The Scarlet Gown Part 8

Thou running foremost of the throng, The fire of striving in thy breast, Shalt win, although the race be long, And ever be the best.

And wilt thou question of the prize?

'Tis not of silver or of gold, Nor in applauses manifold, But hidden in the heart it lies: To know that but for thee not one Had run the race or sought the quest, To know that thou hast ever done And ever been the best.

CATULLUS AT HIS BROTHER'S GRAVE

Through many lands and over many seas I come, my Brother, to thine obsequies, To pay thee the last honours that remain, And call upon thy voiceless dust, in vain.

Since cruel fate has robbed me even of thee, Unhappy Brother, s.n.a.t.c.hed away from me, Now none the less the gifts our fathers gave, The melancholy honours of the grave, Wet with my tears I bring to thee, and say Farewell! farewell! for ever and a day.

LOST AT SEA

Lost at sea, with all on board!

No one saw their sinking sail, No one heard their dying wail, Heard them calling on the Lord-- Lost at sea, with all on board.

Till the sea gives up its dead, There they lie in quiet sleep, And the voices of the deep Sound unheeded overhead, Till the sea gives up its dead.

PLEASANT PROPHECIES

A day of gladness yet will dawn, Though when I cannot say; Perhaps it may be Thursday week, Perhaps some other day,--

When man, freed from the bond of clothes, And needing no more food, Shall never pull his neighbour's nose, But be extremely good.

When Love and n.o.bleness shall live Next door to Truth and Right, While Reverence shall rent a room, Upon the second flight.

And wishes shall be horses then, And beggars shall be kings; And all the people shall admire This pleasant state of things.

But if it seems a mystery, And you're inclined to doubt it, Just ask your local poet. He Will tell you all about it.

THE DELIGHTS OF MATHEMATICS

It seems a hundred years or more Since I, with note-book, ink and pen, In cap and gown, first trod the floor Which I have often trod since then; Yet well do I remember when, With fifty other fond fanatics, I sought delights beyond my ken, The deep delights of Mathematics.

I knew that two and two made four, I felt that five times two were ten, But, as for all profounder lore, The robin redbreast or the wren, The sparrow, whether c.o.c.k or hen, Knew quite as much about Quadratics, Was less confused by _x_ and _n_, The deep delights of Mathematics.

The a.s.ses' Bridge I pa.s.sed not o'er, I floundered in the noisome fen Which lies behind it and before; I wandered in the gloomy glen Where Surds and Factors have their den.

But when I saw the pit of Statics, I said Good-bye, Farewell, Amen!

The deep delights of Mathematics.

O Bejants! blessed, beardless men, Who strive with Euclid in your attics, For worlds I would not taste again The deep delights of Mathematics.

STANZAS FOR MUSIC

I loved a little maiden In the golden years gone by; She lived in a mill, as they all do (There is doubtless a reason why).

But she faded in the autumn When the leaves began to fade, And the night before she faded, These words to me she said: 'Do not forget me, Henry, Be n.o.ble and brave and true; But I must not bide, for the world is wide, And the sky above is blue.'

So I said farewell to my darling, And sailed away and came back; And the good s.h.i.+p _Jane_ was in port again, And I found that they all loved Jack.

But Polly and I were sweethearts, As all the neighbours know, Before I met with the mill-girl Twenty years ago.

So I thought I would go and see her, But alas, she had faded too!

She could not bide, for the world was wide, And the sky above was blue.

And now I can only remember The maid--the maid of the mill, And Polly, and one or two others In the churchyard over the hill.

And I sadly ask the question, As I weep in the yew-tree's shade With my elbow on one of their tombstones, 'Ah, why did they all of them fade?'

And the answer I half expected Comes from the solemn yew, 'They could none of them bide, for the world was wide, And the sky above was blue.'

THE END OF APRIL

This is the time when larks are singing loud And higher still ascending and more high, This is the time when many a fleecy cloud Runs lamb-like on the pastures of the sky, This is the time when most I love to lie Stretched on the links, now listening to the sea, Now looking at the train that dawdles by; But James is going in for his degree.

James is my brother. He has twice been ploughed, Yet he intends to have another shy, Hoping to pa.s.s (as he says) in a crowd.

Sanguine is James, but not so sanguine I.

If you demand my reason, I reply: Because he reads no Greek without a key And spells Thucydides c-i-d-y; Yet James is going in for his degree.

No doubt, if the authorities allowed The taking in of Bohns, he might defy The stiffest paper that has ever cowed A timid candidate and made him fly.

Without such aids, he all as well may try To cultivate the people of Dundee, Or lead the camel through the needle's eye; Yet James is going in for his degree.

Vain are the efforts hapless mortals ply To climb of knowledge the forbidden tree; Yet still about its roots they strive and cry, And James is going in for his degree.

THE SCIENCE CLUB

Hurrah for the Science Club!

Join it, ye fourth year men; Join it, thou smooth-cheeked scrub, Whose years scarce number ten