Songs of Th Highlands an Islands - Forgotten Books
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Transcript of Songs of Th Highlands an Islands - Forgotten Books
SONGS OF THE H IGH LANDS AND
ISLAND S
S O N G S O F T H
H IGHLAND S AN
ISLAND S
AND OT HER P OEMS
HAROLD GEORGE H ILL,M .A B .Sc .
2ND LIEUT . R .G .A .
DEDICATED
TO MY BROTHER
ALFRED S . HILL, NLA B .se .
2ND LIEUT. R .G .A.
WHO WAS KILLED IN ACTION
Novem! er 20th, 1917
868668
C ON T EN T S
PART I
SONGS OF THE HIGHLANDS AND ISLANDS
PART I I
SONGS
PART III
SONNETS
PART IV
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 123
PART I
SONGS OF THE HIGHLANDS AND ISLANDS
CONTENTS
MORAR
DEPARTURE
SONGS
THE DARK-EYED MAID 0' BANAVIE
FAREWELL
SONG
THE SANDS OF CANAVAN
S ONG .
THE BRAES OF ARROCHAR
S ONG .
WHEN THE WIND SWEEPS DOWN FROMCORRIE
THREE TINKER SONGS
MY LOVE
SONGS
THE LAND 0' THE HEATHER
IN OLD GLENLOY
THE HIGHLAND GLEN
ORCAD IAN BOAT-SONG
CONTENTS OF PART I
SONG .
SONG .
THE SANDS OF THURSO BAY
ARDGOIL
THE SEA PATROL
ARRAN ’S HILLS
CAMERON OF GLEN LOY
ANNAT BURN
IN DARK GLENCOE
THREE HIGHLAND BOAT-SONGS
A NORTHERN LOVE-SONG
D IRGE
ANNAT GLEN
OH I have been to M’orar,On a lovely summer day,When the grea t Whi te clouds in the azure skyWere drifting dreamily !And the woods, and bracken, and hea therSpoke softly unto me,Of Morar wi th the silver sands,And the blue, blue sea.
Oh somewhere there’s a lassie,I will take wi th me some day,O 'er the fragran t heaths, and the woodyTo that country far awayTo the sunli t lochs, and the moun tains,And the glens wi th the rowan treeTo Morar wi th the silver sands,And the blue, blue sea .
I I
DEPARTURE
WHEN the wind calls,And the sea calls,And the passing sailSpeeds toward the dying sunse t,—lonely bark,How dark and brooding is the wave, and hark lSad fatal sounds affrigh t the watchers pale,For the wind calls,And the sea calls,And the seabirds wail .
When the wind calls,And the sea calls,And I sail a t las tIn to the boundless ocean toward the sun,Ah Le t me hope my voyage is bu t begunAnd may I
‘
no t too fondly View the pas t,When the wind calls,And the sea calls,And the land sinks fas t.
1 2
SONG
COME as a trem‘ulous fabric of sleepMy love unknown,
Tho ’ as a nigh t-mis t on the deepBy the wild wind blown,Thou should ’s t flee away,A t dawn 0
' day.
The ceaseless ques tion in my heartWould far have flown,
For I would know thee—who thouAnd if unknown,My fa te I 'd gree t,When we should mee t.
I 3
SONG
THE morning is fair,When the nigh t's floating hair,IS blown from the eyes of awakening dawn,When her dark lover flees,O 'er the wes tern seas,To re turn with the s tars in his man tle of fawn,But tho ’ bli thes
'
ome and brigh t,In the fresh morning ligh t,IS the swee t face of Na ture, thro
’ garlands of flowers,More lovely to me,Is the bloom tha t I seeOn thy cheek, when we mee t in the love-laden hours.
The evening is fair,Wi th the s tars shining there,Like the eyes of the immanen t hosts of the skyAnd the magic of nigh t,And the dreamy deligh t,St eal into my being wi th marvellous joy.
Bu t no evening divine,Ha th a beau ty like thine,No eyes tha t are brigh ter, no magic more rare,And the wizard-fires ’ dance,Flashes pal e a t thy glance,Wi th the s tory I read in the dep ths that are there.
THE DARK-EYED MAID O' BANAVIE
WHEN moonbeams fall,And lapwings call,
And nigh t do th hold the s tars in thrall,Come‘
o'
er the fragran t hill Wi’ me,Thou dark-eyed maid o ’ Banavie .
The mountain windThe moth pursues,The s tag and hindTread Shining dews,
Oh le t me tell my love for thee,Thou dark-eyed maid o ’ Banavie .
When moonbeams fall,And lapwings call,
And nigh t do th hold the s tars in thrall,Oh could I hear thy love for me,Thou dark-eyed maid o ' Banavie .
The mountain flowerTwo hearts conceals,The s tarry hourI ts fragrance s teals,
As thou has t s tol ’n the hear t 0' me,Thou dark-eyed maid o ' Banavie.
l 5
FAREWELL
FAREWELL Farewell 1While ye t the dying ligh t,Gleams like a bar of gold across the sky.Farewell Farewell 1How soon shall come the nigh t,When sinks the sun, and thou ar t gone, and IHave sighed farewell
Farewell FarewellAnd is there no t a tear,To save us from a lifetime of regre tFarewell FarewellThe same insis ten t fearS tills the wild throbbing of our hearts,We sigh farewell
Farewell FarewellThe restless au tumn windSighs fu ture sorrow in the fading trees .Farewell l FarewellNo haven Shall I find,Fo r life tha t’s derelic t on moaning seas .Farewell Farewell
16
THE SANDS OF GANAVAN
CHESTNUTS green, and withered leaves,S trewing Nature's bower,Moaning trees the wind bereaves,By the ruined tower,These the dawning cold and grey,Saw beside the placid bay,AS a-roving I began,By the sands o f Ganavan.
Aged legends, ageing year,To my lis tening soul,Spoke in accents low and clear,Where the breakers roll !Perished hero , vanished maid,In my brooding mind por trayed,Blended wi th the Au tumn wan,By the sands of Ganavan.
Where the roses brea thed in June,Wi th the fragran t may,Time do th find wi th W inged shoon,Red wi th frui t the sprayAnd in this my spiri t found,Love to Nature's purpose bound,And a-dreaming I began,By the sands of Ganavan.
What tho ’ Morven’s shores were grey,In the lonely mis t !
1 8
THE SANDS OF GANAVAN
Sad the s tory of the day,By the Au tumn kissed .
Foolish dreams wi th sadness rife,Love’s the golden gift of lifeAnd I blessed the wondrous plan,By the sands of Ganavan.
SONG
WHEN moonbeams glis ten on the sea,My spiri t brigh t ,Do th wing i ts fligh t,O 'er the far-off land of mys tery,A! ove the flickering nor thern ligh t,Thro ' the vas t dim s tarli t halls of nigh t,To the land of dreams in search of thee.
When on the glorious wings of song,My soul aspiresAnd the funeral firesOf mor tal dross are burning s trongAnd when the grip of base desires,Loosens as each in turn expires,Then for love do th my spiri t long.
When the thrilling organ rollsA melody,And the lingering rayOf the dying sun, thro
’ the clois ter falls !Then in trembling ecs tasy,Though ts flood in from the faraway,And I dream tha t there may be des tined souls.
20
THE BRAES OF ARROCHAR
THE sands are gold by s till Loch Long,The Loch’s swee t calm no wind doth mar,As merrily we rove along,Among the braes o f Arrochar.No t ye t the flow
’
ry June ha th gone,The broom do th golden ga tes unbar,We ’d live from dawn, till twiligh t wan,Among the braes of Arrochar .
To moun tains reaching to the sky,Wi th hea th , and rock, and glis tening spar,We look with wonder, you and I,Among the braes o f Arrochar .The foaming falls, and woo ded s treams,And woodland pathways winding far,All Na ture’s blending in our dreams,Among the braes of Arrochar .
Swee t lark tha t singest in the blue,A farewell to yon fading s tar,Your kinsman sings unknown to you,Among the braes o f Arrochar.Oh thou has t brought a vision dear,To one from Sco tland ’s mountains far,A
‘
nd Grief hath Shed a burning tear,For vanished days a t Arrochar .
2 1
SONG
THE morn uprose from her golden bed in the sea,The bird o f the field and the moorland welcomedwi th minstrelsy
The brea th of the ocean was floating over the lea,And the beams o f the orien t sun illumined a sail a t
sea
And I sough t my loveAnd I sough t my love 1
When the sun had risen in fligh t on his airy way,And the soaring lark sang on in the golden ligh t of
the dayWhen the winds on the moor were singing righ t
j oyously,And the ship on the dis tan t sea s till sailed on i ts sunli t
way,I found my loveI found my love
Now the burning orb is quenched in the wes ternwave,
And the S ilen t singer hath fall’
n to the grass as in to agrave
The sea do th moan on the sands tha t its sad tears lave,And the ship ’nea th the dark horizon do th furrow an
unknown wave .I have los t my loveI have los t my love
2 2
WHEN THE WIND SWEEPS DOWN FROMTHE CORRIE
’TIs the midmos t hour o f the nigh t,The fisherman s tirs in his Sleep,And bu t for th e hiss of the rain,The silence is deep .
I t is no t the rain on the leaves,Nor th e pattering drop on the wave,That troubles th e calmness of Sleep,’Tis a voice from the graveWhen the wind sweeps down fromMacNiven, beware 1
When the wind sweeps down fromMacNiven, beware 1
The day broke cloudy and dull,Wi th a wind tha t moaned in the glens,The loch was sombre and W ild,And mis ty the bens .The brown boa t leaps o ’er the wave,The fisher has fas tened the sail,The s torm-wind burs ts from the hills,Oh ! l is ten the hail
’Tis the wind that sweeps fromMacNiv en, beware
’
Tis the wind tha t sweeps from corrie,l ’ !MacNiv en, beware
On the loch there are films of rain,
And the bird-haun ted islands are dim,
2 3
24 WHEN THE WIND SWEEPS DOWN
Bu t a sunbeam, tha t flits o’
er the scene,Shows no trace o f him,
Of the fisher tha t sailed to the sea.
Ah I the waters wash vacantly there,And the sea-mew moans ceaselessly,And a sigh fills the air.When the wind sweeps down from the corrie,ye fishers, beware 1
When the W ind sweeps down from the corrie, yefishers, beware 1
THREE TINKER SONGS
We’
ll camp where woodland odours pass,Benea th the slan ting beamOf the sun tha t lights the hills,Ere the evening vapour chills,The fragran t glen in Mo idar t , by the Loch
Caves .
The gna ts are hovering o ’
er the s tream,
And wi th the kindling fire,There comes the las t expiring gleamOf ocean’s funeral py re,To ShOW the gathering shades,That fill the silent glades,Of the lonely glen in Moidar t , by the
Caves .
The evening meal is over, love,The bairns are sleeping well,The lapwing ’s sadly calling, love,O ’er loch, and s tream, and fellAnd near the crimson fireligh t ,Benea th the filmy s tarligh t,We dream of love in Moidart , by
Caves .
BUY a baske t Buy a baske tBuy a baske t Lovely ladyPardon me tha t I Should ask I tBuy a baske t Buy a baske tMade from willows li the and shady
You will leave the Highland hillsYou will see them in your dreams 1
I
THREE TINKER SONGS
Buy knife handles Buy knife handlesBuy knife handles Lovely ladySilver ’ tis the lady dandlesSays that these are fi t for VandalsBut they’re good for anybody
Buy—and you will ne ’er be sorryThey were made by Nature for ye
For we found our s tore of handles,Where the day wi th golden sandals,Treads the fores ts, and the grand hills 1
Oh they’re s tags ’ horns from the co rrie l
ALL day the long white road,All day the winding road,But when the dew falls cold and damp,The warm fire, and the wayside camp .
Bles t be the blue sky,And the mellow winds, and the cloud !Bles t be the grey,— the rainy Sky,When the sou ’wes t wind is shrilling loud
I love the hea th, and the fern,Where the foaming torrents roar.I love the call o f the wheeling tern,O ’er the grey isles, and the loch shore .
R u t cw e e f ! ! t h e r am fi r o
THREE T INKER SONGS
Bles t be the S torm cloudOr the calm s till s tarsBles t be the wind if he whis tle loudOr bles t be the moon thro ’ leafy bars 1
God send swee t dreams,If I should dream a t all,Of a sunny road by hills, and s treams,And an ocean sunse t ending all
MY LOVE
THE moonbeams gleam on the wave, my love,And the fairy northern islesAre dimly floating in seas of gold,And the whole world smiles .
Brigh t are the s tars in the Sky, my love,And the moon swings high in the blue,And I think as I wa tch tha t wondrous lampTha t i t Shines on you .
And oft i t hangs in the sky, my love,When the s tory o f love is toldI t has beamed on lovers of bygone days,For the moon is old .
Where boreal s treamers fly, my love,To the odorous tropical nigh t,The lovely moon wi th i ts brilliance bringsInspiration brigh t.
And so thy vassal to-nigh t, my love,When the moon shines clear in the sky,His feal ty swears thro ’ all the years,His love canno t die .
29
SONG
THERE ’
S the blue sky above wi th the clouds whi tesnow,
And around the dim mountains wherever you go,And here the warm sunbeams are fallingAnd here in the land o f the bracken and heath,The wind gently wafts the fain t odorous breathOf the moors where the plovers are calling,Of the moors where the plovers are calling.
Oh merrily sing the winds as they pass,And blow the fine down from the white co tton
grass,And a bee ’s wing some flower is revealingAnd th e pools in the moss, and the clear s treams so
cold,Shine ou t ’mid the heath, like the brigh tes t of gold,On the moors where the plovers are wheeling,On the moors where the plovers are wheeling .
Bu t my hear t is in bondage to grief’s sullen power,And i t longs fo r sad eve and the mournful hour,When the moon her whi te face is unveilingWhen the cold clammy mis t, in a bosom tha t chills,Is clasping the world, and, behind the dark hills,The sun’s dying splendour is failing,From the moors where the plovers are wailing .
30
SONG
I WOULD we were where Lomond SleepsAmong the Highland hills,Bathed in the golden sun, tha t s teepsThe land of moors and rills.Ah could we walk the woodland ways,As in the olden days 1
Oh, do ye mind where Lomond sleepsAmong the Highland hillsIf Nature smiles, o r Nature weeps,The heart with gladness fills .Oh, do ye mind where Lomond sleeps PFo r that my memory keeps .
Ah ! go, dear hear t, where LomondAmong the Highland hills,Pas t sandy bays, and silen t deeps,And glens wi th murm
’
ring rillsThen gree t each hill, and flower, andAnd bid them think of me.
3 1
SONG
OH the plains o f the south, and the eas tern wold,I have seen ’nea th the Autumn’s brigh t man tle o fgold,
But ever to Albyn my fancy is wed,When b
‘
racken is brown, and rowans are red .
Oh the land of romance is the land I love bes t,The nor thern hills, and the glens o f the wes t !So give me the dear Highland sky overhead,When bracken is brown, and rowans are red .
Oh warm is the hear t tha t is wai ting me there,And swee t is the maiden, and tender and fair,And I ’d think no t o f winter, when summer is fled,And bracken is brown, and rowans are red
For the chill o f the year would be mellow as June,And my spiri t would echo the summer’s swee t tune,If I could bu t cherish tha t clear li t tle head,When bracken is brown and rowans are red .
32
THE LAND 0’ THE HEATHER
TO a Highland hear t in age o r youth,’Twill aye be a glorious vision .
So fare ye forth to the beau tiful north,’Tis swee t in every weather.O ’er the Highland line is this hear t 0 ’ mine,In the land , the land 0
’ the heather !
IN OLD GLENLOY
THERE ’
S a li t tle gate in the glen road,At the foo t o f a garden o ld
And a shieling clear that is nes tling near,More clear as the years unfoldAnd I know tha t I found my greates t joy,In the shieling that ’s sleeping in o ld Glenloy.
The evening mists on the glen road,Were se ttling soft and s tillAnd I s tood by the gate o f the garden old,With a heart tha t was heavy and chillBu t that evening I found my greates t !oy,In the shieling that ’s sleeping in o ld Glenloy.
From the li ttle ga te in the glen road,We looked a t the evening skyAnd we blessed the flowers, and the hills,
s treamThat sang as i t rippled byBut I know where I found my greates t joy,In the gloaming so grey in o ld Glenloy.
And the li ttle gate in the glen road,At the foo t o f a garden o ld,And the shieling dear, that is nes tling near,Are more clear as the years unfoldFor I know that I found my greates t !oy,In the shieling tha t’s sleeping in o ld Glenloy.
THE HIGHLAND GLEN
MY love, I could sing o f the whispering sea,In the calm o f a winter ’s nigh t !My love, I could sing o f the trembling s tars,And the flickering northern ligh t,And the moon, and the winds, and the barrenWi th the clinging mists of rain,But my soul do th flee, o
’er the moaning sea,To a lovely Highland glen .
My love, the res tless surges moanIn the gloom o f the ocean caves !My love, fas t falls the waning moonBeneath the gli ttering waves !I could dream o f isles in the tropic seas,Where Winter’s ire is vain,Bu t my soul do th flee, o
’
er the moaning sea,To a lovely Highland glen .
Oh give me the brea th o f the moorland wide,On the breas t of the azure ben,Oh give me the boundless sky above,And the golden burn in the glen .
Show me the birch and the rowan tree,And the land in sun o r rain .
Oh the heath and the bracken call to me,From tha t lovely Highland glen .
May I linger there wi th you, my love,On a future summer day,
36
THE HIGHLAND GLEN
When the grea t cloud birlinns sweep the blue,And pass for aye away.
We will brea the the sweets of Na ture, love,And life will no t be vain,Tho ’ we idly dream by the singing s tream,
In tha t lovely Highland glen .
ORCAD IAN BOAT-SONG
SWIFTLY we roam o’
er the seabirds ’ home,To the isles tha t are drenched wi th the whi te sea
foamAnd each wind that blows sings, wild and free,Over the isles of Orkney.
Chorus
Rolling along, rolling along,Swep t by the sou th wind brave and s trong,Our vessel reels in the foaming sea,Rolling along to Orkney.
By the island sides our vessel rides,Shrinking aghas t from the snarling tides !And lis t to the moanings o f the sea,In the green sea-caves o f Orkney.
The seabirds scream to the pale sunbeam,
From the cliff sweeps the mis t o f a falling s treamAnd the rain, and the sun, and the sky, and the seaAre dear to the isles of Orkney.
SONG
SING on, merry s tream,
Where the foam-flakes gleamSing your swee t song to me !For my pulses ringT o your murmuring,And my hear t grows ligh t and free .
Here’s thanks for your song,As you flow along,Now take this song for me,And sing my love,To my lady love,Oh, she is fancy free .
The sunbeams showerOn the cas tle tower,That s tands on the heathery leaBu t if sh e dreamBy thy side, swee t S tream,
Oh, sing my song for me.
Bu t she may no t come,Then I ’d be dumb,And scarce she ’d think ofS o I ’ll be along,Wi th a swee t love song,To gree t my love to-day.
39
SONG
A DREAMER one day,By the shimmering sea,On a couch o f sea-daisies, -a rosea te band,Looked ou t with deligh tOn the blue and the whi teOf the waves tha t were flou ting the Orkneyan sand .
The tremulous swell,Aye shimmering fell,On the headlands of Hoy wi th a rollicking run,And the clouds floa ted by,Thro ’ the vaul ts of the sky,Slow wafted by winds tha t were warmed by the sun .
The dreamer was young,And he sough t for a song,Some mode of expression regardless the themeAnd brigh t was his eye,As he looked a t the sky,And the sea tha t was gold wi th a dazzling gleam .
How green was the landHow golden the sandHow lovely the flowers on the odorous leaAnd the voices so rareOf a lark in the air,And the winds in the grass, and the winds on the sea
The dreamer grew sad,Tho ’ Nature was glad,He found no t a theme tha t was thrilling to you th
40
THE SANDS OF THURSO BAY
WHITE clouds in the blue are flying,And the wind is blowing free,And the foam-wrea ths gleam in theAnd deep is the blue o f the sea.
The dis tan t isles are azure,In the haze of the far away,And the breakers murmur gladly,On the sands of Thurso Bay.
No t tha t—when the soul is weary,And the ou tlook drear and grey,Then I long for the scen t of the sal t sea-wind,On a desola te rainy dayWi th the sad sea-mis ts abou t me,And the land all clo th ed in grey,And the ocean mourning softly,On the sands of Thurso Bay.
’Twas once on a lofty headland,A t the close o f an au tumn day,Tha t I dreamed o f a glorious life to beWi th a loved one far away .
The corn was rus tling s trangely,In the fields where the moonbeams play,And the s tarli t ocean whispered,On the sands of Thurso Bay.
4 2
THE SANDS OF THURSO BAY
Only a dream,—bu t somewhere,
There’s one I shall mee t on a day,When the pas t is a s tory s trangely swee t,On the leaves o f memory,Who will care for th e things I care for,And cheer wi th her sympathy,Then the sea will sing for ever,On the sands of Thurso Bay.
ARDGOIL
I HAVE seen Ardgoil when the Spring seemedI have seen Ardgoil thro
’ the driving rain,I have seen Ardgo il a t the dark day
’s wane,And aye to me ’ twas bonnie oh
I have seen Ardgoil in the warm sunligh t,When the broomy hills gave the hear t deligh t,From the dewy dawn to the fragran t nigh t,And aye to me ’ twas bonnie oh
We have walked the path a t the foo t 0’ the brae,Where the hazels shade from the sun ’s warm ray,And the gli t tering waves sang cheerily,Dear hear t, bu t i t was bonnie oh
And from the scen ted woodland way,We have seen Ardgoil in the faraway,Wi th its hea thy hills and i ts rocks so grey,And oh, bu t i t was bonnie oh
And so, dear hear t, for ever and aye,In sunny June, or flowery May,In the hea ther time, or December grey,For me ’ twill aye be bonnie oh
44
THE SEA PATROL
THRO ’ the nigh t ! Thro ’ the s torm !O ’er the waves that wildly rollAway from the land with i ts foaming bars,To the sea where the mas t sweeps round theThat pierce the cloudy pallThe gale screams ou t fell Dea th ’s desires,But Life roars loud in the belching fires,And the rigging hums like a thousand lyres,On th e ships of the Sea Pa trol
Chorus
So hurrah for the line,In the foaming brine,
Come one, come all, i ts deeds ex tol .No fireside warm,
But a wild sea-s tormGod bless the men of the Sea Pa trol
Thro ’ the nigh t ! Thro ’ the s torm !Old Bri tain’s need do th callAnd some may s trike on the dark lee shore,And some may sink to the ocean’s floor !But tho ’ the wors t befall,Tho ’ seamen bold by the s torm are slain,Tho ’ the foe lurks deep in the roaring main,Old Bri tain do th no t call in vain,To the men o f the Sea Patrol
Thro ’ the nigh t ! Till the dawn !Till the clouds of hate unroll
45
THE SEA PATROL
When war will be bu t a vanished crime,Sunk deep in the rolling seas o f Time,And Freedom’s voice shall callThe children o f th at future time,Of every race, and every clime,Shall learn man’s courage high sublime,From the men of the Sea Patrol
ARRAN ’S HILLS
COME ower the waves tae Arran’s hills,Tae Arran’s hills sae bonnie ohCome ower the waves tae Arran’s hills,The deares t hills of ony oh .
There softly sleeps the mis ty glen,And s treams and moorlands mony oh,Sae leave the sands o ’ Girvan then,For Arran’s hills sae bonnie Oh .
I feel the sal t breeze blowing free,The waves are wildly brawling oh ,The sun is shining cheerily,The voice of Life is calling oh .
Sae, dearie, le t us ower the wave,Tae Arran’s hills sae bonnie oh,E ’en tho ’ the ocean tempes t rave,We ’ll safely s teer tae Arran oh .
In though t I see,’mid waves o f fire,
The purple hills a t after-glow,
The soaring peaks o f our desire,The Arran hills sae bonnie oh .
Sae, dearie, will ye come wi’
me
Toge ther le t us gladly go,There ’s joy upon the foaming sea,Or ere the sun ha th sunk below .
And ere we leave the lovely lands,For where the sun ha th sunk below,
47
ARRAN ’S HILLS
We ’ll turn and view the Girvan sands,And whisper o f the long ago .
We ’ll dream of once familiar s trands,And foaming tides tha t used to flow,
We ’ll turn and view the Girvan sands,And whisper of the long ago .
ANNAT BURN
AMONG the woods of Anna tThat clo the the rocky glen,Where winds the dark secluded s treamFar from the mis ty ben,Wi th foam-flecked pool, and roaring linn,Oft glancing thro ’ the green,My love, among the woodlands,Oh wha t days have been
The bonnie burn o f Anna t,Away beyond the trees,We ’ve followed to the purple moorWhere mellow blows the breeze .There shines the snowy wa terfall,Each silver winding gleams,As the burn flows o ’
er the moorland,In the warm sunbeams .
Ye wand ’
ring woods o f haZel,And birch and rowan tree !Ye moors of heath and myr tle green,Where winds blow freeThou s tream o f sun and Shadow dun,With wide skies aboveOnce more I ’ll seek your beau ties,With the lass I love .
IN DARK GLENCOE
’TWAS in Glencoe I me t a lass,When the sun shone on the hea ther !She was so swee t I could no t pass,Till we had talked together .I know no t how, bu t then as now,
She seemed the bes t o f maids to knowAnd I los t my hear t, I will avow,
In dark Glencoe.
’Twas in Glencoe I left a lass,When the rain- cloud swep t the hea therAnd the s torm-wind moaned adown the pass
,
And the wet sheep crouched toge ther.The mountains kissed the res tless mis t,And the torrents foamed on the rocks below
,
And I left my hear t with the maid I kissed,
In dark Glencoe .
’Tis in Glencoe I ’ll seek my lass,When Time hath drawn my te ther !But slow the weary momen ts pass,Till we ’re again toge therBu t when she’s mine the sun will shine,Where ’er my lass and I may go .
Come sun o r Shower,’ twill aye be fine,
In dark Glencoe.
THREE HIGHLAND BOAT-SONGS
I
SAIL on, bonnie bark,’Mong the tern-haun ted isles,
Where the blue waves so brightly are foaming .
Sail swiftly, sweet bark,To the dark wooded shore,
For bli the is my hear t to be homing.
Wild screams the whi te tern,In the clear azure sky,
O ’er the land , and the wave that is foaming,Above his clear home,Near the line o f the foam,
A welcome to him tha t is homing.
Oh lovely Loch Eil,Wi th thy heath-covered hills,
Thou wer t dear to my Spiri t when roaming !The mis ts on the bens,And the dark wooded glens,
I'
n dreams called my hear t to be homing.
And oh, bonnie bark,When we tire of the sea,
How swiftly we’ll come in the gloaming,To the dark silen t bays,When the sun’s dying rays
On the bens joy the hear t tha t is homing !
52
AWAY AwayAt the dawning 0’ day,O ’er the sea silver grey,
Let us goOhee OhoLe t us go
Blow ye winds, blowYe merry tides flowFor our harves t we ’ll go,
We will go .
Ohee OhoWe WI11 go .
S ing S ingFo r the hollow sails ring .Like a bird on the wing,
She do th go .
Ohee OhoShe do th go .
Home HomeO ’er the wave we will roam,
With weal th from the foam,
We will go .
Ohee OhoWe will go .
THE fisher is weary,The evening is dreary,
The air is so heavy and ChillAnd O
’
er the long miles,Sweeps the rain to the isles,
And the sea-mis t lies low on the
How grey is the ocean,That’s ever in motion !
I ts moaning do th s trike the hear t s till,As i t frets on the sandsOf the shadowy lands,
When the sea-mis t lies low on the hill .
The seamew is crying,The grey day is dying,
The nigh t brings forebodings of ill,As, with a fain t sigh,Floats the wind thro ’ the Sky,
When the sea-mis t lies low on the hill .
Bu t welcome tha t gleaming,T o one sadly dreaming,
His hear t clo th wi th holiness fill’Tis the ligh t in his home,And i t shines o ’er the foam,
When the sea-mis t lies low on the
A NORTHERN LOVE-SONG
NIGHT—and the shivering s tars in the sky,Wildly the boreal s treamers fly.
From i ts cloudy bed ,In the sky O
’
erhead,Chill brea thes the wind wi th a mournful sigh .
My love, in the nigh t there are fierce desires,They speak from the curtains of changing fires,
In the seabirds ’ wail,From the planets pale,
In the s tars, when the crimson ligh t expires.
And the wind, as on mo lian lyres,Brea thes on the ocean chords, and the choirs
Of the booming wave,My soul enslave,
My love awake, wi th i ts passiona te
Bu t, love, I am no t as the this tle-down,On the s torm wind of passion lightly blown,
I ’d love thee, dear,I ’d love thee, dear,
Wi th a beau tiful love,—wer t thou mine own .
Wer t thou mine own Wer t thou mineAnd on the wind the though t has flown,
Ou t o ’
er the sea,My love to thee,
From one who is wai ting here alone.
55
A NORTHERN BOAT-SONG
Bu t should there never dawn the ligh t,And my shat tered life be los t in nigh t,
No beau teous choirs,NO boreal fires,
No moon, no s tars, —to make i t brigh t.
Ah Should the Heavens be los t to sigh t,Should the winter s torms rage thro ’ the nigh t,
I ’ll love thee s till,I ’ll love thee s till,
Will love—till my soul hath ta’en its fligh t.
The sun in the Sky shall fade away,And the s tars shall moulder and decay,
And the planets fall,Thro ’ the nigh t’s dim hall,
The darkness reign wi thou t hope o f day
And God in Heaven Shall our loveImmor tal Hope shall flee away,Ere my love shall die,Ere my love shall die,
Or I for thy j oy shall cease to pray.
ANNAT GLEN
AT the end of a beautiful summer day,The Annat glen was s till,Fo r the spiri t of peace tha t brooded there,Scarce heard the sounding rillAnd after many a weary year,Once more we ’d wandered there,And our hear ts bea t high wi th hope and joy,AS we brea thed the mountain air .
Oh Annat glenDear Anna t glen
The sun was Slowly sinking down,And the wes tern sky was gold,And the old, old hills were ruby red,And their beauties manifoldAnd oh the scen t o f myrtle and hea th,And the woods, and the bracken so greenAh grief was far as the sou thern s tar,From tha t swee t Highland scene.
Oh Anna t glenDear Anna t glen
Bu t wha t of the whi te tern’s warning voice,As he wheeled o ’er the dark Loch EilAnd a mournful influence filled the glen,And we saddened as darkness fell .A blackbird screamed as he flew thro ’ the fern .
Forbidding was each sombre deep
58
ANNAT GLEN
And the chasms were haunted by shadowyBu t Dea th did silence keep .
Oh Anna t glenDear Anna t glen
Ah me There’s a soldier’s lonely grave,
Away beyond our kenAnd never more we two shall roveIn o ur own dear Anna t glenAnd oh fo r me shall th ere ever beA happy day again,By the snowy fall, and the dimpling pool,In the lovely Annat glen
Oh Annat glenDear Annat glen
The rowan trees tha t kiss the breeze,And the fligh t o f the swift sunbeamThe lonely s tream brigh t on the hea th,Or dim as a hazy dream,
In a shadowy glen, with dreamy pools,And the sombre trees above,And the song o f the thrush, in the eveningWill ne ’er my sadness move .
Oh Anna t glenDear Anna t glen
PART II
S ONGS
CONTENTS
SONG .
AUTUMN
SONGS
THE RAIN ON WESTBURY DOWNS
SONG .
D IRGE
SONGS
PARTING
SONGS
THE SONG OF THE WORLD
AUTUMN SONG
SONGS
THE SONG OF SIR LANCELOT
THE DAFFOD IL
SONGS
WERT THOU BUT KNOWN TO ME !
CELAND INE
SONGS OF THE FISHERS
6I
SONG
WHEN Summer treads the flow’ry meads,Wi th pollen-dus ted fee t !When mins trels call, thro
’ leafy hall,Wi th perfumes rich reple teWhen morning mis t the zephyr cools,That floa ts O ’er lily-haunted pools,Un to the rising sun my eyes take wing,And my glad soul do th sing.
Did For tune’s guile become a smile,Had I the s tored swee t,From fragran t bells, within the cells,The wintry times to mee t !Could I a golden dawning see,The herald of a lovely day,Then my fond Muse would ply her deares t s tring,And only thee I ’d sing.
AUTUMN
SWIFTLY O’
er the harves t fields,Walks the Autumn fair !S talks of golden grain she wieldsPoppies in her hair .By the brimming s tream she moves,O ’er the landscape tha t she loves,And she hears the lark’s las t song,As she swiftly moves along .
Lo She leans upon the bridge,O ’er the brimming s treamLis tens to the moaning sedge,Where the waters gleam .
Then she casts, in to the foam,
Crimson poppies from her home,Saying Passion ’s flowers I seeFloating seaward silen tly.
!
Withered flower, and leaf tha t dies,Mark the golden yearYellow land and hazy skies,Bo th to Au tumn dearAnd the maid, in gold and brown,Walks again by vale and down,Pondering on life the while,Wi th a sad and wis tful smile.
SONG
WHERE the ouzel dips his wings,In the s tream
Where the bluecap ligh tly swings,Azure gleam !
Soo thed by willow whisperings,Let me dream,
BelovedLe t me dream
As the Au tumns in their fall,Beau ty gain
Golden leaves, and wa terfallWhi te wi th rain
So the love tha t conquers allIs no t vain,BelovedIs no t vain
66
THE RAIN ON WESTBURY DOWNS
I P ASSED from the road, thro’ the wood so green,
And the s tubble field where the grain had been,
’Neath the open sky with i ts silver sheen,And I saw the rain on Westbury Downs .
Ou t on the hill Ou t on the hillBreathing the rain-wind , swee t and chill,Cleansing the soul o f every ill,I saw the rain on Westbury Downs .
Mis ts o f grey Mists of greyBlown from the seas so far awayChanging the hills to blue and greyI saw the rain on Wes tbury Downs .
Scen ted rain Scen ted rainFilling the Sou thron hear t wi th pain,But bringing me dreams o f home again,Oh swee t was the rain on Westbury Downs !
SONG
I WALKED in the May- time fields,’Mid daisies and cups o f gold ,In the magic the season wields,In ways tha t are manifold,The wash o f oceans o f leaves and grass,The song of a thrush on high,The lapwing ’s call on the winds tha t pass,The bir th of the things tha t die .
I saw the sun, and the skyDeep blue with clouds o f snowAnd perfumes drifted by,Upborne by the winds, tha t goTo bush, and grass, and flower, andFrom a thousand ports near by,Bearing across an invisible sea,The souls of the things tha t die .
What hath immor tali tyThe deeds of the souls tha t are grea t,Tha t perfume silentlyThe devious ways o f Fa teAnd the pleasan t fields of the minds of menAre swee t tho ’ the ages fly,And life in Heaven will flower againWith the blooms that will never die .
68
D IRGE
COME in the radian t dusk of a summer eve,Unto the bridge tha t spans the silen t s treamEnter the fabric that my fancies weave,And cheer my sadness wi th some lovely dreamCome, oh my love, and this frail life redeem
The golden moon is rising over the heigh t !I seem to hear a sound as of fee t that passOver the carpet green Of the hall Of nigh t,Crushing the sweets from violets and from grass,But the gliding s tream doth speak of the souls that
pass .
The king-cup scatters his pe tals on the s tream,
And the primrose is faded and dead in the mossy dell,
And the odour o f dying viole ts fills my dream,
And in the wood, each wi thering hyacin th bellIs ringing the dea th of life wi th a mournful knell .
Soft brea thes the soul of the nigh t on responsives trings,
My hear twi th the whispering sedge do th sigh in tune.I t echoes the ceaseless moan Of the plover’s wings,AS he wheels in his airy circles round the moonAnd an endless grief do th wail in the winds tha t
CI‘
OOH .
SONG
OUT on the dus ty road,In the cool clean sweep o f the wind,Ou t on the dus ty road,Ere the sun hath grown unkind,Pas t bushes green, and budding trees,And verdant fields like emerald seas,To the burn this swee t May morning.
Oh brown is the Earn s tream,
Or as amber a delica te gold !Oh brown is the Earn s tream,
’Neath th e yellow marigold .
We ’ll leave the road, ere the sun be high,For the fields where the purple viole ts lieIn the dew, this swee t May morning .
Oh saw ye the snow-white may,And the dain ty cuckoo-flow erOh saw ye the snow-white mayGleaming on Nature’s bower POh come wi’ me to the Earn s tream,
Which winds ’neath the warm sun ’s golden beam,
Thro ’ the fields this sweet May morning.
Oh hear ye the lark on high PHe sings to the vibran t dawn !Oh hear ye the lark on high PHe’ll sing till the sun ha th gone !And then we’ll home ’neath the shimmering s tars
,
The merry s tars, the fai thful s tars,O ’er the road tha t awai ts this morning .
70
SONG
GOLDEN gleam o f yellow bun ting,Thro ’ the grey and wintry air !Redbreas t in the hawthorn hun ting,’Mid the crimson brilliance thereThese did charm the way along,Bu t my spiri t sang no song.
Night had s trewn the land with crystal,Gleaming on the viole t spray,Shone in Nature’s golden missal,Amber, whi te, and green, and grey.Gli t tered the au tumnal throng !But my Spiri t sang no song .
Soon I saw the frui t o f roses,Passion-coloured cloud above !And I knew wha t time discloses,Tha t there’s nough t so good as love.Bli thely then I moved along,For my soul had found a song.
SONG
THOUGHT was a fairy, and She s tole,From a quie t nook by the ches tnut bole,Thro ’ the blades o f grass in the sunli t field,Where the spider spun, and the midges wheeled,To a yellow flower—her goal
Though t was a lover, and she said,T o the gallan t you th with the golden headArt ever here, my noble sir
! uo’ he Fair maid, I may no t s tir
From 1111 15, my fragran t bed .
Though t was a dreamer a t the crySoon, lovely maiden, I mus t dieBu t think no t tha t my life is vain,Fo r tho ’ I earn the fool’s disdain,Swee t flowers will spring from me .
And Though t was pensive as she s toleTo her secre t place by the ches tnut bole,And ere she slipped to her silen t bed,She quain tly sighed, and she quain tly said,Ah Wha t is Life’s grea t goal
72
SONG
OH the au tumn wind is blowing,Wild and snell
And the brimming s tream is flowing,In the dell
And from willows fall the golden leaves .
O ’er the wave the branch is leaning,I can tell,
Fo r the s tream a harves t’s gleaning,From the dell !
When from willows fall the golden leaves.
On the hea th the wind is keening,On the fell
Bu t I read the Au tumn’s meaning,In the dell
When from willows fall the golden leaves.
Oh fo r Beau ty hear ts are aching,A t the knell
When the wi thered trees are shaking,In the dell
And from willows fall the golden leaves.
74
SONG
WHEN in the mys tic silence of a moonless nigh tI gaze from s tar to s tar,
Tho ’ I may hear the voicings o f the cosmic might,Floa ting from ligh t to ligh t,
Deares t, thou seemes t far !
Bu t in the dreamy s tillness round the chamberHid from the migh ty Sky,
I hear the mellow chanting o f an angel choir,Yielding my hear t’s desire,
Telling tha t thou ar t nigh
75
THE SONG OF THE WORLD
THE world sings loudTo the reeling cloudTha t shrouds the fros ted poles !And the swee t world smiles,When the sun beguiles,Where the tropic ocean rolls .Thro ’ the snow, and the rain, and the mis t, and
cloud ,And the sun, and the winds tha t cry aloud,The earth swings round wi th i ts myriad souls.
Wha t is i ts song,As i t sweeps along,Half- li t by the flaming sunThro ’ the frigid nigh t,With the one grea t ligh t,On a pa th that will never be doneI t sings to the hear ts of women and menThere is li t tle of pleasure, and much of pain,Bu t the gleaming peaks have ye t to ! e won.
!
AUTUMN SONG
T o the flame of crimson frui t,To the flash Of bluecap ’s wings,
With the wail o f woodland lute,And the foam of springs,Hark The mournful Au tumn
Golden bracken Mis ty glensSnowy s tream that seaward foams
Fallen leaves in woody dens,Summer’s haunted homes !There the spec tral Au tumn roams
Rainy hills wi th cloudy domes,Mo thers of the ribald springs !
Ghos tly sea tha t softly foamsWhen the sea-wind singsThence the brooding Au tumn wings
77
SONG
BY the foaming s tream in the ruined glade,’Mid the smould
’
ring ash o f the things tha tIn the mis ty aisles Of the woodland way,The ivy bloomed on the leafless tree .
So when chill times descend on life,And winter wins the bi tter s trife,Faith blooms upon the wi thered tree,The symbol of j oys to
SONG
TWO bu tterflies floa t o ’er the grass Where the flowersunfold,
Whi te gulls of the oceans o f green tha t are breakingin gold,
And I wa tch their swee t quivering fligh t as they dallywi th love,
Wi th the grass and the flowers beneath, and the bluesky above .
Ah Love, thou wil t ever be young, tho’ the world
be old .
Lo ! Now thro ’
the realms of my soul an echo isrolled,
From the dimness of time, from its s trange andmys terious hold
And I feel my blood s tir a t the lil t of the wonderfulsong.
Ah Life is so lonely, dear hear t, bu t’ tw ill no t be
for long .
Swee t Love, thou wil t ever be young, tho’ the world
be old .
79
SONG
WHY sing o f Love, fond you thThus spake dark bi t terness,And age wi th snowy tress ,And the dead world tha t knows nor
Has t heard the thrush that sings,When Spring, with waves o f green,O
’
erwhelms the icy SheenThen smiled Romance and swep t triumphan t s trings.
Of Love the warbler S ingsBu t the s trange human songMay sweep the snow as s trong,Or rise when ash fruits Spread their tiny wings.
80
THE DAFFOD IL
WHAT do th the daffodil think of, pray,Nodding her head in the wind all dayIs i t the sun, or is i t the rain,That she loveth,—o r do th the swee t disdain,In the tossing head, betoken the painOf love fo r the flee ting amorous wind,Who s tirs the hearts o f all her kind
Fair daffodil he comes wi th a song,And swee t is his voice as he moves along,But great and s trong is the silen t sun,And he loves thy face that he looks upon,From the golden dawn till the day be done.Ah Bles t is the flower that he looks upon 1Ah Happy the flower tha t he looks upon
82
SONG
OH came ye by the Lendal s tream,
When golden gorse was on the hill,When bloomed the primrose by theAnd here and there a daffodil,Beneath the spring sun’s beam
Oh have ye looked adown the vale,Across the land of green and brown,And breathed the wind from ocean flown,And watched the seabird wildly blown,And viewed the passing sail
And have ye walked the pebbled shore,Where O’
er the s tones brown Lendal sings,To Where the surge of ocean rings,A knell which wis tful memory brings,Of loved ones gone before
SONG
I HEARD the cry o f the children,Tha t were born in the years gone by,A wild cry, a wailing cry,That filled wi th pain the affrigh ted skyAlas Alas— for our destiny
I heard my soul ’s wild ques tionWhy is there misery PWherefore such cruel miseryAnd when Shall Beau ty s trong and freeFind bir th in the foam of Life ’s wild sea
I heard the song of the children,From ou t of the womb o f Time,A song tha t swep t thro ’ every clime,And sounded the death of the infamousAnd told Of the links of a Love sublime.
WERT THOU BUT KNOWN TO ME !
WERT thou bu t known to meNo t cold the dulce t word,But swee tes t music that our lives have heard,The song of love that I should Sing to thee
Wer t thou bu t known to me !All the pro tec ting things,The grass for viole ts, o r the mo ther
’s wingsFor nestlings, symbolise my hear t for thee
Wer t thou but known to meWhat dep ths o f tendernessWhat joy o f voice, and form, and swee t caressWha t joy in sacrifice, and life for thee
CELAND INE
BRIGHT CelandineOh golden s tar o f SpringAs ruby wine,You bring a hear tening .
Brigh t Celandine !By s treamle t murmuring,’Mid mosses fine,You tell a wondrous thing .
Brigh t CelandineEre Winter hath ta’en wing,In rain o r Shine,Your songs o f promise ring.
86
SONGS OF THE FISHERS
I
OH we have been to the fishing,In the bleak Spring- timeO ’er muddy roads, and sodden fields,By the wood which i ts leafless scep tre wields,Beneath grey skies,Where the chill wind flies,In the bleak Spring- time .
Oh we have been to the fishing,In the bleak Spring- timeBeside the brown and flooded S tream,
Which shines ’neath the pale sun’s wa tery gleam,
By leafless hedge,And withered sedge,In the bleak Spring- time .
Oh we have been to the fishing,In the bleak Spring- time !In the rain, and the slee t, and the cold March breeze,O ’er the las t year’s grass,
’nea th skele ton trees,In the April showers,That bring the flowers,In the bleak Spring- time .
II
OH we have been to the fishing,In sunny JuneBy the amber flood, with the sunli t s tones,And the singing s treams, with their dulce t tones,
87
Where the brown trou t sleeps,In sunny June.
Oh we have been to the fishing,In sunny JuneO ’er viole t fields, where the white lambs played,By the river brink where the cattle s trayed,When the lark in the skiesMade paradise,In sunny June.
Oh we have been to the fishing,In sunny JuneWhen waved the broom, and the meadow-swee t,And the buttercup and, beside our fee t,The brown s tream rolled,’Neath the marigold,In sunny June .
III
OH we have been to the fishing,In the au tumn days !On cold clear days, wi th a sky blue-grey,When ’neath the brigh t sun’s cheerless ray,The chill winds passO ’er the wi thering grass,In the au tumn days.
Oh we have been to the fishing,In the au tumn days !The golden woods grew dark and thin,And more and more of wha t lay wi th in,
PART I II
S ONNETS
CONTENTS
MY MUSE
WRITTEN IN AUTUMN
PREVISION
TO A . W. F ., ON HEARING THE IND IAN LOVE
LYRICS
ON LOST ILLUS IONS
ON VIS ITING A DRU ID MONUMENT
ON A CINEMA F ILM
ON LUST AND LOVE
IN BARRACKS
PEOPLE OF THE CITIES
SONNET
N IGHT AND THOUGHT
ON LOVE
TO SCOTLAND
TO GERMANY
TO FRANCE
ON HEARING HANDEL’S LARGO IN CHURCH
ON POETRY WRITTEN DURING THE WAR
SONNET
9 1
92 CONTENTS OF PART
SOLILO ! UY OF A BLIND SOLD IER
SONNET
THE MOON AND THE MOUNTAIN
T o 0 0 0 0
THE FLIGHT OF TIME 1 21
THE ! UEST
MY MUSE
I SAW my muse upon a tangled pa th,Chased thro ’ the nigh t by tragic forms uncouth !She bore the traces of her was ted youth !She sensed los t hopes ’ and passion ’s afterma th .
What followed Cruel War, with brow of wra thAnd bloody hands,—Doub t with i ts gnawing too th,And Love wi th emp ty arms, and Fate sans ruth,And ghosts o f all the losses tha t life hath .
Farewell —But as I spoke she fleeing turned,And waved her hand and poin ted to the s tars !I looked thro ’ woven branches, and beheldDawn ’s paling blue . Then she, with eyes tha t
burned,Escaped the clu tching hands, and sweetly calledMee t me when Joy thy prison gate unbars
93
WRITTEN IN AUTUMN
MOON-SILVERED frozen lands, and icy s tars,And bi tter winds inscribing boreal runes,Amid dead leaves, with rus tlings, and with tunesHeart-broken, sounding thro
’ arboreal barsChildren of nigh t whose sleep no singing j ars !Donors ye are, to vanished times, of boonsAll unperceived while flame transcenden t noons,In though t prospective that no boding marsBu t when the spiri t fields Show blackened sheaves,And the soul, levin-blinded, fal tering,Falls in the whirling wreaths o f au tumn leaves,Life, in a ru thless chaos al tering,Sees in the re trospec t the golden vales,And grieves in silence till the darkness pales.
NIGHT, the As trologer, scanned the ShimmeringSkies,
Nigh t, o ld and cold, wi th icicles in his beardWith azure gown, s tar-silvered ,—slow he fared,And
,a t his solemn tread , sad harmonies
The chilling winds intoned, thro’ leafless trees .
Lo At his touch the ear th’s ripe bosom baredFroze to moon-sparkling crys tals,— as he s taredAfar, as one who pas t and future sees .Day followed, wi th au tumnal joy ela te,To dream in harves t fields no dreams o f fate,
94
WRITTEN IN AUTUMN
Of the swee t presen t only, -cove tousLis tening the lark tha t woke the tremulous air !S low-moving,—lovely wi th her auburn hairFragile in robes of mis t diaphanous !
III
AUTUMN was woo ’d by Win ter aged, grey,Withered and cold, and with a hungry eye,Autumn the dreamer,
’nea th a moveless Sky,Hazy and s trange, illusive, far away !But she unyielding fled, in swee t arrayOf orange robes, and crimson flowers tha t dieBut in her red bronze hair. She though t to flyTo woodland dep ths unknown to curious day.Thro ’ ruined glades she sough t Oblivion,S tealing away o ’
er paths o f rus tling leaves,To poppied res t wi thin her piny cave.Bu t silen t Win ter swiftly followed on
With the cold kiss that his own love bereaves,Only to place a wreath on passion ’s grave .
PREVISION
WHEN in a momen t o f percep tion keen,The future thunders a t the mortal ga tes,And whisperings, o f the for tune tha t awaits,Blow from the gulfs o f time bu t dimly seen
,
Oft do I think the conscious broad demesneOf living owes bu t li t tle to the fa tes,That, when the mind its ac tive life aba tes,Press on the soul with powers of the unseen .
What do th i t profi t, when the mortal veilSO dims the image o f th e future scene,Tha t we are helpless till the thing ha th been,And so arise from S leep dis turbed and pale
,
Crushed by the imminence o f indefini te things ,To wait wi th wonder wha t the fu ture brings
ON LOST ILLUSIONS
YOUTH o f the grea t illusions—banish these,And thou may’s t Sip life
’s nec tar in the flowerElse looking onward hour by weary hour,Thou ne ’er shal t see dawn pierce the fores t trees.Youth, I behold thee ere the madness flees,Opening the por tal of thy father’s tower,Tripping to Summer’s blossom-haunted bower,To scan the dawning gold on eas tern seas .You th dreaming aye of women, wondrous fair,Lovely in mind and form,
—and one thy loveVisioning chainless life, and glory rare .Fool Amid vain things do th thy fancy rove .Grief, pain, dea th, loss, and love the years impair,Haun t the approaching nigh t of thy despair !
OH You th, wi th all thy grand imperial fire,Leaving thy shel tered home, Omnipo tenceThe wa tchword on thy pennon, —serried, dense,The ranks of hope, en thusiasm, fai th , desire,Tha t march a t tendan t to disas ter dire,Soon thou wil t s tand bereft of all defence,With no re turn, and, all indifference,Viewing thy sha ttered hos ts ’ funereal pyre .Who are the foes that bring thy fe tters vile PEnvironing things, thy training, lack of gold,
98
ON LOST ILLUSIONS
Los t faces, and false woman’s serpen t wile,
And vain ambition,—these beleaguer thee,And clog the functionings of that Spiri t bold,Which dreads the mu tterings of the changelesssea .
ON VISITING A DRUID MONUMENT
HAST thou no t had a wonder dream of EldCome then unto the hea thy moor, and seeThe o ld grey s tones, rain-scourged relentlessly,Until the mys tic rings are scarce beheld .
See’s t thou the pillars P Some are pros tra te, —felledBy the rude blows of Time . on this wild lea,These raised their ancien t heads and scanned thesea,
Ere to these lands the Roman galleys held .
Think of the wi thered hands and eyes,—the mindsThat called these into being —and each soul,Wi th daily cares—an individual life.So thou wil t sense the expanding though t tha t
bindsThe genera tions,—peoples, creeds, and s trifeUnfolding des tiny as ages roll.
THIS was disclosed by man’s revealing hand,
The trace of fish or rep tile in the s tone,Speaking of age- long life in forms ill-known,When all around was spread the ocean sand .
And in the wilds these silen t pillars s tand,Whose grandeur clo th for silence scarce atone,Expressing mutely some idea flown,On Time-given wings, from ou t the aged land .
I OO
ON A CINEMA FILM
IN the cheap cinema of this dull town,I saw a tragic film wi th s tupid name,In which a frail swee t girl to grievous shameIs almos t brough t by some ho t-! looded clown.She trus ted God —s o was i t wri tten downI though t of Life, wi th savage though t aflame,
To poin t the legioned women brough t to shame,Unaided by Divini ty—aloneEncircled by bru te men Aye in the war,Ye women o f these isles— tho ’ ye may sayWhat boo ts the bloody s trife P —
ye have beensaved .
All war is madness,—bu t begun, - the s tarOf all pure women burns, by nigh t and day,O ’er the clear bones wi th which the ear th is paved .
1 02
ON LUST AND LOVE
YES, there are women similar in mindUnto these men . No prudish a tti tudeI en ter tain—nor call one bad o r good,Fo r tru ths tha t govern sex are hard to find .
S till there exists in noble types of mindA ha te of wallowing in passions crude .IS this a secre t impulse toward the good,Or does asce ticism freedom bind PIf there’s a des tiny in human things,The aim—perhaps unconscious—o f grea t deeds,Grea t thoughts, great lives, grea t sacrifices— allThat makes life good, tho ’ there are human
needs,S till, lives given up to lus t have missed the call,And thro ’ all t ime the condemna tion rings.
WOULD that our love was as the love of flowers
Pure, wondrous swee t, and na tural . BeholdHumani ty the sensual fe tters hold,And loveliness in hopeless horror cowers .Where is the glory tha t in life is ours PYon odorous blossom hath the s tory told .
I t brea thes o f russe t dawns, and sunse t gold,And fragran t love the joy of sunny hours .
103
1 04 ON LUST AND LOVE
There is a beau ty in the dual life,Tha t dies consumed in supersensual flames,But lives immortal, nurtured on grea t aims,And puri ty o f thought, and majes tyOf sound and scene, surroundings void of s trife,And glorious fai th in some grea t des tiny.
PEOPLE OF THE CITIES
OH unimagina tive race tha t springsFrom ci ty pent Unnumbered toilers boundUnto the wheel o f Fate,—a hopeless round,If nought bu t toil your sad existence brings .Wha t know ye o f the thousand grander thingsThat make life swee t—the broader vision found PNo art, your song a maze o f tawdry sound,NO music, no dim sense of ul timate things.Aye, and what though t divine to s tarved souls,Comes on the wind tha t moans amid the trees,Floats on the migh ty surge tha t landward rolls,Wafts o ’er some sombre loch wi th mountains high,Wheels wi th the wind-blown seabirds in the sky,Or flies wi th boreal fires O’
er nor thern seas P
106
SONNET
SUNS tha t illumina te the boundless nigh t,Orbs wi th whose beams some secre t message flies,Thro ’ the abysmal spaces of th e skies,Rousing a sense o f mys tery and migh t,Ye bring a vision to the inward sightA glimpse of what is ul timate . I t diesIndefini te, as ghostly memoriesFli t ting athwar t the gloom o f men tal nigh t.The wondering murmur inar ticula teCeases,— the sub tle though t unsaid, and s traigh tThe spiri t touched to awe do th turn to love,The s trange expression o f the principleOf life, thus carnally e ternal,— s tillWi th a po ten tial spiri t life above.
1 07
NIGHT AND THOUGHT
O’
ER the deep s tillness of the e thereal sea,Tho ’ nigh t is los t in vapours cold and whi te,I ca tch the twinkling o f full many a ligh tTha t gleams on some hope-laden argosy.Ye aged s tars, I know no t what we see .
Nay ’Tis a feeling tha t is born o f sigh t,When griefs come flocking wi th Dea th ’s nearing nigh t
,
For all those ties tha t cruelly cease to be .Looking to Heaven wha t volume do th ou tpour,From the deep foun ts of feeling . There are thingsBeyond us,
—tha t we canno t unders tand,And Life is no t in vain,
! the message rings.So the swee t singing in a sunli t land,S tills the loud surge on Dea th’s e ternal shore.
108
ON LOVE
Ask no t too much, -women are human tooFrail even as you And, when o fLove you dream,
Dream too o f human sympathy the while,And comradeship, and home and oh, I deem,
Tha t in the Lis ts of Life, whate’er you do,
You ’ll be the braver for a Lady’s smile .
TO SCOTLAND
ALBYN I canno t sing your loveliness,Wi thou t the use of banal commonplace.Who hath no t sung the s treams that wildly race,The glens, the hills, tha t oft the clouds caress,The mis ty lochs, the moors, the loneliness !But Albyn, only we who know to traceRoman tic ages that have lined thy face,The soul of beau ty in thy ruggedness,And our own lives in thee, —w e only see,And bless the meanes t line tha t brea thes of thee.Homeland The dawning Sky, like rippled sand,O ’er-Spreads me, and a wondrous glory pours,From the grea t sun, upon this alien land .
Oh Wha t a dawn mus t gree t thy eas tern shores !
I I I
TO GERMANY
O LOATHSOME ghoul tha t hovered in the nigh t,And threa tened worldly peace wi th warlike ireNow you are bathed in blood, your hear t
’s desire,
And bro therhood ’s gold dawn is ou t o f sigh tO pariah of nations Thou whose migh tHath scorned no t every meanness, cruel ty dire,To compass hideous aims . Dost thou aspireT o majes ty, and scorn all tru th and righ t PNation whose bond is binding as a hairNa tion whose word is worthless as a s trawO renegade O brute wi thou t a flawThou Thou —of world dominion noble heir PBehold thy harves t in the awful yearsRuin and ha tred,—blood and blinding tears !
1 1 2
ON HEARING HANDEL ’S LARGO INCHURCH
THE moun tain torren t thunderous in song,The singing s tream wi thin the moonli t glade,The rustling grasses where the sunbeams played,Beside Life’s river as i t flowed along,While winged Hope soared grandly, sure, and s trong,All sang o f sadness, loneliness— the aidT o lofty though t,—Of gladness undismayedBy Fa te, o f des tiny— a wondrous songAh ! Soo thing swee t unto the soul that’s tired,The wild thought-music that is swift inspiredBy Na ture,—ye t expression seeks in vainYe t fel t I now a more bewildering pain,And a t the though t o f the los t happy years,Low, low I bowed my head to hide my tears
1 14
ON POETRY WRITTEN DURING THE WAR
WORKS of our splendid you ths alive and deadWords o f a beau ty unimpeachableThese in my Spiri t’s wild abysmal fall,Have I perused, with wonder as I read .
Marvellous thoughts to which their yearnings led !Gems o f unsullied minds in fa tal hellLike the clear tinklings o f a wave-swep t bell,Tha t tells of safe ty,—tho ’ the foam’s o ’
erhead
Born in the awful throes of human-kindSounding the transience of the cruel oppressionSweet was i t in those bi tter times to find,Exul tan t thro ’ a frigh tful impotence,All youth elec tric with i ts soul ’s suppression,Flashing in li tera te magnificence
1 15
SONNET
TWO babes were chris tened in the church to-day,And Oh —my hear t, wi thin tha t sombre fane,Grew big wi th tenderness . T o en ter tainSad thoughts, dull though ts my soul was borne away.Ah me —and ye can follow day by day,Ye heavy-hear ted mothers o f the slain,The lives of those ye los t. There is a pain,Tha t memory aye will bring, -an agonyAye—ye will ever feel in piercing though t,The tiny being hugged un to your breas t,And feel small hands tha t play wi th face and hair.Grief After years of love and tender care,When you th had won its honours bravely sough t,To find on alien soil un timely res t.
[ 16
SONNET
I SAW my you th upon th e golden sands,Playing wi th friends beside a summer sea,Wa tching the waves that murmured lazily,Laughing wi th youths, with maidens joining hands,The snowy clouds wen t by in merry bands,Tha t scarce dis turbed the sun’s sereni ty,I heard the lark tha t sang above the lea,I fel t the odour of the frui tful lands .I watched my you th upon the fa tal shore,Scanning the s torm tha t racked the midnigh t sea.The ligh tning-s tricken corpses round him layOf friends,— the maids had fled the tempes t’s roar.Alone he faced the s torm withou t a fear,Bu t the wild moon disclosed his bi tter sneer.
1 18
THE MOON AND THE ‘MOUNTAIN
THE crescen t moon lay in the moun tain’s arms .Diaphanous clouds half-hid their swee t deligh t,Swaying unheeded in the winds of nigh t,For in Oblivion deep lay all alarms .Urged by the coyness tha t swee t passion warms,The moon fled gaily thro ’ the s tarli t nigh t,Leaving the mountain’s bed o f rich deligh t,Baring to all the world her wondrous charms .How dark and sullen then the mountain lay,Until she smiled to him at dawn 0 ’ day,Ere fleeing to the gloomy tower o f nigh t.Now lies he sleeping in the ligh t o f day,Dreaming o f her pale beau ty wondrous brigh t,And of the fu ture and the pas t delight.
1 1 9
TO
THINK no t too much of beau ty, lovely maidThy beau ty is swee t Nature’s Splendid dower .Ah ’Twas no t anything wi thin thy power,Tha t sen t thee hi ther so divinely made .Tha t thou ar t lovely canno t ! e gainsaidAnd ye t, be think thee, lovely is the flower,Whose beau ty wane th from the fa tal hourWhen i t is lovelies t, ah — too soon to fadeBut beau ty live th in the noble mind ,And in th e soul profound . I ts cer tain traceEndures for ever in deep thoughtful eyes,T ransfigured thou wil t find the homelies t faceAnd beau ty Shall wi th love immortal bindH is hear t in life, and where the spiri t flies.
1 20
THE ! UEST
I SCAN the faces in the ci ty s tree t,I seek her in each woman tha t I see,For s trong desire pursues relen tlessly,And a swee t vision draws my fal tering fee t.Where ar t thou P Face and form and spiri t mee tFor Heaven are thine For ever wearilyI seek her who with these will love bu t me,And all my baser par t and though t delete .I seek theeL—inspira tion of my lifeI seek to lavish love, to work for thee,Who breeding loftier hope will quell desire .Ha —sneered my soul, wi th scorn splene tic rife,She lives bu t in the thought tha t’s haunting thee .No woman shines wi th such celes tial fire
1 22
PART IV
M IS CELLANE0US P OEMS
CONTENTS
MARWICK HEAD
THE FISHER
TO THE SEA
AUTUMN AND N IGHT
LINES TO
THE PLANET AND THE
VISION
123
THE FISHER
HE moves on the marge o f a rippling s tream,
And the silken cas t floats ligh t on the breeze,And life moves on like an odorous dream,
Fo r the hawthorn whi tens the trees .
On and on thro ’ the long green grass,To the low-hummed song of a bee tha t drones,To the voice of a lark on the winds that pass,And the s tream’s on the sun-kissed s tones .
There is gold in the marsh where the marigold grows,And the king-cup dips in the amber rill,And gold are the fields where the bu ttercup blows,And gold is the broom on the hill .
The hyacin th glades are blue as the sky,And the pansies hide where the grass is tall,And the Speedwell looks wi th i ts azure eyeFrom the foo t of the mould ’
ring wall .
On and on to the moor so wide,Where the scen ted wind sings wild and shrill,And the s tream, like a Silver path , do th glideFrom i ts source on th e dis tan t hill .
How wild is the plover’s res tless scream,
And mournful the curlew’s tremulous callAnd sad is the fligh t of the warm sunbeam,
Bu t a swee tness comes from all .
1 26
THE FISHER
So till the eventide do th come,And the fading land is hushed and s till,The fisher then to his valley home,Do th follow the winding rill .
The sun sets red in the luminous wes t,The plover wails as fo r grief designed,And the gnats, o
’
er the sedge, with a s trange unres t,Are hovering in the wind .
Down, down to the bridge so grey,To the o ld whi te road tha t leads him onAnd home ’nea th the s tars, tha t follow the day,And watch o ’er the world till dawn .
TO THE SEA
THOU Ocean,Dim and shadowy as a dreamGrey, grey, so grey and wi thou t res t,Thou dos t for ever roll .The ground-sw ell heaves thy breas t,Like the slow breathings o f a migh ty beingAnd as the flesh commingles wi th the soul,So ar t thou mel ted in the skies !And where the union lies,Is in the dimness far beyond our seeing.Grey, grey, so grey the filmy rain-mis ts sweeping,Across thy breas t like tears of Nature’s weeping,Obscure the mis ty isles,Dim, spec tral in the grey immensi ty.
Ye shadowy isles tha t float ’ twix t sky and sea,E terni ty and Life,Ye are our hopes for fu ture things,And ill or well,Barren or fruitful, we shall only find,By toil and s trife,And weary journeyings .
Grey,—grey the sea and sky,And, in the ocean caves in sorrow rings,The mournful surge, -a deep sonorous knell.
1 28
1 30 AUTUMN AND NIGHT
Land full of dis tance and of mys tery,Reple te wi th s trangeness as the realms of Sleep !The quivering gna ts, benea th the holly tree,Break no t the feeling of quiescence deep !A rook cries harshly from a fading elm !Then s tillness brings again its drowsy po tion !So when the sun hath sough t th e wes ternocean,
The haun ting silence all do th overwhelm,
AS by a rising tide wi th soundless motion .
Oh when th e las t la te lingering crimson bar,Of dayligh t shows afar the wooded hill
When, as a wondrous lily, yon pale s tarShines from the heavenly lake so pure and s tillAye when the day hath gone, and all the nigh t,With s tarry bloom resplenden t is and brigh tAnd when the moon the airy chasm do th scale,
Then do I feel e thereal deligh t,And all man’
s majes ty is mean and frail .
LINES TO
FAIR hair,And blue-grey eyes,A pale e thereal face,A tender glance,As when the dim cloud-shadows chaseAcross the sunli t land,Or glimmering moonbeams danceUpon the waves .All joy and tearsThose eyes have all the merriness of life,And all the pa thos of the passing years .
Swee t voice,Soft as the sighing of the breeze,When on the purple seas,A dying sunbeam slowly languishes .Soft as the autumn windAmid the grain,Sounding sad symphoniesWhen, in the dusky skies,Diana winds her horn,And mys tic shadows vanish a t her call,The moon, the s tars, the winds, the rus tling corn,Making a perfec t pas toral,Tha t yields a thrilling joy akin to pain .
Calm soul,Pure as the amber ligh t,That ushers in the dawn,And guides the nigh t
1 3 1
LINES TO
T o her dark res t benea th the wes tern wave .Pure as the mountain air a t dewy morn,Made cool by gleaming snows,And odorous wi th the pinewood 's fragrances .Pure as a limpid well,Thy gentle life a crys tal river flows,Across a smiling land to sunli t seas .
My love,Thou ar t so pure, so calm, so fair,I murmur lowly as a brooding dove,I sing my passion in a lofty s train,As do th the mavis in the evening air,Thro ’ trembling wi th his love,And making eve melodious wi th his pain .
1 34 THE PLANET AND THE STAR
And, till I die, I will remember you.And as he spoke, he, trembling, pale and paler grew,
Un til a t length upon the mor tal view,
The s tar wi th tender ecs tasy shone wondrous blue .
Then to himself he murmured wi th a sigh,There’s one among the s tarry myriads of the sky,And when—be tween—the amorous glances fly,Each change th coun tenance to flush responsively.
Bu t nay, she crimsons no t, for she, I ween,Is too well versed to le t the pangs of love b e seen,Ye t will there many a message flash be tw een .
!
I!—And a t the though t the tor tured s tar shone vividgreen .
THE VISION
DARK was the nigh t,Not a s tar aligh t,And loud was the hissing rainAnd the nigh t-wind wailed,To the clouds that sailed ,Far away o ’er the heavenly main.
On the wi thered grass the rain fell fas t,And the brown leaves sighed as the windAnd my desolate hear t was full of pain .
A mournful thought,To my lonely co t,I took as I wen t to sleepAnd I may have dreamed,Bu t i t surely seemed,Tha t in the s tillness deep,I saw a well-beloved form,
And fel t a hand-clasp firm and warm,
And heard a voice say, Cease to weep .
1 35
UNIVERS ITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARYLo s Ange le s
Th is ! o o k is DUE on the las t date s tampe d ! e low .
