Poem George Murray - Forgotten Books
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Transcript of Poem George Murray - Forgotten Books
GEORGE MUR R AY . B .A OXON
POEM
GEORGE MUR R AY
FORMERLY SEN I OR C LA S S I C A L S C HOLA R OF K ING’
S COLLEGE ; LONDON :
LATE LUS BY S C HOLAR AND LU C Y EXH IB IT I ONER OF THE
UN I V ERS ITY OF OXFORD .
ED ITED ,
WITH MEMO IR
J O HN R EA D E
MONTREAL
EDWARD G . O 'CONNOR
1 9 1 2
Entered acc ord i n g to Ac t Of Par l iament Of C anada i n th e
year one thousand n i ne h undred and twe l ve ,by E . G . O ’
c onnor ,i n the Office of the M i n ister O f Agr ic u l ture
PREFA C E
A great deal need n ot be sa id regard ing th i s ed i t ion
o f George M u rray’
s poems . The pr in c iple on wh ich
the select ions have been made was that the book
should reflect the poet’
s own tastes and preferences .
I n endeavour ing to atta in th i s end , the ed i tor has
had the constant co - Operat ion of M iss Al ice M urray ,
B .A . M i ss M u rray had in recent y ears been so much
w i th her father in h is l i terary work that she came in
t ime to know h is ways of th ink ing and feel ing wi th
knowledge wh ich was brightened by affect ion . Withou t
her a id the book cou ld not have been prepared,and i t
is simple j ust ice to say that to her the cred i t Of i t in
large part belongs .
C O N T E N T S
How CANADA WAS SAVED .
W ILL IE THE M INER
TO A H UMMING-B I RD I N A GARDEN
THE PARDONED SIN
THE TH ISTLE .
A PARABLE
AN EASTERN
THE LAKE .
GOD ’ S HEROES
A LEGEND OF THE CH ILD JESUS
THE T IME WILL COME .
A LESSON OF MERCY
THE K ING AND THE PEASANT
THE STORY OF B ROTHER PAUL
ROBERT BURNS
THE SWISS DESERTER
A DREAM ABOUT THE ASPEN .
B ROTHERLY LOVE . .
THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE
THE DEAF G I RL o o o o o o o o o o
CONTENTS
NEAPOLI TANS To MOZ ART
THE NEW YEAR 'S N IGHT OF AN UNHAP PY MAN .
THE SOWER .
THE LAMP OF HERO
THE FUNERAL OE A VILLAGE G IRL
THE KEE PER ’ S SON
I PHIGEN IA AT AuL Is .
AFTER THE BATTLE .
MADONNA ’S I SLE
A W ILD FLOWER
A WOMAN ’ S DREAM. .
REMEMBRANCE
PERHAPS .
IE,DARL ING
,WITH MELOD IOUS LAY .
THE L ILY AND THE ROSE
A WEEK IN A BOY ’ S
A FANTASY
FORGET ME NOT
JACQUES
THE MA IDEN OF OTAHE ITE
A WOMAN
DEL IVERED
TO N INON
IN FUTURO
A DEAD WOMAN . .
AN EVEN ING SCENE .
CHR ISTMAS .
MEMORIES .
T IT -FOR -TAT
THE FLOWER AND THE B UTTERFLY
TO MY OLD COAT
CONTENTS
A BALLAD
RONDEAU
THE GRAVE AND TH E
ULTIMA S PES IVIORTUOR UM . .
THE GRANDMOTHER
THE TERRORS OF DEATHTHE REDBREAST. .
THE ANGEL AND THE CH ILD
WHAT THE SWALLOWS SAYAN A PPEAL FOR THE DEAF AND r .
GONDOLIED
THE STRANGER .
THE OLD YEAR
THE HOROSCOPETHE HARE AND THE TORTOI SE
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST .
PROLOGUE TO THE MERCHANT OF VEN ICE
V ILIKI NS AND HIS DINAH
A FAREWELL TO THE GUARDS
THE S ILKEN SASHES
DESOLATION
A PAU PER POET .
A BALLAD FOR CHRISTMAS -T IDE
THE BALLAD OF THE HOPELESS MAN
A STORY OF K ING DAVID
AT LAKE M AHOLE.
FOR A BLIND BEGGAR
BENEATH A CRUCIFIX
TRANSLATIONS FROM HORACE“FOR VALOUR
THE DOVES
KN IGHT TOGGENBURG .
x i i CONTENTS
A COU P D ’ETAT .
AN OLD SONG OF A YOUNG T IME
M ARGARET ’
S SONG .
THE WANDERING JEW
THE AVENGED CROW
THE LANDLADY ’ S DAUGHTER
Two P ICTURES .
CONSOLATION .
A HANDFUL OF E P IGRAMS . .
BENEATH A P ICTURE
THE CARAVAN .
FAME AND LOVE
THE S PECTRE OF THE ROSE
COQUETRY .
SONG
THE GENTLEMEN CR ICKETERS' TEAM
FLOWERS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY
THE STUDENT 'S W IFE
S ONG
THE TOILET OF CONSTANCE
LE MONDE EST MECHANT
THE BALLAD OF JEAN RENAUD
THE C ID AND THE JEW .
WELCOME TO MARK TWA IN
LORD ROBERTS .
THE STREAMLET .
T HE EAGLE AND THE K INGS
THE P ILGRIMAGE To KEV LAAR
THE LEAF .
MY NE IGHBOUR ’S CURTA IN
T HE STRIKE OF THE SMITHS
WHEN CH ILDREN SLEEP
CONTENTS
A TH IEF . .
THE MAG IC BOW .
NOEL .
THE BLACK POINT .
PRESENT HEL P IN TROUBLE .
THE BL IND MAN .
A UN PASSANT .
CHANSON D’
AUTOMNE
THE BROOK AND THE OCEAN .
A W ITHERED NOSEGAY
THE B UTTERFLY
DEATH OF ROLLA
THE G IANT
FOR AYE .
THE GOLDEN DREAM. .
WH I THER
INDEx . .
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o o o o o o o o o o o
o o o o o o o o o o o
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
o o o o o o o
xi i i
Biograph ica l Ske tch
George M u rraywas born in Regent Square , London ,
on the 23rd Of March , 1830,and was the only son Of
M r . James Mu rray . who was for years fore ign ed i torO f the “ London T imes . He was a pup i l at the schoolOf D r . J . G . G re ig
,Walthamstow House , Essex .
There in 18-16 he won h is fi rst l iterary d ist inct ion— a
p rize for the best Engl ish essay . Soon after he enteredKing
’
s Col lege,London
,where the prom ise of Wal
thamstow was more than fu lfi l l ed . He won thechapla in ’s two p rizes for Engl ish verse (or iginal andtranslated ) and the pr inc ipal
’ s pr ize for Lat in verse .
He was al so awarded the sen ior class ical scholarsh ip ,
and was elected Assoc iate Of King ’ s Col legethe h igh est honou r
,
wh ich the inst itut ion conferred .
A t Oxford (Hertford Col lege) he was al ike successfu l ,among h is d ist inct ions there be ing the Lusby Scholarsh ip and the Lucy Exh ib i t ion . A l iterary ventu re ofh is later Oxford years was “ The Oxford A rs Poet ica ;or , HOW to wri te a Newd igate
,
” wh ich won commen
dat ion from th e Spectator ” and was pronouncedgood by the au thor of the once popu lar VerdantG reen . Among the fr iends of those d is tantyears were Dean Farrar and S i r Edw in Arnold
,
130 th of whom M u rray had the pleasu re Of meet ing
xvi B IOGRAPH I CAL SKETCH
in M ontreal l ong afterwards . The closeness of h i sea rly int imacy w i th the author of The L ight Of As iais attested by the fact that a poem of M urray ’
s waspubl ished , at Arnold
’
s des i re,in the latter ’ s fi rst
vol ume , Poems Narrat ive and Lyr ical . Th i s intimacy was renewed most happ i ly when both poets worecrowns Of s i lver . I n 189 1 George M u rray ded icatedh i s “ Verses and Vers ions ”
to the fr iend Of h is youth .
After com ing to Canada in the late r fi ft ies,M r . M u rray
spent some years in Eastern Ontario (or , as i t wasth en named , Upper Canada) , but i t i s w i th theM ontreal H igh School that h is educat ional career hasbeen most frequently assoc iated in the m inds Of h i sfriends and adm i rers . O f that inst i tut ion he had beensen ior class ical maste r for more than a th i rd of a centu ry . When he ret i red on a pens ion in 1892 . Thetest imon ial wh ich marked h is d isappearance from the
classes in ,wh ich he had been so l ong a fam i l iar figu rerepresented a mere fract ion of the mul t i tude Of pup i l swho had carried into the world the memory Of h isvo ice . Some of them had r isen to rank and influencein the profess ions , in business , in pub l ic l i fe . butwhether the i r pos i t ion was br ight or Obscure th ey wereequal ly dear to the i r O ld teacher and he by them wasequal ly unforgotten . I n the latter part of h is l i fe asa teacher , some share Of h is t ime was regularlydevoted to the advanced classes of the Gi rl s
’ H ighSchool
,and some of h i s pup i l s who proceeded t hence
to the Un iversi ty d id cred i t to h i s tra in ing in Lat inand even G reek as wel l as Engl i sh . During th isperiod M r . M u rray became wel l known as a wr i ter .He con tr ibuted not on ly to the M on treal press bu tal so to var ious period ical s
,from P rofessor N . Y . H ind
’
s
Bri t ish American M agaz ine,to M r . J oseph Gould
’
s
Arcad ia (both of wh i ch,by the way , had succés
d’
estime and may st i l l be read w i th advantage) . I t
was to the earl ier publ icat ion that M r . M urrayentrusted h is “ W i l l ie the Miner -a most pathet ic
B IOGRAPH I CAL SKETCH xvi i
poem based on a touch ing incident related i n TheRecreat ions of a Country Parson ”
Of the RevAndrew K . W . Boyd
,whose in i tial s long enj oyed the
favou r Of many readers . For a number Of years theclassical works tha t were sent for review to the“ M ontreal Gazette were pu t in to M r . M urray
’
shands
,and we need hard ly say that h i s cr i tic i sm was
d i scriminating,j u st and learned .
Some of the older ci tizens ofMontreal can doubtlessremember the L i terary C lub which had i ts focus onCathcart street . O f th i s c lub
,which had among i ts
members Professor and V ice- Principal the V enerab l eArchdeacon Leach
,the Honorable Thomas D
’
ArcyMcGee
,Charles Heavysege , the au thor of
“ Saul ,and other men Of mark , M r . M urray was the esteemedsecretary . On the day of McGee
’
s funeral , the clubhonou red h i s memory by march ing in a body to thegrave
,every member wearing a badge Of su i tab le
dev ice . I was not a member Of the C lub,and had ,
i ndeed,only recen tly retu rned to M ontreal
,bu t M r .
M urray,wi th characteris t ic k indness
,asked me to
accept a badge,and that badge I st i l l possess .
I n th e year 1869 M r . M urray won the gold meda l,
wh ich the St . Andrew ’s Society Of O ttawa had Offeredfor the best poem on
“ The Th istle as the nationa lemb lem of Scotland . M r . M urray had chosen as acentral theme in the frame work of h i s poem thelegend of the Danes
,wounded In thei r naked feet by
th e sp ines of the th i stl es,and forced by thei r cries to
betray themselves to the slumbering Scots,whose camp
they were invad ing . I n appr is ing the victor ious poetOf h i s triumph
,Dr . Thorburn
,who had been one Of
the j udges, informed h im that he had attained nosl igh t success , many Of the compet ing poems be ing o fh igh meri t and some of them “ not unworthy Of aplace alongside the V i ctor ’ s . They had come from a l lparts Of the Domin ion and the Uni ted States . M anya letter d id M u rray receive from the Scots of the new
xv i i i BIOGRAPH I CAL SKETCH
world asking for a copy Of h i s bal lad or for the legendwh ich formed the subj ect of i t . One such letter fromSt . Lou i s Seems to have been wri tten by the secretaryof a Workingmen
’
s Club . He and hi s col leagues weresincerely thankfu l to M u rray for the trouble he hadtaken to pu t them in the way O f the informationwh ich they had been seek ing . How many such lettershe rece ived during h i s connect ion wi th the press i twould not be easy to compute .
M r . M u rray’
s serv ice to another society of wh ich hewas a member cannot be better unfolded than in thewords of M r . George I l es . My acqua intance withM r . George M u rray
,says M r . I les
,began in the
autumn Of 1876 . Three friends Of h i s,the Rev . J .
Clark M urray,M r . J . Redpath Dougal l , ed i tor of the
W i tness ,
”and M r . Samuel E . Dawson
,then the
lead ing publ isher and booksel ler in M on treal,had
formed a l i terary club,Ofwh ich they dec ided that M r .
George M urray shou ld be secretary . N0 choice couldhave been happ ier . As the sole permanen t Officer ofthe Athenaeum Club he was i ts l i fe and ma inspring .
”
Hav ing emphasized M u rray ’ s un fa i l i ng kindness andinv inc ible perseverance in the d ischarge of h i s duties
,
M r I les thus cont inues :
M r . M u rray ’ s part not seldom lay in spu rring aprocrastinator to wri t ing a paper long overdue . Hewas a maste r O f the art of tactful pressu re , a pressu rew i thou t wh ich a l i terary club i s su re to go to p ieces .O ften
,too
,I have heard h im say j ust the j ud ic ious
word wh ich p i loted into smooth waters a d iscuss ionwh ich th reatened to become s tormy . SO d iverse
,
indeed,was the personnel of the club
,that at times
on ly the compu ls ions of courtesy kept ou r debatesw i th in bounds . Hav ing ment ioned some of thesubj ects O f papers and d i scuss ions
,cal l ing spec ial
attent ion to an essay on The Princess,
” by Dr . S . E .
Dawson,
ex- pres iden t O f the Royal SocietyOf Canada
,wh ich was the subs tance of the Study
B IOGRAPH I CAL SKETCH
M o ine,S i r Dan iel W i lson and other men of standing
in the intel lectual world,consti tu ted the Roya l Society
of Canada , in four sect ions of twenty members each .
Two sect ions were composed of men of sc ience ; twoothers were devoted to letters
,h i story and archaeology ,
one being composed of those speak ing the French ,the other , of those speaking the Engl i sh, language .
M r . George M u rray was nominated to the lattersect ion
,being one of the orig inal members of the
Soc iety .
To th is inst i tu tion M urray presented h i s essay
(w i th translat ion of exemplary or i l lu strat ive epigrams) on the G reek Anthology . Both of h i s cri t ic ismand h i s vers ions scholars who were p resent at th eread ing expressed a h igh Op in ion . We are disposed tobel ieve that M u rray cheri shed the hope of one daysee ing h i s versions of the exqu isi te flowers of anc ientsong on Wh i ch he had expended so much studygathered into a volume . To M urray ’ s except ionalsk i l l in g iving Engl i sh dress to the cho icest morselsof French poetry many readers have borne del igh tedwi tness . No one has described M u rray
’ s g i ft moreaccu rately than h i s friend . M r . E . G . O
’
C onnor , whenhe says that he tu rns French poems in to Engl i shpoems . He had al so the k indred facu l ty
,wh ich is
not so common as some persons suppose,of recogn izing
a true poem in another language as wel l as in Engl i sh .
W i thou t th i s facu l ty i t wou ld be idle for even the
most learned of Greci ans to approach the Anthology .
To extract what i s real ly sweet and sound and fa irf rom that wondrous miscel lany a certain cu l tu redinst inct i s essent ial . A great deal must not , a greatdeal need not
,be touched . Whole sect ions may be
l e t severely alone . Having thus made h i s clear ings ,the master beg ins h i s task
,h i s most del icate task , of
transform ing G reek verse into Engl ish verse,G reek
epigram into Engl i sh,st i l l p reserv ing the poeti c
flavou r. J ust a h in t of what M urray could accompl ish
B IOGRAPH I CAL SKETCH xxi
i n th i s gen re“ of the poet ’ s work i s
’
affo rded by thecluster of Engl ish and Greek ep igrams in th is volume .
They are M urray ’ s own choice . I n a most sympatheti c and apprec i at ive not ice of M r . M urray , wh ichappeared in the transact ions of the Royal Society ofCanada for the year of h i s death , the HonorarySecretary (now V ice - Pres ident) , Dr . W . D . Le Sueur ,after referr ing to M r . J ames M urray
’
s rare knowledgeof languages said that "from h im , h i s son our l atecol league
,may wel l have inher i ted th e great interest
in language as an instrument of though t and cul turewh ich th rough l i fe he man i fested . Then after b rieflyrecord ing hi s earl ier career , Dr . Le Sueur thus summarizes h is hal f century of l i fe in M ontreal :
M r . M urray ’ s fi rst j ournal is t ic connect ion inM ontreal was w i th The Gazette
,
” for wh ich he wrotebook rev iews . He also contr ibuted to a number ofl i terary j ournal s wh ich sprang up successively in thatc i ty
,and hav ing had the i r day
,ceased to be . A more
permanent connection was that wh ich he formed w i ththe “ Star” in the year 1882 , when he took charge of thel i terary departmen t of that paper includ ing the “Notesand Queries
,
” a department wh ich he made famous .Here he had found an occupat ion which lasted therest of h i s l i fe ; for up almost to the day of h i s deathhe was wr i t ing for the Star —h i s las t work appearedin the i ssue of the 26th F eb ruary
— and also for the“ Standard
,a l i terary j ournal wh ich had i ts b i rth in
the “Star ” estab l i shment , and wh ich . in a manner,was
brough t ou t under h is l i terary ausp ices , the companywh ich control led i t , and of wh ich M urray was madePresident
,being cal led The George M urray Publ ish
ing Company .” H is page in the “ Star ” at once wonpopular favour . His book reviews were fa i r , moderate ,j ud ic ious and often very tel l ing ; wh i le , in the management
,
of h i s Notes and Quer ies ,” he exh ib i ted a
weal th of knowledge , and a pat ience and k indl iness inimparting i t which were whol ly adm i rab le . He was
xxi i B IOGRAPH I CAL SKETCH
made the arb i ter o f countless di spu tes as to modes ofspeech
,ru les of grammar , and h i storica l and l i terary
quest ions of al l k inds , Even in matters of wh ich hewas not spec ia l ly master he would genera l ly contr iveto obta in for h is correspondents the informat ion theyrequ i red . The classical master in the H igh Schoolthus became a schoo lmaster for thousands who neversaw h i s face ; and so gentle and kindly were h i smethods that one i s led to bel ieve that he mus t havedone much to cu l tivate a s im i lar temper amongstthose who were thus b rough t w i th in the sphere of h i sintel lectua l influence .
O f the many tr ibutes of affec t ion and adm i rationpaid to M u rray ’ s memory , one of the most patheticappeared in the W inn ipeg Free Press .
” I t had beenwri tten by h i s true friend , M r . George I les , in ant ic i
pation of M u rray’ s e ight ieth b i rthday M arch 23 rd ,
1910. Know ing that h is fr iend had o ld pup i l s in theWest Countr ies ,
” M r . I les rem inded such of them aswere readers of the Free P ress
”of a bu i ld ing wi th
wh ich some of them had twofold assoc iat ions . “ Fac ingS t . J ames ’ C lub , in Dorchester he wrote
,
is the Fraser I nst i tu te L ibrary . I t was in th i s pla in,
brick bu i ld ing,only two stories in he igh t , that the
H igh School was formerly conducted . Here GeorgeM u rray from 1859 to 1892 was the sen ior classica lmaster
,insp i ring a long succession of pup i l s w i th a
measure of h is own love for Horace and V i rgi l . Manya Canad ian now famous at the bar , in med icine , inengineer ing
,dates h i s zest for l i te ratu re from the days
when he construed and reci ted under M r . M urray ’ seye . Let us pay h im our respects , wh ich we mayeasi ly do
, as h is home i s only a few paces off, at 1 1B runsw ick s treet . He greets us as cheer i ly as i f hewere bu t 60. On the twenty- th i rd of M arch he w i l lcelebrate no t h i s s ixt ieth , bu t h i s e igh t ieth bi rthday .
We have in terrupted h im at the Notes and Querieswh ich are to appear in next Satu rday
’
s Star ,’ as they
B IOGRAPH I CAL SKETCH XXIII
have for th i rty years past . M r . M urray i s a gentlemano f the old school
,and no interrupt ion such as th is
affects h i s perfec t cou rtesy,or ch i l l s i n the sl igh test
degree the warmth of h i s welcome .
”
We note that he is surrounded by a cap i tal l ibrary ;i ts volumes , two and th ree deep , spread from shelvesto tables and cha i rs . Here i s every d ict ionary and concordan ce worth hav ing ; al l drawn upon every day forthe behoof of correspondents who w i sh to ver i fy aquotat ion , trace a couplet to i ts source , or learn thedate of a d iscovery
,a coronat ion or other h i stori c
event . Bu t much the most valuable store ofknowledgefor reference here i s conta ined in M r . M urray
’
s ownmarvel lou s memory . Odes and sonnets comm i ttedto i ts tab lets in h i s youth are to-day reca l led as v ividlyand accurately as i f impressed but an hour ago .
”
M r . I l es then speaks of the o ld pup i ls or col leaguesi n j ournal ism who had wri tten books and were proudof in scribing them to h im whom they del ighted tohonour . O f such marks of love and esteem he madeno attempt to concea l h i s apprec iat ion . There i s oneded ication which has carried M urray
’
s name to manyhouseholds in the old lands and the new
,and how
sadly one reads i t now that both Drummond andMurrav are gone from us .
Of the wealth of tender memor ies evoked by theannouncement of M urray ’ s death , the most sal ientattribu te was i ts spontaneousness . Few men or womenhave been so warmly
,so w idely loved .
_Nor was i t
merely because,as the Rev . Dr . Robert Campbel l
sa id , the whole country was indebted to h im .
” Thebounty of knowledge does not always ga in the devo t ionof the heart . Between learn ing and k indly s impl ici tythere i s no necessary d ivorce , and yet they are not
always mated as they were in M u rray ’ s happy composi t ion . He l iked to place her g i fts and acqu i rementsat the d isposa l of others . M r . Dav id Ross McC ord ,
M .A . , K .C . , d id not cheris h the enthus iast ic appre
xx i v B IOGRAPH I CAL SKETCH
c iation of M urray’ s qual i t ies , i n tel lectual and moral ,
wi thou t reason , and M r . McC ord spends h i s l i fe i nsp i r i tual contact wi th the great one gone . Dr . F .
W . Kel ly and M r . F . Yorston spoke of h is worth,each
as a fel low worker in a department of l i fe’
s duties .The R ev. Principal Rex ford ,
M r . R . C . Sm i th , K .C . ,
M r . Henry Dalby , Dr . MacPhai l and many othersexpressed from d iverse po ints of V iew the i r j udgmentof the friend whom they had lost . The Rev . Dr .Symonds
,ou t of a fu l l heart , pa id a warm tribute to
the fr iend w i th whom he had spen t so many hoursin happy converse . I t would be easy to add to thel ist of M urray
’
s friends whose l ips or pens greweloquent over the i r s i l en t friend . But I forbear ,knowing scarcely where to choose .
Not long s ince , i n tu rn ing the leaves of a volumeent i tled “G reat Hymns of the Church ,
” my attentionwas d rawn to the name of George M u rray in a footnote . The author (the Rev . Duncan M orri son
,M . A .)
thanked h im for reference to a valuable work in whichhe found the suggestion of a new and ingenious readingof a verse in the “ Te Deum .
” This was only oneinstance in wh ich M r . M u rray , of the
“ Star ,” Mont
real (as the ob l iged hymnologist qual ifies h im) , wasable and wi l l ing to be of service to fel low workers inletters
,ph i lology , ant iqu i t ies and folk lore . Some of h i s
repl ies in h is much pr ized and w idely read column ”
(wh ich he began j ust th i rty years ago) were learnedmonographs that in the i r way were inval uable . One ofthe most pa instaking of such productions was h i s“ Pol l ice verso
”artic le ,wh ich was prompted by the m i s
take of a famous pa inter . Bu t i t was in conversationwi th int imate fr iends that M u rray
’
s best qual i tieswere d i sclosed . I f the scene was in h i s own l i ttle studyin the m idst of h is wel l chosen treasu res , i t was , indeed ,a pr iv i l ege to ask and be answered . George M urraywas in a pecu l iarly fel ici tous sense what J ohnsoncal led a cl ubbable man . On that po int the ev idence
B IOGRAPH I CAL SKETCH xxv
i s large and unimpeachable . But he‘
was a l so,in qu i te
as real a sen se . a domesti c , a fam i ly man . He lovedh i s home , and in h i s home he was beloved as few menhave been beloved . I n 1859 he married M i ss Cather ineF lora McLauch l in . He l ived to celeb rate the j ub i leeo f h is wedd ing day . I n the retrospect there wasmuch happ iness , not w i thou t human l i fe
’ s share o fsorrow . The second boy (Herbert) was fatal ly inj u redin the old H igh School playground . The eldest boy
(Russel l) d ied in the m idst of a fai rly successfu lcareer . The surv ivors are two sons , M r . G k
W i l l iamM urray
,of New York , and M r . Freder ick M u rray , of
Oxbow , Sask .,and fou r daughters , Mrs . Gordon Stott
,
of Chandlers Ford , Hampsh i re , England ; Mrs . W . J .
B land , of Portland , O regon ; M i ss Al ice M urray andM i ss Lou ise M urray .
Two years ago , j ust after George M urray’ s death .
a true friend of h is wrote the words : There may becypress to day wi th in the garden of lau rels a t NO . 1 1
B runswick Street ; bu t there are early spring vio letsal so and thei r perfume wi l l l ast so long as respect for agreat scholar and for a sympathetic heart control shuman emotions To -day we wou ld th ink only ofthe lau rel s as we scent the v io l ets.
J. R .
2 POEMS OF GEORGE M URRAY
A score of troublous years had passed s ince on Mount
Royal’
s crest
The gal lant Ma isonneuve upreared the Cross devoutly
b less’
d ,
And manv of the sa intl y Gu i ld that founded V i l l e
Mar ie
W i th patr iot pr ide had fought and d ied , dete rm ined
to be free .
Fiercely the I roquo is had sworn to sweep ,l ike gra ins
of sand ,
The sons of France from off the face of the i r adopted
land ,
When,l ike the steel that oft d isarms the l igh tn ing of
I ts power ,A fearless few their country saved in danger ’ s darkest
hour .
D au lac ,the Capta in O f the Fort— in manhood ’s fiery
pr ime
Hath sworn by some immortal deed to make h is name
subl ime ,
And s ixteen Sold iers of the Cross , h is comrades
true and tr ied ,
H ave pledged the i r fai th for l i fe and death—al l kneel
ing s ide by side :
And th is thei r oath—o n flood or fie ld, to chal lenge
face to face
T he ruth less hordes of I roquois , the scourges of thei r
race
N0 quarter to accept or grant , and ,loyal to the grave
,
T o d ie l ike martyrs for the land they shed thei r blood
to save .
HOW CANADA WAS SAVED 3
Shrived by the Pr iest , with in the’
C hurch where oft
they had adored,
With solemn fervour they partake the Supper of the
Lord ;
A nd now these sel f-devoted vouth s from weep ing.
friends have passed,
And on the Fort of Vil le-Marie each fondly looks h is
last .
Unsk i l led to steer the fra i l canoe or stem the rush ing
t ide ,
On through a vi rgin wi lderness o’
er stream and lake
they ghde ,
Til l , weary of the padd le’
s d i p , they moor their
barques below
A rapid of Utzi wa’
s flood,the turbulen t Long-Sau l t .
There , where a grove of gloomy p i nes sloped gentlyto the shore ,
A moss-grown pal isade was seen—a fort i n days of
yore~
Fenced by its ci rcle they encamped and on the l i s ten
ing air ,B efore those staunch Crusaders slep t , arose the voice
of prayer .
Sen trv and scou t kept watch and ward ; and soon ,with glad surpr ise ,
They welcomed to thei r roofless hold a band of dark
al l ies
Two stalwart ch iefs and forty braves— a l l sworn to
strike a b low
I n one grea t battle for the i r l ives against the common
foe .
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Soft was the breath of balmy spring in that fai r mont hof May
,
T he wild flower bloomed , the w i ld bird sang on many
a budd ing spray,
A tender b lue was in the sky,on earth a tender green
,
And Peace seemed brood i ng l ike a dove o ’er a l l the
sylvan scene ;
W hen loud and h igh , a th r i l l ing cry dispel led themagic charm
A nd scouts came hu rry ing from the woods to bid thei r
comrades arm ,
A nd bark canoes skimmed l ightly down the torren t of
the Sau l t
M anned by th ree hundred dusky forms— the long
expected foe .
They spr ing to land— a wilder brood hath ne’
er appal led the S ight
W i th carbines , tomahawks , and kn ives that gleam
with baleful l ight ;D ark plumes of eagles crest the i r ch iefs and broidered
deersk ins h ide
T he blood - red war- paint that shal l soon a bloodier red
be dyed .
Hark ! to the death—song that they chan t— behold themas they bound
,
With flash ing eyes and vaunt ing tongues , defiantly
around ;Then , swi fter than the w ind , they fly the barrier to
invest
Like hornet- swarms that heed less boys have startled
from a nest .
HOW CANADA WAS SAVED 5
As Ocean’
s tempest- driven waves dash forward on arock
And madly . break in seething foam hurled backward
by the shock ,
So onward dashed that surging throng, so backward
were they hurled,
When , from the loopholes of the fort , flame burs t,
and vapor curled .
Each bul let a imed by bold Dau lac went crash ing
through the bra in,
O r p iercedi
the bounding heart of one who never
st i rred aga in ;
The trampled turf was drenched with blood , blood
sta ined the pass ing wave,
I t seemed a carnival of death , the harves t Of the grave .
The sun went down— the fight was o’
er—but sleepwas not for those
Who pent w i th in that fra i l redoubt s ighed va inly fo r
repose ;The shots that h issed above the i r heads , the Mohawks
’
taunt ing cr ies,
W’ arned them that never more on earth must sl umbe r
seal the i r eves .
I n that same hour the i r swart al l ies , o’
erwhelmed by
craven dread ,
Leaped o’
er the parapet l ike deer and t rai to rously
fled ;And when the darkness of the n ight had van ished l i k e
a ghost ,Twenty and two were left— of al l—to brave a madden
ed host .
6 POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
Foi l ed for a t ime , the subtle foes have summoned to
thei r aid
Five hundred kinsmen from the I sles to storm the
pal isade ;
And pan t ing for revenge they speed , impat ient for
the fray ,L ike b i rds of carnage from thei r homes al lu
'
red byScent of prey .
With scalp - locks streaming in the breeze they charge ,but never yet
Have leg ions in the storm of fight a bloodier welcome
met
Than those doomed warriors,as they faced the deso
lating b reath
Of wide -mouthed musketoons that poured hot eata~racts of dea th .
Eigh t days of varied horror passed ! What boots i t
now to tel l
How the pal e tenants of the fort hero ical ly fel l?
Hunger and th i rst and sleeplessness,Death
’
s ghastlya ids , at length
Marred and defaced their comely forms , and quel led
the i r g ian t strength .
The end draws n igh , they yearn to d ie , one glorious
ral ly more
For the dear sake of Vi l le-Marie and al l wi l l soon be
o’
er ;Sure of the Martyr
’
s golden Crown,they sh rink not
from the Cross,
L i fe y ielded for the land they lov e , they scorn to
reckon loss !
WILL IE THE M I NER
The fort i s fired— and through the flames , with sl ip .
pery , splash ing tread
The R edmen stumble to the ca m p o’
er ramparts of the
dead °
There W i th set teeth and nostri l w ide , Dau lac the
dauntless . s tood
And deal t h is foes remorseless blows ’mid bl inding
smoke and blood ,
T i l l hacked and hewn,he reeled to earth , w i th proud
unconquered glance,
Dead— but immortal ized by death Leonidas of
France !
True to the i r oath,that glorious band no quarter
basely craved °
So died the peerless Twenty- two—SO Canada wassaved !
W'
I LLIE THE M INER .
Ghastly and strange was the rel ic found
By swarthy p i tmen below the ground :
They were hard rough men,but each heart beat quick
,
Each voice w i th horror was hoarse and th ick ,
For never perchance since the world began ,Had s ight so sol emn been seen by man !
The p i tman foremost to see the sight
Had shr ieked out W i ld ly and swooned w i th frigh t ;
His comrades heard , fo r the shr i l l scare d cry‘
Rang th rough each gal lery , low and h igh ,
8 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
So they clutched thei r picks and they clustered round
And gazed with awe at the th ing they found ,
For never perchance since the world began,
Had s igh t so solemn been seen by man !
I t lay alone in a dark recess ;How long i t had la in there , none m ight guess .
They held above i t a gl eaming lamp ,But the a i r of the cavern was ch i l l and damp ,
So they carr ied i t up to the blaze Of day
And set the th ing in the sun ’s br ight ray .
’Twas the corpse of a m iner i n manhood’
s bloom ,
An image , d ismal in glare or gloom .
Awfu l i t seemed in i ts sti l lness there ,With i ts calm w ide eyes and its j et-black hai r ,
Cold as some effigy carved in stone
And clad in raiment that matched their own ;
But none of the miners who looked could trace
Friend,son ,
or brother in that pale face .
What marvel ? a century’
s ha l f had ro l led
Since that strong body grew stiff and cold ,
I n youth ’ s bl i the summer- t ime robbed of breath
By vapors winged wi th electric death .
M any,who fel t that the i r mate was slain ,
Probed earth ’ s deep heart for h is corpse , i n vain ,
10 POEMS OF GEORGE M URRAY
The summons sped l ike a w ind -blown flame,
From cot and cab in each inmate came .
Veteran m iners , a wh i te-ha i red crew ,
Limped , crawled , and tottered the dead to v iew ,
(Some support ing compan ions s ick ,
Lean ing themselves upon crutch or st ick ,)
W i th wrinkled groups of decrep i t crones,
Weari ly dragging thei r pals ied bones .
’
Twas a qua i n t , sad s igh t to see , that day ,A crowd so w i thered , and gaunt , and grey .
And now they are gathered in groups around
The dead man delved from the under-ground ,
And each S toops downward in tu rn , and pries
I n to i ts vi sage wi th purbl ind eyes ;
M ind and memory from some are gone ,Aghast and si len t , they al l look on .
But 10 ! there cometh a dark- robed dame ,With careworn featu res and age-bowed frame ,
Bearing d im traces of beau ty yet ,As l ight sti l l l ingers when day has set .
She nears the corpse and the crowd g ive way ,
For ,’Tis her lover ,
” some old men say,
Her lover Wi l l ie,who
,whi le h is br ide
Decked the wh i te robe for her wedd ing , died
W I LL IE THE M I NER 1 1
D ied at h i s work in the coal - seam,sm i t
By fumes that po isoned the balefu l p i t !
One p iercing sh r iek ! she has seen the face
And cl ings to the body w i th str ict embrace .
’T i s he , to whose p lead ing in by-gone years
She yielded her heart , wh i l e sh e—wept glad tears ,
The same brave Wil l ie , that once she knew ,
To whom she was ever , and sti l l is ,true ,
Unch anged each featu re , undimmed each tress ,He i s clasped , as O f O ld , i n a close caress .
Many an eye in that th rong was wet,
The pitmen say, they can ne’
er forget
The w i ld deep sorrow,and yearn ing love
Of her who lay moan ing that corpse above .
She smoothed h is hai r and she stroked h is cheek ,She hal f forgot that he cou ld not speak ;
And fondly wh ispered endearing words
I n murmurs sweet as the song of bi rds ;
Will ie,O W i l l i e , my bonny lad ,
Was ever meet ing so strange and Sad?
Four and fi fty lone years have passed
S ince i’
the flesh I beheld thee last ,
Thou art comely st i l l , as i~’ days 0
’
yore,And the gi rl - love wel l s i ’ my heart once more
12 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
I thank thee , Lord ,that thy tender ru th
Suffers mine arms to enfold th is youth,
For I loved h im much . . I am now on the br ink
O’
the cold , cold grave , and I d idna th ink ,
When the lad so long i ’ the p i t had la in,
These l ips would ever press h i s aga in !
W i l l i e,strange thoughts I my sou l ar i se
Whi le thus I caress thee wi’
loving eyes ;
We meet , one l i fe less , one l iving yet ,As lovers ne
’
er i ’ th i s world have met ,
We a re both wel l -n igh of one age—but thouHast coal -b lack cu rls and a smooth fa i r b row ,
While I— thy chosen— beside thee l i e ,Greyhaired and wrinkled and fain to d ie
SO sobbed the woman ; and a l l the crowd
Li fted thei r voices and wept a loud ,
Wep t to behold her , as there she clung ,One so aged , to one so young .
And surely pathos more deep o r keen
I n earth ly contrast was never seen .
Both had been you th fu l,long years ago ,
When nei ther d reamed of the com ing woe ,
But time wi th the ma iden had onward sped ,Standing s ti l l wi th her lover dead !
TO A HUMM I NG -B IRD I N A GARDEN 13
To A HUMM ING -B IRD INA GARDEN .
B l i the playmate of the Summer t ime ,Admiringly I greet thee ;
Born in old England’
s misty cl ime,
I scarcely hoped to meet thee .
C om’
st thou from forests of Peru ,Or from B raz i l
’
s savannahs ,Where flowers of every dazzl ing hue
F launt , gorgeous as Su l tanas?
Thou scan nest me with doubtfu l gaze ,Susp i c ious l i tt le s tranger !
Fear not , thy burn ished wings may b laze
Secu re from harm o r danger .
Now here , now there , thy flash is seen ,Like some stray sunbeam da rt ing ,
With scarce a second’
s space between
I ts coming and depart ing .
M ate of the b i rd t hat l ives sub l ime
I n Pat’
s immortal b l under ,Sp ied in two p laces at a t ime ,Thou chal lengest ou r wonder .
Suspended by thy slender b i l l ,Sweet blooms thou lov
’
st to rifle ,The sub t le perfumes they d ist i l
M ight wel l thy being stifle .
Surely the honey-dew of flowers
I s sl igh tly a l cohol ic ,O r why , th rough bu rn ing August hou rs
Dost thou pu rsue thy frol ic?
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
What though thy th roatlet never rings
W i th mus ic soft or st i rring ;St i l l , l ike a spinn ing-wheel , thy W ings
I ncessantly are wh i rring .
How dearly I would love to see
Thy t iny cam sposa ,
As fu l l of sens ib i l i ty
As any coym imosa !
They say, when hunters track her nest
Where two warm pearl s are lying,
She bold ly fights,though sore d istrest ,
And sends the brigands flying .
What . da inty epi thets thy tribes
Have won from men of sc ience !
Pedant ic and poet ic scr ibes
For once a re in a l l iance .
Crested Coquette , and Azure Crow‘
n,
Sun J ewel , Ruby - th roated ,With F l am ing Topaz
,Cr imson Down ,
Are names that may be quoted .
S uch ti tles a im to pain t the hues
That on the darl ings gl i tter ,A nd were we for a week to muse
We scarce cou ld l igh t on fitter .
Farewel l , br ight b i rd ! I envy thee ,Gay rainbow- t inted rover ;
W ou ld’
th at my l i fe , l ike th ine , were free
From care ti l l a l l i s over !
THE PARDONED S IN 15
THE PARDONED‘
S IN .
Up the worn steps and th rough the ivied porch
That screened the entrance to an anc ient church,
A gentle school -boy passed , in earnest thought .
H is heart was throbb ing and h is eyes were fi l led
W i th tears that trembled . Paus ing in the nave,
He looked around w i th t im id glance and gazed
On W indows l ustrous w i th the blazoned forms
O f sa ints and martyrs and angel ic hosts,
And on a pr iceless m i racle of art
That 0 er the al tar hung w i th mute appeal
Christ , bowed to earth beneath a weigh ty Cross .
He s ighed ; I also have my Cross to bear,
And to the d im confess ional d rew n igh .
A wh i te-ha i red pr iest,with m i ld ben ignant eyes
,
Beheld h im com ing , and in grac ious tones
That oft had wooed the s inner from h is Sin,
Excla imed : My son ! i f thou dost seek mine aid
I t wa i ts th ine ask ing . Weep not— bu t lay bare
The secret sorrows of th ine inmos t sou l .
The boy rep l ied : My Father ! I have s inned,
And am not worthy to be cal led thy son .
St i l l,i f thou w i l t , my sad confess ion hear
And grant forg iveness in the name of God .
He knel t : W l th sobs of inart icu late woe
He fal tered un in tel l igible words
I n broken accents , so that he who heard
Fa i l ed to in terpret the i r s ign ificance .
I n vain he l istened pat iently ; at length
Loath to con fuse the boy, Dear ch i ld ,
16 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
My ears a re du l l , for I am fra i l and old ,
I cannot glean the purport of thy speech :
Wr i te i t,I pray thee . I n the scholar
’
s bag
Slung from thy shou lder,there are
,doubtless , stored
A tab l et and a penci l . Write I pray .
The boy obeyed : and , weep ing wh i l e he wrote ,Traced the br ief record of h is sel f-reproach ,And meekly gave the tab l et to the priest .
But 10 ! in token that h is angel watched ,
The s imple ch i ld’
s innumerab l e tears
Had b lu rred and b lo tted each remorsefu l l ine :
The words were vis ible to God alone !
W i th tears of sympathy,the wh i te-ha i red priest
Perused the baffl ing and bewi ldering s igns ,That told more pla inly than the p l ainest speech
The sad ,sweet angu ish of a contr i te heart .
Then with a gratefu l sm i l e , he blessed the Lord ,And soft ly murmured : Ch i ld ! depart in peace .
God pardons thee— thy pen i ten tial tearsHave washed away a l l record of thy s in !
THE TH ISTLE .
A LEGENDARY BALLAD .
Le coeur de l’
hi stoi re est dam s la tradi ti on .
’Twas midn igh t ! Darkness , l ike the gloom of some
funerea l pa l l ,Hung o ’er the bat tlements of S laines ,—a fo rtress grim
and tal l .
* These verses obta ined the go ld medal Offered by t he St . Andrew ’
s Soc ietyof Ottawa , in 1869 , for the best poem on the SUbJEC l
‘
. of T h e Th i st le.
18 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Fa r o’
er the b i l lows they have swept to Caledon ia ’ s
strand ,
They carve the record of thei r deeds with battl e-axe
and brand ,
The i r march each day is tracked w i th flame,thei r path
wi th carnage strewn ,For P i ty i s an angel -guest the i r hearts have never
known .
And now the ca i t iffs steal by n ight to storm the Fort
of S la in es
They reek not of the fiery blood that leaps in Scott ish
veins !
Onward they creep wi th no iseless t read— the i r treach
erous feet are bare ,Lest the harsh clang of i ron heel s thei r s lumbering
prey shou ld scare .
Yon moat ,” they vow , shal l soon be crossed , yon
rampart soon be scaled ,
And al l who hunger for the spo i l , with Spoi l shal l be
regaled .
Press on— press on— and h igh in a i r the Raven Stan
dard wave ;Those d rowsy Scots th is n igh t shal l end the i r sleep
w i th in the grave !
‘S i l en t as shadows , on they gl ide , the gloomy fosse i s
n igh ,
G lory to Od in , V ictory’
s Lord ! i ts shelving depths
are d ry .
S peed ,warr iors
,speed , —t hark ! a sh r iek of
agon iz ing pain
THE TH ISTLE 19
Bursts from a hundred Danish th roats— again i t r ings ,aga in !
Rank weeds had overgrown the moat,now dra ined
by summer’
s heat,
And br ist l ing crops of th istles p ierced the raiders ’
naked feet !
That cry , l ike wai l of p ibroch ,st i rred the sentry ’ s
k ind l ing soul
And , shouting Arms ! to arms ! he sped the Cast le
bel l to to l l .
But ere i ts echoes d ied away upon the ear of
nigh t ,
Each clansman started from his couch , and armed h im
for the fight ;
The draw-b r idge fal l s,
— and , s ide by side , the banded
heroes fly
To grapple w i th the p i rate -horde and conquer them
or die !
As eag l es o
’
n avenging wings , from proud Ben LO“
mond’
s crest
Swoop fiercely down and dash to earth the spoi lers of
the i r nest ;As l ions bound upon thei r prey or , as the burn ing
t ide
Sweeps onward wi th resistless m igh t from some vo l
cano’
s side ;So rushed that gal lant band of Scots , the garri son of
Slaines ,
Upon the T igers of the Sea , the carnage - loving Danes .
20 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
T he l u rid glare of torches served to l igh t them to thei r
foes ,They hewed those felons , hip and thigh , with stern ,
relen tless b lows ,C laymore , and battle-axe , and spear were steeped in
slaugh ter’
s flood ,W h i le every th ist le in the moat was sp lashed with
crimson blood
And when the l igh t of morning broke,the leg ions of
the Danes
Lay st iff and stark,i n ghast ly heaps
,around the Fort
of S lain es !
Nine hundred years have been engu l fed wi th in the
grave of Time,
Since those grim Vikings of the North by death a toned
th e i r crime .
I n memory of that awful n ight , the th istle’
s hardy
grace
Was chosen as the emb lem meet of A lb in’
s daunt less
race ;And never since
,i n batt le
’
s storm , on land o r on the
sea ,
Hath Scot land’ s honou r tarn ished been—God grant i t
ne’
er may be !
A PARABLE 21
A PARABLE .
W i th l imbs a t rest on the earth’
s green breast
I n a dim and solemn wood,
A proud form lay , on a summer day ,
I n l i stl ess , dream ing mood .
A streamlet slow in the brake below
Went sadly wa i l ing on ,
With murmurs w i ld,l i ke a restless ch i ld
That seeketh someth ing gone .
The Dreamer rose from his vain repose
With stern and su l l en look,
And scornfu l i re blazed forth l ike fi re ,As he cu rsed the s imp l e brook ;
Thy murmurs deep d istu rb my sleep
Be st i l l , thou streamlet hoarse !
Smal l righ t hast thou of vo ice , I trow ,
To tel l thy fool ish cou rse .
”
The waters st i rred , for a spi ri t heard
The sp i ri t of the streams
And a voice repl ied , that softly s ighed
Like a voice we hear i n dreams .
I f the sle eper fear my voice to hear ,Let h im sti r each rocky stone ,
Whose cruel force impedes my course
And makes my waters moan .
*These verses . wri tten at O xford , were given by me to Sir Edwin Arno ldand served to fill two pa ges in hi s first pub l ished vo lume , ent itled Poems
Nar rat ive and Lyri ca l.
O ft i n my heart strange fanc ies start
And a voice in pla intive strain
S ings , sad ly s ings , that earth ly th ings
Were shadowed in my bra in ;
That weal th and bi rth on God’
s free earth ,O ft cu rse the noise and str i fe
Which poor men make , as they strive to break
Through the rugged ways of l i fe .
The sad voice s ings , that ermined kings
D ream on in stately hal ls ,Wi th curses deep for thei r broken sleep
When an angu ished people ca l l s ;
And when sharp stones wake human moans ,They hear , bu t never move ,
Nor lend men strength to w in at length
The l iberty they love .
AN EASTERN JUDGE .
Before a Judge two Arabs came ,One to deny and one to cla im :
And one was young and one was old
They d iffered ,l ike the tal es they told .
The young man spake : Nin e days have flown,Since the hot sands I crossed a lone .
AN EASTERN JUDGE 23
My gold meanwh i le I left in trust
\Vi th yon o ld man , reputed j ust .
My j ourney o’
er,h is ten t I sought ;
He swears I trusted h im w ith naught !
H Name , sa id the J udge,the sum Of gold :
And Where , I pray thee , was i t told?”
Fou r score gold p ieces d id I tel l
Beneath a palm—tree,by a wel l .
Then spake the J udge : Go seek that t ree,
And h i ther b id h im come to me ;
But take mv seal , that he may know'
To whom thou b iddes t h im to go .
”
The youth went ou t into the pla in
The o ld man and the J udge rema in .
An hour passed bv —and not a word
From e i ther Of the twa in was heard .
At length the J udge : He“ cometh not .
Dost th ink the lad hath reached the spot?
The O ld man ,startled , answered : NO
Far o ’ er the sands the tree doth grow .
The J udge spake s tern ly , l ike a King :
How knowest where that palm doth spring?
For in the desert , near and far ,I .trow that many palm - trees are .
24 POEMS OF GEORGE M URRAY
The you th came back and said : The tree
Retu rned answer none to me .
”
He hath been here , the J udge did say,
The gold is th ine : go now thy way .
”
THE LAKE .
(From th e French of Lamart ine . )
M ust we for ever to some d istant cl ime
Dri ft through the n igh t despa i ringly away
And can we never on the sea o f T ime
Cast anchor fo r a day
O Lake ! a yea r hath passed wi th al l i ts pa in ,
And , by
'
the waves she hoped once more to see ,
Here,on th is stone , I seat mysel f aga in ,
But ask not where is she
Thus d idst thou murmur in thy rocky caves ,On thei r torn flanks thy waters thus d id beat ,
Wh i l e the gay Z ephyr flung thy foaming waves
Around her fai ry feet .
One summer eve we floa ted from thy shores ,Dost thou recal l i t Not a sound was heard ,
Save when the measured cadence o f our oa rs
The dreamy s i lence st i rred .
T hen tones more sweet than earth shal l ever hear ,Sweet tones that never wi l l be heard again ,
Woke sl umbering echoes round the haunted mere
That l istened to the strain ,
26 POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
O Lake beloved , mute caves , and forest green ,Whose beauty T ime ne
’
er suffers to depart ,Keep fresh the memory of that even ing scene ,Fa i r Natu re , in thy heart !
Keep i t,dear Lake , in sunsh ine and in storm
I n al l the var ied aspects of thy shore
I n these dark p ines , and rocks of savage form
That round thy waters soar .
St i l l l et i t l ive in every breeze that s ighs ,I n each soft echo that the h i l l s repeat ,
I n every star that on thy bosom l ies
W i th lus tre,calm and sweet .
Let n ight—w inds murmur to the reeds her name ,Let the fa int fragrance that embalms each glade ,
Let every sound and s ight and scent procla im ,
Here,two fond lovers strayed .
”
GOD’
S HEROES .
Once , at a battle’
s close , a sold ier met
A youth fu l comrade whom h is eyes had m issed
Amid the dust and tumu l t of the str i fe .
F l ushed wi th the glow of victory , and proud
Of wounds rece ived in presence Of h is Ch iefHe spake in tones of tr iumph to the boy ;“ I d id not see thee in the battle
’
s flame ;The str ipl ing answered : I was in the smoke .
Then , w i th h is hand upon h is bleed ing heart ,He closed h is eyes , and suddenly fel l dead !
A LEGEND OF THE CH I LD JESUS 27
SO ,countless heroes , oft unheeded , figh t
I n L i fe ’
s gr im battle , h idden by the smoke .
W i th pat ient martyrdom they ply the tasks
That Ged ass igns them . Words of sympathy
From human l ips too seldom cheer thei r to i l ,Or help them to be v ictors over pain .
Few mark the i r s truggles in the crowded world
Few soothe the i r angu ish wh i le they inly bleed
And , when they answer to the cal l of Death ,Thei r names are syl labled on earth no more .
A LEGEND OF THE CHILD JESUS .
W RITTEN FOR A CH ILD .
You ask a story,dearest . Here is one
Heard oft am id the peasant homes of France .
I t was the t ime when J esus was a ch i ld ,
And,w i th the Bapt ist and h i s cherished lamb
,
He wandered forth among the h i l l s and dales
I n the calm hours that closed a summer eve .
And they were glad : the lambkin fri sked and played ,O r cropped green herbage wi th i ts m i lk-wh i te teeth
,
Wh i l e the two cous ins gathered W i ld ing flowers ,Dipped the i r bare feet in l imp id streams , or cu l led
Ripe crimson ber ries from ful l - laden boughs .
A s thus they rambled peacefu l ly i t chanced
Two rust ic ch i ld ren met them . These were wroth
Each w i th the other,and the stronger held
Bound by the feet a wh i te and innocent doveT hat strove to soar and ever as she strove
Was balked and baffled by a sp i tefu l cord .
28 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Ou t spake the weaker lad : The b i rd is mine .
Why hast thou robbed me I t was I that snared
The s i l ly pigeon and thou hast no r ight
To filch my playth ing . G ive me back my own .
Thereat , h is comrade stormed a w i l fu l No
Thou shal t not have i t ; I w i l l keep the bi rd .
Then the meek Jesus sorrowful ly spake :
Lo w i th red blood her slender legs are stained,
Her eyes are d im and she i s sick to death :
How wil t thou find thy pleasu re in her pain ?
I cannot th ink thou hast a cruel heart,
For thou , l ike me , art st i l l of tender years ;Too thoughtless , may be . Wherefore loose , I pray ,
Th is chafing cord and let the capt ive fly
Home to her cal low nestl ings that awa i t
Her coming and are a l l agape for food .
”
Then the boy’
s heart was Softened and he said :
Wel l hast thou spoken and thy p i tying tones
Have moved my p i ty more than I can tel l .
Thy p l ead ing shames me —I wil l loose the dove .
Would I were l ike thee ; but whate’
er I am ,
Thou must not th ink that I am vo id of ruth .
SO saying , he unloosed the cord that bound
The victim’
s feet , and Pretty sufferer , fly ,He cried , fly homeward to thy downy nest
I n the green woods and feed thy gap ing ch icks .
But,when the other saw the harmless b i rd
Freed from her bonds , he stooped and snatched a stone
Up from the roads ide , and with dead ly aim
And fury , hurled i t at the j oyous dove
Wh ich d ropped to earth , as l i feless as the stone
Her sl im throat mangled by the ragged fl in t .
A LEGEND OF THE CH ILD JESUS 29
Then,w i th keen taunts
,he flung her at the feet
Of J esus,h iss ing : M eddler take thy pr ize
And gran t the darl ing leave to soar aga in !”
But the meek J esus sad ly from the ground
Ra i sed the dead b i rd , and sa id : Alas poor boy
Thou dost not know the evi l thou hast wrought
By thy brief pass ion . God h imsel f alone
Can to a l i feless creatu re l i fe recal l .”
Then , kneel ing down , he humbly j o ined h is hands
I n prayer,and
,look ing up to heaven w i th eyes
That swam in tears,s ighed , O that I were God
And once aga in , Ah would that I were God
Scarce had h is prayer upfloated , when the dove ,Ki ssed by h is hal lowed l ips
,unclosed her eyes ,
Oped her l ight wings and clove the l iqu id a i r .
Awestruck,the ch i ld ren watched ; then , he whose hand
Had freed the capt ive,wh ispered : Art thou God?
And J esus answered h im : I cannot tel l .
Then sudden ly a rush of n imble w ings
Wh i rred , and descend ing in a golden beam ,
The dove returned and settled on the brow
Of the meek Jesus . While i t l ingered there ,The spel l—bound ch i ld ren heard a solemn voiceThat fel l l ike mus ic on the i r ears
,and cried :
I am the God of Heaven and He who woke
Life from death ’s sleep i s my beloved Son .
”
Then fi rst the Bapti st by these tokens knew
That the meek J esus was the Son of God ;And gaz ing on the tw ice-born dove , he saw
A brown hal f-ci rcle on her snowy neck
Marked newly there , i n memory of the wound
Hea led by the kisses of the Holy Chi ld .
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
THE TIME WILL COME .
RONDEAU .
The t ime w i l l come,when thou and I
Shal l meet once more before we d ie ;The l inks of pass ion
’
s broken cha in
Shal l be un i ted once aga in ,
I n com ing days for wh ich we s igh .
And thus the sorrows I defy
That cloud the sunsh ine Of our Sky ,
For Hope st i l l s ings her sweet refra in ,The t ime w i l l come .
0 that the hou rs wh ich lo i ter by
W'ou ld match my sw i ft des i re,and fly :
But fond impat ience I restra in,
Sure that Love ’ s trust is not in va in ,
And that in answer to my cry ,
The time w i l l come .
A LESSON OF MERCY .
Beneath a palm - tree by a clear cool spring
God ’ s Prophet,M ahomet , lay slumber ing ,
Til l roused by chance,he saw before h im stand
A foeman,Du
'
rther—sc im i tar in hand .
The ch iefta in bade the startled sleeper rise ;And w i th a flame of tri umph in h is eyes ,Who now can save thee Mahomet he cr ied .
God,
” sa id the Prophet,God ,
my friend and gu ide .
Awe -struck the Arab d ropped h is naked sword ,
THE K I NG AND THE PEASANT 3 1
Wh ich , grasped by Mahomet , defied i ts l ord:
And , Who can save thee now thy blade is won
Excla imed the Prophet . Du rther answered ,None !
Then spake the v ictor : “ Though thy hands are red
W i th gu i l t less blood unmerc i fu l ly shed,
I spare thy l i fe , I g ive thee back thy steel ,Hen ceforth , compass ion for the helpless feel .
And thus the twa in , uny ield ing foes of yore ,Clasped hands in token that the i r feud was o
’
er .
THE K ING AND THE PEASANT .
Ver i l y I say unto you , that a r ich man shal l hard ly enter into th e K ingd om of Heaven . And aga in I say unto you , I t IS ea s ier for a came l to go
t hrough th e eye of a need le than for a r ich man to enter into th e K ingdomof God . Testament.
Once,at the sel f- same po int of t ime
,
Two mortals passed from earth :
One was a King of caste subl ime ,But base the other
’
s b i rth ;And each had led a sta inless l i fe
Am id th is sinfu l planet’
s stri fe .
Upward the sp i r i ts took thei r fl ight
Enfranch ised and elate ,T i l l soon they reached the realms of l ight
And paused at Eden’
s gate ,Where
,wa i t ing them , w i th joy they see
The Fisherman of Gal i lee .
He Oped the Gate,on e l ustrous stone ,
And ushered in the King ,Wh i l e the poor peasant , left alone ,
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Heard songs of welcom ing
And strains of harps,d iv inely sweet
Pou red forth the Royal Guest to greet
The mus ic ceased , the Heavenly Guide
F l ung back the Gate again
And bade the peasant at h is side
Join the seraphic tra in ;But , strange to say , no Angel s sang
No harps th rough Heaven symphon i ous
0 Sain t revered !” the peasant cried ,
Why chant no choi rs for me
As for yon Monarch in h is pride ?
Am I less dear than he?
Can aught but equi ty have b i rth
Here , i n h igh Heaven , as on the earth
My Son , the Saint rep l ied , thou
As dear as kingly clay ;Bu t men l ike thee , of lowly heart ,Come h i ther every day
Whi le D ives a t the Gate appears
Once only i n a hundred years !”
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Her gu i l el ess eyes and golden ha i r
St i l l haunt my v is ion everywhere,
And in the Convent when I pa int
Scenes from the l i fe of some Sweet Sa int,
Some pr iceless manuscr ipt to grace,
Each p ictu re but repeats her face .
Ou r soul s were on&—we had no thought
Bu t for each other— l i fe was naught
Wh i l e we were parted,and I swore
Fond vows , s t i l l cher ished as of yore .
Ou r homes , before my father d ied ,
Lay closely nestl ing s ide by s ide ;My castle now wi th al l i ts l ands
Has passed forever from my hands,
And , had my pr ide not met th is fal l ,I would not here be B rother Paul .
My father d ied— h is l i fe had been
A course of recklessness and s in,
S ince h i s young w i fe had passed away
And for the fi rst t ime,on the day
When w i th va in pomp h is l imbs were laid
W i th in the ances tral chapel’
s shade
I learn t that i f our anc ient name
Could be redeemed from scorn and shame ,I must at once prepare to roam
A ru ined ex i l e from my home .
But worse than al l , my Gabr iel le’
s s i re
Cursed my wrecked fortunes in his i re ,And stern ly bade me ne
’
er aga in
Set foot w i th in h is broad doma in .
Enough— I l eft my natal place ,But saved our honour from disgrace .
THE STORY OF BROTHER PAL’
L 35
Years passed : where’
er my footsteps sped ,
My penc i l won me fam%and bread
And in my pa int ings you can trace
Always the same angel ic face ,For earth ly ma id almos t too fa i r ,YV i th gu i l eless eyes and golden hai r ,Far from th is clo ister— vears ago
A youth wliom erst I used to knowHere in loved Normandy , revealed
News he m igh t better have concealed :“ Thy fai r-ha i red Gabr iel le is wed
They l ied , and told her thou wast dead !
I fel l beneath th is l ightn ing stroke ,And , from my trance when I awoke ,S ix months , w i th rav ing frenzy r i fe ,W
’
ere cancel led from my weary l i fe .
‘Twas then that cankered by despa i r,
Dazed by the world’
s remorseless glare
I passed wi th in th i s Convent wal l
To bear the name of B rother Paul .
And am I happy now, you ask :
Behold me . Do I wear a mask ?
I scourge my flesh , I fast , I pray ,
But in each moment of each day ,
Between mysel f and Heaven I trace
The shadow of a sa intly face ,For earth ly ma id a lmost too fa i r ,\V i th gu i l eless eyes and golden ha i r .
One eve, my sorrows to al lay ,
I sought in sol i tude to pray ,
And wh i le I meekly stood before
The sombre Abbey’
s open door ,
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
I heard some footsteps l igh tly fal l
On the paved wa l k that skirts the wa l l ,And as I tu rned my glances fel l
Upon the face of Gabr iel le .
Our eyes but for a moment met
I n one sad gaze of fond regret ;Then in dead si lence pass ing on ,The woman that I loved was gone .
Close by her side she l ed a ch i ld ,
Whose l ips angel ical ly sm i l ed ,
While h i s smal l hand was reach ing nigh
Two butterfl ies that floated by.
Ah ! Who can guess the yearn ing pain
Wi th wh ich I saw my love aga in ,O r who can blame me for the s in
Of musing on what m ight have been ?
W i th a strange th ri l l of tender j oyI gazed upon the lovely boy,
T i l l both h is mother’
s sel f and he
S eemed to belong , by righ t , to me ,And fancy tempted me to deem
The past a false and ev i l d ream .
But reason woke : I passed w i th in
T he Abbey’
s gloom , and strove to win
Chr ist’
s pardon for the thoughts that sti l l
Confused my sou l against my w i l l .And now my hapless tale is told
,
O ne vis ion haunts me as of o ldOne image never w i l l depart
Ti l l Death shal l hush th is throbb ing heart,
A nd ,trusting to the love of God ,
I sleep at last , beneath the sod !
ROBERT BURNS 37
ROBERT BURNS .
Large hearted m instrel ! from the sphere
Where now thou dwel lest,i f th ine eyes
C an watch the spel l -bound myr iads— here
Whose l ips thy gen ius eu logize ;I f pain thou feelest now no more ,Thy wayward l i fe
’
s wi ld battl e o’
er ;I f tears that at thy memory start
Can touch thy sympathetic heart ;On th is thy b i rth -day we would fa in
Hope even i f the hope be va in
That thou with tranqu i l joymay’
st see
The lov ing honours pa id to thee,
Thou Laureate of the Poor ! whose song
O’
er the charm’
d earth shal l echo long .
As stars , that gar i sh day concealed ,
Sh ine forth am id the shades Of n ight ,So , thy dark dest iny revealed
Each fau l t and fra i l ty to our sigh t .
The n igh t ingale,that s ings forlorn
With bosom prest against a thorn ,I s type of thee , whose nobles t lays
Were hymned in sorrow-clouded days ;Bard of the vale and stream and grove ,Thou lyr ic oracle of love !
Gen ius , by“
s igns that cannot l ie ,F lashed in fu l l glo ry from th ine eye .
I n thee a hero’
s ardou r burned ,
I n thee a woman’
s p i ty yearned ;Passion and pathos— fire and tears
Baptized thy l i fe’
s few trag ic years .
38 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
So— in the summer- cloud that lowers
Keen l ightn ing lu rks— w i th gentle showers ;So— from the i r depths volcanoes br ing
The fire - flood and the heal ing spring .
Gaze on the Poet’
s stalwart form
D i lat ing th rough the m ist and s torm .
The wh i rlw ind sh r ieks— the thunders rol l
They wake fierce echoes in h is sou l .
Hark !’
Mid the elemental war
He hears the battle’
s madden ing roar ;The tempest loud and louder raves
He treads on Scott ish heroes’
graves :
They wake— they r ise— past scenes retu rn
It is the figh t of Bannockburn !
He sees— he th r i l l s— he glows
As,battl ing for the ground they trod
,
H i s phantom breth ren— “ red -wat shod
Charge over trampled corse and clod,
Down on the i r Southron foes !
H i s ardent sp i ri t onward sped
To j o in the exul t ing th rong
H i s banner was the l ightn ing red,
His march , the wh i rlw ind overhead ,
And “ Scots , wha hae wi’ Wallace bled
His glor ious battle - song !
And yet dumb cattle , and the s i l ly sheep,
Smoor’
d i n a snow -d ri ft , made th is hero weep .
Cru shed by h i s plough , the daisy upward turns
Its dy ing eye , and w ins immortal tears ;The nest - robbed mousie ,
” numb w i th p i teous fears
The wee b i rd ch i tter ing ” on a frozen spray,
ROBERT BURNS 39
Hungry and cold on w inter ’ s bleakest day
To al l of these the strong man’
s pi ty yearns ;What hel pless th ing but mel ts the heart of Burns ?
He sang h is comrades un renowned ,
Shepherds and t i l lers of the ground ;Brave Poverty— inglor ious worth
The gu i l t less conquerors of earth,
Hero ic souls of humblest l i fe ,Stern sold iers in the ceaseless s tr i fe
Waged— s ince th is planet’
s course began’Tw ixt hard necess i ty and man .
Thei r lowly j oys,the i r labours dul l
The poet ’ s touch made beaut i fu l ;He deemed nought “ common or unclean
H is sp i r i t sanct ified the mean
And the rude mattock in h is hand
Seemed l ike a sceptre of command !
So— he i s loved th roughout the earth
Beyond the land that gave h im b i rth ;SO h is youth and manhood to i l ed
,
Undaunted st i l l , though sorely fo i l ed ,
Where once he broke the stubborn clod
He re igns supreme a household god
And p i lgr ims venerate the spot
Where stands the Poet’
s clay - bu i l t co t .
I n c i t ies— where ,’
m id smoke and gloom ,
The engine clanks and wh i rrs the loom ;Where ,
’
m id a w i lderness of br icks,
G r im To i l and Trade thei r emp i re fix,
And Want and A ffluen ce,s ide by s ide ,
40 POEMS OF GEORGE M URRAY
Are wh irled on traffic’
s roaring t ide ;Where d im , discolou red streams that erst
From mossy springs clear-bubbl ing burst ,Now , clogged and si lent , wel ter on
W i th a l l thei r l igh t and music gone
There— by the foundry’
s fu rnace glow ,
Or black canal— ba rge- l aden , s low
Among the toi l ing swarms of men
The M instrel of the l inn and glen ,Hath lays to captivate each ear
For joy, a laugh— for grief , a tear .
And Burns to them is cl earer far
Than Shakespeare ’ s sel f and M i l ton are ,Dearer— because there runs some vein
Warm from h is heart th rough every strain .
What though he be no cul tured sage
R i ch in the lore of classic page
He tel l s them that the honest poor
I n God ’ s eyes never are obscu re
That rank and r iches— b lood and b i rth
Are but the acc idents of earth ,And that a garb of “ hodden -grey
I s not less grand than kings’
array ,I f he who wears i t wi l l and can
Uphold the d igni ty of man .
And thus— the shepherd on the moor ;The lasses , bleach ing on the braes ;
The gude-wife,sp inn ing at the door ;
The reaper in the noon - t ide b laze ;The wayworn hunter on the fel l ;The m i lk-ma id in the hazel del l ;The fisher
,rocked upon the deep ;
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Comrades ! ye see me , be i t known ,For the last t ime on earth to-day :
’Twas the young herdsman who alone
Caused that my l i fe must pass away ;H is Alpine horn bew i tched my youth
To yearn for home— God knows the truth .
Ye th ree , that armed with rifles stand ,Loved comrades ! hear my last desi re
See that ye l i ft no tremb l i ng hand ,
A im true together , when ye fi re :
Stra ight let each bul let pierce my heart ,I ask th is on ly ere we part .
0 Lord ! who art the K ing of Heaven ,
Draw my poor sou l to Thee on h igh :
May a l l my fra i l t ies be forg iven
By Thy great mercy ere I d ie .
Hereafter , le t me dwel l w i th Thee ,O Lord , my God , remember me !
A DREAM ABOUT THE ASPEN .
Oh ! know ye why the aspen leaves so tremulously
s i gh
When th rough the burning summer noon no breeze i s
heard on h igh ,
When the green canopies that crown the woodland s
are at rest ,And gladden fa int wayfar ing men w i th shadows calm
and blest?
A DREAM ABOUT THE AS PEN 43
I n the dread hou r when God’
s o‘
wn Son upon the
Cross was na i led ,The fierce red splendour of the sun i n m idn ight gloom
was ve i l ed ,
Earth ’ s bosom heaved , and gi rt around with darkness
deep and st i l l
M en bowed,l ike fra i l wind - shaken reeds
,before God ’ s
m ighty w i l l .
W i th d im presentiment of woe , each beast concea l ed
h is form ,
And shrank with in h is cavern -home , as though beneath
a storm ;No bi rd -wing flut tered in the grove , or floated th rough
the ai r ,And Nature ’s heart had ceased to beat , wrung deeply
by despa i r ,Save t hat the sh rouded trees and flowers sti l l mu r
mured low in thought ,And wai l ing told of deeds of b lood and j ustice set a t
nought ,Of b igot pr iests and tra i tor hearts and fa i th for si lver
bought .
The cedar groves on Lebanon a d i rge- l ike music made,And dark as n ight athwart the h i l l s was flung thei r
giant shade ;Wh i l e soft ly from a weeping tree , the tree of Babylon
,
A vo ice in lonely wh isper sighed,
’Tis fin ished—He
is gone !”
Then deep ly down she hung her boughs wi th inEuph rates
’
stream
And ever d reameth of His death a l i fe -enduring
44 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Ca lmly beneath the eye o f heaven the glowing vine
yards slept ,The vintner watched the b ig bright tears that from the
b ranches wept ,And when the pu rp le cl usters d ropped and the new
wine was prest
M ind fu l he named It Tears of Chri st , and sti l l that
name is b l est .
B ut soon a vapour round the Mount arose wi th fra
grant flow ,
B reathed from the very sou l of Love compassionating
Woe ,By the n igh t-b looming vio l et to coo l the burn ing
b ra i n
Of H im whose thorn -enc i rcled b row throbbed wild lyin
'
its pa i n .
Mou rnfu l ly spake the cypress then , My branches I
wi l l wave
I n memory o f th is awful hou r fo r ever by the grave
And th rough the su l try d imness passed a gently-wafted
breath ,As to the Cross an Angel moved , stern messenger o f
death ;A sad vo ice groaned : My God ! my God ! why hast
thou me forsaken?
And al l the trees and flowers with fear and agony
were shaken .
The Aspen shook not : she a lone , a proud unp i ty i ng
t ree ,Stood tearless , motionless beside the Mount of Ca l
vary ,
A DREAM ABOUT THE ASPEN 45
And thus outspake that haughty one : What reck
we of thy pa i n?
Why shou ld we‘
weep? We trees and flowers are free
from s infu l stain :
Soon wil l my sisters cease to pine—th is hour wi l l soonbe o
’
er
A brigh t ep iphany of joy sha l l beam for evermore .
Then Death ’ s dark Angel took the cup , red wi th the
Saviour’
s b lood ,
And at the cold proud Aspen’
s root poured forth the
mystic flood ,And spake strange words , and by those words the
miserab l e t ree
Was cu rsed , and every leaf was doomed a qu ivering
l eaf to be ;And t i l l that o ld , o ld cu rse be dead , her b ranches
cannot rest ,But sti l l she feareth , t remb l eth sti l l , when a l l i s ca lm
and b lest .
Scorn not the ta l e ! Those thoughts were born wi th in
a ch i ld - l i ke heart ,E ’en as the tears that in ou r eyes so oft unbidden
start
Born l ike the strains that gush from out the forest
warbler’
s breast ,That soft or sh ri l l are b i rd -song st i l l and may no t be
represt .
Then scoff not at the simp l e ta l e , nor deem the legend
wi ld ,I t was not woven that the ears of men migh t be be
gu iled ,
46 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
But that men’
s eyes m igh t t race the form of Truth in
Fict ion’
s s tream
And read a world -o ld,God - framed law foreshadowed
in a d ream .
Slowly’
t is learn t by heart , al though by memory
qu ickly caught
Fa intly’
t is wr i t in tears upon the tablets of the
thought
St i l l , st i l l that law of ex i l e l ives— the ban of Heaven
above
That they who shu t Love out shal l be in tu rri shu t
out from Love .
”
BROTHERLY LOVE ;
OR ,THE S ITE OF KING SOLOMON
’
S TEM PLE .
There is a sweet trad i t ionary tale .
(Dear to each brother of the Myst ic Tie)Wh ich
,though record ing bu t a s imple deed
,
A simple deed— and yet how ful l of love
I would that men migh t hear and take to heart.
That tale ’ s clear echo , l ike some lute that th r i l l s’Mid lord l ier ins trumen ts , hath floated down
Borne,l ike a perfume , on the breath of T ime ,
From the d im age of Solomon the King .
And even now i ts mus ic i s not dead ,
Nor can i t d ie,so long as human hearts
Feel the qu ick pu lse of brotherhood leap h igh .
BROTHERLY LOVE 47
The harves t moon was sh in ing on the grain
That waved al l golden in the fields around
The stately c i ty of J erusalem .
Th ereg a few acres al l the weal th they owned
Two brothers dwel t together , most unl ike
I n outward form and aspect,bu t the same
I n deep unfa i l ing tenderness of sou l .
Stalwart and strong , on e brotherd rove the plough
O r pl ied the Sickle w i th unt i r ing arm ,
The wh i le h is frag i le comrade seemed to d roo p
Beneath the heat and burden of the day
As on e not fi tted for the to i l s of l i fe .
Well knowing th is,the elder brother rose
At dead of n ight and woke h is sleep ing w i fe
And sa id : Dear heart,my brother i s not strong :
I l l hath he borne the burden of the day ,
Reaped the fu l l gra in,and bound the yel low sheaves .
I w i l l ar ise and wh i l e my brother sleeps
W i l l of my shocks take here and there a sheaf
At random— that he may not note the loss
And add the grain ,thus p i l fered , to h is store ;
And God wel l knoweth that we shal l not m iss
The sheaves devoted to a brother’
s need .
”
SO, the man rose up in the dead of n igh t
And, as h is great heart prompted ,
so he d id .
Now,wh i l e the younger pondered on h is bed ,
Unw i tt ing of h is brother’ s
,
grac ious deed
Kind thoughts,l ike Angel s
,v is i ted h is sou l
And thus he spake,commun ing w i th h imsel f
Scant i s my harvest— but I am alone ,
48 POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
And thus i t haps my harvest i s not scant ,Nor have I need to lay up store on earth
,
Fo r death treads closely on the heel s of l i fe !
Seeing that these th ings are so , let me do
What good I may , before I travel hence
And be no more . My brother has a wife
And babes to work for—and he is not richFrom sunrise unto sunset though he to i l s .
I wi l l ari se and whi le my b rother s leeps ,Wil l of my shocks take here and there a sheaf ,And add the gra in , thus p i l fered , to h is s tore
Fo r’
t is not fi tt ing that my share should be
Equa l to h is , who hath more need than I ."
SO he , too , rose up i n the dead of n ight .
And , as h is great heart prompted , so he d id .
But a l l the time he wrought that loving deed ,
He trod the field with feather- footed care ,And paused at t imes , and l istened— while the sheaves
Shook in h is a rms and every gra in that d ropped
Left h is face pal l id as the moon ’ s wh i te ray .
So , l ike a man with gu i l t upon h is soul ,Ful l of va i n fears he wrought h is task , and then
Sto l e , l ike a shadow , to h is lonely bed ,And slept the sleep that cometh to the good .
And thus these two , moved by the sel f-same love ,Each on the other n ightly d id bestow
The kind ly boon , much wondering that h is shocks
Did show no loss , though robbed o f many sheaves .
At length one nigh t—whi le tenderly the MoonLooked down from Heav
’
n on thei r unselfish love
5 0 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE .
O, ca l l backyesterday, bid time retu rn . SHAKESPEA RE
Poor faded flower,
Thy pale dead form hath caused the tears to start
And st i rred the waters of my lonely heart
W i th strange angel ic power .
Long years ago
E re l i fe’
s glad sunsh ine langu ished into shade,
Thou wast the fragrant O ffering of a ma id
Fai r as the world can Show .
Let me cal l up
The Past’
s
'
d im ghost by memory’
s potent spel l :One pearl at least is l eft , for wh ich
’
tis wel l
To drain gr ief’
s bi tter cup !
’
Twas summer eve ,And she and I
,fai r ma iden and fond boy,
Together wandered fu l l of such deep joyAs age can ne
’
er retrieve .
The cher ished scene
G l eams th rough a m ist of tears and memory sees
The velvet tu rf , the patr iarchal trees ,The wood land cool and green .
A s i lver lake
Before us slumbered ; herds of t im id deer
W i th horns th rown back , came troop ing to the mere
From many a leafy brake :
THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE 5 1
W i th large brigh t eyes
And ears erect,they marked our com ing feet ,
One moment paused , then van ished in retreat
Sw i ft as a falcon fl ies .
A fa i ry boat
Rocked on the r ipples,capt ive to a bough ;
I loosed i ts chain'
and oared the shal lop’
s prow
Through l i ly- l eaves afloat .
Eve’
s golden rays
Streamed o’
er our path ; my sweet companion steered
Stra ight for a green ly -wooded isle that peered
D imly th rough cr imson haze .
We d id not speak :
When bl i ss i s infin i te,what need of speech ?
Ou r keel soon grated on the pebbly beach
That fr inged a shel tered creek .
SO s trayed we on ,
Through shadowy a isles of close - embrac ing trees
Whose restless fol iage murmured l ike the seas,
A s l umberous monotone .
G reen tw inkl ing leaves
L i t by slant sunbeams tremulous ly made
Qua int sh i ft ing arabesques of l ight and shade
Such as nought earth ly weaves .
The Z ephyr ’ s s igh
And hum of insect -swarms alone were heard ,
Save when some squ i rrel leapt, or nestl ing b i rd
Sang vespers from on h igh .
5 2 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
With s i lent j oy
We stood and gazed and l istened . There was nought
To mar the spel l by one intrus ive thought
That migh t our dreams annoy .
Each sense seemed drowned
I n waves of happ iness ; I tu rned to tel l
My sou l’
s deep bl iss to her who knew i t wel l
Her looks perused the ground '
There , flower ing wild’
M id emerald leaves and buds with ruby t ips,
C rimson and dewy as her own sweet l ips ,A fragrant b lossom smiled .
W i th lov ing heed
I stooped to p l uck i t from its verdant nook ,When she , with playfu l ly capr icious look ,
Stooped and forestal led the deed ;
Then , arch coquette ,‘
She flashed upon me her bewi ldering eyes
I n saucy triumph and d isplayed the prize ,And then— our fingers met :
Her soft wh i te hand“
Sent a keen sh iver through my t ingl ing frame
Each vein seemed glowing with a subtle flame
That each pulsat ion fanned .
I took the flower ,I caugh t her hand and clasped i t in my own
And murmured vows in fond impassioned tone ,Accordant with the hou r .
THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE 53
She did not check
The heaving t ides of passion’
s fiery flood ,But the qu ick curren t of her tel l -ta le blood
Rushed over face and neck :
The fain t pink flush
O f dainty sea- shel l , or deep-bosomed rose ,R i ch sunset hues asleep on vi rgin snows
Scarce typ i fy her blush .
And then she sighed ;The sma l l wh i te teeth wi th in her l ips apart
G l eamed l ike the rain -drops that some bud ’ s red hear t
Caressing , ha l f doth h ide .
She d id not move ,Her eyes ha l f c losed in languor
’
s d im ecl ipse
I p ressed upon the blossom of her l ips
The fi rst sweet kiss of l ove .
Ah ! me ! Ah ! me !
Our fondest j oys endure but for a day ,While pains make nest -homes of our hearts and stay
And so ’ twi l l ever be .
That maid is gone !
She , whose rare natu re formed my sou l’
s del ight ,Long s ince to k indred angels took her fl igh t
And I am left a lone !
But there i s balm
Sti l l for my woe ; the memory of her smi les
Back to youth’
s morn ing- land my heart begu i lesAnd brings elys ian ca lm .
54 POEMS OF GEO RGE MURRAY
And thu s I vow ,
Though colou r , beau ty , fragrance , al l are fled
From the pale flower that l ies before me dead,
I hold i t sacred nOW°
And I would fl ing
The queenl iest blooms as ide that scent the breeze
I n odorous isles of bl ue Pac ific seas ,For th is poor withered th ing !
THE DEAF G IRL .
When ch i ldhood’
s laugh ing tones revea l
Deep blessedness of heart ,I fe ign the j oy I l ong to feel
And check the sobs that start ;Shroud ing the agony that l ies
W i th in my d im , tear—bl inded eyes ,Because on earth eternal ly
The door of sound i s closed for me ,And man— man knoweth not the key !
I n sol i tude I love to dream
Of what I may not hear ,And muse how sweet a sound must seem ,
A human vo ice , how dear !
Alas ! that d reams wh ich soothe and bless
Should be so fu l l of noth ingness !
I wake and al l i s mystery :
The door of. sound is c losed for me ,And man —man knoweth not the key !
THE NEAPOLITANS TO MO Z ART 55
I shal l not long be here on earth ,My mother ’ s eyes are wet
She fel t,e ’en when she gave me b i rth ,
My star would quickly set .
I grow less earth ly day by day ,
Then tel l me why should death delay?
God cal l s me home , God sets me free :
The door of sound i s closed for me ,B ut oh ! i t shal l not a lways be .
My form is frai l , my s ight i s d im ,
L i fe’
s t ide i s ebb i ng fast :
My fa i l ing senses seem to swim
And al l wi l l soon be past |
Peace , peace ! I hear sweet angel -tones
Sing ing i n Heaven round the th rones ;One last brief prayer on bended knee
The door of sound is oped for me ,But God , God only , held the key !
THE NEAPOLITANS TO MOZ ART .
Strange musica l wizard ! the spel l s o f th ine art
Can ne’
er bu t wi th l i fe from our memo ry depart ;The notes are now hushed , but thei r echo st i l l ro l l s ,L ike a slow-ebb ing tide , o
’
er our passionate soul s .
In I ta ly they told l ittle Mozart that i t was h is bewitched r ing t ha taccomp li shed all hi s feats on the piano . unt i l h e took off th e ring an dqui et ly p ut It on the desk. —Temp le Bar. for May. 1 886. p . 50.
“ W e remember Mozart'
s being ob l i ged to take off h i s ring. whi le p er
formi ng at Nap les . The poeti ca l and music- lov in g pub l i c of that land of son gcoul d on ly acco un t for hi s d ivine gen ius by th e be li ef tha t a sp ir it inhabitedthe jewel on hi s fin ger.
—Foreign R eview, No. VI I .
56 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Fa i r Naples , thou know’
st , i s the home of sweet song ,And th i ther earth
’
s minstrel s a l l lovingl y t hrong ;I nsp i red are the p i lgr ims who visi t th is shrine
,
But when have we known insp i ration l ike th ine?
The k ings of th i s world never heard on thei r thronesSuch rare modulations , such j ubi lan t tones ;The music of d reams is less marvel lous farThan the chords O f thy rav i sh ing harmon ies are .
W i th thy nostri l s d i lated , and tremulous l i ps ,Th ine eyes l i t w i th glory that nough t can ecl i pse
,
Thou seemest some Angel , and mult i tudes trace
God’
s breath pass ing shadow- l ike over t hy face .
Where learnt thy we i rd fingers each exqu isi te strain
That floods our qu ick sp i ri ts wi th p leasure or pain?
Who taught thee to wake from mute ivory keys
Low moans l ike deep thunder , s ighs soft as th e breeze?
Our poets have chronicl ed oft in thei r rhyme
Fantast ic old legends of madness and crime ,Of human sou l s bartered for gold , m igh t , o r fame ,I n compact wi th One whom we
’
shudder to name .
I s i t thus thou hast gained supernatural ski l l?
Hast thou mortgaged thy sou l to the Sp i ri t of I l l?
Away with thy harmony , Wizard— but no
Those tones are seraph ic , i t cannot be so .
There are be ings we know of celest ial bi rth ,Commissioned to haunt th i s d im p lanet of earth ;The
’
i‘
r s i lver-w inged leg ions float ever in ai r ,O ur eyes may not see them , but sti l l they are the re :
58 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
And lone old age emb i t tered wi th remorse .
And now l ike ghosts the brigh t days of h is youth
Hovered about h im : and he stood once more
At Li fe’
s d read cross- road by h is father ’s side .
I ts righ t -hand pathway led by sunny tracks
Of vi rtue to a Paradise of peace
Ful l of g lad harvests and of glorious l ight ;But the left strayed
,th rough labyrinths of vice ,
Down to a disma l , poison -dropp ing cave ,Where serpents darted mid the dark damp night .
Ah ! now those serpents wri thed about h is b reast ,Those po i soned dropp ings para lyzed hi s tongue ,He learn t the error of h is choic%too late !
Crushed by despa i r he sobbed a loud to Heaven
G ive back my youth , 0 God ! and oh ! my Si re ,P l ace me once more upon that branch ing road ,That once aga in my pathway I may choose .
”
I n va in— h is father and h is you th were gone !
He saw strange l ights that danced above the marsh
And d ied with in the grave-yard— and he sighed ,“ Those were my sinfu l days .” He watched a star
Shoo t from the skies and gl immer to i ts fal l
To be extinguished on the gloomy earth ;“ That star i s I
,
” he groaned , and fel l Remorse
Gnawed at h i s wounds again wi th serpent- fangs .
Suddenly , music for the new-born year
Like d istant church -song floated from a tower .
His sou l was sti rred—he gazed around the earthAnd mused upon the p laymates of h is youth ,Who , happ ier now and ho l ier far than he ,
THE NEW YEAR ’
S N IGHT OF AN UNHAPPY MAN 59
Were teachers of the world , world-honoured men ,
Fathers of loving ch i ld ren—and he cried :
I too , my Si re , might now have happy been ,Thy NEW YEAR
’
S b idd ing had I erst fulfi l led !
He bowed h is head— h ot , pen i tential tears
Streamed on the snow— again he softly sighed ,Hopeless , unconscious a lmost , Come again !
0 my lost Youth , come back !
I t came again
Fo r on tha t strange and solemn New Year’
s N igh t
He had but dreamed . H is youth was left h im sti l l
H is errors on ly had not been a dream .
With gra tefu l sou l he poured his -thanks to God ,That he was spared sti l l young to tu rn aside
From Sin’
s fou l ways and fol low the fai r t rack
That leads the pi lgrim to a land of peace .
Turn then aside with h im , thou’
wayward youth ,Who standes t doub t ing on the road o f L i fe
This ghastly dream was p ictured for thy sake .
I f e ’er , grown o ld , i n angu ish thou shouldst cry ,
Come back once more , 0 vanished Youth , comeback !
”
The golden years can never more retu rn .
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
THE SOWER .
(From th e French of Victor Hugo
Peacefu l and cool , the tw i l igh t grey
Draws a d im curta in o’
er the day ,Wh i le in my cottage-porch I l urk
And watch the last lone hour of work .
The fields around are bathed in dew,
And,with emot ion fi l led , I v iew
An old man clothed in rags , who throws
The seed amid the channeled rows .
His shadowy form is looming now
High o ’er the fu rrows of the p lough ;Each mot ion of h is arm betrays
A boundless fa i th in futu re days .
He stalks along the ample plain ,Comes
,goes
,and fl ings abroad the gra i n ;
Unnoted , through the d reamy haze
With med i tative sou l I gaze .
At last , the vapours of the n igh t
D i late to heav’
n the old man’
s height ,Til l every gesture of h i s hand
Seems to my eyes subl imely grand !
TH E LAMP OF HERO 61
THE LAMP OF HERO .
(From th e French of Lou ise Ackermann .)
When Hero ’ s lover , reckless of the storm ,
Each n ight more hungry for h is stealthy bl i ss ,Swam the swi ft channel to the tremb l i ng form
That wai ted wi th a kiss ;
A Lamp , with rays that welcomed from afar ,Streamed through the darkness , vigi lan t and bright ,
As though in Heav’
n some large immortal star
Unvei led i ts throbbing l igh t .
The scourg ing b i l lows strove to b l ind h is eyes ,The winds let loose thei r fu ry on the ai r ,
And the scared sea-gul l s sh r ieked d iscordant cries ,Forebod ing death
’
s despa i r ;
But from the summ i t of the lonely tower
The Lamp st i l l streamed above the waters d im
And the bo ld swimmer fel t redoub led power
Nerve each exhausted l imb .
AS the dark b i l lows and the winds at stri fe
Whelmed in thei r wrath the love - s ick boy of O ld ,
So , round humani ty the storms of l i fe
S i nce T ime was bo rn have rol led .
But wh i le each l ightn ing-flash reveals a tomb
Which yawns insat iate fo r each wretch that cowers
I n the same dangers , and the sa in e dense gloom
The same true Lamp is ours .
62 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Through the dul l haze i t gl immers , d im and pa l e ,The winds and waters struggle but in va in ,I n clouds of foam the guid ing star to vei l ,
For sti l l i t gleams again .
And we , with faces l ifted .to the sky,
F i l l ed wi th fresh hopes , the rag ing bil lows c l eave ,Fa in t but encouraged by the l ight on high
Ou r ventu re to ach ieve .
Pharos of Love ! that i n the blackest n igh t
Dost gu ide ou r course am id the rocks and shoal s ,O Lamp of Hero ! fai l not w i th thy l ight
To cheer our sinking souls !
THE FUNERAL OF A VILLAGE G IRL .
(From th e Fren ch of Jul ien -Auguste Bri zeux.)
When fa i r Lou ise , ha l f ch i ld , hal f woman , d ied
L ike some fra i l b lossom crushed by wind and ra in ,Her b ier was fo l lowed by no mourn ing tra in .
One priest alone accompan ied , who sighed
B rief prayers , to which in accents soft and low,
A boy-attendant answered , fu l l of woe .
Lou ise was poor : i n death , our common lot ,The rich have honours wh ich the poor have not .
A s imp l e cross of wood , a faded pal l ,These were her funeral honours , th is was a l l
And when the sexton from the cottage room
Conveyed her l ight young body to the tomb ,A bel l tol led fain tly , as i f loath to say
THE KEEPER'
S SON 63
SO sweet a ma iden had been cal l ed away .
’Twas thus she d ied— and thus , by h i l l and da l e ,’
M id broom whose fragrance floated on the ga l e ,And past green cornfields , at the dawn of day ,
The scant procession humb ly took i ts way .
Apri l had lately burst upon the earth
In a l l the glory that attends her b i rth ,And tenderly upon the passing bier
She snowed her blossoms and she dropped her tear .
F lowers , pink and whi te , arrayed the hawthorn now ,
Whi le starry buds were tremb l ing on each bough ,Sweet scents and harmonies the ai r caressed
And every b i rd was warb l ing in i ts nest .
THE KEEPER ’S SON .
A )
(From the French of An dré Th euri et.)
B lack is the night and as though in figh t
Thei r arms the trees o f the forest wave ,And not a sound can be heard around ,But ra i n that rushes and winds that rave .
The doors are shu t in yon woodland hut :
An aged si re and h i s fearless sons,
Three poachers keen , with a bloodhound lean
Crouch in the th i cket and load thei r guns .
Wi th in the gloom of that hut ’ s low room
An infant sleeps by the grandam ’s bed ,While a ma iden fai r near the sl umber ing pai r
Sits at a spindle wi th droop ing head .
64 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
A fl ickering lamp through the m idn ight damp
I l l umes her cheek wi th a feeb l e l ight ,A id ing to trace a sweet flower- l ike face
And curl s that stra’
y’O
’
er a neck snow-white .
Fai r i s her form , bu t her bosom warm
Fi t fu l ly heaves l ike the ocean ’ s breast :
I s i t fright or care , or the stifl ing ai r ,Or wai ting , that causes her w i ld unrest?
The h inges weak of the frai l door creak
And a ra iny squal l from the outer gloom
Driveth a boy , the fa i r ma iden’s j oy ,
I nto the shadowy si lent room .
Clasped in her arms , he rebukes a larms ,And cries : Sweet Al ice , what need of frigh t?
She p l eadeth , Oh ! speak soft and low :
My grandam ’ s slumber i s ever l ight !
Thei r hearts beat h igh with ecstasy
And the ma iden wipes,whi le she softlySpeaks ,The ra ind rops cold that l ike tears have ro l l ed
Down her boy- l over’
s wh i te brow and cheeks .
My love i s wi ld for thee , sweet ch i ld !
He cried . She murmurs , Eve , morn and noon
For thee I sigh ; but , my darl ing , why
Wast thou the son of the Keeper born
For , h igher far than our forests are ,A barrier r ises to part us twa in :
And I dread hi s i re shou ld '
my j ea lous si re
Learn that '
I love and am loved again .
”
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
I PHIGENIA AT AULIS .
(EURIP IDES .)
Had I the voice of Orpheus , O my Si re ,And cou ld I charm the stones to fol low me ,Begui l ing hearers sweetly to my wil l ,Words I would use—but now my only spel lL ies in my tears , for tears are al l I have !
I hold no supp l iant bough , but touch thy knees
With th is frai l body wh ich she bore for thee :
I pray thee , slay me not before my time ,For sweet i t is to look upon the l ight ,But thou wouldst thrust me down to nether gloom .
I was the fi rst to ca l l thee Father : thou
Didst cal l me fi rst thy ch i ld,and I d id cl ing
F i rst to thy knees and shower upon thy l ips
Sweet , loving k isses which thy l ips retu rned .
And thou wouldst say,My darl ing , shal l I l ive
To see thee b looming in some chiefta i n’
s ha l l s
A j oyous b ride , an honour to thy si re
And I would answer , toying with thy beard ,
Which now my hand doth fond ly sti l l caress :“My Father , shal l i t be , when thou art O ld
Tha t I shal l cher ish thee with in my home ,Repaying thus the nurture of my youth
I do remember me of al l these words ,But thou forgett ing them , dost seek my death .
Spare me I pray , by Pelops , by thy si re ,And by my mother too , who at my birth
Fel t pangs less keen than those my death wil l cause .
Th e speech of Iph i gen ia is.
remarkab le for its pathos and we seem to fee lnow at least that we are certa inly rea d ing the very words of Eurip i des , freefrom any interpolations.
"—Paley'
s Eur ip i des, vol . TIL. p . 443.
AFTER THE BATTLE 67
What part or lot have I in Helen’
s loves,
Or why should Par is ru in also me
Look on me , Father ! grant one look , one ki ss ,That i f I fai l to move thee by my words ,I may i n death , at least remember these .
My brother ! weak I fear me , is th ine a id
Sti l l , weep with me , with me beseech our si re
To spare thy sister— there may be a sense
Of sorrow even in an infant ’ s mind .
Behold , how s i lently he prays to thee ,My Father . P i ty me and spare my l i fe .
Two beings dear to thee are a t thy feet,
He , sti l l a nursl ing—I , a maiden grown .
One last brief p l ea I urge—’ t is very sweet
To l ive and look upon the l ight ; but death
I s darkness—they are mad who pray to d ie .L i fe i s more precious than the nob l est death !
AFTER THE BATTLE .
Once on a t ime , i t matters l i ttle when
On Engl ish ground , i t matters l i ttle whereA fight was fough t upon a summer day
When ski es were blue and waving grass was green .
The wi ld flower , fash ioned by the Almigh tyHandTo be a perfumed goblet for the dew
,
Fel t i ts enamel led cup fi l led h igh with b l ood
And Shrink i ng from the horror , drooped and died .
These l ines are prin ted as a Curiosity of Literature. Th e ren der wi l lfind that by th e mere addi t ion or om iss ion of a few words , Char les D i ckens”graphi c des cri ption of th e scen e where once a great battle had been fought ish ere turn ed into unrhymed metre .
68 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
M any an insect that der i ves i ts hue
F rom harmless leaves and tender-bladed herbs
Was stained anew tha t day by dying men
And marked i ts wanderings with unnatural t rack .
The pa inted butterfly that soared from earth
Bore blood upon the edges o f i ts w ings .
The stream ran r ed . The tramp l ed soi l became
A quagm i re whence from sul len pool s that formed
I n pr ints of human feet and horses’ hoofs
The on e preva i l ing hue ofs tagnant blood
S t i l l lowered and gl immered at the cloudless sun .
The lonely moon upon the battle -ground
S hone brightly oft , whi l e stars kept mou rnfu l watch ,And w inds from every quarter of the earth
B lew o’
er i t , ere the traces of the fight
Were worn away . They lu rked and l ingered long
I n trivial s igns su rviving . Nature far
Above the ev i l pass ions of mank ind ,
Her old sereni ty recovered soon
A nd sm i led upon the’
gu i l ty battle-groundA s she had done when i t Was innocent.The lark sang h igh above i t ; swal lows skimmed
And d ipped and fl itted ga i ly to and fro .'
T he shadows of the fly ing clouds pursued
Each other sw i ftly over grass and corn
And field and woodland , over roof and spi re
O f peacefu l towns embosomed among trees ,I n to
.the
’
glow ing d istance , far'
away
Upon the borders of the earth and sky
W here the red sunsets faded . Crops were sown
And reaped and harvested ; the restless stream
T hat once was red w i th carnage , turned a mil l
AFTER THE BATTLE 69
Men wh ist led at the plough , or tossed the hay ,
And bands of gleaners gathered up the grain .
I n sunny pastures sheep and oxen browsed ;Boys whooped and cal led to scare the p i l fering b i rds ;Smoke rose from cottage ch imneys ; Sabbath bel l s
Rang w i th sweet chimes ; old people l ived and d ied ;The timid creatures of the field and grove
,
The s imp l e b lossoms of the garden -p lot,
G rew up and perished in the i r dest ined terms
And al l am id the b l ood - steeped battle - ground
Where thousands upon thousands had been slain .
But there were deep green patches in the corn ,That peasants gazed upon at fi rst wi th awe .
Year after year those patches reappeared
And ch i ld ren knew that men and horses lay
I n mou ldering heaps beneath each ferti l e spot .
The v i l lage h ind who ploughed that teem ing soi l
Sh rank from the large worms that abounded there ;The bounteous sheaves i t never fa i led to y ield
Were cal led the Battle Sheaves”and set apart :
And no one knew a Battle Sheaf to be
Borne in the last load at a Harvest Home .
For many a year each furrow that was turned
Revealed som ‘e crumb l ing record of the fight ,And by the roads ide there were Wounded treesAnd scraps of
{
hacked 'and broken fence and wal l
Where deadlystruggles erst had taken p lace ,And t rampled spots , where not a blade wou ld grow .
Formany a year , no sm i l ing v i l lage g i rl
Would dress her bosom or adorn her hair
With fragrant blossoms from that Field of Death :
And,when the seasons oft had come and gone ,
70 POEMS OF GEORGE M URRAY
The c rimson berries growing there were though t
To leave too deep a sta i n upon the hands
O f those tha t p l ucked them .
THE MADONNA’
S ISLE.
Embosomed on the deep there lay
A green E lysian isle ,With curving shore and crysta l bay
Whose waters glowed awhi le,
Crimson and golden , as the day
Sen t down a parting smile .
I t seemed to sleep , a holy spot
Amid the sleepless sea ,Where gui l t and grief might be fo rgo t ,And man from passion free
M ight cease the sole , b lack , sul lying b lot
On God’
s fa i r earth to be .
There , l ike some phantom that we meet
I n vi sions o f the n ight ,The tenant of that ca lm retreat ,Arrayed in stainless whi te ,
Strayed , lost in med i tation sweet ,A virgin pure and bright
B r ight as the d reams of Chi ldhood’
s sleep
Wh ich waft the sou l to Heaven ,Pure as the tears that angel s weep
When man with God hath striven
And sinned dread sins , perchance too deep ,Too dark to be forgiven !
TH E MADONNA ’
S ISLE 71
She kn el t immaculately fai r ,With love- i l l umined face ,
And l ike some lute the voice of prayer
B reathed spel l s around the p l ace ,Up floating through the summer ai r
To reach the th rone of grace .
But hark ! hoarse shouts her prayer arrest ,Her p i teous face is pa l e !
Fo r 10 ! to that green Eden -nest
A boat wi th sun - l i t sa i l
Ai ri ly skims o’
er ocean’
s breast ,Like sea-b i rd in the ga l e .
I ts crew are rovers bold and free ,M en stained wi th human gore ,
And when they marked wi th savage
The Presence on the shore ,They bounded madly o
’
er the sea
With lengthened sweep of oar .
Rude th reats they mutter as they row
Against that Hal lowed One ;They scoff and j eer , they do not know
The Mother of God’
s Son .
Heaven sh ield thei r help l ess prey , fo r oh !
Compassion they have none .
With eyes upra ised , that ma iden mi ld
I n speech less woe imp lored
Quick succour from a sin less Chi ld,
Her offsp ring , bu t her Lord :
I t cam%and sh rieks o f terror wi ld
Burst from the p i rate hord e !
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Fiercely, Euroclydon awoke
And lashed each angry wave ,Far- echoing peals of thunder spoke
I n tones that shook the brave ,Wh i l e shadowy depths asunder b roke
I n many a yawning grave .
M en struggled w i th unearth ly might
And gasped with gu rgl ing breath ,And when the l ightn i ng In Its fl ight
G lared on the wreck beneath ,J ust God ! i t was a ghastly s ight
To see thei r ghastly death !
The gentle moon hath charms to st i l l
The murmurs of the ma in ,As mothers at their own
,Sweet w i l l
Can soothe an Infant’
s pa in ;That n igh t she hu shed them not unti l
That ruth less band was slain :
And when the might
Had swept those sinners o’er ,
Oh ! ca lm ly then her cloudless l igh t
The gentle moon d id pour
Upon the Vi rg in clothed in whi te
Sti l l kneel ing on the shore !
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Poor harmless b lossom,thou must
Bu t wh i l e i t perished in i ts you th,
I t looked so pi ti fu l ly m i ld,
That the fond maiden wept for ru th
She , too , was but a blossom wild .
Come , l isten to my mournfu l stra in ,A s imp l e story
,sweet and sad
Th is tale of one who loved in va i n
Was told me by a harvest l ad .
The th i rd day passed , wi th twi l igh t shade
The r ich man to h is barley came ;B reath less and pale
,there stood the maid ,
Her eyes tri umphantly aflame !
I d id but j est , my girl , he cried ,“ Ten crowns thy toi l w i l l amply pay .
A las ! one mo re frai l blossom died ,Cut to the heart , ere close of day !
Such is the sto ry,sad and sweet ,
I heard amid the golden grain :
The maidens sing i t when they meet ,And m ingle weep ing with the strain .
A WOMAN’
S DREAM .
(From th e French of Madame Desbord es-V almore.)
Wil t thou begi n thy l i fe once more ,Woman
,whose hai r wi l l soon be wh i te?
Would ’ st thou thy ch i ldhood , as of yore
F l ushed by i ts guard ian angel’
s l igh t?
A WO MAN ’
S DREAM
R ocked in a cradle to repose ,W i l t thou thy mother
’
s k isses greet?
Yes ! my lost Eden’
s gates unclose !
Ah yes , my God ! I t was so sweet !
Trained by thy father’
s tender care ,Wil t thou love puri ty and truth ,
D iffusing round thee everywhere
The fragrant innocence of youth?
W i l t thou to l i fe’ s enchanting prime
F ly back with j oy on p i n ion fleet?
Would i t m ight last a longer t ime !
Ah yes , my God ! I t was so sweet !
W i l t thou th ine ignorance resume ,And spel l l i fe
’
s alphabet anew?'
When hopes , l ike stars , thy path i l l ume ,Canst thou forget the storms that b lew?
W ou ldst thou have back thy b lossoms gay ,The doves that fluttered to thy cal l?
”
A l l bu t the gravestones by the wayO grac ious
'
God ! res tore them al l !
Have then whate’
er thy heart may crave
Thy doves , thy b lossoms , and thy song
T ime’
s stream wi th melancholy wave
Wil l reach the Va l e of Tears ere long !
Love thou hast fel t— to Love retu rn
Too fra i l i ts madness to defy .
Must I“
again wi th passion bu rn ?
Nay ! p ity ing Saviour ! l et me die .
76 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
REMEMBRANC E.
(From the French of A l fred de Musset.)
O sacred ground , i n wandering back to thee
I thought to suffer though I hoped to weep ;Thou dearest grave unhonoured save by me ,Where ha l lowed memori es Sl eep .
What find ye in th is sol i tude to d read ,
My friends Why draw me by the hand away
When hab i t grown so O ld and sweet , hath led
My footsteps here to stray .
I see the up lands and the b l ooming heath ,The si lvery pathway o
’
er the noiseless sand ,The wa l ks sti l l redolen t of lovers ’ breath ,Where hand was clasped in hand .
The mounta in gorge’
s careless tracks I mark ,Fam i l iar murmu rs once again I hear
From ancien t p ine trees , crowned with verdure dark ,That soothed my boyhood ’s ear .
Here is the greenwood where my youth once more
Sings l ike a choi r of bi rds upon a tree
Fa i r moorland where my mi stress strayed o f yore
D idst thou not look for me ?
It was in the beginn ing of th is period of s i lence that he wrote one of the mostbeau t i fu l of h is poems Le Souven i r . He had v is ited th e forest of Fonta ineb len u in th e month of September. 1 840, and a few months later he p ut intoverse th e rem ini scences wh i ch were reca l led by the scene of h is old love forGeorge Sand . The whole poem is most touch ing. But a fter i t was pub l ished ,h e was fil led w ith regret that h e had g iven it to th e world . —North AmericanRevi ew. September. 1 878 .
78 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
I b l ess thee Time , kind angel of rel ief ;I had not though t love
’
s wound could e’
er concea l
Angu ish so keen , or that a victim’
s grief
Could be so sweet to feel .
Far be from me each time-worn thought and phrase.
That oft i n heartless ep i taphs are read ,
Wherewi th the man who never loved,d isp lays
H is feel ings for the dead .
Dante , thou sa id st that in the hour of woe
Remembered happiness i s sor row’
s curse ;What grief was th ine that thus could overflow
I n that embi ttered verse
M ust we forget that ever in the Skies ,E ’en when our nigh t is darkest , l ight appears
D idst thou Spurn Sorrow , thou , whose mournfu l eyes
Poured forth immorta l tears
No ! by yon moon whose beams i l lume my glance,
That vaunted b lasphemy was not thy creed ;Remembered happ iness on earth perchance
May happiness exceed .
Heaven on my head i ts l ightn ings now may fl ing,
This memory cannot from my heart be torn
To th is , though wrecked by tempests , I wi l l c l i ng
L ike mariner forlorn .
And oft I murmur : A t th i s t ime and p l ace
I loved one day and I was loved aga in ;Time has no power the p icture to efface ,Wh i l e l i fe and thought rema in .
”
PERHAPS 79
PERHAPS .
(From th e French of Gustave Nadaud )
To horse ! To horse I mount wi th speed ,For we must travel far , my steed ,
TO find repose :
Thy master’
s brain i s crazed with care
And we must gal lop apace , but where
Who knows
Oh ! how that golden-ha i red coquette
Dreamed sh e had caught me in the net
O f her d isdain !
The Si ren i s so fai r , so co ld ,
That the same kingdom cannot hold
Us twain .
Around her castl e-wal l s each day
My steed and I with sp i ri ts gayWere wont to roam
Yon path fam i l iar grown to each
We now must shun or we should reach
Her home .
Those fai th less gods to which I bowed ,
Her charms that lured me made her proud ;Her hai r , her eyes
B lue as the cloudless heaven above ,Her l i ps , that seemed to breathe of love
I n s ighs .
At length my heart hath burst i ts chain ,
And as my freedom I regain
I cu rse her pride,
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
And to my l ips , tha t day by dayM urmured I love thee ,
” now I say,
Ye l ied .
Shame on the heartl ess wayward
Who w i l l not tenderly hersel f
My passion share,
But j ea l ously refuses sti l l
To l et me wander at my wi l l
E l sewhere !
On , on , my steed !’
ti s j ust the hour
That , i n the gloam ing , to her bower
Her slave would bring :
Now from the hatefu l spot I fly,And Wi th no tear-drop i n my eye ,
‘ I sing .
But what i s here The velvet lawn,
Her home , amid the shade withd rawn
I t must be so
0 thoughtless man ! 0 heed less bru te !
That fa i l ed to recogn ize which route
To go !
Turn back ! bu t no— stand sti l l ! for she
I s sm i l ing at the easemen t . See !
Her finger taps .’Twere churl i sh not to say Good -bye ;When day l igh t dawns , my steed and I
Afar from C i rce’
s bower wi l l fly ,
P erhaps .
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
And th is is the way that the Rose
And the L i ly the i r feel ings d isclose :
The L i ly and Rose in th is way
A subtle d iscretion d isplay .
The Li ly then sa id ,
—I suppose
Her Speech is abridged by design,
I would love , 0 most exquisi te Rose ,To mingl e my perfume wi th th ine ! ”
The Rose answered ,
“ Nobody knows
Good reason your w ish to oppose ;But i f such a wish is sincere ,Come closer , a l i ttl e , my dear !
Thus matters soon came to a closeBetween the coy Li ly
,
and Rose ;The Rose and the L i ly th is way
Un i ted to form a bouquet .
LE MUGUET ET LA ROSE .
(Par Vi ctorien Sardou .)
Je vais vous débroui l ler la chose ,Et dévoi ler ce grand secret .
Vo ic i , par exempl e , une rose ;Une rose et un muguet .
Le muguet d i t : O bel l e rose ,S i j
’
osa is parle’r , mais je n’ose !
La rose d i t tout bas : Mon Dieu !
Il fau t pou rtan t oser un peu !
Voi la la fagon dont on cause
Entre le muguet et la rose ,Et dont on j oue au p l us d iscret
Entre la rose et le muguet .
SONNET 83
Le muguet poursu i t , je suppose ,Pour abréger les entret iens ;Que j
’
a imerais'
, charmante rose ,A meler mes parfums aux tiens .
La rose d i t : C ’est une chose
A laquel le rien n e s’oppose !
Mais , pou r sat isfai re 51 cc voeu ,I l faut vous rapprocher un peu !
Et vo i la comment tou te chose ,Entre le muguet et la rose ,F in i t pa r un j o l i bouquet
Fai t de la rose et du muguet .
SONNET .
(From the French of Fel ix Arvers.)
There is a secret sh rined with in my sou l ,A death less love , in one b r ief moment born ,
A hopeless passion that I must control
And h ide from her to Whom i ts vows are sworn .
Yes ! I must pass unnot iced by her eye ,Close by her side , consumed by lonely thought ,
And Shroud ing st i l l my secret I shal l d ie ,By naught rewarded having sued for naught .
But she —though God has dower ’
d her wi th a sweet
And tender natu re—knows not that her feetLure me to fol low her where
’
er they stray :
Too pure to dream her love can be des i redWere she to read these l ines she has insp i red ,
“Who is th is lady? she wou ld calmly say !
84 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
A WEEK IN A BOY’
S LIFE.
(From th e Provenca l of Jasm in .)
C h i l l was our sky: the swal lows a l l had fled,
A feeble gl immer by the sun was shed ,
The s i len t fields were lying bleak and bare ,When Al l Sa in ts
’
Day d rew nigh :
And from each palsied bough on h igh
The yel low leaves condemned to d ie
D ropped , eddy ing slowly th rough the a i r .
One even ing from our peacefu l town ,Whi le countless sta rs were gazing down
,
A bro ther and a Sister strayed
I n melancholy mood ,
And when before a Cross theys tood
They innocent ly p rayed .
Bathed in the moon l ight’
s pu ri ty
Abel and Rose' long bent the knee ;
Then l ike“ some organ in a fane
The mourn fu l vo ices of the itwain
Pou red forth two prayers tha t blen t in one
And soared to Heaven in un ison .
Mother of Christ ! ben ignan t Maid !
Father at home l ies s ick with pa in :
Th is poem by Jacques Jasmin . the barber- poet of Agen on th e Garonne. hasnever before . I bel ieve. been trans la ted . probab ly on account of its homelys imp l ici ty wh ich in passages may seem too p rosaic for the pub l ic taste. Longfe l low , in h is trans lat ion of
“
The Bl ind G ir l of Caste l-‘Cu i l lea ga inst the same d i ff iculty.
86 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
God for you r sakes has spared me . God is good .
For thou art young , not fi fteen qu i te ,Thou knowest how to read and wr i te ,But thou art coy and grave and prone to dream :
Sti l l l i fe has work for everyone I deem .
I know that thou art del icate and fra i l,
Less strong than comely ; and th ine arms wou ld fa i l
To sm i te the stone with s inews hale :
But our Col lector w ise and kind ,Notes that thy manners are refined ,And to befr iend thee seems incl ined .
Go then and do h is b idd ing ; but no sloth
And no concei t , my boy , l eave that to foo l s ,Writer and art isan are workmen , both
Pens , hammers are thei r tools .
M ind l ike the body , wears ou r l i fe away
Enough , dear ch i ld ! I trust that thou ,Dressed in black cloth , wi l t ne
’
er al low
False pride to scorn thy father’
s mean array .
Abel’
s blue eyes were l i fted up with j oy
Fond k isses passed between the man and boy ,
Mother and sister al so had thei r share :
Next morn the strip l ing to h is patron wen t
And for fou r days that fol lowed , thei r conten t
Was boundless as the ai r .
A las ! the p l easu res of the poor are b rief !
The Sabbath morn ing brought a mandate stern :
Hila i re to-morrow must to work retu rn .
I f he be absent , i n that case
Another hand wi l l take h is p lac
A WEEK IN A BOY '
S LIFE 87
By order of the Ch ief .
The vol ley from a cannon fi red
No deeper angu ish doles
Than by th is message was insp i red
With in four wretched soul s .
I’
m cured ,” the father cries
,
And struggles hard to rise
Bu t fal l s back feebly— if he works,he dies !
A week of rest i s wanted : ah ! poor fr iend !
Thy l i fe and death upon thy toi l depend .
Al l fou r were mute—th rough Abel ’ s heartA though t l ike l ightning seemed to dart .
I t dried the tears wi th in h is eyes
And len t the boy a nobler mien :
Strength in each muscle seemed to rise ,Whi le b l ushes on h is cheek were seen .
Then forth he fared , and quickly went
To the rough foreman’
s tenement .
Soon he retu rned : h is heart no more
By sore d istress was wrung .
Ne ’er had he looked so gay before ,Smi les in h is eyes and honey on h is tongue .
Rest,father rest ! Thou hast a week o f grace .
Rest from thy toi l— thy wonted vigour gain
A friend that loves thee wi l l supply the p l ace
Wh ich thou may’
s t st i l l re tain .
Saved by a friend ! So , friends sti l l love and feel !
Would th i s were certain in ou r world of woes :
To -morrow ’ s l igh t the secret wi l l revea l ;Good sons ex ist —but friends?alas ! who knows?
88 POEMS OF GEORGE M URRAY
’
T i s Monday morn : ou r Abel d rudges hard
Not at the desk bu t in the bu i lder ’ s yard .
His s i re was wrong : for though he seems to be
So fra i l,h i s work i s as the work of th ree :
Deftly he crumbles up the l ime
And kneads the mortar for each wal l,
L ight as a b i rd,he loves to cl imb
,
T i l l the pale workmen tremble for h is fal l .
He walks a d izzy plat form w i th the best,
Sm i l es as he mounts and sm i les when he al igh ts :
Here , there and everywhere no task he sl ights ,But to i l s to save h is father— and i s blest .
And thus h is honest comrades there,
Who guessed the secret of the boy,
Watched wh i le the sweat uncurled h is sunny hai r
And clapped the i r hands w i th tearfu l j oy .
What bl iss for Abel when at close of day
The workmen homeward press :
He qu ickly doffs h i s spattered dress
And dons h is black arrav.
Then,three fond t ra i tors al l conspi re
To cheat the unsuspect ing s i re ,Who ha i l s h is son
’
s arr ival from the desk :
A be prates of b i l l s and contracts , in burlesque ,And w i th an artfu l w ink repl ies
W hene’er h i s consc ious mother w inks her eyes !
“So passed th ree davs : the pat ien t qu i ts h is bed :
L i fe seems more sweet— an unfam i l iar boon
Thursday,h i s malady has fied :
Friday,he ga i ly qu i ts the house at noon .
90 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
VI I I .
They kept h is p lace for lone Hila i re
They proffered good ly pay,
A las ! too la te ! h is on ly care
Was soon to pass away .
N0 gold h is sorrow cou ld efface
No ski l l h i s l i fe cou ld save
He went , to take another p lace ,Bes ide h is darl ing ’ s grave .
A FANTASY .
(From the French of Gérard de Nerva l .)
There is an a i r that haunts me t i l l I s l igh t
The W i tch ing strains of Weber and Mozart ;An a i r that floods wi th languorous del igh t
The secret chambers of my lonely heart .
Each time I l isten to that music o ld
I seem to l ive two hund red years ago,
’Tis Lou i s Treize who reigns , and I beho ld
G reen up lands go lden in the sunset’
s g low .
Then , a ta l l pa lace , grey wi th grani te towers
And countless window-panes that red ly glare ,G i rt by broad parks th rough which
’
mid b loom
flowers
A glassy river wanders here and there .
And then , a lady opes a casemen t h igh
Pale , wi th dark eyes , i n antique robes arrayed ,One whom I loved in centu ries gone byWhose image never from my soul can fade !
FORGET ME NOT 91
FORGET ME NOT .
(From the Fren ch of Al fred de Musset.)
Remember me,when Morn wi th tremb l ing l ight
Opes her enchanted palace to the Sun ;Remember me , when si lver-mantled Nigh t
I n si lence passes l ike a pensive nun .
Whene ’er wi th ecstasy thy bosom heaves ,Or d reams begu i l e thee in the summer eves,
Then from the woodland lone
Hear a low-whispered tone ,Forget me not !
Remember me , when unrelen ting Fate
Hath forced us two for evermore to part ,When years of ex i l e leave me deso late ,And sorrow bl igh ts th is fond despai ring heart ;
Think of my hapless love , my last farewel l :
Absence and time true pass ion cannot quel l ,And wh i l e the heart sti l l beats ,Each th rob for thee repeats ,
Forget me not !
Remember me , when’neath the ch i l ly tomb
My weary heart i s wrapt in slumber deep ;Remember me , when pale blue flowerets bloom
O’
er the green tu rf that sh rouds my dreamless sleep .
I shal l no t see thee,but from realms above
My soul sha l l , watch thee wi th a sister’
s love ,And oft when none are n igh
,
A voice at n ight shal l sigh,
Forget me not !
92 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
JACQUES
I n Par is at the dawn of l ight,
To work two masons h ied ;And mount ing to a scaffold
’
s he ight,
The i r labour br iskly pl ied .
Soon the i r fra i l foothold in the a i r
Cracked , th reaten ing to g ive way ;Too weak the we igh t of two to bear
For one a trembl ing stay .
J acques , cr ied h is mate , I have a w i fe
And ch i ld ren th ree al ive .
Farewel l ! sa id Jacques,and gave h is l i fe
A sacr ifice for five .
O hero ! known as J acques to Fame,
That deed’
s unselfish love
I n ful l , we trust , shal l cause thy name
To be inscr ibed Above !
THE MAIDEN OF OTAHE ITE .
(Suggested by a poem of Victor Hugo.)
And W i l t thou fly me ? M ust thy fickle sai l
Soon wa ft thee hence before the favou r ing gale?
From my qu ick senses I would fa in conceal
The nameless tri fles wh ich the tru th reveal ;My j ealous eyes confi rm my bod ing heart
I cannot doubt that thou w i l t soon depart !
9-1 POEMS OF GEORGE M URRAY
Stay then , sweet stranger— bid me not farewel l
Ta l es of thy tender mother thou shal t tel l ,And sing the bal lads of thy nat ive land
That thou hast taught me hal f to understand .
To thee I y ield mysel f— to thee who art
My being’
s breath , the l i fe -b lood of my heart
Who fil lest al l my days— whose form of l ight
Haunts my rap t sou l in visions of the n igh t
Whose very l i fe is so involved w i th mine
That my last hou r must be the same as th ine !
A l as ! Thou goest ; on thy natal h i l l s
Perchance some vi rgin for thy coming th r i l l s ;’Tis wel l : st i l l deign
,O master , deign to take
Thy slave a long wi th thee ; fo r thy dear sake
E’
en to thybr ide I wi l l subm issive prove ,I f thy del igh t be centred in her love .
Fa r from my b i rthplace and my parents old ,
Whose fond affection never can be to ld ;Far from the woods where scared by no alarms ,When thou d idst cal l
,I sank into thy arms ;
Fa r from my flowers and palm - trees I may sigh ,
But here , by thee deserted , I shal l d ie !
I f ever thou d idst love me in the past ,Hear now my prayer— it i s the fi rst and last
Frown not upon m e—thou wast wont to smileF ly not wi thout me to thy cherished isl e ,Lest my sad ghost , when death hath sti l led my heart ,Shou ld hover round thee
,wheresoe
’
er thou art !
Day dawned and reddened the reced ing sai l s
O f a great sh ip,far d istant ou t at sea .
Her playmates sought the maiden in her tent ,
A'
WOMAN 95
But never more beneath the fo rest boughs ,O r on the shore of ocean was she seen .
The gentle gi rl no longer wep t— but sti l l
She was not wi th the stranger , ou t a t sea !
UNE FEMME.
(Transla ted from th e German of Heine by Géra rd de Nerval . )
I l s s ’
aimaien t tous deux tendrement ; el l e“
éta i t vo
l euse , et l u i filou . Lorsqu’
i l commettai t quelque coup
de ma i n , el le se j eta i t sur le l i t , et riai t .
Le j our se passa i t en j o ies et en bombances , la nu it
el le reposai t sur sa po i tr ine . Lorsqu’
on le mena en
pri son , el l e se mit a l a fenetre , et ria i t .
Il l u i écri t : Oh ! rev iens amoi , je soup i re apres ta
presence , je t’
appel le du fond du coeur et je l angu is .”
Lorsqu’
el le regut la l ettre , el l e secoua la tete , et ria i t.
Vers six heures du mat in i l fu t pendu , a sep t heures
on le j eta dans la fosse ; mais el l e , une heure apres ,buva i t du vin rouge , et r ia i t .
A WOMAN .
(Translated from th e French of G érard de Nerval . )
They loved each other , i n j oy or grief :
He was a sharper , and she , a th ief .
At each new ta l e of her lover’
s craft
She fel l on her p i l low and gai ly laughed .
POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
Al l day,they revel l ed w i th m i rth and j est ;
Al l n ight , she s l umbered upon h is breast .
They d ragged him to j a i l— l ike a creature daft
She stood at the w indow and ga i ly laughed .
He wrote her a letter : Oh come to me :
I s igh for thy presence ; I p ine for thee .
”
She read each word of the i l l - scrawled draft
Then shook her head and s t i l l ga i ly laughed .
At s ix , he was hanged in the s ight of Heaven
H i s body was flung in a d i tch,at seven
And at e ight in the morn ing,h is m istress quaffed
A bumper of w ine and sti l l ga i ly laughed .
DELIVERED .
(From th e Swed ish of A . A . Grafstrom .)
The n igh t was ch i l ly— home Gunnar sped
With bark from the p ine- trees torn :
Fa in would he mix i t w i th flour for bread ,
But flour there i s none in h is lowly shed ,
I n h is barn not a gra in of corn .
Two pale th in ch i ld ren , with looks of woe ,
To welcome the i r father run :
Some bread , dear Father , we hunger so .
A crumb or two in thy love bestow .
God p i ty you— I have none .
”
9 8 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
TO NINON .
(From the French of A lfred de Musset . )
I f I should dare my passion to reveal ,What would your answer be blue eyed brunette?
Y ou know what pain Love’
s V i ctims ever feel °
E’
en you your p i ty canno t a l l conceal
Sti l l , you wou ld doubtless make me feel regret .
Were I to say that si len t I have p ined
Six weary months with al l a lover ’s woe ,N inon , your careless subtlety of mind
May , l ike a w i tch , my secret have d ivined
And you , perchance wou ld answer me , I know .
W ere I the p l eas ing madness to confessTha t makes me , shadow- l ike
,your steps pursue
(A look of sweet incredulous d istress ,N imon , you know enhances lovel iness) ,You r l ips perchance would murmur
,I s i t t rue
W ere I to tel l you that my tongue can nameEach ai ry syl lable you spoke last n igh t ,
(Ninon , you know you r glances , when they b l ame ,C hange eyes of azu re into eyes of flame) ,You r wrath perchance would drive me from you r
sight .
W ere I to tel l you that on bended kneeEach n ight I pray , despai ring a l l the wh i l e ,
(Ninon , you know that when you sm i l e , a bee
J'
ai entendu vanter , et par des femmes de bea ucoup d’
esprit , une p i ece durecue i l de M. Al fred de Musset int itulée A Nmonz Cette p iece en effe t est'um
.
chef-d ’
oeuvre de subt i l ité sent imenta le.—C uvd laer-F leury, Etudes t té
r av es .
TO N INON 99
I n your red l ips a blossom wel l migh t see) ,Were I to tel l you , you perchance wou ld smile .
But I refra in ; i n s i lence—
seated near
Your beauty by the lampl ight , I adore
I breathe you r fragrance and you r vo ice I hear ,B ut you wi l l find no cause to be severe ,Though al l my looks you doubtingly explore .
I dwel l wi th in a reg ion of romance
At eve , you r songs are al l on earth I heed ;Your hands wi th harmony my sou l entrance ,O r in the j oyous wh i rlwind of the dance
I feel your l i the form tremble l ike a reed .
When envious n igh t has forced me to depart
And al l you r charms are ravished from my view ,
Quick through my brain a thousand memories dart
And l ike some miser,I un lock my heart ,
A treasured casket fi l led alone for you .
I love—but co ld ly I can sti l l rep ly ;I love—the secret I a lone can tel l ;
Sweet i s the secret,dear each st ifled s igh ,
For I have sworn to love , though hopelessly ,Not wi thout bl i ss— I see you : i t i s wel l .
I was not born for happ iness supreme,
With you to l ive and in you r arms to d ie ,E
’
en my despai r to teach me th is wou ld seem ;Sti l l , i f I told you o f my passion
’ s d ream,
Who knows , adored one , what you migh t rep ly?
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
IN FUTURO .
(From the French of Theophi le Gaut ier.)
E ’en now , from mounta in or from p lain,
I n France,America or Spain
,
A tree is soar ing , oak or p ine ,O f wh ich some portion shal l be mine .
E ’en now with in her chamber lone‘Some wrinkled and decrepi t crone
W eaves fa i r wh i te l inen ,l ike a Fate
,
To clothe my body soon or l ate .
E ’en now,for me , with sun less to i l
L ike some bl ind mole beneath the soi l,
A swarthy m iner doth explore
Earth’
s teem ing ve ins for i ron ore .
There is some corner of the earth
Where nought but lovel iness hath bi rth
W here sunbeams drink the tears of morn ,There I shal l sleep i n days unborn .
That tree wh ich w i th i ts fol iage now
Doth screen a nest on every bough ,T he planks hereafter shal l supply
W’here in my coffined bones shal l l ie .
That l inen , wh ich the wr inkled crone
Is weav ing in her chamber lone ,S hal l form a w ind ing sheet to hold
My l i feless body in i ts fold .
102 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
She prayed ; i f p rayer i t can be ca l led ,To fix two lustrous eyes
Now , meekly downward on the earth ,Now, upward on the sk ies .
She sm i l ed ; i f e’
er the vi rgin bud ,With heart unclosed as yet ,
Smi les to the zephyrs of the spring
That pass it—and forget .
She might have wept ; i f dews d ivine ,That soften human clay ,Cou ld ever to her ch i l ly b reast
Have found some secret way .
She m igh t have loved ; but scorn and pride
Kep t watch about her heart ,Like lamps that o
’
er a coffined form
Thei r useless rad iance dart .
Now, she who on ly seemed to l ive
Bu t had no l i fe , i s dead ,
And from her hands the book has dropped
I n wh ich she never read !
AN EVEN ING SCENE .
(From the French of Victor Hugo.)
Here a l l i s j oy and al l i s l igh t ,The sp ider
,with unti ring tread ,
Ties to the tu l ip’
s tu rban bright
H is c i rc l ing maze of si lvery th read .
AN EVEN ING SCENE 103
The qu ivering dragon -fly appears ,Proud to behold her round dark eyes
G l assed in the l imp id stream , that rears
A world o f b reath ing mysteries .
The fu l l -b lown rose , grown young aga in ,
To b l ush ing buds her love avows ;The bi rds pour forth thei r even ing stra i n
.Of melody from sunl i t boughs .
Far i n the woods , where si lence dwel l s ,The timid fawn securely dreams ;
’M id emerald moss w i th velvet cel l s ,Like burn ished gold the beetl e gl eams .
Pa l e as some Swe et consumptive maid
Rega i n ing l i fe , the moon doth rise ,D ispel l ing every cloud or shade
With rad iance from her opal eyes .
The wal lflower , that to ru in cl ings ,Now fro l i cs w i th the wandering bee ;
The furrow feel s each germ that springs’
Neath the warm earth , and laughs with glee .
A l l l ives and p lays i ts part wi th grace ;The sunbeam on the portal ’ s s i l l ,
The shadow on the water ’ s face ,The b l ue sky o
’
er the verdant h i l l .
F i eld , glen and forest share the whol e
Of Nature’
s ecstasy and rest
Fear noth ing , M an ! Creat ion’ s sou l
Knows the who l e secret and i s blest .
104 POEMS OF GEORGETMU‘
R RAY
CHR I STMAS .
“
(From the French of Theoph i le Gaut ier .)
The heavens are black , the earth is whi te ;Ring out , w i ld joy-bel l s
,to the sk ies !
J esus i s born ; the V irgin'brigh t
Bends o’
er H im w i th enraptu red eyes .
Around the mys t ic infan t’
s head
N0 fold of sl umberous curta in streams ;Only the sp ider ’ s a i ry thread
Drops from the stable’
s dusty beams .
The Baby , nestl ing in the straw ,
Thr i l l s w i th the cold in every l imb ;The ox and ass , in seeming awe ,Kneel down and warmly breathe on Him .
O’
er that thatched hovel in the n ight
Heaven opens , dazzl ing as the mom ,
While bands of Angel s , clothed in wh i te ,Sing to the shepherds ,
“ Chr ist i s born .
MEMOR IES .
(From the French of Henri Murger.)
Hast thou , Lou ise , forgotten yet
That'
nook w i th in the garden old ,Where when the summer sun had setMy hand would oft thy hand enfold?
W i th beating hea rts we sat beneath
The shadows of the wi l low trees ,
106 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
TIT-FOR-TAT .
(From the French of Dufresnoy.)
Ph i l l is , a venal nymph , delayed
Poor Damon ’ s hopes of bl iss ;Unt i l the love - sick swa in had pa id
Ten sheep to buy a kiss .
Next day , ashamed to cheat the boy ,
She sold her favours cheap ;And Damon bought , with eager j oy ,Ten k isses for a sheep .
Next morn ing , of her own accord ,
Afra id h is love to m iss,
The sheep to Damon she restored,
E l even for a kiss .
At eve , hal f-wild with j ea lousy ,
She glad ly would have bought
With al l her flock the kiss that he
Gave Rosal ind fo r nought !
THE FLOWER AND THE BUTTERFLY .
(From th e French of Victor Hugo.)
Once to the Butterfly a Floweret s ighed :“One moment stay ‘
Our fates are severed : here on earth I b ide ,Thou must away .
THE FLOWER AND THE BUTTERFLY 107
Sti l l , we both love : and far from human treadWe pass the hours
Each l ike the other , for by man’ t is said
We both are flowers .
Earth cha i ns me down—thy path is i n the skiesO cruel lot !
O’er thee I fa i n would brea the my perfumed sighs
They reach thee not .
Thou rovest far— ’
mid b lossoms fa i r and sweet
Thy l i fe i s glad :
I wa tch the shadow turn ing at my feet ,A lone and sad !
Thy form now qu ivers near , now fl i ts away ,And d isappears :
But thou wi l t find me a t each dawn of day ,Al l bathed in tears .
I f ’ t is thy wil l ou r love should lasting be ,O truant K ing !
Lik-e me , take root : o r , l e t me soar , l ike thee ,On
“ “
sp lendid wing .
”
L’
ENvor A
Roses and Butterfl ies ! i n death you meet,
Or soon , or late .
Would not you r l ives together passed be sweet ,Then , wherefore wai t?
Somewhere above the earth , i f floating upThy pin ions soar
Or in the meads , i f there perchance thy cup
I ts fragrance pou r .
108 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
What matters where? Be thou a breath a lone ,O r ti nt of spr ing :
A rad ian t Butterfly,or Rose hal f-blown ,
A flower or w ing .
To l ive together Th i s you r fondest aim
You r v i tal need !
Chance may be left -you r fu tu re home to name ,The sky—the mead .
”
TO MY OLD COAT .
(From the French of Beranger.)
Wear wel l , poor coat , that time endears !
Together we are grow ing old :
My hand has brushed thee ten long years
Can more of Socrates be told?
I f Fate aggressively sti l l t ries
Thy patched and th readbare stuff to rend,
Resist— l ike me,ph i losoph ize
We must not part , my dea r old friend !
How fond ly I reca l l the day
When fi rst I wore thee ! ’Twas my fele
And fr iends,who hai led my spruce array
Sang songs thy prai se to celebrate .
Thy poor old age of wh ich I boast ,True comrades never can offend
,
Oft st i l l mysel f and thee they toast
We must not part , my dear old fr iend !
1 10 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Thou Wood ! beneath whose leafy dome
Soft murmurs of the summer roam,
Here d id my lover chance to stray?
No foot hath trod my paths to -day .
Aerial Crag ! on whose d im crest
The eag l e strews her careless nest,
Hath horse or horseman met th ine eye?“ No caval ier hath ridden by .
White foaming Torrent ! tel l me WhereMy warrior wi th the go lden hai r?
O’
er thy dark waters d id he leap?
Down in the i r dep ths he l ies asleep !
RONDEAU .
(From the Fren ch of J ehan Froissa rt.)
Come back , sweet friend , too long thou art away ,My heart is pained whi le thou dost absent stay ;I yearn for thee each moment of the day ,Come back , sweet fr iend , too long thou art away .
For ti l l thou comest—wherefore then delay?
I have not any one to make me gay ;Come back , sweet fri end , too long thou art away ,
My heart i s pained when thou dost absent stay .
ULT IMA SPES MORTUORUM 1 1 1
THE GRAVE AND THE ROSE .
(From the French of Victor Hugo .)
The Grave said : Rose, so br ight of hue
What dost thou with the drops of dew
That bathe thy buds each day ?
T he Rose rep l ied : O solemn Grave !
With a l l that fi l l s thy hungry cave
What doest thou , I pray?
F rom the sweet tears of morn that ro l l
I n to my heart , the very sou l
O f fragrance I d isti l l .
The Grave then answered : Al l that l iesEntombed , hereafter shal l ari se
God’
s Parad ise to fi l l .”
ULTIMA SPES MORTUORUM
(From the Fren ch of Henri Murger.)
The bel l s wi l l ring to-morrow for the day
Held sacred to the Dead ,And those who slumber in thei r shrouds of c lay
Wil l q’
u i t the i r narrow bed .
Yesterday was ‘
Le J ou r des Morts .
’
and a large trade was done in mourni ng wrea ths and u nmortel les dest ined to be p laced upon th e tombs of Montmar tre . Montparnasse , and Pere- la-Cha ise. But of th e hal f a m i l l ion peop lewho v is it th e cemeteries more than ha l f have no better impulse than curios ity . Nor are these funera l vis its a lways made in person ; footmen are oftendespat ched in cabs laden w ith b lack and yel low garlan ds . and al l these are
a lways carefu l ly deposited on th e g raves .—Extractfrom a P ari s letter.
1 12 POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
Then shades inv is ible to mortal eye,
Ar is ing from the tomb,
W i l l fl i t beneath the sycamores that sigh
Am id funereal gloom e
Ch i l led by the breeze those sh 1ver1n g phantoms stray ,Wh i l e Heaven is dark above ,
And sti l l by hope inspi ri ted they say ;We wait for those we - l ove :
Thei r warm true.
h earts‘
ou r absence sti l l deplore,
And soon in dark array ,A p i lgr im band
, ou r cherished friends of yore ,Above each cross W 1ll pray .
And they w i l l offer to our memory true
Affect ion’
s s imp l e booh :
K ind hands immortel les on eaéh”
m’
ound wil l strew ,.
That fade al as— so soon !
Why from you r cerements shake the dust away?Why come to tremble ’neath ou r m i s ty skies?
What sound disturbed with in you r beds of clay
The slumberous ca lm thatiwe ighed upon your eyes?
‘
Shades of the Dead !‘
ye vi ewless spectres ! tel l
Why cross the th reshold -of the earth aga in ?
What hope ye from th is world wherein we dwel l ,S ince in you r grave-c lothes s ti l l ye hope in vain?
Ye come,your confidence in man to test ,
And ye w i l l carry back in to your bed
The sad conv iction ; bi tterly con fess’
d ,
That from - ob l ivion nought can save the Dead
1 14 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
But st i l l those phantoms l i st each sound
That breathes the lonely walks around .
Long , bu t in va in , they wai t to hear
The tread of human footstep near,
Then shedd ing bi tter tears o f sorrow,
They wh isper , They wi l l come to -morrow .
Lord ! Thou wel l knowest that they wi l l no t come,
And that those hapless ghosts wi l l oft re tu rn
T o seek some simp l e offering at the i r tomb,
For wh ich they vain lv evermore wi l l yearn :
T o Thee the cruel i rony is known !
Whatever d ies is soon Obl ivion’s prey,
And tears that answered every dying groan
E’
en at th e grave a re 0211m wiped away .
Lord ! Thoudost know that o’
er the world to-dayThe love of Sel f triumphantly doth reign ,
T hat shou ld th is curse defer s ome souls to slay ,Sooner or later they must st i l l be slai n .
Lord ! Thou wel l knowest that the human race
I s s ick at heart and weary to the death ,P ursu ing Hope in everlasting chase ,Unti l we murmur wi th ou r dy ing breath ,
A t last we greet the s i lence of.
repose ,B lue sky or black— to us i t matters no t
Calmly we slumber , d isregard ing woes ,Expect ing nought
,for al l i s now forgot .
And yet , oh mockery ! the rest we crave
I s st i l l d istu rbed wi th in our final bed :
Hope,fai th less spectre , penetrates the grave
And,by the l iv ing spu rned , deludes the dead !
THE GRANDMOTHER 1153
THE GRANDMOTHER .
(From th e French of Victor Hugo.)
Dear Mother of our Mother ! dost thou sleep?
Thy voice was wont to murmur many a tone
Of rapt devotion e’
en in slumber deep :
B reath less,th is eve thou l iest here alone ,
With l ips al l m ot ionless , a form of stone .
Why on thy bosom droops thy wrinkled brow?
What have we done to cause that seeming i re?
The lamp burns d im , the ashes gl immer low ,
And shouldst tho u answer not , the smou ld’
ring
The lamp,and we thy two
,wil l al l expi re !
By the d im lamp thy chi ld ren soon wil l d ie ,And thou , by s l umber
’
s spel l no more opp rest ,Wil t ca l l on those who may not hear thy cry :
And thou long- t ime w i l t fold us to thy b reast ,And strive w i th prayer , to sti r us from our rest .
I n our warm hands thy ch i l ly fingers p l ace ;S ing lays of Troubadours , dead long ago ,
O f warriors , a ided by the Fai ry race ,Who chanted Love amid the battle ’ s glow
,
And decked thei r brides wi th troph ies from
Tel l us the signs that scatter ghosts in fl ight
What herm i t V i ewed Hel l ’ s sw i ft- careering Lord
Tel l of the Gnome-king ’
s rubies sparkl ing br ight,
And i f the psa lms of Turpin are abhorr’
d
By the b lack demon , more than Ro l and’ s sword
1 16 PoEMs OF GEORGE MURRAY
S how us thy B ible , fi l led w i th p ictures fa i r,
Sa ints robed in wh i te , who guard each hamlet low ,
Virgins,with golden glor ies round the i r ha i r
Or , read the pages , where we long to know
Each mysti c word that b reathes to God ou r woe .
S oon from al l l ight thy ch i ld ren wil l be shut
Round the black hearth the frol ic shadows dance
And a i ry shapes may steal w i th in the hut :
Thou frigh test us— thy love is changed , perchan ce
Oh ! cease thy prayer , awaken from thy trance !
U nseal those eyes— Oh ! God , th ine arms are
Oft hast thou told us of the glorious sky ,
O f the damp grave , and l i fe that waxeth old ,And oft of death— what i s i t then to d ie?
Tel l us , dear Mother : thou dost not rep ly !
W i th plaint ive vo ices long they wai led aloneT he sleeper woke not when the morn ing shone .
T he death - bel l , slowly tol l ing, seemed to gr ieve ,And th rough the door
,a passer-by at eve
By the sti l l couch and pictu red B ible sees
Two l i tt le ch i ld ren pray ing on the i r knees .
1 18 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
By fever parched or numbed by cold ,Wr i th ing l ike green wood in the fi re ,While inarticu late words expi re
Upon thy l ips— thysel f beho ld !
Thou pan test , l ike a stag at bay ;Death rattles hoarsely in thy th roat ,Forebod ing w i th sepulch ra l note
The soul’
s desert ion of the clay ;
Dark-vestu red priests i n s i l ence steal
With in thy room , with o i l and pyx ,And bear ing each a cruc ifix ,
Around thy lowly pal let kneel .
Beho ld too praying for thy soul
Thy wi fe and ch i ld ren , loved so wel l !
The ringer of the pass ing-bel l
Hangs on the rope thy knel l to to l l .
The sexton hol lows with h i s spade
A narrow bed thy bones to hold ,And soon the fresh brown crumbl ing mould
Shal l fi l l the pi t where thou art laid .
Thy flesh so del icate and fai r ,Sha l l serve the charnel -worms to feed ,
And brightly t in t each flower and weed
Upon thy grave wi th verdure rare .
F i t then , thy sou l that hour to meet
When thou shal t d raw thy latest breath !
My brother ! bi tter i s the death
Of h im whose l i fe hath been too sweet !
THE ANGEL AND THE CH I LD 1 19
THE REDBREAST .
(A Legend of Bri ttany .)
When J esus meekly passed to deathAnd bore the cursed rood ,With fa l ter ing l imbs and fa i l ing breath ,And b row bedewed wi th blood ;
A sma l l bi rd hovering i n the ai r
F l ew down and strove , i n va in
With feeb l e strength , but p ious care ,To soothe the Savi our
’
s pain .
The only thorn i ts love could wrest
From out His ruthless crown ,P ierced sharp ly through i ts gentle breast
And crimsoned al l the down .
Ages have passed : but since that deed ,The bi rd with crimson breast
Oh ! sweetly superst i t ious creed
I s loved by man the best .
THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD .
(From th e French of Jea n R eboul .)
An angel watched with rad iant face
A crad led infan t’
s dream ,
Seeming h i s own bright form to trace
As in some crysta l stream .
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Sweet image of mysel f , he cried ,
Fai r cherub come with me ;Far we wi l l j ou rney s ide by s ide
,
Earth i s no home for thee .
Here , bl i ss is m ixed with base al loy
Pain p l easu re underl ies ;Grief echoes i n each tone of j oy
,
And rapture has i ts s ighs .
Fear at each banquet si ts a guest ,Earth
’
s ca lmest Sabbath fa i l s
To pledge the futu re , or arrest
T O -morrow ’ s rag ing gales .
Say then , shal l gloomy woes and fears
To vex thy sou l ari se?
Oh ! must the b i t terness o f tears
Bed im th ine azure eyes?
N0 ! Through the fields of space wi th me
Thy sou l may soar content :
God cla ims no more those days from thee ,Thou should ’st on earth have spent .
But let no sable robes by pa l e
And weep ing friends be worn ;Death ’ s hour as glad ly they should hai l ,As that when thou wast born .
Pa in for thy loss should leave no scar ,Thy doom should cloud no brow :
The last day i s the fai rest far
To beings pure as thou .
122 POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
Another cr ies : I hang my chamber
W i th in a Turk ish Ca fe 5 wal l s ,Where Hadj is coun t thei r beads of amber ,And sunsh ine o
’
er the threshold fa l l s :
I come—I go— I find no trouble
’Mid Latakia’
s vapours whi te ,And wh i l e the long nargh i lehs bubble ,I sk im gay turbans in my fl ight .
A th i rd : I n Baalbec’
s temple splend id
A tr iglyph yields me shel ter wa rm ;There , l ightly by my claws suspended ,I screen my gap ing ch icks from harm .
A fourth : I n futu re my address i s
Rhodes , once with kn ightly warriors fil l’
d ;
Beneath a cap i tal ’s recesses
On some b lack column I sha l l bui ld .
A fi fth one twi tters : I am fearfu l
Age won ’ t,
permit me far to fly ;Sti l l , Mal ta
’s terraces are cheerful
Between bl ue water and blue sky .
A sixth : For me the land of Pharaoh !
I ’ l l paste an ornament wi th loam
High on a m inaret of Ca i ro ,And thus secure my winter-home .
The last one : Soon I shal l be fl i tt ing
Above the Second Cataract ;A grani te monarch there is si tt ing ,Fo r swa l lows
’
nests expressl y c rack’
d .
AN APPEAL FOR THE DEAF AND DUM B 123
Then al l exclaim : With ti reless mot ion
To-morrow we sha l l voyage o ’er
B rown pla ins , white peaks , and purp l e ocean
Whose foaming bi l lows fr inge the shore .
”
With qu ick,shr i l l cries , and wings a-flutter
On the ta l l roofs and narrow eaves ,Such i s the talk the swal lows utter ,Scared by the Autumn
’
s redden ing l eaves .
I can in terpret al l thei r prattle ;Each poet i s a b i rd of l igh t ,
Though l ike a capt ive , doomed to battl e
With powers unseen tha t check h is fl ight .
Then , Oh ! for p in ions , a i ry p i n ions ,As RuC kert
’
s charm ing verses s ing
To rove each year o ’er earth’
s domin 1ons
With swal lows to eternal spring !
AN APPEAL FOR THE DEAF AND DUMB .
Deaf Not a murmur or a loving word
Can ever reach h is ear . The raging sea ,The peal ing thunder and the cannon
’
s roar
To h im are s i l en t— si len t as the grave .
Not qu i te ; for , ever when God takes away ,
An Appea l for the D eaf and Dumb appeared in Dzogenes, and i s here re
pr inted . not on account of any supposed poet ical merit , but because i t met thewarm a p prova l of those i n whose interest i t was wri tten . A dea f—mute , in aletter asking for a w ider c irculation of th e Appea l sa ys of th e accompanyi ng l ines : They are th e most truthful and v iv id I have ever -met w i th , somuch so I am incl in ed to think th e wri ter must have experienced th e crushing ca lam i ty h imsel f or that some m inistering angel has portrayed th e dea fmute ’
s cond ition in al l its rea l ity to th e writer .
124 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
He g ives in other shape . The tramp of feet ,The crash Of fa l l ing th ings , the waves of sound
Strike on a deaf man’
s feel ings wi th a force
To us unknown .,Vibrations of the ai r
P lay th rough h i s frame on sympathet ic nerves,
L ike fin e - strung instruments Of varied tone .
Dumb ! Not a murmur or a l oving word
Can ever pass h is l i ps . The cry Of rage ,The vo ice of friendsh ip and the vows of love
Freeze on h i s tongue , so impotent of sound .
But deem not that intel l igence i s nu l l
I n tha t doomed mortal . Gaze upon h is eye
A speaking eye —an eye that seems to hearE
’
en by observing , and that gathers more
“From fl i ckering l ights and shadows of a face
Than du l ler minds can gain from spoken words .
The age of mi racles hath past ; but man
Can summon art and science to h i s aid ,And cause the facu l ties o f sigh t and touch
To act imperfectly for speech and ear .
The deaf-mute seems by Natu re formed to be
A del icate artificer , and ski l led
I n subtle operat ions of the hand ;He can be taught to read , and thus to learn
The story of the Presen t and the Past ,Or by quick signs to share h is i nmost thoughts
Chiefly wi th those for whom he yearneth most ,His fel low-sufferers ! Nay , i t sometimes haps
126 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Nobody watches ou r infini te b l i ss,
Gent ly we rock on the waters that heave ;L ike the fond wavelets we toy and we kiss
,
M ingl ing caresses th is m idsummer eve .
Love then , whi le youth th ri l l ing passion insp i res ,Age soon with snow wi l l extingu ish i ts fi res !
THE STRANGER .
(From the French of Madame Em i le de G irard in .)
He passed from vision l ike a cloud ,Or wave tha t onward sweeps ;
My heart that once was cold and proud
His image keeps .
One keen bu t fascinating glance
En th ral led my spel l -bound eyes ,And since that moment of romance
Li fe ’ s breath I pr ize .
Too daring and too raptu rous
My sel f- communings seem ;I love h im and to l ove h im thus
I s j oy supreme .
And yet in lonely hou rs , a las !
M ine eyes wi th tears a re d im
To think my youth fu l yea rs may pass
Apart from h im .
He was the sou l o f wh ich I d reamed ,For wh ich I va in ly p ine ;
The long- sough t s ister- soul that seemed
The twin of mine .
THE OLD YEAR 127
And I had found it— oh , my heart !
Thy th robb ings I must quel l ;’Tis hard from al l we love to pa rt
And cry , Farewel l .
But sti l l , i f p i ty ing Heaven wi l l deign
To a id us from above ,Hereafter , I sha l l meet aga in
My only love .
One moment let me hear h im sigh
And feel h is fond caress ;E
’
en were I doomed that hour to d ie
From joy’
s excess !
THE OLD YEAR .
Good n igh t , O ld Year , good night !
The ca lm pale moon i s watch ing in the sky ,
The stars look down unutterab ly bright ,Each l ike a seraph
’
s eye
They mourn thee not ; they w i l l not vei l thei r
For they have seen s ix thousand years exp i re !
Good n igh t , O ld Year , good nigh t !
I feel l ike one who weeps beside a bed ,Knowing ful l su rely that the morrow
’
s l ight
W i l l find hi s comrade dead !
Hi‘
s comrade dead ! Oh , so l emn words of fate ,E
’
en at the i r sound the heart s inks deso late !
Good n i ght , O ld Year , good n igh t !
The moan ing w inds thy requ iem murmur low ,
128 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
And l ike a corpse a rrayed in garments wh i te ,Thou l ies t d raped in snow ;
And thy young hei r , when scarce thy b reath
flown ,Wil l gal lop up to se ize upon h is own .
Good night , O ld Year , good n ight !
We knew that thou must d ie ; the hectic flush
That tinged thy cheek in Autumn l ike a b l ight ,Told of Death
’
s com ing hush ,And mus ing mournfu l ly , from day to day
We watched the langu id progress of decay .
Good n ight , O ld Year , good n igh t !
We bless thee for the blessings that thy hand
Hath scattered freely , as the sun doth l ight ,O
’er each too thankless land ;I f sometimes we have murmured at our l ot
Old Year , we pray thee , oh ! record i t not !
Good n ight , O ld Year , good n ight !
Think how we strove the tempter to repel ,Th ink of our aspi rations for the righ t ,
And i f a las ! we fel l ,Recal l those words the Holy One d id speak ,The Soul i s wi l l ing but the Fl esh i s weak !
Good n ight , Old Year , good n igh t !
I trow that no man l iveth on the Earth ,Who as thy sp i ri t calmly takes i ts fl igh t
,
Would ven t d iscordant mi rth ;For ’ t i s a solemn th ing , wh i l e tol l s the knel l ,To bid the year eterna l ly Farewel l !
130 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Sorrow , a las ! my chi ld , thy l i fe must fi l l ,The old witch murmured to the proud brunette :
The g i rl enqu i red , But wil l he love me sti l l?
Yes .” Then I care not—l i fe i s happy yet .
Thou wi l t not own thy lover ’ s heart , sweet ma id !
This to the second s ister , whi te as snow
But shal l I love h im? tearfu l ly she said .
Yes .” That i s b l i ss enough for me to know .
THE HARE AND THE TORTO ISE .
(The idea of Th e Hare and the Tortoise was suggested to me by the lateG eorge T . Lani gan .)
‘Once on a t ime a memorabl e raceB etween a torto ise and a hare took p lace .
At the word ,“ Go
,
” Puss started l ike the wind ,And left her riva l hopelessly beh ind :
But soon reflecting that she scarce could lose ,S he sank to earth and cool ly took a snooze .
M eanwh i l e , the tortoise slowly p lodded on ,Ti l l , i nch by inch , the goal was almost won .
J ust then , the hare l eaped l ightly from her bed ,And saw the rept i l e crawl ing— far ahead :
S cared by the s i ght , with al l her speed and strength
S he gal loped in a winner by a length !
B ravo ! cried Puss , My victory serves to show
The race is no t gained fl always— by the slow .
”
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 1311
BEAUTY AND THE B EAST .
(From th e French of Beranger.)
Ye gods ! how fai r she is ! how b right
To me her beauty seems !
Her eyes are fu l l of tender l ight
That haunts the sou l in d reams .
No breath of l i fe can sweeter be
Than hers , beneath the sky:
Ye gods ! how beauti fu l is she ,
But what a fr igh t am I !
Ye gods ! how fa i r ! scarce twenty years
Have watched her charms unfold :
Her mou th a budd ing rose appears,
Her tresses , mol ten gold .
Demure and coy she fa i l s to see
Each grace that we descry :
Ye gods ! how beaut i fu l i s she ,But what a frigh t am I !
Ye gods ! how exqu isi te her bloom !
And yet she loves me wel l :
Fo r years I envied men on whom
Fa i r woman’
s eyes wou ld dwel l .
Unt i l I won her , Love from me
D isdainful ly would fly
Ye gods ! how beauti fu l i s sh e ,
But what a fright am I !
Ye god s ! she seems more charming now
For me her passion glows :
Bald before th i rty years , my brow
To her i ts garland owes .
1 32 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
My love sha l l now no secret be ,Triumphant I can d ie :
Ye gods ! how beauti fu l is she ,But what a frigh t am I !
PROLOGUE TO THE MERCHANT
OF VENICE .
(A s acted in Montreal by th e late Professor Andrew'
s Pupi ls.)
What sha l l I say?—’Tis n igh th ree hund red years
S ince the Great M aster of our sm i les and tears ,S hakespeare , the myriad -minded artist , drew
His never- fad ing portrai t of the J ew .
Immortal Shy lock ! When we speak thy name ,W hat sw i ft emot ions k indle in to flame !
Lured by the D ramatist ’s romantic spel l
F rom the grey common -place wherein we dwel l
W e voyage backward , up the st ream of Time ,T o sea -g i rt Venic e in her golden prime .
And there , enci rcled by her cl ustering i sles
Round which the Ocean ever sports and smi les ,F rom marble palace and from frescoed wal l ,F rom mosque- l ike fame and statue-peop led hal l ,We tu rn our gaze to where R ial to
’
s pr ide
Rears i ts broad arch and spans the busy tide ;For us one figure l ives and haunts the scene ,I n scarlet cap and th readbare gaberd ine .
Aye— there he stands— the money- lend ing J ew ,
Wise as a serpent—and as dead ly , too
He sees h is race , the chosen of the Lord ,
134 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Port1a’
s sweet sel f iswaiting , at the side ,Antonio
’
s saviou r and Bassanio ’ s bride :
Her mel ting tones , i n imitably clear ,Fal l l ike soft music on the spel l -bound ear
,
Wh i l e pert Nerissa p l ays a double part,
L ike giddy J essica,with gracefu l art .
As for the boys—those sprightly,clever elves
Have tongues , I know , to answer for themselves .
My task i s o ’er—the curtain soon wi l l ri se,
And Shakespeare’
s scenes shal l l ive before your eyes .
V ILIKINS AND HIS D INAH .
I n London ’s fai r c i ty a merchant d id dwel l ,He had but one daughter
,a n unkimmon n ice young
gal ;
Her name i t were D inah , j u st sixteen years old ,With a very large port ion of si lver and gold .
As D inah was a-valking in the gard in one day ,Her papa he came to her and thus he d id say :
Go,dress yoursel f
,Dinah
,in gorgeous array ,
For I’
ve got you a ’
usband , bo th gal l ian t and gay .
Oh , papa , oh , papa ! I’ve not made up my mind ,
And to marry j ust yet I am not qui te incl ined :
And al l my large fortin I ’ l l glad ly give o’
er ,I f you
’
l l l et me be single j ust one year or more .
Go,go
,boldest daughter , the parient rep l ied ,
I f you won ’ t consent for to be th is man’
s bride ,I
’
l l g ive a l l your fortin to the nearest of kin
And you shan’ t reap the benefi t of one singl e p i n .
I DEM LAT INE REDDITUM 135
A s V i l ikin s vas a-valkin i n the gard in one day ,He spied h is dear Dinah lying dead on the clay
And a cup Of cold p i son was a - lying by her side ,And a b i l let-dux to say that for V i l ikins she d ied !
He kiss’
d her co ld corpus a thousand time o’
er ,He cal led her h is D inah , though she were no more ,And swal lowed the p ison , l ike a lover so b rave ,And V i l ikin s and h is D inah l ie bur ied in one grave .
I DEM LATINE REDD ITUM .
Res bene Lond in i quondam mercato r agebat ,Un ica cu i proles , grata pue l la ,
fu i t .
D ina bis octonos vixdum comp leverat annos ,
Pondus Ob argent i grande peti ta su i .
Forte vagabatur fragran tem Dina per hortum ,
Quum pater ingratos edid i t ore sonos :
Vade age—s ic jubeo— regales indue vestesTe manet egreg ius , D ina beata , p rocus .
O pater , a lme pater ! mea mens incerta vac i l lat ,Nee cupio , tha lam i nescia , ferre j ugum .
D ivi tias h quan tae mihi sint , t ib i leeta resigno ,Dummodo me cogar me soc iare viro .
”
At cave , respond it pater , audac issima vi rgo !Nec mora— tu conj ux conjug is hujus eriS
‘
S in m inus—a rgento potietu r p roximus haeres ,Ncc fuerit vi l i te penes asse fru i .
”
136 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Forte pererrabat j uveni s V i l ikins ius hortum ,
iTempore quo moriens D ina jacebat humi ;
C ern itur atra cal ix , gel ido commixta veneno ,C hartaque , virg ineus qua patet omn is amor .
Oscu la morte rigen s accep it m i l l e puel la ,
Mortua , sed quamvis mortua , Dina tamen !
Tum b ibi t impav ido V i l ik in sius ore venenum ,
Fidaque cum fido D ina sepul ta jacet .
A FAREWELL TO THE GUARDS .
B rave men and true,farewel l !
This eve the steamship wafts you from our shore ,And few who round the Royal Moun tain
”dwel l
W i l l see your faces more :
Should th is be so—the fu ture who can read?Gua rdsmen ! we b id you ,
one and al l , God speed !
B l i the Summer th r ice hath b loomed
Since , proud ly consc ious of your valou r’
s worth ,What t ime War ’ s shadow in the d istance loomed ,
O ld Engl and sent you forth ;She deemed i t wel l to trust her Western ch i ld
To men whose honour never was defiled .
Stern Win ter reigned supreme
When to ou r a id ye marched th rough dreary lands ;Keen frost , deep snow-dr ifts seemed a h ideous dream
To vour enduring bands ;But the warm welcome ye rece ived at last
Effaced the memory of each hardsh ip past .
138 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Dispel such id le d reams
Go tel l you r comrades , of a ferti le so i l ,A heal thfu l cl imate and maj est ic streams ;
Tel l how the sons of toi l
Love the free country that hath sti l l fu l l space
To nu rtu re mi l l ion s of the human race .
Tel l of ou r sea- l ike lakes .Of v i l lage homes where Peace and P l enty smi le
,
Of grand St . Lawrence , our Canadian Ni le ,And the vast B ridge that breaks
The crystal boulders , mountainous and whi te ,That Winter vain ly hurl s against i ts might .
And now , once more Farewe l l '
M ay Peace brood dove- l ike o’
er you r I sland—home,
But oh ! i f e'
er some rebel hordes to quel l
Through fore ign lands ye roam,
May the great God of Battl es lend you might
To vanqu i sh England’
s foemen in the fight .
THE S I LKEN SASHES .
The Turks were many— the Greeks were few ,
But thei r blood was hot and the i r hearts beat true ;And they sware an oath before God on h igh
Never l ike dastards to yield—but d ie .
But how can a hundred champions hope
Wi th foes eight hundred or more to cope?
Death comes , however , but once to a l l ,Why fear to die , i f they nob ly fal l
THE S I LKEN SASHES 139
One Greek , a strip l i ng , they sent away
And stern ly bade h im thi s charge obey :
Go h ide and watch , t i l l the combat ends ,Then bear the news to ou r wives and friends .
At dawn they qu i tted the mountain glade
Where each h is couch on the turf had made ,And down to the val ley they marched , and there
Upreared a rampart w i th to i l some care .
The Pacha’
s envoy gave curt command :
Disband , ye rebels ! at once , d isband !
The Chieftain answered,I t i s too late
Our stand i s taken : we b ide our fate .
The s i l ken sashes that gi rt them round
Long cr imson sashes , had been unwound :
And l inked together,strong l imb to l imb
They proudly chanted a battle-hymn .
The onslaught fol lowed : the heroes fel l ,Cut down by sabre and sho t and shel l ;But ere the l ives of the hundred sped ,
F ive hundred M oslems had j o i ned the dead .
When months had passed since that b loody fray ,An Engl ish Colonel who rode that way
Saw sun -b l eached skeletons strewn around ,
W i th crimson sashes together bound .
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
DESOLATION .
(From th e French of Theoph i le Gaut ier.)
In the forest bleak and lonely
Noth ing by the winds i s sti rred
But one wi thered leaflet on ly,
And bes ide i t pipes a b i rd .
Everyth ing is dead o r dying
I n my heart , save love alone ;There i t sings , but Autumn
’ s sigh ing
Drowns the mus ic Of each tone .
Winter comes— the leaflet fal l eth,
Love , too , d ies amid the gloom ;Li ttle B i rd ! when spring-t ime cal leth
,
“ Come and sing above my tomb !
A PAUPER POET .
I n a vast c i ty’s swarming street , .
Where crowds sweep wave- l ike on ,Where , i f some strange , qua int s igh tzwe meet ,
We tu rn , and lo !’
tis gone ;
I saw a face that moved my heart ,That haunts my memory yet ,
Its phantom never can depart ,A l though but once we met .
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
A BALLAD FOR CHR I STMAS -TIDE .
There is a story that hath oft
My spi ri t deep ly st i rred,
None ever at i ts words have scoffed ,
A l though so often heard .
I ca l l to mind no other tale,
M ore fi tted for the t ime ;I ts pathos canno t whol ly fai l
To consec rate my rhyme .
A rich man dwel t i n days of O ldWith in a palace rare ;
Arrayed'
in purple and i n gold
He fed on’
sump tuous fare .
And to h is gateway thered id crawl
A Lazar , old and sore,Who begged the crumbs tha t chanced to fa l l
Upon the palace floor .
A las ! 1n vain the Lazar prayed
They bade h im Quick , begone !
I n purp l e and 1p gold arrayed
Sti l l D ives feasted on .
D eath came—and Lazarus at lastWith Angel swent to dwel l ;
T he rich,
man’
s sp iri t a l so passed
Away from earth—to hel l .
THE BALLAD OF THE HOPELESS MAN 143
And thence he l i fts h i s burning eyes
I n torment and unrest ,And sees the Lazar , as he l ies
I n Abraham’
s holy breast .
One drop , one d rop , in M ercy’ s name ,
To cool my tongue , he cr ied ,
I am to rmen ted in th i s flame !
That b lessing was den ied .
0 brothers ! ye , who riches own ,
To starving want be j ust ;Heaven counts those r iches bu t a loan ,
A temporary trus t .
There is a gul f wh ich yawns between
The Weal thy and the Poor ,And Love alone that wide rav ine
Can bridge securely o’
er !
THE BALLAD OF THE HOPELESS MAN .
(From th e French of Henri Murger.)
Who knocks for entrance at th is hour?
Open .
”Who art thou fi rst ? ’Tis I .
Thy name . I canno t ope my door
At -midn igh t to a stran ger ’s cry ;
Thy name .”
Oh ! l et me in thy room
The snow fal l s fast— it b l inds myd
s igh t !
Thy name .” A corpse wi th in the fbmbI s not ~more co ld than I to-n ight .
’
144 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
For I have wandered al l the day
From north to south , from east to west ;Oh ! l et the wanderer in , I pray ,
One moment by thy fi re to rest !
No t yet ! Who art thou I am Fame
To immorta l i ty I lead .
Hence mock ing shade , delusive name !
Thy fa i th less vo ice I dare not heed .
Oh ! hear me , I am Love and Youth
Akin to heaven . Pass on thy way ;My m istress fa i l ed me in her truth
Love , Youth for me both d ied that day !
Hush ! I am Poesy and Art ,Proscr ibed by man . Quick , open .
Begone ! Al l mus ic from my heart
D ied out with love , long years ago .
1 9 ( 4
But I am Weal th : thou shal t not lack
Vast treasu res of v ictorious gold
And I can lu re thy mistress back
Alas ! bu t not ou r love Of o ld .
Unbar thy dwel l ing ! I am Power
And I can th rone thee as a K ing.
I n va i n— the fr iends that a re no more
Back to these a rms thou can s t not bring .
Then hearken ! I f for h im alone
Who tel l s h i s name , thy doors unclose
Learn that my name i s Death : I own
A ba lm that cures al l earth ly woes .
1 46 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Th rough a storm - ren t crevice he bent h is gaze
Upon Rephaim’
s vale below,
And watched in the qu iver ing noontide-b l aze
The tents Of the heathen glow ;F or the foemen
’
s garrisons held each p lace ,‘Ci ty or hamlet , that eye could trace .
A burn ing fever consumed the K ing ,And he panted with keen des i re
For a fresh,cool d raught from some mounta i n spring ,
Wh i l e h is brain seemed a l l on fi re ;But rivu let near h im o r fount was none .
They had been lapped up by the fierce , ho t sun .
T hen he though t how h isenemies slaked thei r th irst
A t the wel l by Beth lehem’
s gate ,A nd a cry from h is k ingly bosom burst ,
As he crouched there , desolate ;Oh ! the coo l , pu re waters of Beth lehem ,
My parched l ips ’ agony pines for them !
I s i t some dream that I pant ing l i e
L ike a woodland beast at bay ?
I srael ’ s ano inted King , am I
To perish O f th i rst th is day?
Oh ! that some help -mate a d raught would g ive
O f Beth lehem’ s waters tha t I might l ive !
Adino the Ezn i te , a stalwart ch ief ,And warrior—comrades twa in ,
Heard the sick monarch ’s low cries of grief
And vowed to assuage h is pain ;B ut for th ree , I ween ,
’ twas a hopeless task
To seek the boon that the King did ask .
A STORY OF K I NG DAV I D 1 47
Thei r fleet,strong coursers flew l ike wind ,
Thei r swords l ike l ightning flashed ,As onwa rd
,to j eopardy seeming b l i nd ,
L ike angel s of death they dashed ,
Til l at Beth lehem’
s gate , a fter b loody deeds ,They reeled in thei r saddles and reined thei r steeds .
Ice-co ld water they drew from the wel l ,And soon by the same red track ,
While arrows and j avel ins rain - l ike fel l ,Rode gashed and gore -stained back :
Then they sought the cavern , and cr ied , 0 K i ng ,
Water from Bethlehem’
s wel l we br ing .
Dizzy and feeble the K ing stood up
To honour the m ighty Three ,And wi th trembl ing fingers upra ised the cup ,
While i ts waters sparkled free ;Sti l l he would not sip one drop , bu t poured
The blood -bought l i fe-draught to the Lord .
And he spake : O Lord ! be i t far from me
To do th is sinfu l th ing ;This cup i s the blood of these mighty Three
Who were stricken to save the i r K ing !
So he wou ld not d rink in h i s sore d istress
Could a king do more . or a hero less
1 48 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
AT LAKE MAHOLE.
(D ed ica ted to Lo u is J . Papineau , Esq . . of Montebel lo.)
Stretched on a h i l l side ’ s wooded height ,While wi th fain t sigh the b reezes blow ,
we wa tch the moonbeams ’ trembl ing l igh tOn Lake Mahol é
’
s breast below .
Primeval mountains,grouped around ,
O’
ergrown by immemo rial p ines ,The near horizon ’ s ci rcl e bound
Wi th thei r black summits ’ curving l ines .
And a l l i s s i len t as the moon
The earth , the waters , and the skyS ave when some so l i tary loon
Wakes the we i rd echoes wi th a cry .
H ere , where man’s step hath seldom trod ,
Where settler’
s axe hath never rung ,W e muse unseen excep t by God
Each nerve to new-born raptu re strung .
Amid th is solemn wi lderness’Twere sweet , dear friend , to dwel l awhi le ,
Far from stern labour’
s da i ly stress
TOO rarely solaced by a sm i l e .
’Twere sweet—who knows beneath yon lake
TO sink on some tempestuous n ight ,A nd i n an after-world to wake
A world of unimag ined l igh t !
150 POEMS OF GEORGE MUR RtAY
Whether on Afric’ s bu rning sands ,
O r savage Caucasus he stands ,O r where , w i th legend - haunted tide ,The waters of Hydaspes gl ide .
For , wh i l e in Sabine glades , alone ,Singing of Lalage , my own ,I roamed l igh t- hearted and unarmed ,A wol f tha t faced me fled— a larmed .
NO monste r so porten tous roves
Through ga l lan t Daun ia’
s broad oak-groves ,Nor e
’
en in J uba ’ s th i rsty land ,Tha t suckles l ions ’mid the sand .
P l ace me on l i feless deserts , where
NO tree is fanned by summer ’s a i r ,That zone of earth
,which mist and cloud
With su l len atmosphere ensh roud ;
Set me in boundless realms afar ,Beneath the sun ’ s too neighbouring car ,E
’
en there , sweet - smi l ing La lage ,Sweet - speaking ma id , beloved sha l l be .
HORACE TO VIRG I L ON THE DEATH OF
QUINC T ILIUS .
BOOK I , ODE XXIV
Why check the yearning for a friend
SO l oved O muse , to whom belong ,By Jove
’
s own gi ft,both lyre and song
,
Thy mourn fu l insp i rat ion lend .
ODES OF HORACE 151
Qu in c t i l ius sleeps in endless n igh t !
When shal l h i s peer be found on earth
For truth unblem ished , modes t worth ,And loyal fa i th that loves the right
The Good al l mou rned h im ; but thy moan
Was saddest , Virgi l ! Thou in va in
Dost ask h im of the Gods again ,Unm indfu l he was but a loan .
Nay— cou ld’
s t thou sweeter stra ins commandThan Orpheus , whom the groves obeyed ,Thou could
’
st not an imate the shade
Wh ich M a ia’
s son , with gloomy wand ,
Clos ing the gate of L i fe , hath driv’
n
To m ingle wi th the spectral th rong ,’T i s hard— but Suffering makes us strong
To meet the unchanging w i l l of Heav’
n !
BOOK I . ODE XXXVI I .
Boy, I detest al l Persian state ,And crowns with l inden -bark entwined ;
Seek not the rose that l ingers late
For me to find .
Enough ; th is simp l e myrtl e-wreath
Which decks not i l l thy brows and mine ,As
, s erved by thee , I d rink beneath
The trel l i sed vine .
152 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
BOOK I I I . ODE XI I .
Bandusian Spring , as crysta l c lear ,With flowers , thy due , and p l easant wine ,A kid to-morrow shal l be th ine ,
Whose horns j ust budd ing forth appear,
Portending love and war . I n . va i n !
Chi ld of the wanton flock , h is b lood
The ice -cold curren t of thy flood
E re long wi th crimson hue sha l l sta‘
i n .
The b lazing Dog- star’
s scorch ing heat
Doth touch thee not . Oh ! gratefu l thou
To oxen wearied of the p lough ,And the fa i n t herd with wander ing feet .
Thou,too , ennob led , sha l t be found
Among Earth’
s fountains,whi le I s ing
Thy bubb l ing ri l l s , that downward spri ng
From ho l low crags with i lex crown ’
d .
BOOK I I . ODE X .
Li fe’
s course in safety wou ld’
st thou steer ,L i cin ius , shun the Open deep ;
Nor to the treacherous shore in fear
Of sto rms too c losely keep .
The giant p i ne by tempest oft
Is ren t : towers fa l l wi th heavy crash
And mountain peaks that soar aloft
A ttrac t the l ightn ing’
s flash .
154 POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
K ings though we be , exempt from toi l
Or needy t i l lers of the so i l .What though we shun War ’ s bloody p l ainAnd the hoarse surge of Adria ’ s main ;What though in Autumn ’ s su l try hou r
We dread the Sou th W ind ’ s b l ighting power,
TO black Cocytus , oozi ng sl ow
And the vi le Dana ids we must go .
H im we must V i ew who rol ls the stone
Condemned eternal ly to groan .
Earth , home , and charming w i fe must be
Abandoned , and no cher ished tree ,Excep t the cypresses abhorred ,
Sha l l fol low there thei r short l ived lord .
An he i r thy C aecuban sha l l seize
Close guarded wi th a hundred keys ,And revel ry thy floor shal l sta in
Wi th choicer wine than Pont iffs drain .
FOR VALOUR .
Greater love hath no man than th is , that a man lay down h is l i fe forth isfriend. New Testament.
Hector Lach lan Stewart MacLean
A Beau sabreur in the Swat campa ign ,Wil l never brand ish h is sword aga in .
Bo ld ly he charged with some troopers brave ,And h issing bul lets they faced to save
A foe-g i rt friend from a b loody grave .
THE DOVES 155
They grasped h i s body , and swiftly turned
MacLean ,sore-wounded , i n sp i ri t burned :
The Cross For V alour the i r deed had earned .
Death claimed h i s prey . I n the next Gazette
H is name was honoured , w i th keen regret
That he d ied ere h is Country could pay her deb t .
And thus , by lay ing h i s young l i fe down
To save a comrade , he won renown .
His C ross he missed— bu t he ga ined h is Crown !
A paragraph in the London Da i ly News says The Victoria Cross is to‘
b e conferred on some brave Ind ian officers . T heir acts of courage are recordedi n Th e London Gazette.’
s imultaneous ly w i th th e announcement of Her
Ma jesty ’
s intent ion to give them th e coveted decora t ion For Va lour. ’
Twoof the decorations refer to one incident i n th e Upper Swat Campa ign . A th irdd ecora t ion ought to have been g iven . but i t w i l l b e seen that in th e ac t of
bravery commended Lieutenant Hector Lachlan Stewart MacLean sacrificedh is l i fe and therefore h is Cross . T here is a pathet ic memorandum in the
Gazette to th e effect that on account of h is ga l lant conduct h e would havebeen recommended to Her Ma jesty for th e Victoria C ross had h e surv ived .T h e Da i ly News then quotes from the Gazette th e offi cia l record of the(b ravery of these officers .
THE DOVES .
(From T heoph i le Gaut ier.)
On yonder h i l l s ide , white wi th tombs ,A palm tree ’s fan - l ike fol iage blooms
There , i n the gloaming flock the doves,
To rest the i r wings and coo thei r loves .
A t dawn'
th e palm tree they forsake,
Like beads that from a necklace b reak,
And scatter ai ri ly in fl ight,
U pon some d istant roof to l ight .
156 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
My sou l doth , l ike that pa lm , receive
White d reams as visi tors , a t eve :
They d rop from heaven a while they stay
But van ish at the b reak of day .
KN IGHT TOGGENBURG .
(Trans lated from Schi l ler.)
S i r Kn ight ! true s ister- love
This heart devotes to thee :
No fonder seek to prove ,For oh ! i t paineth me .
Ca lmly I see thee nea r ,Calmly I see thee gO
°
But why that s i lent tea r
I s wept , I may not know .
By dumb despai r Oppress’
d
The warrior ’ s heart was wrung
He strained her to h is b reast ,Then on h is charger sprung ;
And summoned vassa l s b rave
Forth from the Swi tzer’
s land ,And sough t the Ho ly Grave
With red - cross pi lgrim -band .
There deeds of daring migh t
Were wrough t by heroes’
arms
Thei r helmet-plumes waved b righ t
Amid the Paynim -swarms
And Toggenburg’
s d read name
158 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
‘
M id shade of l inden -grove :
And in tha t lonesome place
He sate from dawn of day ,Wi th hope upon h is face
,
T i l l even ing ’ s la test ray ;
Watch ing w i th earnest hope
The convent—wal l s aboveTo mark a latt ice ope ,The latt ice of h i s love :
To see bu t once her face ,SO meek and ange l -m i ld ,
Low bend ing down to gaze
Upon the val ley w i ld .
And then he sought repose ,Consoled by vis ions br igh t
Nor thought upon h is woes
At sweet retu rn of l ight .
And thus he sa’
te— alone
Long dream - l ike days and years ,Wa i t ing , w i thout a moan ,
Un t i l the ma id appears :
Wa i t ing to see her face ,So meek and angel -m i ld ,
Low bend ing down to gaze
Upon the val l ey w i ld .
And so he sate in death
One summer morn ing , there ,St i l l watch ing from benea th
W i th fond,calm , wi stful sta re
A COUP D ’ETAT 1 59
A COUP D’
ETAT .
AN INC IDENT IN THE N IGHT OF DECEMBER 4m ,185 1 .
(From the French of Victor Hugo . )
The ch i ld rece ived two bul lets in the b ra in .
We bore h im home : the house was smal l and plain .
On the bare wal l there hung a portrai t , dress’
d
W i th a green pa lm -b ranch that a pri est had b less’
d .
The aged grandmother was there , alone :
S h e kiss’
d the vi ct im w i th a p i teous moan .
I n s i lence we uncovered every l imb ,
H is l ips were Open , and h i s eyes were d im ;And wh i le h i s arms drooped , l i stless , to the ground ,
A wooden top w i th in h is frock we found .
D eep were the wounds from wh ich we w iped the
b lood
Hast thou seen berr ies b l eed ing in a wood ?
H is skul l was cloven , as a log i s spl i t ,The woman watched us
,as we tended i t
C rying : How wh i te he i s ! B ring near the lamp :
G od ! The poor curls around h i s b row are damp !
W hen al l was done , sh e took h im on her knees .
The n ight was dreary— borne upon the breeze
G unshots were heard , that told of many dead .
Come— l et u s bu ry the dear ch i ld ,
” we sa id
And from an a nt ique chest we drew a sheet .
B ut st i l l the grandam strove to gather heat
I n h i s st iff l imbs,beside th e
'
emb ers warm .
Alas ! when Death ’ s cold fingers touch a form
Al l earth ly warmth i s va in . She bent her head ,
D rew Ofl h i s socks,scarce su re that he was dead
,
160 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
And whi le h is feet sh e fondled in her hand,
She sa id : These th ings are hard to understand .
Mon si eu r, the ch i ld was on ly eigh t years Old ,
And a l l h i s teachers loved h im , I am to ld .
When some chance letter reached me from a friend ,
The boy would wri te—but th is i s at an end !They ki l l the ch i ld ren now , i t seems ; Mon D i eu
,
M en have turned brigands , then ! Can th is be true?
Before our window , there , he p layed at morn
To—n ight , my darl ing from my l i fe i s torn .
They fi red upon h im , Monsi eur,i n the street ,
Whi le he was pass ing—he , so good and sweet
But I am O ld ; I have not long to stay ;Wou ld God that M onsieu r Bonaparte to-day
Had b id h is so ld iers ki l l me , not the ch i ld .
”
Here , she C eased speaking , for her sobs grew wi ld .
Soon , she continued w i th pathetic tone ,What wi l l become of me now left a lone?
Exp la i n me that , kind gentlemen . I had
Nough t from h is mother but th is l i tt le lad .
Why did they ki l l h im? Can you tel l me? Speak ;He never shouted , V iva la R épubl ique
S i l en t and grave we stood , with brows a l l bare ,Trembl ing before the sorrow of despa i r .
Thou hast no head for po l i t ics , poor dame !
Monsieu r Napoleon— so , the man I name
I s Prince , and pauper ; and he fain would own
Unbounded weal th , a palace , and a throne ;Hence , wrinkled hands , to sate h is l ust for gold ,M ust sew the sh rouds of ch i ld ren eigh t years o ld .
1 62 POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
Rose l i fted her robe Of wh i te,
And dipped , with an innocent a i r ,Her naked foot in the wavelet br ight
I saw not her foot so fa i r .
We roamed in the woods longwh i le ,
But never a word spake I,
Though I saw her somet imes sm i le,
And heard her somet imes sigh ;
I fel t not how fa i r that maid ,
Til l we left the deep woodland glen ;Amen ! we won
’
t th ink of i t more ,”she said
I have though t of i t oft s ince then !
MARGARET’
S SONG .
(From Faust.)
I n Thule l ived a monarch old ,
True even to the grave ,T o whom a goblet , wrough t of gold ,
H is dying leman gave .
And naught more r ich ly d id he pr ize ,At every feast
’
twas drained ;And Often , as he quaffed , h is eyes
W i th tears o’
erb rimmmg ra ined .
And when h i s death drew nigh , with care
He counts h is c i t ies up ;No weal th begrudg ing to h i s he i r ,Except the golden cup .
THE WANDER I NG JEW 163
A solemn feast he held , with al l
H i s Kn ights as company ;’Twas in h is proud , ancestra l hal l
That hung above the sea .
There stood that king-ca rouser O ld
His last l i fe-draught to dra in ,Then hurled the treasured cup of gold
Far down into the ma in .
He saw i t sp lash : i t fi l l ed , i t sank ,Deep , deep the waves beneath ;
With downcast eyes he watched , nor drank
One drop again t i l l death !
THE VVANDER ING JEW
(T rans lated from Beranger.)
Chri st ian 'a cup Of water fetch
For the fa in t pi lgrim at thy gate :
I am the Wandering J ew,poor wretch !
W’
h i rled onwards evermore by fate .
I age no t , though by years opp rest ,The world
’ s end i s my on ly d ream ;Each eve , fresh hopes inspi re my breast
But sti l l to-morrow’
s sun wi l l beam .
Ever , ever ,The ea rth spins round , and resteth never ,
Never , never !
164 POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
For eighteen hundred years,alas !
O’
er G recian and o’
er Roman dust ,O
’
er count less emp i res quenched,I pass
,
By fearfu l wh i rlwinds onward thrust .
Good I have seen that fai l ed to th rive,
Wh i l e l ustie r evi l th rove and grew ;And I have watched two worlds su rvive
The ancien t world , from Ocean’ s b l ue .
Ever , ever ,The Earth spins round
,and resteth never
,
Never , never !
God changed me , that he m igh t chast ise
To a l l that perishes I cl ing
But , when some shel ter open l ies ,The tempest sweeps me on i ts wing .
How many starvel ings in each land
Ask aid that I wou ld fain supply !
They have no t ime to clasp the hand
I love to stretch wh i le passing by .
Ever , ever ,The Earth sp ins round and resteth never ,
Never , never !
I f e’
er beneath some leafy trees ,On cool green tu rf , beside the wave ,I seek my wretchedness to ease .
Forthwith the vengefu l wh i rlwinds rave .
Oh ! why should Heaven begrudge my grief
A fleet ing moment of repose?
E tern i ty i tsel f were br ief
To soothe my agon izing woes !
166 POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
Behold my pa in that none can cu re :’
Tis not for Godhead scorned,alone
,
But outraged manhood I endure !
Ever,ever
,
The Earth spins round,and resteth never
,
Never,never !
THE AVENGED CROW .
(Im itated from th e French.)
You have al l heard the tale of the Fox and the Crow,
But the sequel,I fancy
,that few people know :
Permit me to tel l the dénouement,for I
Was a w i tness,alas ! of poor Renard ’ s last s igh .
H i s Papa , h i s Mamma , and the nearest of k in
Who k issed h is cold muzzle were fi l led with chagrin ,When the doctor (cal led in to de term ine the question)Pronounced h is death caused by severe ind igest ion !
My Friends,said Papa
,th i s dep lo rab l e case
Wil l b rand us , I fear , as a glu ttonous race ;’
Twi l l be said th is dear ch i ld , whom we ido l ized s so ,
Died from eat ing the cheese of tha t imbeci le Crow .
Al l groaned at these words . The dead gourmand
next morn
I n a hearse w i th wh i te p l umes to the grave -ya rd was
borne :
The Foxes in black—some th ree hundred in al lWalked two and two , chanting the Dead March in
“SauL
”
THE LANDLADY ’
S DAUGHTER 167
When they stood round the p i t , they again groaned
aloud ,
And the M ayor made a heart- rend ing speech to the
crowd :
What he sa id I don ’ t know— but of th i s there’
s no
doubt
That each Fox held a handkerch ief up to h is snout .
J ust then Madam Crow (perched hard by on a t ree)Croaked Renard i s dead ! What a grand day for me !
He sneered at my singing , and pi l fered my cheese;
I n return , he l ies there , carri ed off by d isease !”
MORAL
The Moral i s th i s : when we rob fr iend or foe ,I t seldom br ings weal , but i t often brings woe .
Had Renard not been an inord inate th ief .Dyspepsia wou ld never have brought h im to grief !
THE LANDLADY’
S DAUGHTER .
(T rans lated from Uhl and .)
Three s tudents over the Rhine have h ied :To the I nn of a Hostess they turn aside .
Say , Hostess , hast thou good beer and w ineAnd where i s that lovely daughter of th ine?
’
Mywine and a l e are both b righ t and clear :My daughter l ies shrouded upon her bier .”
Softly they entered her sleep ing- room,
And there sh e lay i n the coffin’
s gloom .
1 68 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
The Fi rst , he l i fted the maiden’ s ve i l ,
And sadly gazed on her featu res pale .
Would thou wert l iving, 0 fa i rest maid !
I would love thee dearly,henceforth
,
” he said .
The Second covered her face aga in ,
And turned as i de to shed tears l ike rain .
Ah , me ! thou art lying upon thy b ier ,Thou , whom I cheri shed for many a year .
The Th i rd upl i fted once more the vei l ,And k issed the maid on the l ips so pale :
I love thee now, ,as I loved before
I wi l l l ove thee fOn‘
d ly for evermore !
TWO P I CTURES .
(From the French of N . Mart in .)
THE B I RD OF GLOOM .
H igh on a snow—clad branch a gl oomy b i rdSat , s i l en t as despa i r , and never st i rred !
Upon the desolate earth are fixed h is eyes
I n the lone glen,perchance
,he marks a prize ;
Or i s he dead ? Not -so— h e strippeth bare
The snow-clad bough , and whets h is beak w i th care
Then sai l s away on weary w ing , and then
Drops where yon‘
sexton d igs the graves of men !
170 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Weep not for yesterday , await to-morrow
Thy soul is death less— Time pursues h is fl ight .
Thy body fa ints beneath thy spi ri t ’s woe
Thy l imbs are feeble , and thy brow doth bend
Go , kneel in prayer , i nsensate creatu re ! goThy soul is death less : l i fe wil l qu ickly end .
Thy bones to dust sha l l crumble in the b ier
Thy memo ry , name and glory , a l l must d ie
Bu t not thy love : i f love to thee be dear ,’Tw i l l l ive forever w i th thy sou l on h igh !
A HANDFUL OF EP IGRAMS .
(Translated from the French .)
With perfect ease , a scribb l er cried ,I pour my verses forth ;
They cost me nought .” A friend repl ied ,
“ They cost you what they ’
re worth .
DE MARSY .
Si lence in Court ! a J udge harangued ,“ Th is noise i s qu i te absurd !
Five men I ’ve sentenced to be hanged ,“Whose p l eas I haven ’ t heard .
BARATON .
Greece,that produced a warr ior-host
Renowned in a l l our school s ,Could but of seven Sages boast ;Who
,then , can count her fool s?
GREC OURT .
A HANDFUL OF EP IGRAMS
This p lay-wr ight , arrogant and mean ,I s wont h is friends to tel l
He has the secret of Rac ine
He keeps the secret wel l !
ARNAUD .
A bard , whose name I won’ t d isclose ,
Asserted once , wi th pride ,I never deign to wri te in prose :
His verses prove he l ied .
VOLTA I RE .
Stab as you w i l l wi th venomed qu i l l
The l iving and the dead ,Few wil l abuse your j ealous muse
Because— she ’ s seldom read .
C OC QUARD .
My friend ! you thought me stup id once ,Because I scarcely spoke
I thought you , too , an empty dunce
Whene’
er— you s i lence broke.LINIEREs .
171
1 72 POEMS OF GEORGE M URRAY
BENEATH A P I CTURE .
Fearful ly gaz ing Sp i ri t ! wherefore l ies
That strange , sad speculat ion in th ine eyes?
Why dost thou sh rink , as though beneath a storm ,
Shedd ing the brightness of th ine angel form?
Art thou a rebel sp i ri t? D id’
st thou fl ing
Proud threats Of o ld at Heaven’
s E ternal King,
And,crushed and vanqu ished ,w i l t t hou soon be hurl
’
d
Down by the V ictor to -a demon—world?I t cannot be ! Thou art not one of those
Doomed to a darkketern i ty ofwoes ,
Who gnash their'
t'
eeth,in frenzi ed pa in , and weep ,
And vain ly pray for everlasti ng sleep ;NO ! thou are spotless— al l thy sin s are deadA wreath '
of glory streams around thyhead ,
And ,
”
if”
thy countenance is pale and wan ,’Tis that thy love is shown in fear forman .
Yea , fear hath cast a shade upon thy soul ,For worlds are sh rinking l ike
’
a shrivel led scrol l ,
And a l l th ings pass away , and angels gaze
With dim intel l igence and strange amaze
On shadowy forms upfloating from the earth ,Roused by the trumpet to a second bi rth .
Swiftly they soar , as eagles o’
er a cloud ,Soul s from al l cl imes , a voiceless , troub l ed crowd ,S inners and sa ints , the monarch and the slave ,Burst ing at once the bondage Of the grave .
In Orcagna'
s paint ing of The Last Judgment there is th e figure |of k nAngel . who i s
.
look i ng w ith a fee l ing of awe and anxi ety at the assemb ledawaég
ng the last decree of Heaven . The Parthen on (art magazine) .0. p .
174 POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
God in h is mercy on the sands of Time
Hath dropped one oasi s— the C emet’
ry.
Lie down poor , breathless p i lgrims , sleep at last !
FAME AND LOVE .
(T rans lated from V ictor Hugo.)
When , dearest , thou dost speak of Fame ,With bi t terness I sm i l e
Tha t phantom— a delusive name
Shal l me no more begu i le .
Fame passes qu ickly from our ken,
Pale Envy ’ s blazing brands
Spare i ts wh i te statue on ly when
Beside a tomb i t stands .
Earth’
s so - cal led happ iness takes wing ,Imperial power decays :
Love , noiseless love , alone can bring
True solace to ou r days .
I ask no blessings here below,
Except thy sm i l e and song :
Air , sunsh ine , shade , the flowers that blow,
To al l mank ind belong .
When from thy presence sundered far ,I n joy or sorrow
’ s hou r,
I miss thy glance alone , my Star ,Thy fragrance , O my F lower !
FAME AND LOVE 175
B eneath the l ids that vei l th ine eyes
I l l umined from above ,A universe of feel ing l ies ,I seek for nought but love .
My sou l , that Poesy insp i res ,With thoughts to man unknown
C ould fi l l the world— yet i t des i res
To fi l l thy heart alone .
O h , sm i l e and s ing ! my ecstasy
Transcends E lysian j oys ,W hat matters now yon crowd to me
W i th a l l i ts roaring noise ?
T OO keen at length my rapture seems ,And so
,to cause i ts fl ight ,
I cal l before me in my dreams
The poets’
forms of l igh t :
B ut st i l l , _regardless of the i r blame ,
I’
l l love thy sooth ing songs
More than the sti rr ing trump of Fame ,Whi le Heaven my l i fe p rolongs .
And if my name on wings of fi re
Should soar to worlds above ,Hal f Of mv sou l wou ld st i l l des i re
To’
l inger here , and love .
Sadly , or - pens ively at least,
I’
l l love thee in the shade
Love’
s rad iance ever seems increased
By dusky. twi l igh t’
s aid .
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
O Angel wi th the starry eyes !
O maid , whose tea rs a re sweet !
Take my sou l wi th thee to the skies ,My heart is at thy feet .
THE SPECTRE OF THE ROSE .
(From T heoph i le Gaut ier .)
Those marble - l idded eyes unclose,
Wake from thy sleep’
s angel ic trance !I am the Spectre of a Rose
That decked thybeau ty in the dance .
Thy fingers p l ucked me from mystem
Wet wi th the dews of yester e’en
And thou d idst wear me , l ike a gem ,
Am id the ba l l - room’
s dazzl ing scene .
My l i fe’
s br ief summer thou d idst b l i gh t
My ghost away thou canst not chase :’Tw i l l fl i t unt i r ing al l the n igh t
Around thy softly-p i l lowed’
face .
I cla im no masses for my death,
No D e P rofundi s slowly wa i l ed :
My sp i ri t i s a fragrant breath
From Parad ise i tsel f exhaled .
Torn from the -world,I d id not sigh ,
Nor could thy fondest lovers crave
A happier death than mine to d ie
Thy snow-white bosom was my grave :
And on that alabaster tomb
A Poet wrote , with loving kiss
Here l ies a Rose , whose e arly doom
E ’en k ings m igh t'envy for its bl iss ! ;
1 78 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
SONG .
(From V ictor Hugo.)
My songs , poor ephemeral th ings ,Would fly to thy garden so fai r ,
I f they had but the tremu lous wings
That speed the l igh t b i rd through the a i r .
L ike fire - sparks that gai ly up- spring
,
They would fly to thy welcoming hearth ,I f they had bu t the ventu resome wing
,
That l i f ts though t afar from the earth .
N igh t and day , they would fai th fu l ly bring
Sweet messages , dearest to thee ,I f they had bu t Love ’ s butterfly wing ,
To waft them o ’ er land and o’
er sea .
THE GENTLEMEN CR I CKETERS ’ TEAM .
(R espectfu l ly ded icated to its subject .)
I’
ve a toast to propose you— so, Gentlemen , hand on
T he M umm ,and the Cl iquot , the Moet and Chandon :
T he toast that I Offer w i th pleasu re extreme
I s the heal th of“ The Gentlemen Cr icketers
’
Team .
And fi rst,here ’ s the heal th Of the i r C ap tain ,
Fitzgerald ,
W hose time-honou red name stands in need of no herald
Al l know that he manages matches as wel l
As a match -mak ing mother , w i th daughters to sel l .
A song written on the occas ion of a banquet given in 1872 to th e twe lveEngl ish cricket ing apost les as they we re ca l led . T he l ines were writtenin a grea t hurry and the only reason they are worthy of b emg preserved is .t hat they conta in the names of a l l the Brit ishers , and were printed at the irr equest .
THE GENTLEMEN‘
CR I CKETERS ’ TEAM 179
Next , here’
s to the Chief of the bal l -driving race,
A Giant in cr icket as wel l as a Grace :
Bat , bowler , or field , i n h imsel f he’
s a host,
Al l round,the best player that B r i tain can boast .
Here’
s to Hornby , who bears the cognomen of“Monkey ,
All muscle and nerve—never feeble or funkyFor p l uck , ski l l and strength , he is hard to be beaten
By p icked men from W inchester,Harrow or E ton !
Here’
s the left -handed bowler— that Lancash i re swel l,
Whom Ottawa batsmen remember so wel l
He bowled a whole inn ings (and bowled l ike great guns)I n Apple-pi e order for— on ly three runs !
And here ’ s to h is confrere , spectacu lar Rose ,A rather quick bowler of dangerous “ slows :
And now to the Lubbocks , a brave pa i r of brothers ,Who rank w i th the Graces , the Walkers and others .
Next , here’s to four stars of the Oxford E l even
(With al l due respect for the home-keep ing seven) ,Here ’ s to Harris and O ttaway , Francis and Hadow ,
May T ime ne ’er decrease h is Hercu lean shadow !
Here ’ s to Pickering lastly— h i s name is enough
To prove that he’
s made of good cr icketing stuffWarm welcome
,I
’
m sure , he w i l l ever be shewn
For the sake of h is Uncle , as wel l as h is own !
SO ,here ’ s to them singly , or taken together
A finer set never yet hunted the leather
Once m ore , then , I pledge you , with pleasu re extreme ,The heal th of The Gen tl emen Cr icketers ’ Team .
”
1 80 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
FLOWERS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY .
MEN WERE DECE IVERS EVER .
(Ca l l imachus .)
To fa i r I one C a l l ignotus swore
None but hersel f to cherish or adore .
But men say t ru ly that the Gods above
Laugh at the reckless perj uries of love
See—the fa l se boy to other l ips has flown ,W h i l e fond I one wai ts and weeps alone !
THE C L INGING V INE .
(Ant i pater of S idon .)
A v ine o ’
er me a w i thered plane , hath grown ,And shrouds my l imbs w i th fol iage not thei r own ,G ratefu l—F because my boughs , once verdant , tra ined
Her tender shoots , her clustering grapes susta ined .
SO choose,fond boy,
a partner l ike the vine ,W hose love around thee , e
’
en in death , may twine .
ON A PHYS IC IAN .
(N icarc hus .)
T en Of Alex is’ pat ien ts once were i l l :
To three a d raugh t , to two he gave a p i l l ,A nd five he bl istered . Wel l , what fo l lowed then?
O ne n igh t , one grave , one Hades for the ten !
THE M IRROR OF LA IS .
(P1ato.)
I,La is
,once of Hel las the del ight ,
T o Venus consecrate my mirror br igh t .W hat I am now , I do not care to seeW hat I was once , I ne
’
er again can be !
182 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
INSCRI PTION ON A TOMB .
(Author unknown .)
I seek , Sab inus , by th is l i ttl e stone
G reat love for thee , departed friend to own :
My love wi l l l ast— thy love for me to show ,
Drink not of Lethe in the realms below
ON VENUS ARIS ING FROM THE SEA .
(An t i pa ter, of Sidon.)
C harm’
d by Apel les’ mag ic , here th ine eyes
May v iew sweet Venus from the waves arise .
Twin’
d in her hai r , her glow ing fingers press
The dews of ocean from each dripp ing tress
SO fai r , that J uno’ s sel f and Pal las s igh
,
With thee ’ twere vain in lovel iness to vie .
THE SHRINE OF VENUS .
(Ant ipater , of Sidon .)
Smal l is the chapel where I make my home .
Queen of these shores al l wh i te wi th ocean foam ,
But st i l l ’ t i s dea r : my presence calms the waves,
And oft the mariner from sh ipwreck saves .
Pay court to Venus— she wil l succour thee,
I n love ’ s w i ld storms,or on the raging sea .
THE SHRINE OF VENUS .
(Anyté .)
Fai r Aphrod i te,from th is marb l e fane
Del igh ts to gaze upon the glassy main ,Smooth ing the sai lor
’
s pathway—wh i le the deepBeholds her image , and i s lu l l
’
d asleep .
FLOWERS FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY 183
D I SC ONTENTED .
‘
(Author unknown .)
Poor , when a boy , bu t opulent , when O ld ,
Twice have I su ffer’
d m isery untold :
Wea l th , when I could have used i t , I had none
I have i t now , when l i fe i s nearly done !
A LOVER ’
S PRAYER .
(Polemon .)
Sweet Cup id ! ki l l my power to love,
Un less I ’m loved again :
Thus , free from passion I shal l prove ,Or share the bl i ssfu l pain .
A LAMENT .
(C al l imachus.)
The gent le ma ids of Samos ’ i sl e
M i ss the i r sweet fel low-weaver’
s smile :
For C reth is oft w i th pratt l e gayWould wh i le the hours o f toi l away ,But now she sleeps beyond reca l l ,The sleep that must be slept by al l !
ON THE STATUE OF A BAC C HANTE .
(Aut hor unknown .)
R estrain that Bacchan te ! ere the marb le maid
Leaps from the shr ine , and seeks the forest glade .
1 84 PO E MS OF GEORGE MURRAY
ON THE P ICTURE OF VENUS BY A PELLES .
(J ul ian of Egypt .)
Stand back ! whi le Venus qu i ts her ocean home ,Or her wet locks wi l l sprinkle thee w i th foam .
LOVE AND W INE .
(R ufinus .)
Love , by h imsel f , I can defy ,
With Reason for my shield :
When Bacchus fights as Love ’ s al ly
To two such Gods I y ield .
THE Z ONE OF VENUS
(An tip hanes.of Macedon ia .)
When Venus loosed the cestus of desi re
From her wh i te breast , the love -compel l ing zone
Was l en t thee , I no , al l mank ind to fire
But thou hast ‘
used i t against me alone !
THE STUDENT’S WIFE .
(From Les Contemplat ions of V ictor Hugo. )
She sa id , I t is true , love ; ~how fool ish my s ighs !
I t is true that the hours pass enchant ingly so ;
You are here , and I gaze unreproved on your eyes ,Where I t race al l your thoughts as they come and
they go .
1 86 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
But my heart repl ied : For my Parad ise
Eve ’ s sel f— Eve only— would scarce suffice :
To change one’ s love w i th the changing year
But makes the j oys of the Past more dear .”
I sa id to my heart , to my wayward heart :“What charm can l ie in each var ied smart?
The love that ever del ights to range
Bu t finds fresh sorrow in each fresh change .
But my heart rep l ied to me : Manhood scorns
TO p l uck sweet roses devo id of thorns :
To change one ’ s love w i th the changing year
But makes the pa ins of the Past more dear !
THE TO I LET OF CONSTANCE .
(From the bal lad of Cas im ir Delav i gne. as ab b reviated l lby Rusk in ,V ol . I I I . of h is Modern Pa inters ”
)
Haste , Anna ! D id you hear me cal l ?
My m i rror , qu ick ! The hou rs advance :
To -nigh t I’
m go ing to the Bal l
At the Ambassador’
s Of France .
J ust th ink— those bows wereIfresh and fa i rLast eve —ah ! beauty fades apace :
See , from the net that b ind s"my ha i r
The azu re tassel s droop w i th grace .
You r hands are awkward,g i rl
, to- n igh t
These sapphi res wel l become my brow :
A p in has pricked me—set i t r igh t
Dear An na ,
'
I look charming now !
He , whom my fancy has begu i l ed
LE MONDE EST MECHANT 187
(Anna , my robe !) wi l l be a guest
(F i e , fie ! that’ s not my necklace , ch i ld !
Those beads the Holy Father blest) .
Oh ! should h i s hand my fingers press
(At the mere thought I t remb l e , dear) ,TO-morrow
,shou ld I dare confess
The tru th in Pé re Anselmo’
s ear?
Give me my gloves —now , al l i s wel l
I n the tal l glass on e fina l glance
To-night,I long to be the bel le
At the Ambassador’
s of France .
Close to the hearth she stood and gazed :
O God ! a spark igni tes her dress
F i re ! Help ! When every hope was raised,
How sad such death for lovel iness !
The flame voluptuously gnaws
Her arms —her b reast —around—above
And swal lows w i th unp i tying j aws
Her e ighteen years her dreams of love !
Farewel l to al l you th s vi sions gay !
They only sa id : “Ah ! poor Cons tance !
And wal tzed unti l the dawn of day
At the Ambassador’
s Of France .
LE MONDE EST MECHANT .
(From T heoph i le Gaut ier.)
The world is'
malevolen t , dear ,And i t says , w i th a cynical sneer ,That your bosom conceals , ma peti te ,A watch , where a heart ought to beat !
188 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
St i l l , you r breast , when emotion enthra l l s ,L ike a wave ever r ises and fa l l s
,
With the ebb and the flow of the t ide,
That o’
er you r young body doth gl ide .
The world has mal ic iously said
That your eyes , fu l l of passion , are dead ,
And revolve in the i r orbi ts on springs,
L ike patent , mechanica l th ings !
St i l l,Oftt imes a crystal l ine tear
On your eye- lashes trembles , my dear ,Like a pearl -drop of l uminous dew
That cl ings to some violet blue .
The world i s ma l ic ious— i t swears
That your brain i s as l ight as a hare ’ s,
And that sonnets composed for your ear
Are r idd les in G reek to you , dear !
Sti l l,oft on your l ips that unclose
Like the leaves Of an exqui si te rose ,A subtle , intel l igent smi le
Al ights,l ike a bee , for a wh i le .
’Tis because you are fond of me , dear ,That the world in you r case is severe ;Discard me—and then they wil l sayWhat feel ing and wit you disp lay !
190 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
I t is the carpenter— noth ing more
Bus i ly mend ing a plank i ’ the floor .
But prythee , tel l me , my M other dear ,What is the s ing ing that now I hear?
’
T is some procession ,my ch i ld , I wot ,
That chants wh i le passing around our co t .
But prythee , tel l me , my Mother dear ,Why from thine eyel id there d rops a tear?
Alas ! the tru th I no more can h ide ,J ean Renaud in th is house hath d ied .
My Mother,haste to the sexton old
Let h im d ig a grave for two i’ the mould ,
And let the p i t be wide and deep ,My baby also therein shal l sleep !
THE C ID AND THE JEW
(T rans lated from T heoph ile Gaut ier. )
The C id,stern victor in each fight ,
Hero , of more than mortal he ight ,I n the grand church of San Pedro
(’Twas Don Al fonso wi l l
’
d i t so)Embalmed
,and seeming ly not dead ,
Clad in brigh t steel , and helmeted ,
Si ts rooted to a stately cha i r
Ra ise‘
d on a tomb of scu lptu re rare .
THE C ID AND THE JEW 191
L ike a whi te cloth , h is beard of snow
H is coat of ma i l doth overflow ,
Wh i l e to defend h im , at th is s ide
Hangs Tisona ,h is boast and pr ide ,
The pol ished and elasti c blade
That M oor and Chr ist ian oft d ismay’
d .
Thus seated—dead— h e seems to keep
The semblance of a man asleep :
T hus for seven years he hath reposed
Since death h is l i fe of dar ing closed ,
And ,on a certa in day , each year ,
C rowds gaze upon h is corpse in fear .
O nce , when a l l visi tors had gone ,And the great C id was left alone
I n the broad nave wi th God— a J ew
N igh to the sleeping champion d rew ,
A nd thus he spake : Here s i ts the frame
O f one whom men st i l l d read to name .
’Tis said the strongest warr iors feared
Even to touch h i s gr izzled beard :
H ere now he resteth , mute and cold ,
H is arms , wh ich scattered foe of o ld ,
Hang stiffened by the hand of death .
Lo ! since he hath no longer breath ,lVIysel f w i l l s troke h is beard of snow
I wot the mummy w i l l not know ,
And none are present to forbid
My laying hands upon the C id .
W i th no presentiment of harm
T he sord id J ew outstretched h is arm :
192 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
But , ere that snowy beard could beSoi led by h is mad impiety
,
The Cid from ou t h is scabbard”
d rew
Three feet of steel that dazed the view .
Scared by the ghastly mi racle
Prone on the tomb the Hebrew fel l :
And When good monks , at close of day
Had borne h i s pal sied l imbs away ,
He told them h is adventure strange ,And vowed a graceless l i fe to change .
Soon he abj u red h i s fa i th , and then
Entered a convent ’ s gloom . Amen .
TRANSLATION OF M . FRECHETTE’
S
WELCOME TO MARK TWAIN .
Come , s ing , my M use , ou r honoured Guest
Before the “ toasts are started
O f al l phi losophers the best,Because the l igh test hearted .
He wel l deserves a golden rhyme
To - n ight , and oft hereafter ,Who roused , whi le laugh ing at h is t ime ,I ts sympathet ic laughter
Li fe’
s dearest charm in laugh ter l ies ,And , i f th is creed were common ,
The un iverse wou ld scarce compri se
A su lky man or woman .
1 94 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
G reat God of hos ts ! protect ou r Champion’
s l i fe,
Save h im , O Lord , fresh lau rels st i l l to glean ,And keep the memory Of h is valou r green .
C rown h im as V ictor in the deadly str i fe
The idol of h i s country and his Queen .
THE STREAMLET .
(From T heoph i le Gauth ier.)
A thread - l ike stream , that had i ts source
I n lonely haunts bes ide a lake,
Exu l ti ngly began i ts course ,Reso lved far pi lgrimage to make .
S oftly i t murmured : What del igh t !
Forth from the under-world I leap ,
A nd in my wavelets’ m i rro r brigh t
The golden clouds reflected sleep .
The blue -eyed myosotis s ighs‘
Forget me not , when’
far away ;’
And sunl i t wings of d ragon -fl ies
Upon mv d imp l ed su rface play .
The wi ld bi rds from my crystal s ip ,And when my stream hath onward rol l
’
d
A few short years,perchance
’
twi l l l ip
Green vales,and rocks
,and castles old .
The foam ing of my restless tide
Shal l fr inge stone b ridge , and grani te quay ,
W hi le steamsh i ps on my bosom rideDown to the everlast ing sea !
THE EAGLE AND THE K I NGS 195»
The new-born r i l l , w i th prattl ing glee ,Dared the d im future thus to pa int ,
And,l ike some geyser , strove to free
Her eager waters from restra int .
But oft the g iant d ies a ch i ld
The crad le borders on the tomb
And thus—the stream that l ately sm i ledDied in the lake
’
s engu lfing gloom !
THE EAGLE AND THE K I NGS .
(From Victor Hugo.)
An eag l e sought the desert’
s spring bes ide
A l ion ’ s cave :
M eanwhi le , two Kings (God wi l led i t so) , espied
The sparkl ing wave .
Beneath ta l l palms,where p i lgrims quench thei r d rought
Fresh strength to ga in ,These K ings , sworn foemen , fough t thei r duel ou t
’
Til l both were slain .
The eag l e hovered o’
er each l i feless brow ,
And , mocking , said :
Ye found the un iverse too smal l , and now
You r sou ls have fled !
O Princes , lately j ubi lan t ! your bones
TO-morrow mustBe m ixed w i th ind ist inguishable stones
Amid the dust !
1 96 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Ye fool s ! what gained ye by you r savage feud?
Behold , the end !
I , the p roud eagle , haunt th is sol i tude
The l i on’
s friend .
F rom th e same sp ring we drink , each morn and eve
K ings , he and I‘
H i l l , dale , and forest depths to h im I leave ,And keep the sky .
THE P I LGR IMAGE TO KEV LAAR .
(From the German of He ine.)
The mother stood at her latt ice ,The son lay on h is bed ;Come , gaze at the holy pilgrims ,Wilhelm , arise , she sa id .
I am so i l l , my mother ,I scarce can see or hear ;
O n my dead Margaret mus ing ,My heart , alas ! i s drear .
”
Ar ise,we w i l l go to Kevlaar ,
The book and rosary take ;T he
'
Moth er of God w i l l heal thee ,Thy poor heart must not break .
The p i lgrims wave church banners ,And chant in a solemn tone ;
And so the procession passes
Through the Rhen ish town , Cologne .
198 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
TO thee I b reathe my sorrows
For thou my woe canst a id .
I dwel t w i th my tender mother
I n the Rhen ish town , Cologne ,That many hundred churches
And chapel s fa i r doth own .
And near us dwel t my M argaret ,But dead she l ieth now ;
A waxen heart I bring thee ,My wounded heart heal thou !
Heal thou my heart that i s broken ,
And , s inging fervent ly ,I w i l l pray both late and early ,Blessed be thou , Marie !
The s ick son and his mother
Slept i n a lowly room ,
When 10 ! the V i rg in l ightly
Stepped inwards through the gloom .
She ben t above the sick man ,And on h is heart d id lay
Her gentle fingers softly,
And smi led and went away .
The mother saw i n a v i sion
What happened in the dark,
And wakened from her slumber
For the dogs d id loudly bark .
THE LEAF 199
Her son lay stretched before her ,And the l ight of morn ing red
Fel l on h is cold , pale features ;The breath of l i fe had fled !
Then her hands the mother fo lded ,She fel t , she scarce knew how ;
And she whispered low, devoutly ,O M ary , b l est be thou !
THE LEAF .
(V incent Anto ine Arnault ,
Severed from thy native bough ,
Whither art thou wander ing now,
Poor sere leaf? I do not know .
When the oak , alas ! too fra i l
C rashed beneath the tempest ’s blow,
I was borne by breeze or gale ,F l u t ter ing th rough the sun and rain :
And at random sti l l I sa i l
From the mounta in to the vale ,From the forest to the pla in .
M urmur ing now no t im id wa i l ,W i th the W ind I d r i ft away
Wh i ther al l that'
s earthly goes ;Where
'
the l eaflet of the rose
M oulders w i th the leaf of bay !
An al legory addressed to Q ueen Hortense , a fugit ive after the fa l l ofNapoleon I .
POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
MY NE IGHBOUR ’S CURTA IN .
(From Al fred de M usset . )
My charm ing ne i ghbour ’ s curta in
I s moving,I declare :
She’
s coming—I feel certain
TO woo the evening a i r .
She wishes to d iscover ,
(Oh how my heart doth beat !)I f I h er wel l -d ressed lover
Am watch ing i n the stree t .
A las ! I am mistaken
She loves a country lout
And i f her curta i n ’ s shaken’
Tis by t he wind,no doub t !
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Sti l l , i t may be I could not wel l refuse .
So,pledged to act , I sough t the Master
’ s house
And found h im din ing . Hav ing made my bow ,
I told h im squarely how we a l l were pinched
By cost of food and lodging , and I showed
Th ings cou ld not last so . Then I figured ou t
H is ga ins and ours , and proved w i th due respect
I t cou ld not ru in h im to ra ise ou r pay .
He l istened calmly , wh i l e he cracked some nuts ,And sa id at last : Pere J ean , I see you a re
An honest man , and they who chose you knew
What they were doing when they sen t you here .
For you there always sha l l be work and pay,
But thei r demands wou ld cripp le me at once :
I close the works to -morrow . Al l who j oin
I n lawless Strikes are good - for-noth ing drones .’
Tis my last word,and you can tel l them so .
”
I answered : “ I t is wel l,si r
,
” and w i thdrew
With heavy heart and carried to my mates
The M aster’
s answer,as I prom ised h im .
Wild tumul t fol lowed —anarchy —revol t
Then , with one voice , they pledged themselves to
str ike ,And I too , l ike my fel lows , took the oath .
Oh ! more than one, that even ing , as he flung
On a bare table al l h is scanty h ire,
Fel t,I wi l l warrant , anyth ing bu t gay ,
And fa i led to close h is eyel ids , when he thought
That , since h is wages ended w i th h is work ,He soon must learn the lesson how to fast !
For me the blow was crush ing : I am o ld ,
THE STR IKE OF THE SM ITHS 203
And not alone . That n ight , on reach ing home ,I took my l i tt le grandsons on my knees
My daughter d ied in ch i ld -b i rth,and her man
Went to the dogs— I looked upon the two
Smal l mouths that soon must hunger , and I b l u shed
For having rash ly sworn to j o in the strike .
Sti l l , I was not worse stranded than the rest ,And , as we workmen scorn to break an oath ,I vowed to do my duty by the craft .
My poor O ld wi fe now entered . She was bowed
Beneath a bale of l inen , newly washed ,And , when with fal tering tongue I broke the news ,Poor th ing ! she had not heart enough to scold ,But stood long time in s i lence , with her eyes
F ixed on the floor . At length She sa id : My man ,Thou know
’
st that I am thri fty , and w i l l do
Al l that a woman can . But t imes are hard ,And we have bread for barely two weeks more .
I answered : “ Things wi l l soon come r ight again :
Though wel l I knew,that , short of p l aying false ,
I cou ld do noth ing , and that those on strike ,Sworn to ma inta in i t to the b i t ter end ,
Wou ld make Short work of men who sold the cause .
Soon came ou r troubles . O mes j uges , mes j uges !
You may bel ieve that when our cup o f woes
Was ful l,I never cou ld become a th ief ,
But must have d ied of horror at the though t :
Nor do I claim one j ot Of pra i se i s due
E’
en to’
the hopeless wretch , who , morn and eve ,I s forced to stare d isaster in the face
,
For never harbou ring a gui l ty thought .
204 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Sti l l , when the winter p ie rced us to the bone
With icy fangs , and when my honest gaze
Dwel t on those l iving chal lenges to s in
My hungry grandsons , and heroic w i fe
And watched them sh ivering by a fireless grate ;Desp i te those wa i l ing babes and careworn wi fe ,Desp i te that terr ible and freezing group ,
Never— I swear by Christ the C ruc ified
E’
en for a moment d id my clouded brain
Conceive the thought of theft— that shameless act ,When the eye watches
,and the fingers c lu tch !
Alas ! i f now my pride i s broken down ,I f now I bend before you— if I weep’
Tis that I see aga in the three of whom
I spake , for whom I d id what I have done .
At fi rst we l ived as we were forced to l ive .
We ate dry bread , and pawned our l i ttle al l .
I suffered much . To men l ike us a room
Seems a barred cage,from which we long to flee ;
Look you— since then I ’ve had a taste of gaol ,And , tru th to tel l , I
’ve found them much al ike .
But to do noth ing i s a hel l on earth ;Let those that doubt i t have thei r arms tied down
By strong necess i ty— they soon wi l l learn
Why men must work , and why the atmosphere
O f fi le and fi re i s what mechanics love .
Two weeks had pass’
d and not a sou was l eft .
M eanwh i l e I wa lked,l ike one whose brain i s c razed ,
Alone ’mid crowds stra igh t onwards—for the roarO f a big ci ty seems to s i lence thought ,
206 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
I s for a beggar l ike mysel f enough .
But for my w i fe and darl ings i t is not !SO , for the i r sakes , I must return to work .
But fi rst I crave your l icense for the act,
Lest slander’
s tongue should slaver o’
er my name .
Behold ! my ha i r i s wh i te , my hands are black :I have to i l ed hard for more than forty years :Let me go back to earn our dai ly bread !
I tr ied to beg— I could not— my old age
I s my excuse . The man upon whose brow
The constant wield ing of a hammer ’ s we ight
Has graved deep fu rrows , hard to be effaced ,Cuts a poor figure , when to passers-byHe holds for alms a hand that sti l l is strong .
With my two hands I pray you !’T is but fi t
That I the oldest should be fi rs t to’
yield .
Let me go back aga in , alone , to work ;You hear— now tel l me i f you gran t me leave .
Then , from that crowd Of drinkers one advanced
Three steps , and cal led me“ Coward ! to my face .
My heart grew cold— blood mounted to my eyes
I looked at h im who spake the taunting word ,
A tal l , sl im strip l ing , pale beneath the gas ,A shameless dancer at the Faubourg bal l s .
W i th love- locks on h is temples l ike a gi rl .
He grinned , and mocked me w i th mal ic ious eyes :
The rest kep t s i l ence—si lence so profound
That I cou ld hear the throbbing of my heart .
I clasped my foreh ead in my hands , and cried :
My w i fe and darl ings , then , i t seems must d ie .
So be i t , and I w i l l not go to work .
THE STR IKE OF THE SM I THS 207
But thou , I swear , shal t answer for thy taunt ,And we
,l ike grander folks , w i l l fight i t ou t .
My time? ” At once ! “ My arms? I have
choice !
The heaviest hammers best w i l l serve our turn ,L ight i n our hands as any sword or pen ,
And you,my mates
,must second each of us .
Qu ick ! form a r ing , and search yon corners wel lFor two good i ron sledges , red w i th rust .
And thou , v i l e scorner of an old man ! doff
Thy blouse and sh i rt , and sp i t upon thy hand !
Foam ing w i th rage ,”I elbowed through the crowd
A path , and in a corner of the wal l s
Picked out two hammers from a clus tered heap .
Then , hav ing we ighed them at a'
glance , I flung
The heav iest tool at my insul ter ’s feet .
He st i l l kept gr inn ing , but he se ized the shaft
Armed at al l hazards , stand ing on defence ,And cried : O ld fel low ! don
’
t be sp i teful now !
I de igned no answer , but drew near the wretch ,And
,wh i l e I teased h im w i th my honest eyes
,
I n rap id c i rcl es round my head I whirled
The trusty sledge—a dead ly weapon now .
Ne ’er had a cur , that cowers beneath the lash ,Within h is haggard and imp lor ing eyes
SO base a look Of suppl icat ing fear ,As that wh ich I detected in the glance
Of the fou l craven , who reco i l ed , aghast ,And propped h is back aga inst the fi l thy wal l .
TOO late , alas ! too l ate —a m ist of blood ,
A cr imson vei l seemed drawn between my eyes
208 POEM S OF GEORGE MURRAY
And that pa l e cai ti ff , pal sied with affr ight
And with a s ing le bl ow I crushed h is sku l l !
I know ’ twas murder , and I own my gu i l t ;I want no advocate to fence wi th words ,And foist the name of duel on a cr ime .
Dead , at my feet , w i th oozing brains he lay ;And , as a man who on a sudden feels
Al l the immensi ty of Ca in’s remorse ,
I stood there , Shroud ing both my eyes from v iew .
At length , some shudder ing comrades Sidled up ,And would have seized me
,but I shook them Off
And cr1ed : “ Let go ! I doom mysel f to death !
They understood . Then , tak ing off my cap ,I passed i t to them , l ike the bag in church :
’
Tis for the‘
w i fe and l i ttl e ones,my fr iends !
That brough t ten francs, Of which a chum took care ,
And then I went , and gave mysel f in charge .
Thus you have heard the plain,unvarn ished tale
O f my great cr ime , and need not pay much heed
To what the gl ib - tongued advocates may say .
I f I have dwel t on p i t i fu l detai l s,
’
Twas but to prove what horrors may resu l t
From a foredoomed concurrence of events .
My helpless babes are in the hospi tal .
Where sorrow k i l l ed my brave , long- suffering w i fe .
Whate’
er my fate—the gal leys or the gaol ,Or even pardon— matters l i ttle now :
And if you send me to the scaffold— thanks !
POEMS OF GEORGE M URRAY
A TH IEF
A C HRISTMA S STORY .
(T ranslated from th e French of Lou is Frechette.)
’
Twas a bleak w inter— numbers of the poor
Heard the wol f Hunger howl ing at the i r door .
T h e w inds blew colder,and there was a dearth
O f Chr istmas logs on many a cheerless hearth ;And the ch i ld J esus
,too
,perch ance would sl ight
The smal l patched Shoes la id ou t for g i f ts at n igh t .
C hr istmas —The lamps i l l umined every street,
And on the pavements , crusted o’
er w i th sleet,
A busy mul t i tude besieged the doors
Of countless tempt ing , treasu re- l aden stores ,Where , by deft hands arranged—i a gorgeous sigh t
Wares Of al l colou rs sh immered in the l ight .
Gay l aughter floated round : the sparkl ing rime
Beneath each footfal l almost seemed to ch ime ;A nd al l seemed bathed in Opalescent dyes .
There , for a moment , my inqu i ring eyes
Fel l on a pale and feeble-bod ied lad,
Who strayed along , and sh ivered ,th inly clad .
H is looks devoured the lum inous d isplay'Of gi lded noth ings , wh ich appear so gay
Before our hearts are cold , and hard , and dry .
T h e fra i l “ stree t Arab ” seemed in ecstasy
I was mysel f engaged to buy some toys,
-Or graceful t r ifles , that each ch i ld enj oys ,A nd each fond paren t gives on such a day ,
A TH IEF 21 11
When,al l at once
,I heard , wi th some dismav,
Cr ies of : Stop th ief ! Pol ice ! Arrest the ch i ld !
Then the inexorable crowd grew wi ld ,
And seized the culpri t . ’Twas the same poor lad
Whom I had seen— now more tha n doubly sad !
G rabbed by a “ cop,
” and panting hard for breath
By the hoarse shouti ng fr ightened hal f to death
V Vh i le h is numbed hand , unused to s tea l ing , tried
W'
i th awkward haste beneath h is rags to h ide
A sma l l,stiff dol l , elaborately d rest .
The thief was captu red .
By grave though ts opprest ,
I went my way ; and when I reached my home
I k issed my chi ldren . But my heart would roam
Throughou t the evening—why , I scarce can tel l
To the pale boy locked up with in a cel l .
When m idn ight came,I lef t my bed in haste
,
And in each shoe my steal thy tribute p laced :
But st i l l I saw (h is cough was harsh and loud ):
A ragged ch i ld above a show- case bowed ;I saw h im— eager ly , but i l l at ease
Stretch h is ch i l l ed hand the l uring prize to seize ;I saw h im ope h is tatters
,that he migh t
Conceal h is booty , and then take to fl igh t .
Next , the pol ice , the dock ,the j a i l
,and last
The shame and sorrow on h is parents cast !
An orphan,maybe—Twas h is fi rst d isgrace?
I fel t keen p i ty for the poor ch i ld ’ s case ;And thus , a l though not loving the resort ,Next day I entered the Recorder ’ s Court .
2 1 ? POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Between Some tramps and women of the town ,The boy Stood there , with tearfu l eyes cast down .
H is story,short and sad . H is on ly friends
Were those the law reluctantly defends
That d isinheri ted and hopeless class
Who have no bread ,and noth ing el se . alas !
But thei r brave sp i ri t to support the i r fate .
Three years before th i s last m isfortune’
s date ,The orphan ’ s s i re
,struck head long by a ba l e
On board a harbou red brig , abou t to sa i l ,Had fal len l i feless in the vessel
’
s hold .
Then h is poor mother— so the ou tcast told
Had to i l ed incessantly the i r food to get,
Wh i l e he h imsel f had tr ied to'
pay h is debt ,Tend ing h is l i tt le s ister wel l , whene
’
er
Some outside labour cla imed h is mother’
s care .
Soon came the s ister’
s i l lness , and in turn
He struggled hard thei r l ivel i hood to earn,
P i tying h is mother , who , w i th patience mi ld
Watched by the bedside of her dying ch i ld .
That fatal even ing , having seen her weep
For Christmas gi fts that come when ch i ld ren sleep,
He left the house , and begged , alas ! in vain ,For some smal l present to console her pa in .
I t was for her . you r Honour ! —n igh to deathI stole the dol l
,he Said wi th fal tering breath :
’
Tis the fi rst t ime .
”
The lad of tender yearsThen h id h is face , and , bu rsting in to tears ,Sank down , too weak h is angu ish to control .And I went out , w i th p i ty in my sou lFor the poor Magistrates condemned at timesT o pun i sh deeds thei r hearts rej ect as cr imes .
214 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
And al l w i th ecstasy were fi l l ed,
For in each chord the passion th r i l l ed
Of the fond ma id his scorn had ki l led .
The King advanced h is fortunes h igh ;And the brown Queen was l ured to fly
With h im beneath the moonl i t sky .
But , when he bade h i s music flow
To charm her ears,the fatal bow
Upb raided h im with stra ins of woe .
When the slow d irge no longer p l a ined ,They d ied— the i r goal st i l l unatta ined
And the dead g i rl her hai r rega ined ;
Her hai r , that , b lond as Autumn wheat ,Trai led downward in a golden sheet ,Unt i l its tresses touched her feet .
TRANSLATION OF THE ABBE PELLE
GR I N ’S NOEL,1701 .
Dear I nfant ! tender , new-born ch i ld !
How sweet to mortal s i s Thy love .
Averse to pun ish,Thou art m i ld ,
As Thy sel f- sac rifice w i l l prove .
The world hath hope in Thee alone ;’T i s for ou r sins Thou dost atone ,To stay the wrath of God above .
Oh ! how Thy sense of what is j ust
W i th rigor for Thysel f i s armed !
THE ABBE PELLEGR IN ’
S“ NOEL ,
”1701 215
I t str ikes Thysel f,i n whomwe trust ,
And serves Thy God whom man hath harmed .
For,though by clemency insp i red ,
Thy heart,with ind ignat ion fi red ,
Seems by our sin fulness alarmed .
Alas ! no fra i l created th ing
Ha i l s Thee with reverential awe ;I n Thee we fa i l to own our K ing ,D iv iner than the world e
’
er saw .
Thy Father’
s sel f doth an imate
The human race to scorn and hate
The very Author of the law .
The rudest season of the year
Doth ch i l l Thee wi th i ts w intry blast ,M an for h i s Master sheds no tear
Regardless where H is lot is cast .
Aga inst the Sav iour of the world
The fu ry of the storm is hurled ,
Prophet ic of H is death at last .
And , notw i thstand ing al l Thy m ight ,I n a rude cradle Thou dost moan
,
And hast Thy share of l i fe and l ight ,P redest ined to the tomb , alone ,
Alas ! that Death i tsel f should seem
Aga inst i ts Lord and King supreme
To claim unprecedented r ight .
I t i s too much , A lmighty God !
And we , fra i l mortals , in our turn ,
Ought , s ince Thy hand hath spared the rod
21 6
(Suggested by C harl es Lamb 's descri p t ion of a pictu re , in wh ich is'
rep re
sented th e legend of a poor fema l e sa int who . hav ing spun t i l l past mrdmgh t toma inta in a b ed - ridden mother . has fa l len as leep from fat igue , wh 1le ange lsa re fin ish ing h er work . In another part of th e chamber an ange l is tend ing a
POEM S OF GEORGE M URRAY
For Thee wi th answer ing love to yearn .
G ran t that Thy flames of Love d ivine
May in our sou l s hereafter sh ine
And th rough the countl ess ages burn !
THE BLACK PO I NT .
(From Gérard de Nerva l .)
When to the sun a man hath raised h is eye
Too long , thenceforth he sees pers isten tly
A float ing,l iv id spot ;
I for one moment madly bent my gaze,
With you th’
s audac i ty , on G l ory’ s blaze ,
The blaze became a blot .
Since then , on al l th ings , melancholy ,dark
,
I t race despa i r ingly the Spectral mark
I strive in va in to shun :
M ust i t forever on my l i fe intrude?
Alas ! none other than the eagle’
s brood
Unbl inded face the sun !
PRESENT HELP IN TROUBLE .
*
The memory of a simple tale ,Cal led up from Ch i ldhood ’s years ,
With bl issfu l charm that cannot fa i l
C ompel leth gentle tears .
l i l y , th e em blem of pun ty .)
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
She to i l s wi th in a cheerless room ,
A rush l ight tw inkl ing through the gloom
I ts d rear iness to show :
Poor , pal l id ma id , for whom this earth
Hath found no dowry s ince her bi rth
Save only want and woe .
Her mother , white as are the dead ,
Lies murmur ing strangely on a bed ,
As though w i th death at stri fe :
Thin fingers c lu tch the dear-bough t food,
Bough t at the price of flesh and blood ,A daughter
’
s fragi l e l i fe .
And st i l l that maiden sp ins alone
With in that c i ty ’ s heart of stone ,And often turns her eye
To watch the lamp Of l i fe decay ,
Wel l know ing that i ts l ast fa int ray
M ust soon in darkness d ie .
But hark ! she speaks : T i s sad ly strange ,NO rest from to i l , no sign of change
Save when my mother d ies , and she
I s dearer than al l el se to me .
I grow less earthly day by day
Why doth the Angel Death delay
His summons that w i l l set me free
From pa in and want , and m isery?
Hunger and w inter ’ s cold at length
Have bowed my feeble body’
s strength ;The power is lack ing now, I feel ,That earned my mother
’
s da i ly meal .
PRESENT HELP I N TROUBLE 219
Would God that from the viewless skySome p i ty ing angel -band
Might gl ide to earth , and swiftly p ly
The {labours of my hand !Would that— bu t oh ! the thought is s in
Seraphs m ight stoop these threads to spin :
God iknows how oft I v igi l s keep ,God knows— alas ! I sl eep , I sl eep !
>1< >1<
The ma iden ’ s prayer was borne to Heaven ,I ts rude simpl ic i ty forgiven .
Soon were heard qu ick- rush ing pin ions ;Angel -bands , w i th gleaming feet ,
F loating down from God ’ s dom in ions ,F l ew to a id that vi rg in sweet .
See ! they fi l l the Zlowly room ,
Shedd ing l ight where al l was gloom :
See ! the i r fhands perform the taskAs the ma id Zp resumed to ask :
To i l ing,sp inn ing
,they rej oice ,
And lul l th e s’slumberer w i th the i r voice .
Softly sleep , O p ious ma iden !
Dream - enchanted l ie :
Sorely wast thou sorrow- laden ,
Deeply d idst thou s igh .
Nurst bythee an aged mother ,Near the gate of death ,
Fondly cher i shed by no other ,Drew her fleeting breath .
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Clad in robes of spotless beauty ,
L i l ies of the field,
Burdened by no stress O f duty ,
Fragrant odou r y ield .
Ma iden , c lothed in humble raiment ,L i ly of earth ’s so i l !
Thou hast earned a heavenly payment
By thy sa intly to i l .
Cheeks made pale by ceaseless labour
Wear a sacred hue ;Angels c la im thee for a ne ighbour ,Virgin
,pure and true !
Fo rms , made th in by co ld and hunger ,Grow more glorified ,
Age-bowed frames seem fa i rer , younger ,When by suffering tried .
Starv ing paupers , as they langu ish ,Are not al l alone :
Hearts deep - stung by pierc ing anguish
St i l l a guard ian own .
Holy poor ones are not fri end less
He who dwel l s above
Cal l s them home to g lory endless ,Children of H is love .
Sleep , then , maiden ! God w i l l hear thee
When thou pourest prayer :
Angel s now are watch ing near thee ,War
'
d ing off despai r .”
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
A UN PASSANT .
(From the French of Victor Hugo .)
Travel le r,who at n ight , along the echoing street ,
With th ine uneasy dog , passest accompan ied ,After the bu rn ing day , why onward walkst thou yet
W’here leadest thou so l ate the pat ien t wearied steed?
N igh t ! fearest thou not , far from farm house gate ;The robbers ’ warn ing wh ist le to h is m ate?
O r those wehr-wolves that near the h ighway roam ,
Heed not the horses’
heel s , but steal th i ly creep ,And ga i n thy crupper with a sudden leap ;M i ng l ing thy black blood with the i r fangs ’ wh i te
foam?
Fear,above al l , the wi ldfire
’
s err ing lamp ,
That,from the road , mav l u re th ro
’
marshes damp ;And , as i t oft had wont , at n igh tfa l l gray ;
Dreaming Of cottage wa rmth and sounds of mirth ;And the great logs of welcome , on the hearth ;Lead thee towa rds l igh ts that ever fl i t away .
Fear,l est thou meet a death dance , in the p la in
When howl ing demons wh i rl,in storm and ra in ;
I n wa l l s ac curs’
d of God ; profaned w i th thei r ri tes ;The mag ic tower deserted seems by day ;Hel l knows i ts story— when the n ightfal l
'
s grey
Fi l l s i ts o ld windows wi th unholy l ights
Thou lonely travel l er , where away SO fast?
With th ine uneasy dog , at n igh t accompanied ;After the bu rn ing day , when rest invi teth thee ;Where leadest thou so late . thy pat ient wearv steed?
VERLA I NE ’
S“ CHANSON D
’
AUTOMNE .
"223
VERLA INE’
S CHANSON D’
AUTOMNE.
The Autumn wind wai l s th in ,Like a sobbing viol in ,Long and low .
How i t th ri l l s my heart wi th pain,
Th is monotonous refrain,
Sad and slow !
Pass ion -pale I pant,A las !
For the ch iming hou rs that pass
To the i r s leep,
T i l l the v is ions throng my head
O f the good glad days long dead
And I weep .
But the w ind so wi ld'
and fleet
Overbears mv wil l ing feet ,And I go
As the wi thered leaves that sp i n
When the winter gusts beg in
To and fro .
THE BROOK AND THE OCEAN .
(From V ictor Hugo.)
A brook from a head land was fal l ing
I n drops to“
the terrible sea,
When Ocean , the grave of the sa i lor ,Cried : “
VVeeper ! What wou lds’ t thou w i th me ?
My l i fe is al l tempest and terror,
No l imit I own but the sky,
im4 POEMS (H? GEORGE IWUR RAY
Thou weakl ing ! My power is stupendous,
What need of thy serv ice have I
The B rook sa id : O , tu rbu l en t Ocean !
I noisel essly s teal to thy br ink ,
And bear thee , sal t Sea , what thou lackest ,A drop Of fresh water to d r ink .
”
A WITHERED NOSEGAY .
(From the French of Lo u is Frechette . T rans lated in the or igina l metre .)
Here’
s a posy O f poor faded flowers , that I keep
As j ealously guarded as gems in a heap,
For in the i r dead rel ics the fragrance I find
O f a hand ‘
that for me de igned the b lossoms to b i nd .
And ,when mem
’
ry floats back on the stream Of thepast
,
And I th ink of the days too enchant ing to last ,On these roses , that nought bu t T ime
’
s hand sha l l profane ,
Love’
s halo of gold w i l l for ever remain .
Poor flow’
rets ! How Often the tears from my eyes ,Like dewd rops , unheeded , have watered you r dyes ;A las ! your br ight cr imson can never return ,But st i l l i n you r leaves the cl ear past I d iscern .
Sleep here,on my heart ! and my l ips
’ latest brea th
Sha l l touch you caress ingly even in death .
226 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
Downwards , w i th eyes d i lated and amazed .
Ru ined ! Thou hast no mother , then , a l ive?
N0 friends? no kin?no comrades that su rvive?
And thou w i l t k i l l thysel f? Oh ! wherefore d ie?
The fond sweet gaze grew fonder in her eye .
More she scarce dared to quest ion— so she laid
Her l ips to h is , and kissed h im ,hal f-afraid .
One th ing , however , more I wou ld be told ,At length , she said : Ah me ! I have no gold
E ’en when I have , my mother takes i t al l
Bu t h ere ’ s my necklace . True , i t i s bu t sma l l ,”
Sti l l , i t is gold , dear ; tel l me , shal l I go
And sel l i t for thee? Nobody wi l l know
And thou canst take the money for thy play .
W i th a soft smi le grave Rol la tu rned away .
D ra in ing a smal l dark ph ial,no word he said ;
Bu t kissed her necklace , bend ing down his head :
She ra i sed i t tenderly— the man was dead !
H is soul departed in that one chaste kiss ,A nd for a moment two had tasted bl iss .
THE G IANT .
(T ranslated from Victor Hugo .)
B rave Ch iefs ! in the land of the G iants I was born ,My ancestors l eapt o
’
er the Rh ine stream in scorn ;I was on ly a babe , when mv mother , fond sou l !
U s ed to bathe me each mom in the snows of the pole ;Vi h i le my father , whose shoulders ensu red h im respect ,W i th th ree Shaggy bear sk ins my cradle bedecked .
ION“
ITHE G IANT
Mv Father,O Ch iefs ! was astound ingly stron g ,
Now,alas ! he i s weak , for h is l i fe has been long ;
His hai r is l ike snow , and deep wr inkles appear
On h is brow,tel l ing p la inly h is end draweth near .
When he wants a new staff h is fra i l steps to sustain
He can scarcely uproot a young oak from the plain !
But I w i l l rep lace h im ; I scoff at al l fear ,I am he i r to h is steel bow , h is axe and h i s spear ,I alone can succeed the O ld man at h i s death ,Who am able the poplars to bend wi th my breath
,
And can dangle my feet in the val ley at wi l l ,Wh i l e I carelessly s i t on the top of a h i l l .
I was merely a boy , when I opened a road
O’
er the snow p eaks that form W inter'
s Alp ine abode ;My head , l ike a mounta in that vapou r ensh rouds ,Arrested the course of the gal loping clouds
,
And . Often , upl i ft ing my hands to the sky,
I Se ized the proud eagles farsa i l ing on high .
I fought w i th the storm , and my breath ,as i t streamed .
Ext ingu ished each flash of the l igh tn ing that gl eamed,
O r , ben t upon sport , I would eagerly chase
The wal lowing k ings Of Lev iathan’
s race,
Wh i l e I t roubled far more than the hurr icane ’s b last
The ocean , that opened i ts p lain as I pass ed .
F rom my grasp,wh ich was merci less
,noth ing could
save
The hawk in the sky, or the shark in the wave ;The bear , whose huge body my arms were thrown
round .
POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
B reathed h is last in my grip w i thou t v is ible wound,
And O ftt imes , wh i l e t rack ing w i ld beasts in the snow ,
I have crushed the wh i te teeth of the lynx wi th a b low .
These past imes were on lv the frol ics of youth ,
For manhood’
s amb i t ion too triv ial , forsooth ;War now is my pass ion . I gloat o
’
er the fears
And cu rses of mul ti tudes , m ingled wi th tear
I love the fierce sold iery , bound ing in arms ,Who gladden mv sou l w i th the i r shouts and alarms .
the onset is glow ing ’m id powder and blood ,
And the rage of the fight , l ike a tu rbulen t flood ,
Sweeps hu rried ly onward the warrior and horse ,I r ise in my m ight
,and , d i rect ing i ts course ,
I fearlessly plunge in the ranks of the brave ,L ike a sea -b i rd tha t swoops on the dark- rol l ing wave .
L ike a reaper alone’
mid the r ipe waving com ,
I stand,wh i l e the squadrons in battl e are torn ,
W hen the roar of my vo ice i s bu t heard to resound ,
T hei r yel l s i n'
the echo ing thunder are d rowned ,
And my hand , l ike some r igid , hard -knotted , O ld oak ,
Unarmed batters armour w i th death -deal ing stroke .
S tark naked I fight , for so dauntless I feel ,That I scorn the protect ion of i ron or steel ;I laugh at you r warr i ors , and void of al l fear ,Carry nought t o the fray but mv tough ashen spear ,And th is helmet so t ight that ten bul l s , stou t and
strong ,I f wel l yoked together , m igh t d rag i t a long !
230 POEMS OF GEORGE MURRAY
THE GOLDEN DREAM .
(From the French .)
She sleeps her head i s p i l l owed where,
On the green tu rf,w i th blossoms fa i r
,
The hawthorn blows
Strange angel ma id,for whom th i s earth
Hath found no dowry from her bi rth
Save on ly woes .
But fa in tly on her youth fu l face
A sunny smi le we st i l l may trace ,Then , l i gh t ly t read she sleeps— ’ t i s wel l
,
Break n ot her golden V i s ion’
s spel l
I t may be that some gen tle stra in ,Whose tones the prisoned soul encha i n ,
B ids her rej o i ce
E’
en wh i l e sh e sl eepeth , sh e may hear
Fond love-words murmured in her ear ,Sweet memory
’
s vo ice .
And then the poor deserted ch i ld
Seems loved and b lest,by d reams begu i l ed .
Oh l ight ly tread she sl eeps— ’
t is wel l ,B reak no t her golden V i s ion ’ s spel l
Alas that v i s ion must be br ief,
And her young heart’
s o’
erwhe lm ing grief
W i l l be more deep
Ye t on each featu re there i s peace ,Ye woodland bi rds
,you r wa rbl ing cease ,
Sti l l l e t her sl eep
And pray we that our Angel’
s care
WH ITHER 231
May love and guard that ma iden fa i r .
Oh l igh tly tread : sh e S l eeps—’
t i s wel l ,Break n ot her golden v is ion
’
s spel l
WH ITHER
(From th e Y idd ish or Judeo-German of Morris Rosenfe l d .)
Wh i ther,sweet orphan
,dost thou go
The world i s not Open as vet,you know .
Day has not broken : peace re igns around ,
Throughout th e st reets there i s scarce a sound .
The flowers are st i l l d reaming,the b i rds are mute
Sleep c louds the eyes of each wear ied brute .
Wh i ther,my ch i ld
,art thou driven now?
What work so eager to do and how?
To earn scan t food for my needs , I t row .
Why walk ing,sweet g i rl , so late at n ight?
The world is s i l en t and vo id of l igh t .
Where art thou borne by the ch i l ly breeze
Thy day has been l uckless and thou w i l t freeze .
The n igh t i s s i l en t and deaf and bl ind ,Then wh i ther sweet girl
—
w i th heed less m ind“ Hungry
,some food I am forced to find
Since God , my Father , doth seem unk ind .
T hese were th e last verses that M r . M urra y wrote , January 1910.
234 I NDEX
Doves , TheDream about the Aspen , A .
Eag le and the K i ngs . T he .
Eastern J udge .
Epi grams , Hand fu l ofEven i ng Sc eneFame and Lo veFan tasy
,A
Farewe l l to the Guards , AF lower and the B utterf ly , TheF lowers from the G reek AnthologyFor Aye
Fo r a B l i nd Beggar .Forget Me No t
'
For Va lour .
Fu nera l of a V i l lage G i r lGent leme n Cric keters ’ Team , The .
G iant , T heGod ’
s Heroe s .
Go l den Dream,T he
o o o o o o o o
Gondo l ied . .
G randmothe r,The
Gra ve and the Rose , TheGreek Antho logy,
F lowers fromHare and the Torto i se , T heHope less Man
,Ba l lad of the
Horace , T ran s lat ion s fromHoroscope , The .
How Canada was Saved .
H umm i ng- B i rd i n a Garden,To a .
I f,Darl i n g . w ith M e lod ious
I n Futu ro . .
I ph igen ia at Au l isJacques . .
Keeper ’
s Son , The
K i ng and the Pea sa nt , The .
Kn ight ToggenburgLake , TheLamp of Hero , The .
I NDEX 235
Land lady ’
s Daugh ter, T h eLeaf , TheLegend of th e Ch i l d Jes usLe Monde est Mé chantLesson Of M ercyL i ly and the Rose . The
Lord RobertsMadonna ’
s I s le .
Magi c Bow,The
Ma iden of Otahe ite .
Marga ret ’
s SongM emoriesM e rchant of Ven ice , P rologue toMy Ne ighbour ’
s Cu rta i n .
My O l d Coat , ToNea po l itan s to MozartNew Year ’
s N i ght of an Unhappy Man .
N i non,TO
Noel .
O l d Song of a Youth fu l T ime
O l d Year . The .
Parab le ,A .
Pardoned S in ,Th e .
Pa uper Poet , A .
Perhap s .
P i lgr image to Kev laar .
Present He lp i n Troub le .
Redb rea st , TheRememb ran ceRenaud , Ba l lad of JeanRondeau .
S i l ken Sashe sSong from Al fred de M ussetSong from V i c tor H ugoSonnetSower
,The .
Spectre of the Rose .
Story'
of B rother Pau l
236 INDEX
Story of K i ng DavidStranger , TheStream let
,The
St r ike of the Sm ithsStudent ’s \V i fe , TheSw iss Dese rter , TheTerrors of DeathTh ie f
,A .
Th ist le,T he .
T ime w i l l Come,The
T it - for—Tat
To i let of ConstanceTwo P ictu resU lt ima Spes Mortuorum
V i l ikin s and h is D i nahWanderi n g Jew,
The
Week i n a Boy's L i feWe lcome to Mark Twa i nWhat the Swa l lows SayW
'
hen Ch i l dren S lee pWh itherW i l d F lower , AW i l l ie the M i ne rVV ithe red Nosegay ,
AWoman AWoman 5 D ream
,A
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o o o o o o o o
g g g g g g g g g g g
o o o o o o o o o o o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o o o o o o o o o o o
