New Poems Part 10

You sound the note of travel through the hamlet and the town; You would lure the holy angels from on high; And not a man can hear you, but he throws the hammer down And is off to see the countries ere he die.

But now no more I wander, now unchanging here I stay; By my love, you find me safely sitting here: And pipe you ne'er so sweetly, till you pipe the hills away, You can never pipe my fancy from my dear.

TO MRS. MACMARLAND

IN Schnee der Alpen-so it runs To those divine accords-and here We dwell in Alpine snows and suns, A motley crew, for half the year: A motley crew, we dwell to taste- A s.h.i.+vering band in hope and fear- That sun upon the snowy waste, That Alpine ether cold and clear.

Up from the laboured plains, and up From low sea-levels, we arise To drink of that diviner cup The rarer air, the clearer skies; For, as the great, old, G.o.dly King From mankind's turbid valley cries, So all we mountain-lovers sing: I to the hills will lift mine eyes.

The bells that ring, the peaks that climb, The frozen snow's unbroken curd Might yet revindicate in rhyme The pauseless stream, the absent bird.

In vain-for to the deeps of life You, lady, you my heart have stirred; And since you say you love my life, Be sure I love you for the word.

Of kindness, here I nothing say- Such loveless kindnesses there are In that grimacing, common way, That old, unhonoured social war.

Love but my dog and love my love, Adore with me a common star- I value not the rest above The ashes of a bad cigar.

TO MISS CORNISH

THEY tell me, lady, that to-day On that unknown Australian strand- Some time ago, so far away- Another lady joined the band.

She joined the company of those Lovelily dowered, n.o.bly planned, Who, smiling, still forgive their foes And keep their friends in close command.

She, lady, as I learn, was one Among the many rarely good; And destined still to be a sun Through every dark and rainy mood:- She, as they told me, far had come, By sea and land, o'er many a rood:- Admired by all, beloved by some, She was yourself, I understood.

But, compliment apart and free From all constraint of verses, may Goodness and honour, grace and glee, Attend you ever on your way- Up to the measure of your will, Beyond all power of mine to say- As she and I desire you still, Miss Cornish, on your natal day.

TALES OF ARABIA

YES, friend, I own these tales of Arabia Smile not, as smiled their flawless originals, Age-old but yet untamed, for ages Pa.s.s and the magic is undiminished.

Thus, friend, the tales of the old Camaralzaman, Ayoub, the Slave of Love, or the Calendars, Blind-eyed and ill-starred royal scions, Charm us in age as they charmed in childhood.

Fair ones, beyond all numerability, Beam from the palace, beam on humanity, Bright-eyed, in truth, yet soul-less houris Offering pleasure and only pleasure.

Thus they, the venal Muses Arabian, Unlike, indeed, the n.o.bler divinities, Greek G.o.ds or old time-honoured muses, Easily proffer unloved caresses.

Lost, lost, the man who mindeth the minstrelsy; Since still, in sandy, glittering pleasances, Cold, stony fruits, gem-like but quite in- Edible, flatter and wholly starve him.

BEHOLD, AS GOBLINS DARK OF MIEN

BEHOLD, as goblins dark of mien And portly tyrants dyed with crime Change, in the transformation scene, At Christmas, in the pantomime,

Instanter, at the prompter's cough, The fairy bonnets them, and they Throw their abhorred carbuncles off And blossom like the flowers in May.

-So mankind, to angelic eyes, So, through the scenes of life below, In life's ironical disguise, A travesty of man, ye go:

But fear not: ere the curtain fall, Death in the transformation scene Steps forward from her pedestal, Apparent, as the fairy Queen;

And coming, frees you in a trice From all your lendings-l.u.s.t of fame, Ungainly virtue, ugly vice, Terror and tyranny and shame.

So each, at last himself, for good In that dear country lays him down, At last beloved and understood And pure in feature and renown.

STILL I LOVE TO RHYME

STILL I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander Far from the commoner way; Old-time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder, Dreaming to-morrow to-day.

Come here, come, revive me, Sun-G.o.d, teach me, Apollo, Measures descanted before; Since I ancient verses, I emulous follow, Prints in the marbles of yore.

Still strange, strange, they sound in old-young raiment invested, Songs for the brain to forget- Young song-birds elate to grave old temples benested Piping and chirruping yet.

Thoughts? No thought has yet unskilled attempted to flutter Trammelled so vilely in verse; He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and his b.u.t.ter, Won with a groan and a curse.

LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE

LONG time I lay in little ease Where, placed by the Turanian, Ma.r.s.eilles, the many-masted, sees The blue Mediterranean.

Now songful in the hour of sport, Now riotous for wages, She camps around her ancient port, As ancient of the ages.

Algerian airs through all the place Unconquerably sally; Incomparable women pace The shadows of the alley.

And high o'er dark and graving yard And where the sky is paler, The golden virgin of the guard s.h.i.+nes, beckoning the sailor.

She hears the city roar on high, Thief, prost.i.tute, and banker; She sees the masted vessels lie Immovably at anchor.

She sees the snowy islets dot The sea's immortal azure, And If, that castellated spot, Tower, turret, and embrasure.