按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
That war against on every side
Justice； and this great dream of ours；
And what have we to plead our cause
'Gainst Masters； Capital； and laws；
What but a big red box indeed；
With copies of a weekly screed；
That's slowly jolted； up and down；
Behind an old velocipede
To clamour JUSTICE through the town：
How touchingly inadequate
These arms wherewith we'd vanquish Fate！
Nay； the old Order shall endure
And little change the years shall know；
And still the Many shall be poor；
And still the Poor shall dwell in woe；
Firm in the iron Law of things
The strong shall be the wealthy still；
And （called Capitalists or Kings）
Shall seize and hoard the fruits of skill。
Leaving the weaker for their gain；
Leaving the gentler for their prize
Such dens and husks as beasts disdain； …
Till slowly from the wrinkled skies
The fireless frozen Sun shall wane；
Nor Summer come with golden grain；
Till men be glad； mid frost and snow
To live such equal lives of pain
As now the hutted Eskimo！
Then none shall plough nor garner seed；
Then； on some last sad human shore；
Equality shall reign indeed；
The Rich shall be with us no more；
Thus； and not otherwise； shall come
The new； the true Millennium！
ALMAE MATRES（ST。 ANDREWS； 1862。 OXFORD； 1865）
St。 Andrews by the Northern sea；
A haunted town it is to me！
A little city； worn and grey；
The grey North Ocean girds it round。
And o'er the rocks； and up the bay；
The long sea…rollers surge and sound。
And still the thin and biting spray
Drives down the melancholy street；
And still endure； and still decay；
Towers that the salt winds vainly beat。
Ghost…like and shadowy they stand
Dim mirrored in the wet sea…sand。
St。 Leonard's chapel； long ago
We loitered idly where the tall
Fresh budded mountain ashes blow
Within thy desecrated wall：
The tough roots rent the tomb below；
The April birds sang clamorous；
We did not dream； we could not know
How hardly Fate would deal with us！
O； broken minster； looking forth
Beyond the bay； above the town；
O； winter of the kindly North；
O； college of the scarlet gown；
And shining sands beside the sea；
And stretch of links beyond the sand；
Once more I watch you； and to me
It is as if I touched his hand！
And therefore art thou yet more dear；
O； little city； grey and sere；
Though shrunken from thine ancient pride
And lonely by thy lonely sea；
Than these fair halls on Isis' side；
Where Youth an hour came back to me！
A land of waters green and clear；
Of willows and of poplars tall；
And； in the spring time of the year；
The white may breaking over all；
And Pleasure quick to come at call。
And summer rides by marsh and wold；
And Autumn with her crimson pall
About the towers of Magdalen rolled；
And strange enchantments from the past；
And memories of the friends of old；
And strong Tradition； binding fast
The 〃flying terms〃 with bands of gold； …
All these hath Oxford： all are dear；
But dearer far the little town；
The drifting surf； the wintry year；
The college of the scarlet gown；
St。 Andrews by the Northern sea；
That is a haunted town to me！
DESIDERIUMIN MEMORIAM S。 F。 A。
The call of homing rooks； the shrill
Song of some bird that watches late；
The cries of children break the still
Sad twilight by the churchyard gate。
And o'er your far…off tomb the grey
Sad twilight broods； and from the trees
The rooks call on their homeward way；
And are you heedless quite of these？
The clustered rowan berries red
And Autumn's may； the clematis；
They droop above your dreaming head；
And these； and all things must you miss？
Ah； you that loved the twilight air；
The dim lit hour of quiet best；
At last； at last you have your share
Of what life gave so seldom； rest！
Yes； rest beyond all dreaming deep；
Or labour； nearer the Divine；
And pure from fret； and smooth as sleep；
And gentle as thy soul； is thine！
So let it be！ But could I know
That thou in this soft autumn eve；
This hush of earth that pleased thee so；
Hadst pleasure still； I might not grieve。
BALLADE OF MIDDLE AGE
Our youth began with tears and sighs；
With seeking what we could not find；
Our verses all were threnodies；
In elegiacs still we whined；
Our ears were deaf； our eyes were blind；
We sought and knew not what we sought。
We marvel； now we look behind：
Life's more amusing than we thought！
Oh； foolish youth； untimely wise！
Oh； phantoms of the sickly mind！
What？ not content with seas and skies；
With rainy clouds and southern wind；
With common cares and faces kind；
With pains and joys each morning brought？
Ah； old； and worn； and tired we find
Life's more amusing than we thought！
Though youth 〃turns spectre…thin and dies；〃
To mourn for youth we're not inclined；
We set our souls on salmon flies；
We whistle where we once repined。
Confound the woes of human…kind！
By Heaven we're 〃well deceived；〃 I wot；
Who hum； contented or resigned；
〃Life's more amusing than we thought！〃
ENVOY
O nate mecum； worn and lined
Our faces show； but THAT is naught；
Our hearts are young 'neath wrinkled rind：
Life's more amusing than we thought！
THE LAST CASTTHE ANGLER'S APOLOGY
Just one cast more！ how many a year
Beside how many a pool and stream；
Beneath the falling leaves and sere；
I've sighed； reeled up； and dreamed my dream！
Dreamed of the sport since April first
Her hands fulfilled of flowers and snow；
Adown the pastoral valleys burst
Where Ettrick and where Teviot flow。
Dreamed of the singing showers that break；
And sting the lochs； or near or far；
And rouse the trout； and stir 〃the take〃
From Urigil to Lochinvar。
Dreamed of the kind propitious sky
O'er Ari Innes brooding grey；
The sea trout； rushing at the fly；
Breaks the black wave with sudden spray！
* * *
Brief are man's days at best； perchance
I waste my own； who have not seen
The castled palaces of France
Shine on the Loire in summer green。
And clear and fleet Eurotas still；
You tell me； laves his reedy shore；
And flows beneath his fabled hill
Where Dian drave the chase of yore。
And 〃like a horse unbroken〃 yet
The yellow stream with rush and foam；
'Neath tower； and bridge； and parapet；
Girdles his ancient mistress； Rome！
I may not see them； but I doubt
If seen I'd find them half so fair
As ripples of the rising trout
That feed beneath the elms of Yair。
Nay； Spring I'd meet by Tweed or Ail；
And Summer by Loch Assynt's deep；
And Autumn in that lonely vale
Where wedded Avons westward sweep；
Or where； amid the empty fields；
Among the bracken of the glen；
Her yellow wreath October yields；
To crown the crystal brows of Ken。
Unseen； Eurotas； southward steal；
Unknown； Alpheus； westward glide；
You never heard the ringing reel；
The music of the water side！
Though Gods have walked your woods among；
Though nymphs have fled your banks along；
You speak not that familiar tongue
Tweed murmurs like my cradle song。
My cradle song；nor other hymn
I'd choose； nor gentler requiem dear
Than Tweed's； that through death's twilight dim；
Mourned in the latest Minstrel's ear！
TWILIGHTSONNET （AFTER RICHEPIN）
Light has flown！
Through the grey
The wind's way
The sea's moan
Sound alone！
For the day
These repay
And atone！
Scarce I know；
Listening so
To the streams
Of the sea；
If old dreams
Sing to me！
BALLADE OF SUMMERTO C。 H。 ARKCOLL
When strawberry pottles are common and cheap；
Ere elms be black； or limes be sere；
When midnight dances are murdering sleep；
Then comes in the sweet o' the year！
And far from Fleet Street； far from here；
The Summer is Queen in the length of the land；
And moonlit nights they are soft and clear；
When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand！
When clamour that doves in the lindens keep
Mingles with musical plash of the weir；
Where drowned green tresses of crowsfoot creep；
Then comes in the sweet o' the year！
And better a crust and a beaker of beer；
With rose…hung hedges on either hand；
Than a palace in town and a prince's cheer；
When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand！
When big trout late in the twilight leap；
When cuckoo clamoureth far and near；
When glittering scythes in the hayfield reap；
Then comes in the sweet o' the year！
And it's oh to sail； with the wind to steer；
Where kine knee deep in the water stand；
On a Highland loch； on a Lowland mere；
When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand！
ENVOY。
Friend； with the fops while we dawdle here；
Then comes in the sweet o' the year！
And the Summer runs out； like grains of sand；
When fans for a penny are sold in the Strand！
BALLADE OF CHRISTMAS GHOSTS
Between the moonlight and the fire
In winter twilights long ago；
What ghosts we raised for your desire
To make your merry blood run slow！
How old； how grave； how wise we grow！
No Christmas ghost can make us chill；
Save THOSE that troop in mournful row；
The ghosts we all can raise at will！
The beasts can talk in barn and byre
On Christmas Eve； old legends know；
As year by year the years retire；
We men fall silent then I trow；
Such sights hath Memory to show；
Such voices from the silence thrill；
Such shapes return with Christmas snow； …
The ghosts