. With a Bibliographical Note added. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 45. 6d. net. WEDMORE (FREDERICK). PASTORALS OF FRANCE RENUNCIATIONS. A volume of Stories. Title-page by JOHN FULLEYLOVE, R.I. Crown Svo. 55. net. A few of the large paper copies of Renunciations (First Edition) remain. los. dd. net. ELKIN MATTHEWS &* JOHN LANE WICKSTEED (P. H.). DANTE. Six Sermons. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 2s.net. WILDE (OSCAR). THE SPHINX. A poem decorated throughout in line and colour, and bound in a design by CHARLES RICKETTS. 250 copies. 2, 2s. net. 25 copies large paper. ^5, 55. net. [ Very shortly. WILDE (OSCAR). The incomparable and ingenious history of Mr. W. H., being the true secret of Shakespear's sonnets now for the first time here fully set forth, with initial letters and cover design by CHARLES RICKETTS. 500 copies, los. 6d. net. Also 50 copies large paper. 2is. net. [In preparation. WILDE (OSCAR). DRAMATIC WORKS, now printed for the first time with a specially designed Title-page and binding to each volume, by CHARLES SHANNON. 500 copies. Small 4to. 75. 6d. net per vol. Also 50 copies large paper. 155. net per vol. Vol. i. LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN : A Comedy in Four Acts. [Ready. Vol. ii. A WOMAN OF No IMPORTANCE : A Comedy in Four Acts. [Shortly. Vol. in. THE DUCHESS OF PADUA : A Blank Verse Tragedy in Five Acts. [In preparation. WILDE (OSCAR). SALOME : A Tragedy in one Act, done into English. With II Illustrations, title-page, and Cover Design by AUBREY BEARDSLEY. 500 copies. Small 410. 155. net. Also 100 copies, large paper. 305. net. [Shortly. WYNNE (FRANCES). WHISPER. A Volume of Verse. With a Memoir by Katharine Tynan and a Portrait added. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net. Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers. 14 PUBLICATIONS OF ELKIN MATHEWS <& JOHN LANE The Hobby Horse A new series of this illustrated magazine will be published quarterly by subscription, under the Editorship of Herbert P. Home. Subscription i per annum, post free, for the four numbers. Quarto, printed on hand-made paper, and issued in a limited edition to subscribers only. The Magazine will contain articles upon Literature, Music, Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, and the Decorative Arts ; Poems ; Essays ; Fiction; original Designs; with reproduc- tions of pictures and drawings by the old masters and contemporary artists. There will be a new title- page and ornaments designed by the Editor. Among the contributors to the Hobby Horse are : The late MATTHEW ARNOLD. LAURENCE BINYON. WILFRID BLUNT. FORD MADOX BROWN. The late ARTHUR BURGESS. E. BURNE-JONES, A.R.A. AUSTIN DOBSON. RICHARD GARNETT, LL.D. A. J. HIPKINS, F.S.A. SELWYN IMAGE. LIONEL JOHNSON. RICHARD LE GALLIENNE. SIR F. LEIGHTON, Bart, P.R.A. T. HOPE McLACHLAN. MAY MORRIS. C. HUBERT H. PARRY, Mus. Doc. A. W. POLLARD. F. YORK POWELL. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. W. M. ROSSETTI. JOHN RUSKIN, D.C.L., LL.D. FREDERICK SANDYS. The late W. BELL SCOTT. FREDERICK J. SHIELDS. J. H. SHORTHOUSE. The late JAMES SMETHAM. SIMEON SOLOMON. A. SOMERVELL. The late J. ADDINGTON SYMONDS. KATHARINE TYNAN. G. F. WATTS, R.A. FREDERICK WEDMORK. OSCAR WILDE. Prospectuses on Application. THE BODLEY HEAD, VIGO STREET, LONDON, W. ' Nearly every book put out by Messrs. Elkin Mathews & John Lane, at the Sign of the Bodley Head, is a satisfaction to the special senses of the modern bookman for bindings, shapes, types, and papers. They have surpassed themselves, and registered a real achievement in English bookmaking by the volume of ' ' Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical, " of Lord De Tabley. ' Newcastle Daily Chronicle. f A ray of hopefulness is stealing again into English poetry after the twilight greys of Clough and Arnold and Tennyson. Even unbelief wears braver colours. Despite the jeremiads, which are the dirges of the elder gods, England is still a nest of singing-birds (teste the Catalogue of Elkin Mathews and John Lane).' Mr. ZANGWILL in Pall Mall Magazine. 'All Messrs. Mathews & Lane's Books are so beautifully printed and so tastefully issued, that it rejoices the heart of a book-lover to handle them ; but they have shown their sound judgment not less markedly in the literary quality of their publications. The choiceness of form is not inappropriate to the matter, which is always of something more than ephemeral worth. This was a distinction on which the better publishers at one time prided themselves ; they never lent their names to trash ; but some names associated with worthy traditions have proved more than once a delusion and a snare. The record of Messrs. Elkin Mathews & John Lane is perfect in this respect, and their imprint is a guarantee of the worth of what they publish.' Birmingham Daily Post, Nov. 6, 1893. ' One can nearly always be certain when one sees on the title- page of any given book the name of Messrs Elkin Mathews & John Lane as being the publishers thereof that there will b something worth reading to be found between the boards.' World. Edinburgh : T. and A. CONSTABLE Printers to Her Majesty A 000 678 554 7