Cornell University Library 
 PR 5834.W46 1898 
 
 Ventures in verse 
 
 3 1924 013 572 528 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
/ will prove these "verses to he very unlearned^ 
 neither savouring o/ poetry, wit^ nor invention. 
 
 love's labour's lost. 
 
Ventures in verse 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES WILLIAMS 
 
 i 
 
 METHUEN & CO. 
 
 36 ESSEX STREET, W.C. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 1898 
 
 T. 
 03 
 
Edinburgh : T. and A. Cohstable, Printers to Her Majesty 
 
The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 3572528 
 
TO 
 
 E. M. S. 
 
 If my slight muse do phase these curious days, 
 The toil be mine, but thine shall be the praise. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 FAQE 
 
 THOUGHTS FROM THE NORTH— 
 
 HELOA . I 
 
 LEL ......... 17 
 
 NEVA ......... 18 
 
 BORIS VASILEVITCH 1 9 
 
 INGOLP 21 
 
 olap tbtgovason — i 2s 
 
 olaf tbygqvason — ii. ..... 27 
 
 gbbtti and thobstein ..... 30 
 
 Brian's battle ....... 31 
 
 eibie the varangian 35 
 
 THOUGHTS FROM THE SOUTH— 
 
 OUBIQUE 38 
 
 FREI JERONIMO ....... 4I 
 
 BLANCAFLOR 43 
 
 CEMMA . . 50 
 
 THE CAPTIVE OF ALHAMBRA . . . 53 
 
 ISABEL DE VARGAS 57 
 
 vii 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 PAGE 
 
 GRANADA 63 
 
 DON HERNANDO PEREZ DEL FULGAR ... 65 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF LEON ...... 68 
 
 THE CROWN OP THORNS ..... 73 
 
 BONCEBVALLES 74 
 
 PHYLLIS 7S 
 
 ST. SOPHIA . . 84 
 
 A LOST SELF 87 
 
 THE SCHOOL OF I »VE 89 
 
 ON A BURLA.L HAt- AFTER A WEDDING • 9° 
 
 SONNETS OF PLACES 9' 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS 117 
 
 VUI 
 
THOUGHTS FROM THE NORTH 
 HELGA 
 
 I. LADOGA 
 
 Russia, the land of ancient mystery. 
 
 The land of Peter and of Catharine, 
 
 The land of Pushkin and of Lermontov, 
 
 Where all the earth is sad with tyranny, 
 
 And hope doth lose itself as Volga doth 
 
 Amid the Caspian marshes : none the less 
 
 Thou hast thy heroes and thy heroines 
 
 As in the West, but framed in larger mould 
 
 And braced by winds that pile Siberian snows 
 
 High in the streets of Kharkov and Kazan, 
 
 Hear then the story that I heard of old 
 
 Of two whose home was hard by Ladoga, 
 
 Their sorrow and their joy. When Peter wore 
 
 The crown of all the Russias, by the stream 
 
 Of Neva dwelt Ivan, the stalwart son 
 
 Of old Ivan, who sat beside his hearth 
 
 White-bearded, ague-stricken. Young Ivan 
 
 Drove daily forth and home the scanty herd, 
 
 Where the great plain rolled sea-like toward the sea. 
 
 The while his father smoked his red-stemmed pipe, 
 
 A I 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 And sang at eventide some country song 
 Of Olga and Vladimir and Boris, 
 Or Ilya or the serpent Gorinich, 
 Or told strange stories of the wizard's craft 
 Diverted by Our Lady of Kazan, 
 Whose smoke-dimmed picture, all bediademed 
 . With glass and tinsel, hung above his head. 
 Nadezhda was the child of Nikolai, 
 The village pope : true Russia's daughter she, 
 Broad-faced and square of shoulder, with her eyes 
 All bright with health, and cheeks as fresh in bloom 
 As rhododendron in the Caucasus, 
 And pure as foam that beats on Baltic rocks. 
 Oft in the autumn fields Ivan and she 
 Together clashed the whetstone on the scythe^ 
 Together bound the fallen wheat on carts. 
 Together eat their meal of barley bread, 
 Together followed home the harnessed kine. 
 What time the gilded dome that crowned the church 
 Blazed in the horizontal sun. ' Thou art 
 My sun, Nadezhda, lighting all my soul 
 With beams of purity and innocence.' 
 ' And I, Ivan, if I but lose thy love. 
 My life were like yon lightning-blasted birch. 
 Stricken and sapless.' Nikolai the pope 
 Looked kindly on them, smiling when they said 
 That after Pentecost the bride should crown 
 Her snooded hair with bridal coronet. 
 
HELGA 
 
 Vain words ! for suddenly brake forth again 
 
 The smouldering strife between the Slav and Goth, 
 
 And Peter called for men in Novgorod 
 
 To crush the madman who in Stockholm held 
 
 A funeral-torch that lighted to its doom 
 
 The kingdom of the Swede. At Narva clashed 
 
 The East and West in conflict, and the West 
 
 Rose bleeding and triumphant from the field, 
 
 And Russia's eagles turned themselves in flight. 
 
 The Goth was rich in captives, and Ivan, 
 
 Stunned by a Swedish lance, was bound with thongs 
 
 And carried into Dalarne, to toil 
 
 A bondman 'mid the free, with scarce a hope 
 
 That he would ever hear old Kola chant 
 
 The Paschal mass, or greet Nadezhda first 
 
 With ' Christos voskres ' ^ at the Eastertide, 
 
 Or mark the shimmer of a score of domes 
 
 Against the winter sky, when maidens bowed 
 
 Their foreheads to the floor at Christmas noon. 
 
 While tapers burned before the shrines of saints. 
 
 And slow bass voices floated through the woods 
 
 To die upon the ice of Ladoga. 
 
 So hopeless nightfall followed hopeless day, 
 
 Ivan's strong arms delved iron in the mines 
 
 Till the Swedes marvelled at the Tatar serf, 
 
 They laboured for a wage, and he by force. 
 
 1 i.e. Christ ia risen, the answer being 'Voistinu voskres,' He i 
 risen in truth. 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 II. DALARNE 
 
 Knut Lenngren was director of the mines, 
 And Helga was his daughter, with the eyes 
 Of Freja and the treacherous heart of Lok. 
 ' Woe to the man on whom the she-wolf looks ! ' 
 So said the miners as they saw her pass 
 Beneath the hanging roses at her door. 
 And with impatient gesture pluck away 
 Some bolder rose that strove to twine itself 
 Among her plaited hair. She loved not flower 
 Or man or woman, nor did she delight 
 In simple sports when by the rushing Dal 
 Red-kirtled peasants danced. The miners spake 
 Of awful orgies in the silent hills. 
 And witches' sabbaths, when the lonely shores 
 Of Siljan echoed blasphemies. A witch ? — 
 Yea, Helga was a witch, and as she met 
 The Russian in the path, he turned aside 
 And crossed himself for fear. Untenderly 
 She chided him. ' And art thou like the rest. 
 The fool of my repute .'' Methinks thy Tsar 
 Founds empire on the sand if but the heart 
 Of every serf is woman- white as thine.' 
 ' O maiden, what I hear I must believe.' 
 ' Henceforth, good Russian, hear and misbelieve.' 
 ' To be a Swede is to be ill esteemed.' 
 ' I am a Swede, but thou shalt honour me.' 
 4 
 
HELGA 
 
 ' How may one honour where one cannot love ? ' 
 ' Then thou shalt love me, so I win respect.' 
 ' No witch of Dalarne may win my love.' 
 ' The witch of Dalarne ! She is no witch, 
 But a most humble maiden ; in her heart 
 There glows no magic save the magic fire 
 Enkindled once by Freja ere she died. 
 Whelmed in the battle-dust of Ragnarok. 
 Believe me, Russian, and believing, know 
 That I have watched thee labour down the Swede 
 With thy stark arms and shoulders, and have 
 
 thought, 
 " Such arms of old launched downward through 
 
 the clouds 
 The molten bolt of Odin, or in wrath 
 Hurled Thor's great hammer over Jotunheim." 
 The gods revive in thee.' So spake she sooth 
 (Small craft avails against simplicity), 
 To the unreasoning Slav, and filled him full 
 Of thoughts disloyal to the Russian maid 
 Weeping by Ladoga. ' Yea, of a truth,' 
 Mused he, *■ the Gothic she- wolf reasons well. 
 'Tis meet for Swedish boors to drive the plough 
 Or delve the iron, rulers of the East 
 Are cast in nobler mould, and Rurik brought 
 The wisest of the Goths for followers. 
 Nadezhda — ' Then his head a moment sank 
 In wrath that he had dared to name a name 
 5 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 So pure and dear, when all his soul was stirred 
 By hearing flattery so perilous — 
 The flattery of enemies. That eve 
 Came Helga forth beneath the cloudless night, 
 Clad in pale robes that silvered in the moon. 
 And bent upon him where he stood abashed 
 The fathomlessness of her eyes, and passed 
 Alone into the forest, and he heard 
 Angelic music set to Pagan words. 
 
 Freja, Freja, 
 
 Faintly come floating 
 Orisons over 
 
 Ocean to thee, 
 Lost souls lamenting 
 
 Love that hath perished ; 
 Dumb art thou, Freja, 
 
 Dumb as the dead. 
 Vainly, ah ! vainly 
 
 Wail the sea-voices, 
 ' Mercy, ah ! mercy, 
 
 Mother of heaven ! ' 
 Light in the loroland, 
 
 Light in the highland, 
 Hope for all others, 
 
 Hope hid from them. 
 They who once spumed thee 
 
 Drift to thy throne-steps, 
 6 
 
HELGA 
 
 Prayers for their pardon 
 
 Pray they in vain ; 
 Moon on the mountain, 
 
 Sun on the moorland. 
 Rising and setting 
 
 Shows them no shore. 
 
 Like to a finch that fascinated sees 
 The shrike foretelling murder in its flight, 
 Ivan stood mute and listened to the song. 
 Her Viking fathers passed into her face. 
 She seemed a standard-bearer of the van 
 When Olav's mail was rent at Stiklestad, 
 Or one of Rurik's helmsmen with his hand 
 Set for a shade to his wild eyes, what time, 
 The tiller slipping from his startled grasp, 
 He marked untrodden forests break the Bne 
 Where sky met sea along the Finnish gulf. 
 Where bold- winged falcons towered to meet the sun. 
 And saw the rainbows change on Imatra. 
 Ivan was vanquished by the witchery. 
 And vanquished yielded, till Nadezhda's face. 
 Once plain before him, grew a dream of mist ; 
 And if his thoughts roved back to Ladoga, 
 'Twas Helga that he saw, for Helga stood 
 'Twixt him and his good angel, mocking him 
 With pride disguised as love. For what to her 
 Were tearful eyes and sorrow of the heart, 
 7 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 If she might but enchain another soul 
 
 A captive bound to her triumphal car ? 
 
 She was an evil woman — worst of all 
 
 The evil things that God allows to be, 
 
 And ten such women might corrupt the world. 
 
 III. LADOGA 
 
 Nadezhda at her wheel sat wearily, 
 
 Sad with the ancient silence of the pines. 
 
 Spinning the fabric for a bridal day 
 
 That never might be hers ;' and as she span 
 
 She sang a plaintive song, and it had tears 
 
 To break its monotone. 
 
 Dreaming hy Onega's waters, 
 Anna walked and thought no ill 
 
 Peer of Russia' s fairest daughters, 
 Gracious as a daffodil. 
 
 Lei, the love-god, hy the river 
 
 Saw the maiden as he lay 
 Plaiting reeds to make his quiver 
 
 On a still September day. 
 
 ' Thou hast won my heart, devitsa. 
 
 Altogether is it thine, 
 Thou shall be my sole Tsaritsa, 
 
 Only let thy heart be mine.' 
 8 
 
HELGA 
 
 ' Lei, I have a little mother, 
 Old is she and death is near; 
 
 Lei, I have a little brother, 
 I must spin, his wedding-gear.' 
 
 ' / rvill he as mother tender, 
 
 I will be as brother strong. 
 All my palaces of splendour 
 
 Shall be thine for ages long.' 
 
 'Peasant daughter of a peasant 
 What have I to do with thee ? 
 
 Now my path of life is pleasant, 
 Shade it not for years to be.' 
 
 ' Shade ! thy shade shall be my pinion, 
 Path ! thy path shall be the stars. 
 
 Thou shalt rule a vast dominion 
 Wider than the Moscow Tsar's,' 
 
 ' Lei, my heart hath sore misgiving, 
 I shall mourn my wheel and thread. 
 
 Better weave where all are living 
 Than he queen where all are dead.' 
 
 'See my realm, if it displease thee 
 I will bring thee home again ; 
 
 Haste from winter storms that freeze thee. 
 Ice and icy-hearted men.' 
 
 9 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Lei, I come : if thou deceivest, 
 Curses on thy flattering, 
 I would see thee as thou cleavest 
 Wind and wave with purple rving.' 
 
 On St. Basil's eve the brother 
 
 Cleansed the ikons from their rust, 
 
 In the graveyard lay the mother, 
 Anna's wheel was dark with dust. 
 
 Then Nikolai 
 In sudden haste, caftan awry and pipe 
 Unlighted, sat him breathless by the stove. 
 Neglectful of the steaming samovar, 
 And panted faintly, ' Lo, the princess comes. 
 Behold her courier ! ' Forth Nadezhda looked 
 To see a Cossack lancer of the Don, 
 Half-savage speaker of an alien tongue. 
 Ride furious by, and after him awhile 
 Four Ukraine greys dragged painfully through mire 
 And fallen trunks the car of Catharine, 
 The faithless wife of faithless Menshikov, 
 Barbaric with Saratov ornament 
 And Moscow jewels, echo of the days 
 Of Eastern art, ere Olga on the steppe 
 Upraised the holy cross of Tsaregrad. 
 Thereat a sudden hope smote downward on 
 The maiden's heart, and rushing from the door, 
 
 lO 
 
HELGA 
 
 The thread unwinding from her heedless hands, 
 
 She cast herself beside the swaying coach 
 
 And prayed, ' Knaginya, little mother, hear ! 
 
 A daughter of the people asks thine aid.' 
 
 The princess turned, ' Popovna, thou art heard. 
 
 What wilt thou .■' ' And her face unbent. She 
 
 dreamed 
 That she was once again the peasant maid 
 Spinning beside her hearth, and ignorant 
 Of all the storm of turbulent marriage days. 
 ' Ivan is captive in the Swedish mines, 
 Diminishing the tale of Christian souls ; ^ 
 His arm may strike again for Russia, let 
 The Tsar but hale him thence.' ' In Sweden, ay. 
 The Russ hath little comfort with the Swede,' 
 The princess mused. ' Popovna, dost thou love 
 This captive better than I loved my Swede, 
 My soldier, left forlorn for Menshikov ? 
 The time may come when Menshikov may mourn 
 An empty home. Tsaritsa, what a name ! 
 Enough, the second field of Narva gave ^ 
 Us Russians regiments of captured Swedes, 
 And we can traffic one. The Tsar shall know ; 
 Thou mayst see once again Ivan, beware 
 
 ^ The adult males of a Buasian village are called souls or Christians. 
 The number of them for which a village is responsible is painted on 
 a board in the village. 
 
 2 There were two battles at Narva : in the first Charles xii. was 
 victorious, in the second Peter the Great. 
 
 II 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 He fool thee not.' Then smiling with the smile 
 
 Of her Livonian childhood — not the smile 
 
 Wherewith she cozened rulers — passed she on 
 
 Amid the pines, and long Nadezhda heard 
 
 The creaking of the tardy chariot wheels. 
 
 'Twas scarce two months, and as Nadezhda cut 
 
 The kail for household broth, before her stood 
 
 Ivan the serf, for even royalty 
 
 Sometimes remembers what it promises. 
 
 Verse cannot paint their meeting, each had eyes 
 
 To tell the story told by lovers' eyes 
 
 In Eden and in Muscovy alike. 
 
 And in that moment Helga was forgot. 
 
 ' Free, dushenka, and still not free, for I 
 
 Must labour for the Tsar and not the Swede. 
 
 The peasant's life is labour, and the Tsar 
 
 Will claim from me what strength the Swedes have 
 
 spared — 
 A martyr's pain without a martyr's palm. 
 'Tis mine to drive the piles and raise the walls 
 Of Peter's city on the marsh, to help 
 To cast the cannon for the battleships, , 
 To gild the domes for palaces of prayer ; 
 Long labour, harder than the Swedish mines.' 
 ' Long labour — ^yes, Ivan, but for thy Tsar, 
 Thy God, thy fatherland, for her who hath 
 Her feet upon the Caucasus, her brow 
 Crowned with the Arctic light. At Peter's work 
 
HELGA 
 
 Shall Europe tremble, while the Russ looks forth 
 Safe from his window in the East,i and marks 
 The roll of battle in the Pyrenees, 
 The Kaiser's eagle screaming in defeat. 
 The frigates of the little island state. 
 Queen of the sea as Russia of the land, 
 Dismantled by our Cronstadt carronades. 
 Ivan, bethink thee, thou shalt share in this 
 And thou perchance shalt lay a stone or two 
 To build an empire.' Helga was forgot — 
 For she who loves for love will ever win. 
 And she who loves for sport will ever lose. 
 In spring, when beacon-like red blossoms flame 
 From hill to hill along the Caucasus, 
 In spring Nadezhda wore the bridal crown. 
 The bride-price tinkled in the silver bowl,^ 
 And Nikolai the pope went home alone. 
 
 IV. ST. PETERSBURG 
 
 The summer night that was but dayUght veiled 
 Was quickly past, and in the Neva marsh. 
 Made beautiful by dawn, the peasants toiled. 
 Their scarlet tunics like the poppy-flowers 
 
 1 Algarotti, an Italian ambassador to Russia, said that Peter the 
 Great had built St. Petersburg for a window to look out on Europe. 
 
 2 At weddings in some parts of Russia there is a fictitious purchase 
 of the bride by the bridegroom, no doubt a relic of the most archaic 
 law. 
 
 13 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 In fenceless fields of Poland when the rain 
 
 Hath fiUed the Visla, and hath brought back hope 
 
 To wide drought-smitten lands. They toiled till 
 
 death — 
 No holiday till death — for he who plays 
 The game of empire plays with lives of men. 
 Twas truce at last between the Slav and Goth : 
 The Tsar forgave, inviting to his quays 
 The azure ensign with its cross of gold, 
 Sweden's once hated standard ; yea, himself. 
 With frame that towered above his chosen guard 
 Of Cossack lancers — like the Baltic pine 
 Above the birch — he bade the mariners 
 Of Gefle welcome. They in wonderment, 
 First Swedes to sail the Neva peacefully. 
 Paid due obeisance. One among the crew 
 Drew Peter's eyes upon his sunny hair. 
 As on the quay he trolled his village song. 
 
 Vera opened wide her door 
 
 Looking to the East, 
 Spreading yew-boughs cm the floor 
 
 For Our Lady's feast. 
 
 Through the forest grey with moss 
 
 Rode the young hoyar, 
 On his cap a silver cross 
 
 Glittered like a star. 
 14 
 
HELGA 
 
 ' Little daughter, give, I pray, 
 
 Give me kvas to drink, 
 I have ridden fast to-day 
 
 Till I well-nigh sink.' 
 
 Kvas she gave him, and his look 
 Thanked her more than speech, 
 
 By the bridge he crossed the brook 
 Near the riven beech. 
 
 In the Kremlin chapel he 
 
 Bows beside the Tsar, 
 It is nought to him that she 
 
 Hr earns of him afar. 
 
 Stdrosta Stephdn would crown 
 
 Vera bride in May, 
 He is but a peasant clown. 
 
 Vera saitk him nay. 
 
 ' Nay, my heart in love so rich 
 
 It is lost to me, 
 host, Stephan Antonovitch, 
 
 Lost, but not to thee.' 
 
 Then Peter stayed the Swede and questioned him 
 How he had learned the lays of Russian folk, 
 And next of Bothnian woods and furnaces 
 And smelting of the steel — fit questions put 
 To one he deemed a trader ; but the youth 
 15 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Made answer low and curt, till clay-bestaine( 
 Ivan came forth and stood before the Tsar 
 Bareheaded, looking eastward. In his hand 
 He bore a message from the Admiral. 
 At sight of him a sudden fury leaped 
 To flame within the Swede's blue eyes. The 
 Drew forth his knife, two-edgM, merciless. 
 And struck a downward blow to smite Ivan. 
 Ivan with brow abased before his Tsar 
 Marked not the stroke, but Peter, stretching 
 His long left arm, stayed murder. 'Nj 
 
 Swede, 
 Thou reckonest amiss if thou wilt thus 
 Avenge thee Narva at St. Petersburg.' 
 Out rushed the guards apace, but ere they ca 
 The Swede had turned the knife upon himsel 
 And lay death-stricken. Horror in his gaze, 
 Ivan cried ' Helga, Helga ! ' Peter laughed 
 With cold and mirthless lips, and said, ' Ivan, 
 Hast thou a wife ? ' ' Thy servant, Gosudar, 
 Is married to a wife.' ' If thou be wise. 
 Thou dost not speak of Helga by thy hearth.' 
 
 i6 
 
LEL 
 
 LELi 
 
 Thy home is no more thy native South, 
 
 The coralline reefs in the calm, 
 Where breezes all sweet with the breath of thy mouth 
 
 Scarce stir the long fronds of palm. 
 
 Thy palace is built in the North, O Lei, 
 
 Thou quittest the islands of spice. 
 The gates of thy hall are the gates of hell, 
 
 A hell that is anchored in ice. 
 
 Thy dwelling is with the Finn and the Hun 
 
 Where waileth the uttermost sea, 
 And paths of the day and the night are one, 
 
 And earth hath nor flower nor tree 
 
 There Faith is a dream and Hope is dead. 
 And Love hath lost all but his sting, 
 
 The leaves of my summer days are fled, 
 God knows if there comes a spring. 
 
 1 The Eros of Slavonic mythology. 
 
 17 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 NEVA 
 
 She is so fair and she is so young, 
 With summer eyes and a winter tongue, 
 She stands by the river beneath the firs, 
 The heart in her bosom it is not hers ; 
 
 And Neva flows to the gulf. 
 
 But none will love her ; in woman's life, 
 Unduteous daughter is faithless wife : 
 The one to whom she would say not nay 
 His ship is a thousand miles away ; 
 
 And Neva flows to the gulf. 
 
 She knows no mercy, her voice is hard. 
 It rings like challenge of Cossack guard, 
 Her mother goes to the well, and she — 
 She dreams of days that can never be ; 
 
 And Neva flows to the gulf. 
 
 i8 
 
BORIS VASILEVITCH 
 
 BORIS VASILEVITCH 
 
 Red autumn sun on Moscow's golden domes. 
 See hearts as warm as thine in peasant homes ! 
 ' To arms ! Boris, the bugle calls thee forth. 
 For there is strife betwixt the West and North.' 
 ' O Katinka, the English cannon boom ' 
 Above the fields where I shall find a tomb. 
 The flags are blessed, the drums of battle roll, 
 Say prayer on prayer for my poor sinful soul. 
 Burn daily tapers at Vladimir's shrine. 
 Look on the saint's brown brow and deem it mine,' 
 ' No saint art thou, Boris, but I will give 
 All saints their tapers due if thou but live. 
 And night by night, when sings the samovar. 
 My lips shall bless the soldiers of the Tsar. 
 And when the stars flash forth by ten and ten. 
 Then shall I know them for white souls of men ; 
 And they will smile on us at Eastertide, 
 When thou wilt be a bridegroom, I a bride.' 
 So went Boris Vasilevitch his way, 
 And Katinka sat spinning all the day. 
 The while on Alma's bank the Cossack lance 
 Was shivered by the bayonet of France. 
 19 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 And Balaclava's field was strown with slain. 
 When English rifles poured their fatal rain. 
 But she — she knew not, as she sat and span. 
 Of war's ripe harvest reaped at Inkerman. 
 At last her wheel was still, she heard instead 
 Slow voices murmur masses for the dead. 
 Wan winter sun on Moscow's golden domes. 
 See hearts as cold as thine in peasant homes ! 
 
 20 
 
INGOLP 
 
 JNGOLF 
 
 In Thrandheim Harald ruled, the fair-haired king — 
 
 He would be in the land a king indeed — 
 Around him sat his captains in a ring, 
 
 Hooped goblets foamed with mead. 
 
 Twelve years he ruled, but Ingolf brooked it ill : 
 
 ' Byzantine pride/ he whispered, ' stalketh forth 
 Out of the South with poisoned breath to kill 
 The freedom of the North.' 
 
 Then mused he : ' Toward the pole there lies a land 
 
 Hoary with snow, and Naddodd on a day 
 Stemming from Svithjod saw the leeward strand 
 Salt with the Arctic spray. 
 
 ' My home awaits me there, and there will I — 
 
 Where tyrants trouble not nor kings oppress — 
 Dwell free among the free, until I die 
 By some storm-beaten ness.' 
 
 Leif and his Irish thralls dared fate with him. 
 
 Steering the shielded ship by sun and stars, 
 For all that oft the face of heaven was dim 
 And rent the sails and spars. 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 And with him were the pillars of his door. 
 Vermilion-red and marvellous of girth, 
 And freighted was the ship beside with store 
 Of Norway's holy earth. 
 
 Nine days they drave, till on the tenth they heard 
 
 Reluctant cries of frightened flocks on flocks 
 Of gannet, auk, and many an ocean bird 
 Down plunging from the rocks. 
 
 Beyond the desolate cliffs there rose a mount 
 
 Encrowned with sullen flame, that feebler grown 
 Sank intp smoke, till burst again a fount 
 Of fire and fire-scathed stone. 
 
 Engirt with Gram once Sigurd rode a flame 
 
 Less terrible than this, whereat there fell 
 On craven Gunnar an eternal shame. 
 On Brynhild doom of hell. 
 
 Then Ingolf gave the tiller up to Leif, 
 
 And downward cast the pillars of the hall 
 Wherein his mother bare him, and his wife 
 Wept sore to see them fall. 
 
 Deep sank they till they rose, and heavily 
 
 They drifted shoreward to the barren strand. 
 Like cumbrous whales that roll them in the sea 
 North of the Northmen's land. 
 
INGOLF 
 
 He drew the pillars forth, and builded there 
 Another house that copied well the old, 
 His Irish thralls were thralls again to bear 
 Driftwood and scanty mould. 
 
 Awhile his heart was sad that he resigned 
 
 For savage heaths the deep Norwegian dales. 
 The surging forests musical with wind. 
 The sight of viking sails. 
 
 Then would he comfort him with thought like this : 
 
 ' Lo ! I am lord of all this commonwealth ; 
 No Harald here to make me man of his 
 Or wreak me wrong by stealth.' 
 
 So dwelt he ruling till his beard waxed white. 
 
 Of doughty days he spake with trembling lips, 
 Of fair-haired Harald and of Hafsfirth fight 
 And battle-smitten ships. 
 
 Then drew the hour apace that none escapes, 
 
 Around him gathered dreams of Frey and Thoi, 
 Valhalla peopled with its shining shapes 
 And hung with spoil of war. 
 
 ' Ah me ! ' cried he, ' I die a woman's death ! 
 
 Will gates of Gimle part to let me in ? 
 In peace I pass, my spirit wondereth 
 What deed of mine was sin. 
 
 23 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 ' I spared no foe^ I never lied to friend. 
 
 My dooms were just, my vengeance tarried not; 
 Another day and there will be an end. 
 And I shall be forgot. 
 
 ' Let Death not find me prisoned in mine house — 
 
 Nay, let me hear the wind athwart the hill, 
 The slow sea-moan, the chatter of the grouse, 
 The falling of the ghyll. 
 
 ' And let me feel the glory of the sun 
 
 Smite on my brow once more what time I die, 
 Before the night without a dawn, when none 
 May comfort him thereby.' 
 
 So Ingolf died, and they who held him dear 
 
 Piled him a solitary cairn for tomb. 
 And there lies he beside a mountain mere 
 Until the day of doom. 
 
 So well the sun had loved him, that it bade 
 
 That snow should stay not on that craggy crest — 
 Until the sun forgot — and now 'tis made 
 A snowdrift like the rest. 
 
 24 
 
OLAF TRYGGVASON 
 
 OLAF TRYGGVASON 
 
 Once King Olaf of Norroway 
 From Scilly sailed to an English bay. 
 There the English had summoned a Thing, 
 And thither gat him Olaf the King. 
 And there was a woman right fair to see, 
 A princess of Irish line was she. 
 From the hall of Dyflin ^ she came to find 
 A valiant husband to suit her mind. 
 Adown the Thing assembled she passed, 
 And eyes of scorn on the men she cast. 
 For there was never a man of all 
 That she would hire for her father's thrall : 
 Yet fetously were the English dressed. 
 And ruffled and pranked and curled with the best. 
 In the end she stayed her where Olaf stood 
 In sorry raiment and sea-stained hood. 
 She knew she had found her a man at the last, 
 And eyes of favour on Olaf she cast. 
 ' How art thou named by thy name .'' ' said she. 
 ' I am Olaf of Norroway,' said he. 
 1 Dublin. 
 25 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 ' Wilt thou marry me, if I will it so ? ' 
 ' Yea, Princess, I will not say thee no.' 
 ' For all that I am the child of a king, 
 I choose thee here in face of the Thing.' 
 In her faith she saw not the day when cold 
 King Olaf would lie in the swirl of Swold. 
 
 26 
 
OLAF TRYGGVASON 
 
 OLAF TRYGGVASON 
 
 ' Then said Jarl Eirik, " Good and seemly is it that so noble 
 a ship should be Olaf Tryggvason'Sj for sooth to say he is 
 as far above other kings as the Long Snake is above other 
 ships." . . . When the slaughter on the Long Snake was 
 over^ and she had been plundered and cleared of the dead, 
 then was Thyra the Queen brought on deck, and she was 
 a-feared and wept sorely. ... So died Thyra the Queen 
 after nine days. . . . After the battle Jarl Eirik possessed 
 the Long Snake. . . . But the Long Snake would not obey 
 the helm for him. . . . Vigi, King Olaf s dog, had lain in 
 the forecastle of the Long Snake on the day of the battle 
 and afterward. .... Then went Einar to him and said, 
 " Lordless art thou now, Vigi ! " . . . Then the dog went 
 ashore with Einar, and went up unto a howe. There lay he 
 down and let none come nigh him, and tears ran from his 
 eyes. So did the Northmen lose the four excellent things 
 in the land, as the blind yeoman of Most had foretold.' 
 [From Olaf's Saga Tryggva Sonar."] 
 
 Far away in the Thrandheim Thing 
 Spake the yeoman of Most to Olaf the King. 
 The King was grey with the weight of years. 
 The Thing was grey with the sheen of spears. 
 
 27 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 And over the tilths and summer fields 
 
 There rolled the clangour of swords and shields. 
 
 The yeoman of Most he spake in the Things 
 
 But deaf were the ears of Olaf the King. 
 
 ' O King, if thou fight it is fate full sore, 
 
 Of excellent things thou losest four.' 
 
 Of Olaf's self the yeoman spake^ 
 
 Of Thyra and Vigi and of the Long Snake. 
 
 But Olaf launched the Long Snake with speed 
 
 To sail her against the Dane and the Swede. 
 
 Her sail was striped with yellow and blacky 
 
 She was swiftest keel in the Skager Eak. 
 
 A long long day fought Olaf, till he 
 
 Dived to his death in the wild East Sea. 
 
 His shield was over him as he died. 
 
 And its sign was the sign of the Crucified. 
 
 Then Erik the jarl with hungry eyes 
 
 Drew nigh and made the Long Snake his prize. 
 
 The sailors looked and looked for their chief. 
 
 And Thyra the Queen she died of her grief. 
 
 The Long Snake steered to a stranger land 
 
 Responded not' to a stranger hand. 
 
 Then Eirik he burned the ship of fame. 
 
 And King Olaf s soul was in the flame. 
 
 And faithful Vigi, the masterless hound. 
 
 He pined to his death in holy groimd ; 
 
 And Hallfred the skald in his anguish penned, 
 
 ' The joy of the world hath drawn to its end.' 
 
 28 
 
OLAF TRYGGVASON 
 
 Now cometh never and never a thought 
 
 Of the blood wherewith the North was bought. 
 
 Now lies awaiting the judgment day 
 
 The corse of Olaf of Norroway. 
 
 The sailor still cries when the sea is dim 
 
 For Olaf the King to succour him. 
 
 But Olaf the King can never hear, 
 
 For he hath been dead for many a year. 
 
 29 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 GRETTI AND THORSTEIN 
 
 It fell upon a morning as they lay, 
 
 Gretti and Thorstein, in their sleeping-loft, 
 
 That Gretti put his arm from forth the bed 
 
 And Thorstein waked and saw. Then Gretti waked. 
 
 And Thorstein said, ' Good cousin, what an arm ! 
 
 No marvel now that heavy fall thy blows 
 
 Upon thine enemies.' ' Methinks my arms,' 
 
 The other said, ' are stark, no else could I 
 
 Have brought such things to pass.' 'They,' Thorstein 
 
 said, 
 'Would please me better were they slenderer.' 
 ' True,' Gretti said, ' but, as the proverb runs. 
 No man hath made himself; now show me thine.' 
 So Thorstein did, but he was tall and slight 
 Beyond the wont of men. Then Gretti smiled 
 And cried, ' What need to look for long at thee .'' 
 Thy ribs are cramped together, and for arms 
 Thou hast a pair of tongs, a woman's strength 
 Surpasseth thine.' ' So be it,' Thorstein said, 
 ' Nathless these slender arms may have their use. 
 Avenging thee when thou must be avenged. 
 Who knows his fortune till the end be come ? ' 
 3° 
 
BRIAN'S BATTLE 
 
 BRIAN'S BATTLE 
 
 [The battle of Clontarf, called Brjans Orrosta by the Saga 
 writerSj was fought on Good Friday^ 18th April 1014. What 
 follows is adapted from the descriptions in the Sagas of Njal 
 and Thorstein and in the Darradar-ljod.] 
 
 Southward from Orkney steered jarl Sigurd wode 
 For battle with King Brian, and his fleet, 
 Hull after hull snake-prowed in Dyflin bight 
 Gat them to anchorage what day the palms 
 Are blessed in aU the churches. Brodir there, 
 Apostate deacon, wizard, welcomed him. 
 And sought to know what Heaven would bring to pass 
 With all his art and all his sorcery. 
 Not for himself he feared, but for the host ; 
 He had, mass-deacon though of old he were, 
 A shirt of mail that never sword could bite 
 Or spear could rend. ' Fight not on Friday, jarl,' 
 So Brodir said, ' for my divinings tell 
 That if thou fight upon the day when Christ 
 Was slain for man, thou wilt not fight again.' 
 So little comfort gat he from his art. 
 Then laughed the Orkney jarl with mirthless eyes, 
 31 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 ' A feasting Thor against a fasting Christ ! 
 I fight on Friday, Brian fasts that day, 
 The mammock of some shaven Bretlander.' ^ 
 So forth into the battle marched the hosts. 
 And Sigurd bade them carry in the van 
 The raven banner of the North, by hands 
 Of mickle cunning broidered wondrously. 
 In Hjaltland ^ once his mother gave it him. 
 Inwoven black with spell and sorcery. 
 And in the weaving she could read the doom. 
 ' Sigurd, in sooth I would have hidden thee 
 Deep in my wool-bag, could I save thy life ; 
 But fate is lord of life, and not the place 
 Wherein a man abideth ; better far 
 To die in honour than to live in shame. 
 Take thou the banner that these hands have wrought, 
 And take for thy undoing, well I know 
 'Tis victory to them who follow it, 
 'Tis speedy death to him who carries it.' 
 So spake she, knowing only half the doom. 
 With Sigurd went the vikings of the isles, 
 Thorstein and Halldor, Gudmund's son, and Hrafn, 
 And Erling of the Straum, and many chiefs. 
 On Friday Brian sat all weaponless 
 Within the fastness of Clontarf, the shields 
 Of faithful kernes encompassed him about. 
 How should he bare his sword on that dread day 
 1 'Britisher.' 2 Shetland. 
 
 32 
 
BRIAN'S BATTLE 
 
 Whereon his Saviour died ? But Wolf led forth 
 The battle in array^ and with him were 
 Kerthialfad and the headmen of the clans, 
 Ospak and his tall sons. The raven flag 
 Brought death to all that bore it ; each to each 
 With dying hand passed on the deadly gift. 
 Till Sigurd held it at the last and fell. 
 Then slowly broke the Northmen into flight. 
 But Thorstein stood and fled not with the rest, 
 Stooping to tie his shoe. Kerthialfad spake 
 In wonder at his daring, ' Why dost stay. 
 Unlike thy comrades ? ' ' Why,' said Thorstein, ' go .'' 
 My home it is in Iceland, wherefore I 
 May not reach home to-night.' Kerthialfad knew 
 True courage when he met it, and refrained 
 And passed to baser spoil. But Brodir strake 
 His path for Brian, breaking through the guard. 
 And smote him that he died, and gat him thence 
 Laughing with bitter laugh ; but swift there fell 
 Stem Irish scathe upon the heathenry. 
 Of Brodir and his troop survived not one: 
 So Brian beat the Orkney men and died. 
 And on the field of blood they built his tomb. 
 That Friday of the doom were many signs 
 In Iceland and in Scotland and the isles. 
 White lips were stammering by Dungalsbse ^ 
 Of awful maidens sent by Asgard gods, 
 1 Dunoansby Head. 
 c 33 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Who wove a web — its weights were heads of men, 
 Its shuttle was a dart — and hissed a lay 
 That froze the hearer's heart. The priest who sang 
 His mass in far Thvattwater saw the deep 
 Surging and sighing for the slain, whereat 
 His spirit failed him, and he sang no more. 
 So were the Northmen weary of suspense 
 TiU Hrafn came home and told them all the shame. 
 Then gat him south and sailed through Njorvesund ^ 
 Until he saw the walls of Micklegarth, 
 And there was never one to whisper hope. 
 1 Straits of Gibraltar. 
 
 34 
 
EIRIK THE VARANGIAN 
 
 EIRIK THE VARANGIAN 
 
 I HEAR the wild wind-music swell 
 Among the boulders on the fell, , 
 
 I hear the storm-surf dash ; 
 I see the valley teem again 
 With shining shields and marching men. 
 
 And long Letsvinger ^ flash. 
 
 'Tis past, this dream of happier days. 
 Now must I tread in humbler ways 
 
 And dwell in humbler plight. 
 And tend in mighty Micklegarth ^ 
 The flame upon a hireling's hearth 
 
 With Wend and Muscovite. 
 
 The glory of the Eastern mom 
 Rose-red upon the Golden Horn 
 
 And Theodora's dome. 
 The mercenaries that escort 
 Sebastos and his splendid court, 
 
 'Tis fair, but oh for home ! 
 
 ' Light swinger, the name of a sword. 
 
 2 In Icelandic 'Mikligard,' the Northmen's name for Constanti- 
 nople. 
 
 35 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Oh for an hour wherein I might 
 Join once again in clanging fight 
 
 With Saxon or with Swede, 
 And see the sky with arrows dark 
 And Northmen marshalled stern and stark 
 
 Where raven banners lead ! 
 
 Oh for an hour, a little space^ 
 To meet the foeman face to face ! 
 
 Letsvinger languisheth 
 For that far island whence it came. 
 For holmgang ^ fought till Hckla's flame 
 
 Light one of twain to death. 
 
 Oh for a glance serene and wise 
 Of Thora's or Brynhilda's eyes. 
 
 Deep with the Arctic blue ! 
 Nay, Micklegarth had never yet 
 Brown beauty worthy to be set 
 
 By Iceland maids like you. 
 
 The end is near, death cometh soon, 
 'Twas y ester-eve I graved a rune 
 
 Upon Letsvinger's blade ; 
 To-day the rune is red — a sign 
 That ere New Year bow palm and vine 
 
 My nameless tomb to shade. 
 
 1 The single combat fought on an island (holm) is one of the most 
 striking features of social life in the Sagas. It is fuUy described in 
 Kormak's Saga. 
 
 36 
 
EIRIK THE VARANGIAN 
 
 My corse must lie in foreign soil, 
 My soul shaU be where billows boil 
 
 Around an ice-wreathed ness. 
 And there shall Southron ship-folk fear 
 A ghostly voice that laugheth near 
 
 In scorn of their distress. 
 
 37 
 
THOUGHTS FROM THE SOUTH 
 
 OURIQUE 
 
 ' Cursed be thy fields, Ourique — cursed he that names 
 
 thy name. 
 Where the children of the Prophet wrought themselves 
 
 eternal shame ! 
 Cursed be the unbelievers, let their days be but 
 
 a span. 
 Let Isbania and her bravos keep perpetual Rama- 
 
 zan ! ' 
 Writhing in his anguish whispered Ibn Ali the stark 
 
 Amir, 
 Bleeding and unhorsed and stricken heartward by a 
 
 Christian spear. 
 All the day the flame of battle roared along the faUow 
 
 fields. 
 Mingled with the soldiers' music, charging cheer and 
 
 ringing shields. 
 At the eventide the crescent wavered into slow 
 
 retreat, 
 Lusitania's crown and sceptre lay at Dom AiTonso's 
 
 feet. 
 
 38 
 
OURIQUE 
 
 Brother Joao^ amid the wounded watched if haply 
 
 after strife 
 Christian knight or Moslem captain still might be 
 
 recalled to life ; 
 Brother Joao, whose humble cloister nestled in the 
 
 olive grove, 
 Simple faith was his, it hovered on the borderland of 
 
 love. 
 Ibn Ali he marked, and led him gently to a peasant's hut 
 Rudely reared of cork and orange branches in the 
 
 forest cut. 
 For he saw the cruel glimmer shining from the scythe 
 
 of death. 
 Sign of strife where man's whole being quivers in a 
 
 single breath. 
 Hour by hour he watched and waited; in the very 
 
 deep of night, 
 Lo ! the wounded Moslem bore hira like an angel 
 
 shod with light. 
 Firmament and earth were mingled, all the host of 
 
 heaven waxed dim. 
 Fading into noontide nothings by the wings of 
 
 Seraphim. 
 Brother Joao astonied trembled, round the Moslem's 
 
 head there flushed 
 Such a bloom as Douro summers paint upon the grape 
 
 uncrushed. 
 
 1 Pronounced as a monosyllable, 'Jown.' 
 39 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 On the air expectant silence fell, the monk his eyes 
 
 must hide, 
 Dazzled with the awful glory glowing from the 
 
 Crucified. 
 Then there came a voice of music, soft as when the 
 
 Minho's bar 
 Murmurs peace to helmsmen steering westward with 
 
 the evening star. 
 ' Jo5o, behold in Me the Master thou hast served for 
 
 sixty years, 
 Thus do I reward thy fasting, thus requite thy prayers 
 
 and tears. 
 Brother, thou hast for thy foeman put thy life in 
 
 jeopardy. 
 Not for him alone thou didst it, thou hast done it 
 
 unto Me.' 
 
 40 
 
FREI JERONIMO 
 
 FREI JERONIMO 
 
 No meio do evangelho 
 
 calix cdhiu da rrmo, 
 Acudiu Provincial 
 
 E toda a BeligiSo. 
 
 [From the ' Xacara da Moreninha,' a Portuguese folk-song, 
 the point of which is the love of a priest for a Moorish girl. 
 It suggested the ballad which follows.] 
 
 Moreninha, Moreninha, bar thy lattice from within. 
 Lest thine eyes look forth to scorch me, eyes that 
 
 taught me self and sin. 
 Yester-mom at mass the chalice fell from my unworthy 
 
 hand. 
 Thus the wrath of God hath smitten him that breaketh 
 
 God's command. 
 
 Moreninha, Moreninha, now to Santa Cruz I go. 
 Weep a while and then forget me, think not of 
 
 Jeronimo ; 
 Would that I could buy oblivion — buy it at a price so 
 
 vast 
 That Lisboa might not pay it were her wealth in one 
 
 amassed ! 
 
 41 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Moreninha, Moreninha, how can I forget the hours 
 When we saw the tawny Tagus winding through a 
 
 thousand flowers. 
 When we heard the feet of peasants beating out to 
 
 gay guitars 
 Sarabands and seguidilhas lighted by a thousand stars ? 
 
 Moreninha, Moreninha, heart to heart we spake, and 
 
 then 
 Heaven seemed nearer than it ever may be brought to 
 
 us again. 
 Heaven it was when she who loved me murmured 
 
 what no monk should hear ; 
 Ay, no monk but must have melted, so caressed by 
 
 lips so dear. 
 
 Moreninha, Moreninha, God hath called me for a 
 
 priest. 
 But the human love I bear thee will not cease and 
 
 hath not ceased. 
 I am seared like orange blossom stricken by a sudden 
 
 frost, 
 Man contemns me, God forsakes me, earth is hopeless, 
 
 heaven is lost ! 
 
 42 
 
BLANCAFLOR 
 
 BLANCAFLOR 
 
 In Toledo day by day 
 
 From her lattice Blancaflor 
 
 Looked into the narrow way 
 Winding by her father's door. 
 
 Don Felipe noon by noon 
 Upward to the lattice raised 
 
 Eyes that like the sun in June 
 Flaming with their passion gazed. 
 
 Often in the calm of night 
 
 Don Felipe's serenade 
 Rhythmic as a falcon's flight 
 
 Held the hearing of the maid. 
 
 Vainly plied he all his art. 
 Not a whit succeeded he. 
 
 Not a whit he touched her heart. 
 Ice was warmer than was she. 
 43 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Forth against his country's foes 
 
 Desperate he rode at last, 
 Don Bernardo took the rose 
 
 Downward from the lattice cast. 
 ***** 
 Deep in Compostella tolled 
 
 Bells within the minster tower. 
 High in Compostella rolled 
 
 Hymns and lauds from hour to hour. 
 
 Blancaflor and all her train 
 In procession bore the palms, 
 
 Whiles the noblest maids of Spain 
 Chanted antiphonal psalms. 
 
 In the minster choir were set 
 Pyx and gleaming altar plate. 
 
 There Mateo had not yet 
 Chiselled angels on his gate. 
 
 Low before the saintly shrine 
 Bowed the maiden of the south. 
 
 Drooping like the woodland bine 
 When the summer brings the drouth 
 
 Don Felipe far apart 
 
 Watched her as the vespers ceased. 
 Watched her with a throbbing heart 
 
 Make confession to the priest. 
 
 44 
 
BLANCAFLOR 
 
 In the passes of Castile 
 
 He had striven with the Moor^ 
 Humbly now he came to kneel 
 
 Weaponless amid the poor. 
 
 ' Grant, St. James, of thy fair grace. 
 By thy church and altars seven, 
 
 Grant to me a dwelling-place 
 Even in the lowest heaven. 
 
 ' Grant, St. James, of thy fair grace, 
 Blancaflor be bride to me. 
 
 Eastward will I turn my face 
 Palmer to thy Galilee.' 
 
 Homeward rode the pilgrim train 
 At the waxing of the moon. 
 
 Through the parched Galician plain 
 Meagrely with olive strewn. 
 
 Don Felipe and his men 
 Compostella scallop wore. 
 
 Lance in hand, lest Saracen 
 Dare to look on Blancaflor. 
 
 She — she knew not he was near, 
 Vain to love were his disguise. 
 
 Blind was she, for form more dear 
 
 Ever filled her dreaming eyes. 
 
 45 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Nigh her her duena nurse 
 
 Rode and quavered bar by bar 
 
 Old romance that grew to verse 
 Shaped in valleys of Navarre. 
 
 Aragon gave Inez birth, 
 
 Faithful she for evermore. 
 Nought she knew in all the earth 
 Dearer than her Blancaflor. 
 
 Passed they by Cantabrian hills, 
 
 By the city of the Cid, 
 By the corn-fringed stream that fills 
 
 Fountains in Valladolid. 
 
 Till old Guadarrama raised 
 
 North of them her crown of snows, 
 Till they marked, St. James be praised. 
 
 Where the tawny Tagus flows. 
 
 ***** 
 
 ' Inez, say, what mean these steeds 
 
 Proud with silver bit and bell. 
 Scimitars and long jereeds. 
 
 Banners of the infidel ? ' 
 
 ' Lances of Toledo, wheel ! 
 
 Wounds are honour, death is gain : 
 Forward, knighthood of Castile ! 
 
 Ho, St. James, and close ye, Spain ! ' 
 46 
 
BLANCAFLOR 
 
 Gallantly the little band 
 Closed in all unequal charge, 
 
 Blancaflor with eye and hand 
 
 Followed clash of spear and targe. 
 
 ' We will harm no knight or dame. 
 Nought we ask but Blancaflor ; 
 
 Yield you to us, 'tis no shame. 
 Ye are but as one to four.' 
 
 Sudden on the Moorish flank 
 Stormlike Don Felipe burst. 
 
 At his war-cry rank by rank 
 Brake the host of the accurst. 
 
 ' Blancaflor, 'tis thou that dost 
 Make my arm an arm of steel. 
 
 Fled the Moor, for fly he must. 
 
 Mailed hand and gold-spurred heel. 
 
 ' Like the supple Damascene 
 'Mid the blue Toledo blades, 
 
 Blancaflor, so thou art queen 
 'Mid the dark Toledo maids. 
 
 ' Hear me, Blancaflor : to thee 
 Love I give and life and all, 
 
 Foeman never wounded me. 
 Wounded at thy feet I fall.' 
 47 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 ' Don Felipe, well I know 
 What a debt to thee is mine, 
 
 Love and life to thee I owe. 
 
 Take my heart, it should be thine. 
 
 ' Yet a little altar-flame 
 
 Burns in its remote recess. 
 Sacred to another name. 
 
 Name I will not dare confess.' 
 
 ' Lady, let not gratitude 
 
 Lavish what the heart denies. 
 
 Love is strange and many-hued. 
 When it should be fixed, it flies. 
 
 ' Lady, let Bernardo take 
 What hath cost Felipe dear. 
 
 Out of cherished dreams I wake. 
 
 Death were kind if death were here.' 
 
 Silently he bowed his head. 
 
 Silently his shield he bare 
 Where the faces of the dead 
 
 Gazed on him with soulless stare. 
 
 Then said liiez : ' Lo, I see 
 
 Pennons waving on the down, 
 Don Bernardo comes to thee 
 
 Riding from Toledo town.' 
 
 ***** 
 
 48 
 
BLANCAFLOR 
 
 Afterward the alguacils 
 Found Felipe where he lay 
 
 In the wild Morena hills 
 
 Waitings waiting for the day. 
 
 On his grave was cut the rune, 
 
 Parce mihi, Domine ; 
 Blancaflor forgat him soon^ 
 
 But the grave was fair to see. 
 
 49 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 CELIMA 
 
 By the sunny sands of Tunis rose the city of Sagrim, 
 
 Ruler of the unbehevers was the Dey Miramolim.^ 
 
 There the knight Diogo's galley strove with them in 
 battle sore. 
 
 Strove with mast and oar encumbered, yardless mast 
 and bladeless oar. 
 
 Fainting from his wounds Diogo 'mid the corses of his 
 men 
 
 Yielded up his sword a captive, yielded to the Saracen. 
 
 Through the city gate they led him slow of step but 
 stout of heart. 
 
 Like a lion of the desert stricken by the hunters' dart. 
 
 From her lattice looked Celima, daughter of the Dey, 
 she bore 
 
 In her face a wondrous pity for the fetters that he wore. 
 
 Into the Diwin they led him, there the Dey his judg- 
 ment gave, 
 
 ' Praised be Allah, Diogo tills my garden as my slave.' 
 
 ^ This is the Portuguese form of the Spanish Mlramamolin. Both 
 are corruptions of the Arabic Amir al Mouminin, Commander of the 
 Faithful. 
 
 SO 
 
CELIMA 
 
 In the garden walked Celima, and her eyes were like 
 
 a deer's. 
 Soft and dark and deep and liquid with the springing 
 
 of her tears. 
 ' Christian, wilt thou love me truly, treasure rich and 
 
 great is mine ? 
 Christian, wilt thou love me truly, all the treasure shall 
 
 be thine ? ' 
 ' Infidel, I leave a maiden troth-plight in Our Lady's 
 
 land,^ 
 Mom and eve she looketh southward from the salt 
 
 Atlantic strand.' 
 ' Christian, she will soon forget thee, woman is a shallow 
 
 thing, 
 Even now she hstens laughing to thy rival's blandish- 
 ing.' 
 ' Infidel, I pray thee silence, who art thou to dare 
 
 assail 
 Adozinda with thy slander, lifting up thy virgin veil ? ' 
 ' Christian, never yet unveiled have I looked on face of 
 
 man ; 
 Judge then how I love thee. Christian, thee my star 
 
 Aldebaran.' 
 'Infidel, in vain thou temptest, God forgive what thou 
 
 hast said. 
 Shall a Christian be thy lover.'' Nay, but he were 
 
 better dead ! ' 
 
 ^ Feira, in the north of Portugal. 
 51 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 ' Christian, thou hast spoken, never shalt thou see the 
 
 morrow's morn, 
 Perish every fool who lightly laughs Celima's love to 
 
 scorn.' 
 At the hour of midnight marked she forms of men 
 
 beside the sea. 
 Four they stood upon the causeway, four they went, 
 
 returned they three ; 
 Hand to ear intent she hearkened, hearing but the 
 
 ocean's roll. 
 That white hand was pure of murder, but the stain was 
 
 on her soul 
 
 52 
 
THE CAPTIVE OF ALHAMBRA 
 
 THE CAPTIVE OF ALHAMBRA 
 
 Scimitars are in their scabbards, rests at last the foam- 
 flecked steedj 
 Lancers from the line of horsemen hurl no more the 
 
 swift jereed. 
 ' Thincj Allah, is all the trimnph, not a Kelb Kafir to 
 
 boast 
 How the faithful of the Prophet fell before the Christian 
 
 host. 
 Osman, wind thy silver trumpet, sound the signal of 
 
 retreat. 
 For to-morrow in Granada shall we bathe our weary 
 
 feet. 
 Onward with the captives, onward ! Ere the morrow's 
 
 eventide 
 Many an Andalusian beauty will become a Moslem's 
 
 bride.' 
 So Abu Hassan commanded, captain of the caliph's 
 
 guard. 
 Grimly smiling that his temples by a Christian lance 
 
 were marred. 
 
 53 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 From the harp of Abulfeda swept by skilful finger 
 
 sprang 
 Music for the hymn of conquest that the warrior harpist 
 
 sang. 
 Dorotea sick with weeping in the crowd of captives 
 
 stood, 
 All the glory of her beauty scarcely hidden by her 
 
 hood. 
 With her feet amid the blossoms trodden from the 
 
 tamarisk, 
 Destined by the fate of conquest for the caliph's 
 
 odalisque. 
 Comfortless was she, not hopeless, hope put forward 
 
 tremblingly 
 One small flower with weakling petals, frail as an 
 
 anemone. 
 It might be that Don Alfonso even now was gathering 
 Far beyond the giant mountains faithful spearmen for 
 
 his king. 
 ' Verily amid the battle saw I not his charger prance. 
 Never in the ranks of knighthood gleamed the pennon 
 
 of his lance. 
 Not among the slain he lieth, chivalry of Aragon, 
 Nobles of Estremadura, chosen horsemen of Leon. 
 Nay, he giveth trusty counsel in the mountains of the 
 
 North, 
 Chafing that the State hath bid him go not to the 
 
 battle forth.' 
 
 54 
 
THE CAPTIVE OF ALHAMBRA 
 
 So she mused, the truth she dreamed not, how Alfonso 
 
 turned and fled 
 Cursed by voices of the dying, cursed by silence of the 
 
 dead. 
 ' Follow, though he scarce deserve it,' was Abu Hassan's 
 
 command, 
 ' Follow, and when ye have caught him, hold him with 
 
 a gentle hand ; 
 For the Prophet's faithful war not with a craven-hearted 
 
 knight. 
 Shame it were to wreak man's vengeance on a face so 
 
 woman-white ! ' 
 Laughing with a scornful laughter in pursuit rode 
 
 lancers three. 
 Seized the bridle of his charger, not a whit resisted 
 
 he. 
 Brought him to the camp and stripped him, clothed 
 
 him in a woman's gear. 
 While his trembling hps were parted, grinning with a 
 
 ghastly fear. 
 Hour by hour the train of captives eastward trod the 
 
 hateful plain^ 
 Hour by hour their hearts grew fainter, never sign of 
 
 help from Spain ; 
 On the crests of Alpujarras blazed there forth no beacon 
 
 flames. 
 From the passes of Nevada charged no lances for St. 
 
 James. 
 
 55 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 All is lost, Alhambra opens, lion-court and colonnade 
 Ring with shout of Moslem soldier, ring with shriek of 
 
 Christian maid. 
 ' Would that thou wert here, Alfonso, but an hour with 
 
 heart so leal. 
 Riding down the Moslem thousands with the hundreds 
 
 -of Castile ! ' 
 Sobbing so speaks Dorotea ; then she looks and turns 
 
 to stone. 
 In a corner of the courtyard Don Alfonso stands alone. 
 Plain for every eye to see him clear against the stars 
 
 and moon, 
 He who hath disgraced his fathers, in the host the one 
 
 poltroon. 
 On his head is a mantilla, round his loins a skirt is hung. 
 On his breast a shameful label tells in the Castilian 
 
 tongue, 
 'Battles they are full of peril, safety is the best of 
 
 things, 
 Therefore to my knees for safety this embroidered 
 
 kirtle clings.' 
 Dorotea for a moment all astonied holds her breath, 
 All her limbs for anguish quiver, then in pity forth 
 
 comes Death ; 
 Gently with his dart he strikes her, sore the maiden 
 
 next her sighs, 
 'Death, kind Death, we all deserve thee, none but 
 
 Dorotea dies.' 
 
 56 
 
ISABEL DE VARGAS 
 
 ISABEL DE VARGAS 
 
 Wonder of the whole creation, marvel of the land of 
 
 Spain, 
 Thy Giralda, fair Sevilla, it hath looked on worlds of 
 
 pain. 
 There the Holy OflBce, waxing mighty with the stream 
 
 of years. 
 Sowed the seed in hate and horror, reaped the crop in 
 
 blood and tears. 
 Innocence was guilt presumptive, husband plotted 
 
 death for wife. 
 Sister lay in wait for sister, brother bartered brother's 
 
 life. 
 Ay de mi! thy quemadero it is paved with lives of 
 
 men. 
 Wherefore Spain hath hands that strike not, edgeless 
 
 sword and pointless pen.^ 
 
 ' Suggested by Lope de Vega's lines {Obras Sueltas, iil. 174) : 
 ' ¥ EspaMa 
 Porque le importa 
 For su defensa recibe 
 PVuma que torn hien escribe 
 Y espada que tan hien carta.' 
 
 57 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Fashion for thyself Sevilla when her martyr fires were 
 
 bright, 
 Ere the cross displaced the crescent high upon 
 
 Alhambra's height ; 
 Ere the Genoese explorer, heart so true and soul so 
 
 leal. 
 Gave a hemisphere to ruin Cataluna and Castile. 
 There in casemate and in watchtower glanced the helm 
 
 and shone the spear. 
 There to tramp of martial thousands echoed swift 
 
 Guadalquivir ; 
 There inquisitor and bishop sat and marked with cross 
 
 of red 
 Names of such as dared be living when the Church 
 
 would have them dead ; 
 There the glorious Andalusian eyes of Andalusian maid 
 Watched the fireflies dart and glisten startled by the 
 
 serenade. 
 Isabel amid her comrades queened it like the evening 
 
 star. 
 And her eyes were like the moonlight tremulous on 
 
 Trafalgar. 
 Isabel de Vargas hight she, and her father was the 
 
 brain 
 Marshalling the hosts that battled with the infidel for 
 
 Spain. 
 Alfaqui in far Granada rode among the horse their chief, 
 VS^isest councillor in council, trusty guard of the khalif. 
 
 S8 
 
ISABEL DE VARGAS 
 
 Don Esteban in Sevilla saw and loved the maid as she 
 In the minster knelt^ spring sunlight making gold her 
 
 rosary. 
 'Love me ere the years pass swiftly, be for me the 
 
 rose of May, 
 Cypresses are everlasting, roses wither in a day. 
 While the glory of thy beauty puts the sun and moon 
 
 to shame. 
 Will it dim it if in mercy thou dost bear Esteban's 
 
 name ? ' 
 Isabel with ears unheeding heard the eager words he 
 
 spake. 
 All her thought was in Granada, all her heart was 
 
 nigh to break. 
 At the last Esteban knew it, knew another was pre- 
 ferred. 
 Then the evil of his nature to its cruel source was 
 
 stirred. 
 ' Marry, Isabel de Vargas,' muttered he in savage glee, 
 ' Once I burned for thy soft beauty, now 'tis thine to 
 
 burn for me.' 
 Isabel, the toils are round thee, haste thee ere it be 
 
 too late. 
 Ere the Holy Office station guards to watch thy 
 
 father's gate ; 
 Thou art in a deadly peril, for the Holy Office goes 
 Muffled in a cloak of silence, when it speaks its words 
 
 are blows. 
 
 59 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Isabel, too late thou learnest how the very heaven above 
 May not succour thee from fury born of hate that once 
 
 was love. 
 In her dungeon depth she shudders as from tower and 
 
 spire there swells 
 Over bridge and alameda dooming thunder of the bells. 
 Lo ! to-day there is an auto such as Spain hath never 
 
 seen. 
 Heretics are highly favoured — they will burn before 
 
 the queen. 
 Isabel, the Holy Office merciful to tender youth 
 Takes thee from this world of peril ere thou canst 
 
 deny the truth. 
 Isabel, the Holy Office finds that thou dost still defy 
 Godly words and gentle suasion, therefore thou must 
 
 surely die. 
 Isabel, the Holy Office finds that thou dost strive to 
 
 learn 
 Secret lore of Arab witchcraft, therefore thou must 
 
 surely burn. 
 Mother Church hath sons still faithful, such Esteban 
 
 was, and he 
 Crushed his earthly bliss and won him heavenly bliss 
 
 denouncing thee. 
 Clad at last in sambenito she with trembling steps 
 
 and slow 
 Foi-ward to the fire was guarded, and Esteban watched 
 
 her go — 
 
 60 
 
ISABEL DE VARGAS 
 
 Watched until the orange branches withered at the 
 
 surging flamCj 
 Till the spirit that forgave him sought the heaven 
 
 whence first it came. 
 From the quemadero strode he, they who looked upon 
 
 him said, 
 ' Mark that man, for on his temples lies the pallor of 
 
 the dead.' 
 Alfaqui in far Granada leaned him on his lance alone, 
 'Wherefore come from thee no tidings, alma de mi 
 
 corazon .' 
 Dost thou dream, O dove of morning, dream sometimes 
 
 that I am near. 
 All forgetful that Alhambra looks not on Guadal- 
 quivir ? 
 Is thy cheek, white bud of April, mantled with a 
 
 rosier glow 
 When thy faithful eyes seek southward Alpujan-a's 
 
 gates of snow .' ' 
 ******* 
 
 Down the passes of Morena rides the knighthood of 
 
 Castile, 
 Who among them like Esteban, harnessed in Toledo 
 
 steel ? 
 Rank by rank the Moslem gathers as on Vega flowers 
 
 the bees. 
 Who among the Moslem cohorts bears a lance like 
 
 Alfaqui's ? 
 
 6i 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 ' Forward ! ' sounds the Eastern trumpet, ' forward, let 
 
 the Prophet reign ! ' 
 ' Forward ! ' calls the Western war-cry, ' Ho, St. James, 
 
 and close ye, Spain ! ' 
 Vengeance sits among the mountains sable-robed with 
 
 cruel eyes. 
 Looks but once upon Esteban — looks, and all his spirit 
 
 dies. 
 Swift the squadrons close in battle ; 'mid the Christian 
 
 chivalry 
 Foremost falls Esteban, stricken unto death by Alfaqui. 
 
 62 
 
GRANADA 
 
 GRANADA 
 
 There is no God but God. Ah me ! 
 No more our Moslem chivalry 
 
 Rides from Toledo ; 
 The voice of prayer in Cordova 
 Is silent as in Alcala 
 
 Or in Oviedo. 
 
 The cross of Aragon is set 
 On Zaragoza's minaret 
 
 Golden and glorious ; 
 On flashing Ebro like a star 
 Nuestra Senora del Pilar 
 
 Smiles down victorious 
 
 Hast thou still sterner gifts, O Fate ? 
 And dost thou teach us all too late 
 
 What is thy pleasure ? 
 Allah, and is defeat our lot ? 
 O sift us in the flames, but not — 
 
 Not beyond measure. 
 63 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 What eye can see, that heart can bear. 
 Of what will come unceasing prayer 
 
 Lifts not the curtain ; 
 Allah, whose mercies never fail. 
 Before the future hangs a veil 
 
 Dim and uncertain. 
 
 Shall mass be in Alhambra said ? 
 Shall Christian hosts be thither led 
 
 By Isabella ? 
 And must our empire end in this, 
 Cowled monks with their Laudata sis 
 
 Maris Stella ? 
 
 Once ruled we from the Chersonese, 
 From passes of the Pyrenees 
 
 Unto Nevada ; 
 Allah^Akbar, we were supreme, 
 Allah, if this be now a dream. 
 
 Save us Granada ! 
 
 64 
 
DON HERNANDO PEREZ DEL PULGAR 
 
 DON HERNANDO PEREZ DEL PULGAR 
 
 Very splendid is thy glory, 
 Don Hernando del Pulgar, 
 
 Through the clouds of meaner story 
 Shining like the polar star. 
 
 Chosen knight of Calatrava, 
 Battle-proud he sought amain 
 
 Vengeance for the sin of Cava 
 Fatal to the realm of Spain. 
 
 Round the gates of doomed Granada 
 Pitilessly pressed the foe. 
 
 Whiles the summits of Nevada 
 Sparkled in their robe of snow. 
 
 ' Nay, but by those silent mountains/ 
 Quoth Hernando on a day, 
 
 ' I will see Granada fountains 
 
 Dash Granada streets with spray.' 
 E 6S 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Gat he lance and Moorish raiment, 
 
 Stripped it from a Saracen, 
 ' Let him sue,' laughed he, ' for payment 
 
 When I come to camp again. 
 
 ' Turban ! Pardon if I doff it ; 
 
 Moor, perchance thou thinkst not well 
 For the children of the Prophet 
 
 Thus to clothe the infidel.' 
 
 Rode he through the city gateway. 
 Golden-lettered prayers it bore, 
 
 Mosqueward turned his bridle straightway. 
 Stayed him at the curtained door. 
 
 Moslem wives forgat their languor. 
 Turning white as winding-sheet 
 
 When they heard the war-hoofs' clangour 
 Echoing adown the street. 
 
 ' Domine Sabaoth, fave ! ' 
 
 Nailed amid the arabesques 
 Stood a clerkly-written Ave, 
 
 Labour of Cartuja desks. 
 
 Roll of Alkoran the holy 
 
 Hid he in his turban green, 
 Campward spurred he back and lowly 
 
 Laid it down before the queen. 
 66 
 
DON HERNANDO PEREZ DEL PULGAR 
 
 ' Captains, each unto his station. 
 Now Granada yields,' quoth she ; 
 
 ' Now Our Lady's salutation 
 Gives us heart of victory.' 
 
 Zegris and Abencerrages 
 
 Sank beneath Our Lady's ire, 
 
 Each Pulgar throughout the ages 
 Hath his stall within the choir. 
 
 67 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF LEON 
 
 ' The world is broad, the Genoese Colon 
 
 And Cortes have not won it all for Spain, 
 And there is space for other sails upon 
 The Caribbean main.' 
 
 So mused Felipe, eager to explore 
 
 Lands undiscovered set in unsailed seas. 
 
 Where lay rich hordes of gold in ample store 
 
 For valiant Leonnese. 
 
 So sailed he westward in his caravel 
 
 With twenty trusty comrades, Trafalgar , 
 Sank to a cloud astern, and all was well. 
 And clear the evening star. 
 
 For thirty days and nights the helm was set. 
 
 And little need had they for watch or ward 
 Against the Devon dogs, no fleet as yet 
 Held Francis Drake for lord. 
 
 As farther from the east they ever drew. 
 
 Strange fruits on broken boughs went drifting by. 
 Bananas like great wheat, and flowers whose blue 
 Was deeper than the sky. 
 68 
 
THE KNIGHT OF LEON 
 
 At last the morning mist brake suddenly 
 
 As at the touch of fact some dream-device, 
 And slowly shimmered forth above the sea 
 A land hke Paradise. 
 
 An island such as lay by Mozambique, 
 
 Where full a-weary of their vrandering 
 Stanch Vasco's men bewitched, in fear to speak, 
 Forgat their home and king. 
 
 The strand was bordered by a wreath of surf 
 
 Save where it ceased and left a river mouth — 
 A river gathering grace through miles of turf 
 
 And flowers that breathed the south. 
 
 Upward, aye upward, on the river they 
 
 Urged their laborious path a league or more. 
 Faint waxed the memory of day by day 
 Spent at the sail and oar. 
 
 Then came they to a bridge by ancient weirs 
 
 And streams that rushed to foam as white as snow, 
 The whirling water parted by the piers 
 Found peace again below. 
 
 Beyond the bridge a palace stood, its walls 
 
 Purple with clematis and green with vine, 
 And on the cedar tables of its halls 
 
 Gold goblets meet for wine. 
 69 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Twelve stately standards floated at the door. 
 
 Within were warriors lithe with tropic grace. 
 All gazed iu. silence from the marble floor 
 On one enchanting face — 
 
 The face of one who in her April prime 
 
 Surpassed the maidens of Guadalquivir 
 At Easter masstide, when Giralda's chime 
 Makes music to the ear. 
 
 And she had eyes that as the strangers came 
 
 Half opened them like violets in May, 
 Then closed, as though she dreamed in lovely shame 
 Of some far yesterday. 
 
 In her was all the perfectness combined 
 
 Of youthful beauty with the thoughts of age 
 And brief folk-wisdom that from mind to mind 
 Descends for heritage. 
 
 Then softly spake she in a tongue unknown, 
 
 But matching well the deep Castilian prose. 
 Its Latin strength to strength with sweetness grown, 
 Its rolling A's and O's. 
 
 No word they understood, but with her hand 
 
 She beckoned to the stranger knights, and they — 
 When she was queen of all that summer land — 
 What could they but obey ? 
 70 
 
THE KNIGHT OF LEON 
 
 She beckoned, and adown from her fair seat 
 
 She stepped, and led them outward to a place 
 Where sprang strange flowers, some stooped to kiss 
 her feet. 
 
 Some rose to kiss her face. 
 
 It was the Vale of Flowers, and in it lay 
 The centuries of the unconscious dead. 
 On every tomb trailed blossoms pinched and gray. 
 Or full of lustihead ; 
 
 Some fresh as though to earth but newly bom, 
 
 Some weird and withered, seeming nigh to death. 
 And pale as leaves when in the woods forlorn 
 December quivereth. 
 
 And -there were roses red and roses white. 
 
 And crimson rhododendrons set in green. 
 And hlies pale, reflections of the light 
 That earth hath never seen. 
 
 The while there grew in Don Felipe's mind 
 
 Slow learning of the lesson that she taught. 
 No need was there to tell what Heaven designed. 
 He felt it in his thought. 
 
 He knew that where the good were laid the bloom 
 Should cease not till the world hath had its day. 
 But art could make no garden of the tomb 
 Wherein the wicked lay. 
 71 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Most serely drooped the flowers above the graves 
 
 Of such as dared the perils manifold 
 Of salvage men and of Atlantic waves, 
 Athirst with lust of gold. 
 
 He looked, and as he looked came distant sounds. 
 
 As when in Salamanca by the tower 
 The watchman chants by night upon his rounds 
 The Ave and the hour. 
 
 Thereat the vaUey seemed to be no more. 
 
 The princess faded like to dayspring haze. 
 And all the palace, pinnacle to door. 
 Waxed fainter to the gaze. 
 
 Shipward the strangers went, and scarce they talked. 
 
 For that mysterious isle in fear they trod. 
 From that hour onward Don Felipe walked 
 More humbly with his God. 
 
 72 
 
THE CROWN OF THORNS 
 
 THE CROWN OF THORNS 
 
 Within the courtyard of St. Barnabas 
 
 The novice stood disturbed and sick of soul, 
 And heard through pilfed clouds the thunder roll 
 
 And saw the lightning quiver in the pass. 
 
 Should he take on him final vows or no ? 
 
 Should he return to meet the world once more ? 
 
 Should he go forth and hear the cloister door 
 Clash harshly on a friend become a foe ? 
 
 Alfonso to the crucifix looked up : 
 
 ' O Thou dear Lord made sacrifice for me. 
 Grant me a sign whereby to learn from Thee 
 
 If I may share the sorrow of Thy cup.' 
 
 Down flashed the lightning with two crooked horns. 
 One smote upon the crucifix, and there 
 Was answer to his lip-imuttered prayer. 
 
 For at his feet there lay a crown of thorns. 
 
 73 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 RONCESVALLES 
 
 As one who in the distance sees 
 
 The ramparts of the Pyrenees, 
 
 And musing sits and seems to hear 
 
 The march of men with shield and spear, 
 
 The crash of mountain pines uptorn 
 
 By one long blast of Roland's horn. 
 
 The snow-smooth ridge of Roncesvalles 
 
 Cleft by the stroke of Durandal, 
 
 And winds that sigh with souls of men. 
 
 Slain Frank and Goth and Saracen ; 
 
 So I review my distant years. 
 
 Their changeful face of smiles and tears. 
 
 And dream I raise again the cry 
 
 Of striving with the enemy. 
 
 Or mark the drums of battle beat 
 
 Loud victory or low defeat. 
 
 For Life is war that may not cease 
 
 Until Death murmurs, ' Is it peace ? 
 
 74 
 
PHYLLIS 
 
 PHYLLIS 
 
 Demophoon, ventis et verba et vela dedisti. 
 Vela queror reditu verba carerefide. 
 
 The fury of the Gods for ten long years 
 
 Had rained on Troy the rain of tardy doonij 
 £neas fled, and Hector with his peers 
 Lay in a warrior's tomb. 
 
 None 'mid the captains of the conqueror 
 
 Bore him more stoutly than Demophoonj 
 And foremost on the doubtful field of war 
 His burnished helmet shone. 
 
 Alas ! the towers of Troy were desolate. 
 
 Grim ravens held them for a dwelling-place. 
 The Mysian beacons flamed forth Priam's fate 
 To hinds that ploughed in Thrace. 
 
 Demophoon then gat him toward his home 
 And steered his galley by the Chersonese 
 To anchor where long billows broke in foam 
 Round Sithon's palaces. 
 75 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 There Sithon sat with Phyllis at his right. 
 
 Hewn from the darkest marble was their throne. 
 And like Orion at the dawn of night 
 
 Gleamed faint her jewelled zone : 
 
 Clad all in white, save that an orle of gold 
 
 Was broidered on her robe — what boots the guise 
 Of maidens' robes when Love and Beauty hold 
 Their court in maidens' eyes ? 
 
 At last he knew — he, foremost man at arms. 
 
 Fair flower of knighthood, bravest of the brave — 
 Without enchantment how some Circe's charms 
 Could make a man a slave. 
 
 He looked and he was lost and up the hall 
 
 He passed in wonder at her lustihead 
 Abashed and reverent as any thrall 
 
 Who served the king for bread. 
 
 But Phyllis marked his eyes, once fierce with war. 
 
 Ardent with softer joy than battle joy. 
 And in her heart she judged him conqueror 
 Of other things than Troy. 
 
 Around his breadth of shoulders hung his blade, 
 
 A jewelled baldric bore it at his side. 
 Such swords by cunning Argive smiths are made 
 For captains true and tried. 
 76 
 
PHYLLIS 
 
 No word he spake, but words are empty names — 
 
 No need of them what time there is begun 
 A heart-speech too sincere for words, that frames 
 A language needing none. 
 
 In courteous wise then Sithon welcomed him : 
 
 ' Demophoon, the Gods have given to me 
 No son when I am old, my eyes are dim ; 
 O Zeus for son like thee ! 
 
 ' O happy they who watch for thy return 
 
 With Lycian blood upon thy blade scarce dry ! 
 O happy they who bid the beacons burn 
 To guide thy galley nigh ! ' 
 
 At last Demophoon with faltering tongue 
 
 Greeted the king again, and as he spoke 
 The zone of Phyllis that around her clung 
 Parted in twain and broke. 
 
 Then blew a wind of laughter through the hall. 
 As through a forest runs the crackling flame^ 
 And Phyllis mocked by mariner and thrall 
 Drooped down her head for shame. 
 
 Thereat the Attic captain looked behind. 
 
 The sword-heft rattled on his mail-clad hips, 
 Then ' Silence ! ' was what each to other signed. 
 Finger on ashen lips. 
 77 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 At£ve a sumptuous banquet Sithon spread^ 
 
 Great flagons foamed with wine, whiles in the hall 
 Slaves cut the chines and broke the barley bread, 
 And there was cheer for all. 
 
 But Sithon's daughter sitting with her maids 
 
 Laid purple thread to thread upon her loom 
 To frame a faithless queen and reeking blades 
 And Agamemnon's tomb. 
 
 Oft in her hands the shuttle paused, and she 
 
 Looked from her open casement far away 
 Where anchored with their prows to face the sea 
 The Attic galleys lay. 
 
 The while she looked the sound of revelling 
 
 Crept upward as the feasters warmed with wine. 
 The startled bats with swift and noiseless wing 
 Hid them in oak or pine. 
 
 Thus sang they, and the rude and rugged rune 
 
 Vibrated through the hall, what time the night, 
 Girt by the stars and orb^d with the moon, 
 Brake open to her height. 
 
 what so dear as Bacchus' cheer 
 
 When sailors are in haven ? 
 Who doth not sip with eager lip, 
 
 r faith he is a craven. 
 78 
 
PHYLLIS 
 
 Vine-dressers loose the rich ripe juice 
 
 Each autumn in Zacynthus, 
 While vine on vine ff,ves fragrant wine 
 
 From Pylus to Oh/nthus. 
 There is no land but on its strand 
 
 Great grapes wax black or yfllotv, 
 The press runs red 'neath maidens' tread, 
 
 And all to make us mellow. 
 
 Then rose the harper of the king and sang 
 
 The glory of the world when it was young. 
 Great deeds of men, when men were greater, sprang 
 Unbidden to his tongue. 
 
 He sang the lion strength of Hercules, 
 The hunting of the boar in Calydon, 
 The craft of soul whereby Hippomenes 
 A bride and kingdom won. 
 
 So waned the night, till weary of the feast 
 
 Hellene and Thracian wrapped in slumber lay. 
 But Phyllis watched till blushed the crimson East 
 Kissed by the dawning day. 
 
 As rose the kingly circle of the sun 
 
 Supreme in splendour from the orient sea 
 She heard the whisper of the morning run 
 O'er forest beck and lea. 
 79 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 She saw the lord of all her thought go by 
 
 Surrounded by his comrades to his ships^ 
 She smiled, but with the smile there rese a sigh 
 Unsummoned to her lips. 
 
 Once more with Sithon sat she in the hall 
 
 To listen to Demophoon, who told 
 How roimd the towers of Priam, doomed to fall. 
 The wave of vengeance rolled. 
 
 And as he spake of Helen and her grace. 
 
 Her perfectness, her royalty of air, 
 He looked a moment into Phyllis' face 
 To find his Helen there. 
 
 ' Star of the northern hills, look down upon 
 
 The lonely plains where beats the Cyclad sea. 
 Where fate will drive the doomed Demophoon 
 Exiled from Ibve and thee.' 
 
 ' Oak of Cithaeron, unto thee I cling. 
 
 Frail ivy trusting in thy strength am I ; 
 O happy birds that in thy branches sing ! 
 Without thy shade I die.' 
 
 Thus thought Demophoon, thus Phyllis thought. 
 But neither spake the promptings of the heart, 
 Love needs no speech, and he hath ofttimes wrought 
 His chains by silent art. 
 80 
 
PHYLLIS 
 
 The morrow came, and with the earliest lighl; 
 
 Each Attic warrior gat him to the tryst, 
 As sank the stars, upon the waves waxed bright 
 The hue of amethyst. 
 
 Each sail was hoisted, and each steersman stood 
 
 Close at his helm, the morning land-breeze blew, 
 Like children racing in an eager mood 
 The galleys westward flew. 
 
 Thrace narrowed to a line upon the deep. 
 
 Men wondered at the bearing of their chief, 
 His eyes were eyes of them that strive to weep. 
 But cannot for their grief. 
 
 His thoughts went backward through the silent space 
 
 Traversing ocean like a carrier dove 
 To picture him a well-remembered face 
 Made beautiful by love. 
 
 And he, his sorrow vanished with the years, 
 
 And she, she bore her sorrow and she died. 
 She wept sorne happy more unhappy tears. 
 Then Death led home his bride. 
 
 Her maidens laid her in her grave, and there 
 
 They planted on the mound an almond-shoot. 
 Spring bud or summer flower it never bare 
 Or weight of autumn fruit. 
 
 F • 8i 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 In Attica King Theseus ruled the state, 
 
 Demophoon his trusty counsellor 
 Sat youngest of the wise within the gate. 
 Rode foremost to the war. 
 
 Him did the king send forth in ambassage 
 
 To Sithon, he obeying the command 
 Abandoned all his Attic heritage 
 
 To seek the Thracian strand. 
 
 Up from the harbour through the ploughlands brown 
 
 With furrows newly cut his men he led 
 To walls where Love once wove a laurel crown 
 To set upon his head. 
 
 Time withers crowns of love and crowns of fame, 
 
 Time's hand is cold and frosty is his breath, 
 The scantiest ash succeeds the fiercest flame. 
 Time is the twin of Death. 
 
 Hard by the path there stood an almond-tree. 
 
 For almond-trees he had nor eye or thought, 
 Nathless on that dry trunk right suddenly 
 A miracle was wrought. 
 
 It seemed that all the branches burgeoned forth 
 With sudden leaf on leaf and flower on flower. 
 Like lights that in the mountains of the north 
 Flash from a signal tower. 
 
 82 
 
PHYLLIS 
 
 The lusty morning trembled on the boughs 
 
 And charged the blossoms with the breath of spice, 
 The air was loud with bees in haste to browse 
 In that new Paradise. 
 
 But he, he went unheeding by, and they. 
 
 Poor blossoms, lingering till eventide. 
 Fell one by one like tardy tears and lay 
 Forgotten till they died. 
 
 83 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 ST. SOPHIA 
 
 I. 1453 
 
 The Turk hath won the Hippodrome, 
 
 The Caesar's self is dead. 
 But still beneath Justinian's dome 
 
 A hasty mass is said. 
 
 The priest is holding in his hand 
 
 A chalice wrought of gold ; 
 Behold the porch by foemen spanned. 
 
 The prophet's flag unfurled ! 
 
 ' Idolaters,' Mohammed cries, 
 
 ' The sword for one and all ! 
 Allah regards with jealous eyes 
 
 A saint-bejewelled wall.' 
 
 The swords flash forth, but 'tis for nought, 
 
 Islam is all forlorn. 
 The priest hath vanished like a thought 
 
 In dreams before the morn. 
 
 84 
 
ST. SOPHIA 
 
 One blade hath touched him till his brow 
 
 With raartjrr blood is Wet, 
 The city is Mohammed's n6w, 
 
 Christ's triumph is — not yet. 
 
 11. 19— 
 
 Still rusts upon the Hippodrome 
 
 The Delphic tripod shent, 
 Still faith may trace within the dome 
 
 Dim Christian ornament. 
 
 Green-turbaned hadjis hold their post 
 To preach their warriors forth, 
 
 For day by day a Christian host 
 Draws onward from the north. 
 
 Each one is sword-engirt, for so 
 
 The custom is to stand 
 Devout in mosque from Christian foe 
 
 Despoiled by Moslem hand. 
 
 Why quivereth the scimitar ? 
 
 Why halteth Alkoran ? 
 Beyond the turbans green afar 
 
 Mysterious glides a man. 
 85 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Strange garb of other days he wears, 
 Byzantine priestly weeds, 
 
 A chalice in his hands he bears. 
 With wounds his brow still bleeds. 
 
 In unaccustomed speech he cries 
 
 As one for ages dumb, 
 ' Before the cross the crescent flies, 
 
 Christ's triumph — it is come.' 
 
 86 
 
A LOST SELF 
 
 A LOST SELF 
 
 Methought I saw a circle of the stars 
 
 Engirding in their clasp the Easter moon, 
 
 Amid them was the glowing globe of Mars, 
 And Venus as it were of crystal hewn. 
 
 Thereat I wondered, but I wondered more 
 When she who rules the kingdom of my soul 
 
 Throned in the stars a silver sceptre bore 
 
 And marked the host of heaven around her roll. 
 
 Her brow was as the brow of one who waits. 
 Waits for a far-off thing that cannot be. 
 
 For on her temples the remorseless fates 
 Had burned the iron brand of destiny. 
 
 She was another and she was the same. 
 
 The same deep eyes so dark and marvellous. 
 
 But lighted less by that transcendent flame 
 That love once kindled, hard and tyrannous. 
 87 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Their orbs were peaceful with a holy calm. 
 Such calm as falls in Lent on one whose feet 
 
 Ascend some choir adorned with arcs of palm 
 Where there is silence from the roaring street. 
 
 Beside her throne my former self I saw, 
 A wounded self that is not wholly dead, 
 
 For now as then she is my highest law. 
 
 The law whereby my days and years are led. ■ 
 
 Law lives, the sympathy of heart and heart 
 Is in the storehouse of forgotten things 
 
 Amid abandoned promises of art 
 
 And songs unsung and lyres with broken strings. 
 
 A moment and she vanished — with her went 
 All of my former self that was divine. 
 
 The self of days in loyal service spent. 
 
 When for my guerdon angels' food was mine. 
 
 A moment and she vanished — as in March 
 White city towers wax tremulous and dim 
 
 And bridges merge with storm-clouds arch by arch 
 And in the minster rolls the vesper hymn. 
 
 88 
 
THE SCHOOL OF LOVE 
 
 THE SCHOOL OF LOVE 
 
 Come, Love, and teach me, teach me thy sweet learning. 
 
 Thy science profitless and perilous ; 
 My eyes meet thine, thine eyes with conquest burning, 
 O come and teach me thus ! 
 
 Teach me to find amid a world unheeded 
 
 All good and gracious things that never were. 
 White temples built of flowers with mortar kneaded 
 By Time from morning air. 
 
 Teach me to see beyond these mournful mountains 
 
 A wonderland where thou art lord and king, 
 A land of orange groves and marble fountains 
 And everlasting spring. 
 
 Teach me to strew thy road with rose and aster. 
 
 To be thy slave and therefore to be free. 
 To know what service is with Love for master. 
 To live and die for thee. 
 
 Teach me to think of death as but brief slumber. 
 
 To wake encircled by thy magic towers 
 Wherein the song of vassals without number 
 Floats through the dreaming hours. 
 89 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 ON A BURIAL HARD AFTER A WEDDING 
 
 Far oiF there moaned the tremor of the tidCj 
 
 The bridegroom's heart was troubled that the bride 
 
 And all her maidens tarried. 
 He never marked the shimmer of a scythe 
 Amid the roses white and lilies lithe 
 
 The which the bridesmaids carried. 
 Thy victory, O Death, was all complete, 
 The blossoms of the bridal wreath so sweet 
 
 At thy fell breathing faded. 
 Couldst show no mercy to so dear a head .■' 
 Ah no ! a little while, and for the dead 
 
 New wreaths her maidens braided. 
 
 90 
 
ENGLAND 
 
 SONNETS OF PLACES 
 
 ENGLAND 
 
 England, my England, thou dost in thy breast 
 
 Hold them who were thy honour, brave and free, 
 
 The builders of thy noble history. 
 
 Who made thee greater ere they lay at rest. 
 
 Thy standard streams the lady of the west. 
 
 The mistress of the east ; still sons there be 
 Of thy fair counties who would die for thee 
 Wert thou by peril of the foeman pressed. 
 
 England, my England, what may one compare 
 
 With thy deep woods and rivers orled with reeds. 
 And silent mountains crowned with purple ling ? 
 
 I love thee best when through the limpid air 
 
 The splendour and the sumptuousness of spring 
 Descend on shoreward cUiFs and midland meads. 
 
 91 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 ST. ALBAN'S 
 
 The great cathedral bells had ceased to chime. 
 Upon the mighty masses of the trees 
 There fell once more the tremor of the breeze 
 With gentle speech for oak and elm and lime. 
 
 The sun in noontide splendour seemed to climb 
 
 The ladder of the heavens, by twos and threes 
 Blithe children gathered cowslips in the leas 
 Shadowed by turrets marvellous with time. 
 
 Faint as the shamefast promise of a bride 
 
 Swam through the woods the voice of summer-tide 
 And overhead the swift and swallow swirled. 
 
 At last there came in musical accord 
 
 The chant of men abased before their Lord : 
 ' O God the Son, Redeemer of the world ! ' 
 
 92 
 
COTSWOLD 
 
 COTSWOLD 
 
 Half England at my feet ; long slopes whose blue 
 
 Fades in the blue of heaven ; the curve and gleam 
 
 Of coy Sabrina hasting seaward through 
 
 Broad river meads where resting mowers dream. 
 
 With courteous whisper western breezes woo 
 
 Smooth-shafted beeches, forest queens supreme. 
 Deep in their midst there winds an avenue 
 Wherein a carter sings beside his team. 
 
 Hard by this spot beneath a summer sun 
 
 Perchance the fallow greyhound was outrun 
 And Slender over Shallow vaunted hina.^ 
 
 Perchance 'twas not ; enough that on these hills 
 For me the cunning hand of Nature fills 
 Her silver cup of beauty to the brim. 
 
 1 Merry Wives of Windsor, Act t. Scene 
 
 93 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 BERKSHIRE DOWNS 
 
 I OFFER thee a picture wrought in rime 
 
 By autumn painted on a Berkshire down, 
 When Nature circles with her golden crown 
 Majestic heads of oak and elm and lime. 
 
 Faint fall the sheepbells with their mournful chime 
 Half silenced by the curfew of the town 
 That seems to ring the knell of old renown 
 Cheated of immortality by time. 
 
 Rooks whirl between the spires of Abingdon 
 
 And clumps of Wittenham, where tilths lie crossed 
 By paths that swerve through haspless gates ajar. 
 
 The day is past, the twilight is begun. 
 
 With it the souls that we have loved and lost 
 Look from the bastions of the evening star. 
 
 94 
 
SCILLY, 
 
 SCILLY 
 
 Planted with palm and fern and tropic tree 
 God's acre stands full eastward to a bay 
 Where break long waves on crags with lichen gray 
 From beat of the inexorable sea ; 
 
 A sea that now is all humility, 
 
 But there are times when it hath lust to slay. 
 Then God be merciful to ships the day 
 That none can aid them if it is not He ! 
 
 The little graveyard hath no little store 
 
 Of harvest from the Scilly rocks and oft 
 St. Agnes lighthouse is the torch of doom. 
 
 'Tis then the Tresco peasant gains his door. 
 
 Head-bowed against the gale, and sees aloft 
 The rocket flash and hears the death-gun boom. 
 
 95 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 CADER IDRIS 
 
 (Morning) 
 
 Here we are one with Nature : golden fern 
 
 With autumn death-tints on its shrivelled sheaf 
 
 Admonishes of life that is too brief 
 
 And summer hours that never can return. 
 
 The morning mist has vanished, and we learn 
 How quickly fades the cloud of unbelief 
 Before the sun of truth, how even grief 
 Smiles through the tears that vein the funeral urn. 
 
 Mountain and life, their changes are the same. 
 
 Now storm and gloom, now peace and lustihead, 
 A crown of sunshine or a crown of snow. 
 
 Happy is he who bears his praise and blame 
 In silence till their memory be dead. 
 Gone like the clouds on Cader long ago ! 
 
 96 
 
CADER IDRIS 
 
 CADER IDRIS 
 
 (Evening) 
 
 Northward I look, and high above Bontddu 
 There pants a storm of fire like to the light 
 Seen by the Tuscan dreamer in the night 
 When sinners floated in a flaming sea. 
 
 'Tis but the fern upon a mountain lea 
 
 Kindled by shepherds, but the sky is white 
 With rolling smoke, and Rhinog's cairn-crowned 
 
 height 
 Is clouded into distant mystery. 
 
 Caernarvon cliffs rise sheer against the sun 
 That forges bands of gold across the bay 
 From Bardsey to the surf on Mawddach bar. 
 
 The strongr-winged seabirds ply their homeward way. 
 The life-thread of another day is spun, 
 In heaven there shines a solitary star. 
 
 97 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 DUNCANSBY HEAD 
 
 A WRATH of waters rages round the base 
 
 Of beetling cliffs whereon the sea-mews cry 
 Before the Orkney storm, while portward fly 
 The rolling ships across the Pentland race. 
 
 Woe to the mariner who sees the face 
 
 Of that red pile of Duncansby too nigh ! 
 
 Thrice happy he to greet before he die 
 
 The hearthstone of his pleasant dwelling-place. 
 
 Sheer stands the fortalice against the sea 
 Impregnable in savage solitude ; 
 If rocks be stanch, then what if tides be rude ? 
 
 Look in thine heart and find the memory 
 Of waves of evil dashing fruitlessly 
 Against the immortality of good. 
 
 98 
 
ST. KILDA 
 
 ST. KILDA 
 
 The friend of loneliness may find it herej 
 
 The misanthrope be quit of human kind. 
 Encircled with Atlantic waves that grind 
 The faces of the fells to sea-mews dear. 
 
 Above the headlands pitiless and sheer 
 
 Fulmar and gannet battle with the wind, 
 Hoarse cormorants and kittiwakes fast bind 
 Their nests with haulms of sea-grass brown and sere. 
 
 The sun sets dim behind a cloud of spray 
 
 Hurled from the might of ocean smiting sore 
 On cliiFs of Connachar and Boreray. 
 
 Man hath full time to learn the bookless lore 
 
 Enrolled in Nature's school, whereby he may 
 Love solitude the less and man the more. 
 
 99 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 ALLMANNAGJA 
 
 I Thorvald passed the AUmensrift, whence came 
 A sound of treading of reluctant feet. 
 Of trampling down of scanty haulms of whea,t. 
 Of whisper where one dare not speak for shame. 
 
 The hills indignant reddened into flame. 
 
 And there arose the murmur sad and sweet 
 Of far-off silver shawms, of song that beat 
 Accord with them and praised a southern name. 
 
 It was the White Christ come from Hjaltland seas, 
 And all the gods of Iceland hasted them 
 To Hekla and her battlements of snow. 
 
 I gazed, and lo ! a trembling took my knees. 
 For at the pole shone New Jerusalem, 
 And on her citadel a cross aglow. 
 
HEKLA 
 
 HEKLA 
 
 Red as the sun the broad moon climbed her way 
 Above the gleaming glacier, and the sun 
 Sank in the westward veiled like a nun 
 In straight white sea-cloud spread on Faxa bay. 
 
 Betwixt the sun and moon long ridges lay 
 Of cloven rocks and lava sere and dun, 
 And on them moved dim figures one by one. 
 Some battle-girt, some clad in queens' array. 
 
 Sigmund of Faerey dripping from the sea, 
 
 Gudrun the beautiful was there, and she 
 
 Who stayed the flight in Vinland, viking-brave. 
 
 Olaf the saint and Sighvat with his lyre, 
 
 Njal and Skarpheddin circled by the fire. 
 And Egil bowed upon young Bodvar's grave. 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 SWEDEN 
 
 Forest and lake and lake and forest, sea 
 
 Whereon the sun pours shafts of loving light, 
 A sun that rules alike the day and night — 
 All did our viking fathers find in thee ; 
 
 All find we now, and as of old find we 
 
 Thy daughters fair, thy sons with arms of might ; 
 But where the brain to plan, the pen to write. 
 The deeds that won thee immortality ? 
 
 New sagas thrill through lips of men no more. 
 
 No more with Thor's war-hammer art thou dread. 
 The pen is dry, the battle-banner furled. 
 
 Not such wast thou what time Gustavus wore 
 A warrior's helmet on a crowned head 
 And thunder of his cannon shook the world. , 
 
LUND 
 
 LUND 
 
 The faith of Christ was slow of victory 
 
 Amid the forests of the north, and they 
 Who reared the minster had been wont to lay 
 Their gifts on Odin's altar by the sea. 
 
 In fear they carved on arch and rafter-tree 
 
 Strange pagan emblems, gnome and snake and fay ; 
 The thunder rolled along the storm-swept bay, 
 'Twas Thor and his despised divinity. 
 
 Sepulchred in the dust of centuries 
 
 The wisdom of a vanished Asgard lies. 
 Its only relic rune or sculptured stone. 
 
 Through such it speaks in voice that once was true, 
 For old is not all old or new all new. 
 The living reap the crop the dead have sown. 
 
 103 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 MARSTRAND 
 
 She stands to guard against the wild North Sea 
 The forest hills of Sweden ; all around 
 White sails are tacking in the narrow sound 
 And gulls in graceful flight are circling free. 
 
 The silence of the crags is sweet to me : 
 
 It tells of Peace who sitteth violet-crowned 
 
 Of Love and Hope for whom there will be found 
 
 No grave in time or in eternity. 
 
 The morning shows the ocean billows gemmed 
 With sapphire splendour and the hues of turf 
 And heather changing with the changing sun. 
 
 The even brings the heaven all diademed 
 
 With the swift stars, and they their courses run 
 Tuned to the sobbing music of the surf. 
 
 104 
 
ST. PETERSBURG 
 
 ST. PETERSBURG 
 
 TsARiTSA of the Russian land is she. 
 
 And Moscow is the widowed dowager. 
 And Novgorod has proved 'tis not for her 
 To rule the realm by her antiquity. 
 
 The spires and domes that dominate the sea 
 
 Rise from the marsh where once grew birch and fir. 
 And howl of wolf gives place to clank of spur — 
 How fair she is for all she is not free ! 
 
 Put off thy purple, Moscow, mourn that thou 
 Sitt'st solitary in thy Kremlin towers. 
 The mother's glory is the daughter's now. 
 
 Our Lady of Kazan booms forth the hours 
 On Neva's current cut by prow on prow 
 Steered north to lands of ice from lands of flowers. 
 
 105 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 WARSAW 
 
 The smoke-clouds of a hundred cannon roll 
 On that broad river glorious for its past, 
 Where now there floats from every wharf and 
 
 mast 
 The banner of the Russ and not the Pole. 
 
 'Tis the Tsaritsa's name-day, hers who stole 
 A kingdom from its kings, till at the last 
 She wore the crown that once Sobieski cast 
 Down from his brow in bitterness of soul. 
 
 The city maketh glad because she must, 
 
 She loveth not her victors trampling down 
 Her freedom and her greatness in the dust. 
 
 Speak not of Czartoryski, lest a frown 
 
 Rise to the Tartar spearman's eyes, nor trust 
 Where dwells the Muscovite to old renown. 
 
 io6 
 
IMATRA 
 
 IMATRA 
 
 Mile after mile of silence, then at last 
 
 A murmur as of thunder when the signs 
 Of distant storm appal and at the blast 
 Each listening tree her graceful head inclines. 
 
 The sadness of the woods is overpast. 
 
 There gleams through moss and fern and wood- 
 land bines 
 Steep swiftness of the mighty waters cast 
 South from Sairaa, roaring through the pines. 
 
 The rainbowed cataracts a moment stand. 
 
 Then vanish, and the stream is still and gray 
 As the decorous lake at Wilmanstrand. 
 
 Like Imatra foam happy hours away 
 
 So swift they hardly touch life's rock-bound land 
 Ere comes the calm of common day by day. 
 
 107 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 AVIGNON 
 
 The severed bridge still crosses half the Rhone 
 
 Beneath the church where Petrarch gave away 
 
 A poet's heart one sunny April day,i 
 
 And love from seedling waxed to rose full-blown. 
 
 Magnificence of popes that had outgrown 
 
 Avignon's winding walls^ the sin that lay 
 Unblushing in her palacCj^ what were they 
 To him who bowed before a purer throne ? 
 
 The banquets and the dances, let them be ; 
 In scorn he gets him from frivolity 
 To touch within a span supremest art. 
 
 For once together love and learning dwell — 
 He died — a broken bridge remains to tell 
 Of Laura and of Petrarch's broken heart. 
 
 ' Petraich first saw Laura in the church of St. Clare at Avignon, 
 on April 6, 1327. 
 2 See the sonnet— 
 
 ' Fiamrnm del ciel su le tue treooie piova.' 
 
 I08 
 
TARRAGONA 
 
 TARRAGONA 
 
 The northern sky is dark with cloud and rain, 
 
 March hath put forth his hand all red and cold 
 With cruel winds from Ural passes rolled 
 Exulting as they sweep the Cossack plain. 
 
 Haste thee afar, and seek in smiling Spain 
 
 Vines newly pruned, young lemons tinged with 
 
 gold. 
 Lone mountain choirs where swing the bells that 
 
 tolled 
 For men-at-arms by Drake and Howard slain. 
 
 Haste thee till 'twixt yon palm and olive tree 
 Thou mark the trading hulls from Italy 
 By snowy sails and swarthy helmsmen driven. 
 
 The sea and sky are all to-day one blue. 
 
 Save for one rounded cloud of fairer hue 
 Voyaging in immeasurable heaven. 
 
 109 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 BOLOGNA 
 
 I GO from colonnade to colonnade 
 
 In streets that Dante trod, and past the towers 
 Aslant toward heaven, and listen to the hours 
 Chimed by the bells of choirs where Dante prayed. 
 
 They cease ; then lo ! the foot of time seems stayed 
 Five hundred years and more : I find me bowers 
 Where sweet and noble ladies weave them flowers 
 For one who reads Petrarca in the shade. 
 
 The cowled students halt by twos and threes 
 
 To hear the voice come thrilling through the trees. 
 Then tear themselves away to themes more trite. 
 
 Anon I mark the diligent hands that turn 
 
 Unlovely parchment scrolls whereby to learn 
 The beauty of inexorable right. 
 
 no 
 
RAVENNA 
 
 RAVENNA 
 
 Ravenna, thy strait streets with heart of ice 
 
 Guide's strange guest hath trod, the crown of bay 
 Around his brow still sprinkled with the spray 
 Wind-wafted from the founts of Paradise. 
 
 Freighted with Gades gold and Smyrna spice 
 Venetian galleys passed the plain where lay 
 Thy red church towers and bastions grim and gray 
 And river fields where waved the ripening rice. 
 
 Well Dante loved thee, for it was in thee 
 
 Francesca saw the light what time the snow 
 Dissolved in April on the Apennines. 
 
 It seemed her voice that wailed upon the sea 
 
 When tempests crossed the gulf from Cattaro 
 And westward bent the Adriatic pines. 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 RAVENNA 
 
 Nigh to where Po finds peace within the sea i 
 
 Two of earth's greatest sleep in dreamless rest, 
 Poet and king alike in earth's broad breast 
 Await the judgment of the days to be. 
 
 Ravenna holds their ashes, proud that she 
 Hath San Vitale, glory of the West, 
 And prouder that a noble exile blessed 
 Her prince and people for their charity. 
 
 Amasaluntha reared without the walls 
 
 The simple sepulchre of him whose sword 
 
 Won empire from the trembling hands of Rome. 
 
 Eight hundred years — in San Vitale stalls 
 
 Mass-hackled priests their Latin chants outpoured. 
 Men carried Dante to his last long home. 
 
 ' Dante, Inf. v. 97. 
 
 112 
 
SAN MARINO 
 
 SAN MARINO 
 
 A THOUSAND years hath lived the little state, 
 Nearest to heaven of states of Italy, 
 Her righteous rule and law of liberty 
 Her weapons for the vanquishing of fate. 
 
 No foeman watches greedy at her gate. 
 Scant gold is hoarded in her treasury, 
 The nations call to arms, but sitteth she 
 Aloof, ambitionless, dispassionate. 
 
 Would that her lot were mine, that mine it were 
 To look from heights above the world's unrest 
 And' hear no sound of battle in the air ; 
 
 To build me in the mountain fern my nest ^ 
 
 And feel great Nature round me everywhere 
 Till I am gathered to her pitying breast ! 
 
 "3 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 GENOA 
 
 Above, a cloister of the Apennines, 
 
 A tall Franciscan brother cowled in brown ; 
 Beneath, the tidal throbbing of the town 
 And ironclad ships and terraces of vines. 
 
 The middle with the modem age combines, 
 Antiquity bids shave his tonsured crown, 
 While Manchester hath woven him his gown 
 And Lombardy adulterates his wines. 
 
 He speaks me courteous words, he knoweth men. 
 Books old and new, and prose and poetry, 
 Ligurian eloquence in all finds theme. 
 
 Great guns boom forth, 'tis vespertide, and then 
 
 He must to prayer, and thoughts he leaves with me 
 Of babbling ballad and of sonnet stream. 
 
 114 
 
TRIPOLI 
 
 TRIPOLI 
 
 A THOUSAND years of change change not the face 
 Of that red desert with her sea of sand, 
 And on her shores and islands palms that stand 
 Her only wealth, her solitary grace. 
 
 Here touched bold traders of mysterious race, 
 Phoenician or Iberian, then the strand 
 Was cut by keels that brought a Vandal band, 
 Then came the Frank with fire, the Moor with 
 mace. 
 
 Perchance TertuUian in this wilderness 
 
 Saw merchants on their patient camels bind 
 Burnouse and sandal dyed with Libyan blue. 
 
 Islam since then hath risen, merciless 
 
 As Mecca bums the fierce Sahara wind 
 
 In triumph from the mosques of Timbuctoo. 
 
 IIS 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 DELOS 
 
 Rocks girt with sponge and sea-anemone ; 
 Wherefore do waves of the Mgean kiss 
 So lovingly as bare a shore as this ? 
 It is a shore, saith FamCj beloved of me. 
 
 Apollo mused of glorious things to be 
 
 Amid those rocks, and thither Artemis 
 
 Came from the east and heard the billows hiss 
 
 Slow surging upward from the violet sea. 
 
 Sometimes are days when in the evening sky 
 The solitary shepherd of the isle 
 Marks the moon shape her like a silver bow. 
 
 Or stays his folk-song at the distant cry 
 
 Of Spartan hounds that with their huntress go 
 Apace through olive orchards mile on mile. 
 
 ii6 
 
NON CUCULLUS FACIT MONACHUM 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS 
 
 NON CUCULLUS FACIT MONACHUM 
 
 HarKj hark, the silver trumpet, hark the tread 
 
 Of chargers' hoofs, and hark the hoarse com- 
 mand ! — 
 Ah God ! what do I ? I that here must stand 
 The servant of the Lord till I am dead. 
 
 They come ! I see the knightly pennons spread ; 
 White horses ! certes, 'tis Dirk Sijver's band — 
 Forgive me, Lord, but on the quays of Gand — 
 And where my sword struck home the earth was 
 red. 
 
 That day in June when all the city came 
 
 To see the joust 'twixt me and Chevenix, 
 And from the lists alive one only went ! 
 
 That other day — avaunt, base thoughts, in shame 
 Until I lose before the crucifix 
 Vile memories of pomp and tournament ! 
 
 H 2 117 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 FAME AND DEATH 
 
 Deep strikes his share who ploughs the field of fame, 
 Wherein is shed the seed that tardily 
 Through rigour of the winter grows to be 
 Divine surprise of flowers that bear a name ; 
 
 A name of such as painteth bold of aim 
 
 The glow and gleam and glamour of the sea^ 
 
 Or culls in song the immortality 
 
 Of infinite sweetness from the world's great frame ; 
 
 A frame, ah me ! that sometimes holds the grave 
 
 Of them who sowed the seed and held the plough 
 When others reaped the promise of the field ; 
 
 A field where sickle-ripe the harvests wave 
 
 More fertile for the tombs beneath, and yield 
 The heaviest ears hard by the burial howe. 
 
 ii8 
 
OLD ENGLISH POETRY 
 
 OLD ENGLISH POETRY 
 
 There was no age when England's voice was dumb 
 Amid the chorus paramount in song, 
 They do our fathers not a little wrong 
 Who deem them nought but fierce and quarrel- 
 some. 
 
 Yea, even as the honey-bees will hum 
 
 Round arid saxifrage in ardent throng. 
 
 So out of words and grammar harsh and strong 
 
 Men beat out Be6wulf and the Ormulum. 
 
 Scorn not their writing, seek in them to find 
 Heart-poetry that strove in vain for phrase, 
 And look with kindly eye on Layamon. 
 
 They sowed their seed beside the stony ways. 
 It is the centuries that reap and bind. 
 Maybe that Caedmon gave us Tennyson. 
 
 119 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 CIVITAS DEI 
 
 ' The Goth in the Eternal City stands. 
 
 Barbarian foemen smirch her lustihead, 
 Her victories are numbered with the dead. 
 The sceptre trembles in her nerveless hands.' 
 
 ' There is a state not rich in wealth of lands, 
 But ruling over hearts of men instead, 
 To virtue all her citizens are bred. 
 By love she reigns, by justice she commands.' 
 
 ' Hath she a thought for such as mourn a home 
 Dismantled and the flaming towers of Rome, 
 A Rome wherein the triumph song hath ceased .' ' 
 
 ' She hath such thought, yea, even for her foes, 
 Her enemies may be, full well she knows. 
 Her citizens before the fall of day.' 
 
A C(EUR VAILLANS RIENS IMPOSSIBLE 
 
 A CCEUR VAILLANS RIENS IMPOSSIBLE 
 (The Motto of Jacques Coeur at Bourges) 
 
 Lady of beauty, worshipping I fall 
 
 Before thy stately presence and confess 
 The subtle magic of thy seemlinesSj 
 Humility is fitting for a thrall. 
 
 Lady of music, see in me a Saul, 
 
 In thee a David charming my distress. 
 The spirit of the highest art I bless 
 That giving music to the soul gives all. 
 
 Lady of love, love dwells not in thine eyes. 
 
 Thou hast no ring beneath thy little glove. 
 Would one were there, would it were given by me ! 
 
 Lady of beauty, music, and of love, 
 
 Hope whispers to me with a wild surmise, 
 ' Brave hearts know not impossibility.' 
 
 121 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Oi est h Rommant de la Rose 
 Ou Vart d! Amors est tote enclose. 
 
 Old Jean de Meung, thou hadst a good conceit 
 
 Of thy skilled scholar's hand, endeavouring thee 
 
 To set the art of love forth fetously 
 
 On vellum scored with script full new and neat. 
 
 Thy verse was debonair, thy rimes were meet. 
 But didst thou never heed the jeopardy? 
 Difficile comtnunia dicere, 
 And tares are mingled with thy choicest wheat. 
 
 Perchance thou wast a clerk and hadst not known 
 Marvel of eyes that answered to thine own 
 With tranquil depth to match the sea in calm. 
 
 Wherefore hath Love pronounced on thee this doom. 
 That Lethe circles thy forgotten tomb, 
 Its only garland is of withered palm. 
 
VENTURES IN VERSE 
 
 Che senza sperm vivemo in disio. 
 
 O Lady Beauty, I have sought for thee, 
 
 Striving to find thee in the shining hair 
 Of maiden in her prime or in the air 
 Shimmering shyly on a summer sea ; 
 
 Or in the apple-blossom from its tree 
 
 Shaken by spring to render earth more fair. 
 Or in the mountain peaks by snow made bare, 
 Or in the reed-fringed rill of lowland lea. 
 
 Yea, I have sought for thee and I have found 
 A part of thee, the whole of thee not yet. 
 And only touched thee as thou passedst by. 
 
 Thy smile is on the summits dayspring-crowned. 
 Thy tears are on the April violet. 
 Reveal thyself to me before I die. 
 
 123 
 
Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty 
 at the Edinburgh University Press 
 
A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS 
 
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 PUBLISHERS : LONDON 
 
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 14 
 IS 
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 SEPTEMBER 1898 
 
Messrs. Methuen's 
 
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 Travel and Adventure 
 
 NORTHWARD: OVER THE GREAT ICE. By R. E. 
 Pbary. With over 800 Illustrations, Maps and Diagrams. Two 
 ' Volumes, 1100 pp. Demy%vo. y^s. net. 
 
 In this important work Lieutenant Peary tells the storjf of his travels and adven- 
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 THROUGH ASIA. By SvEN Hedin. With 250 Illustrations 
 from Sketches and Photographs by the Author, and 10 Maps. Two 
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 In this book Dr. Sven Hedin, the distinguished Swedish explorer, describes his 
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 In adventurous interest and substantial results in various departments of know- 
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 'explorers of the past, from Marco Polo downwards. 
 
 The Gold Medals of the Royal Geographical Society and of the Russian Geographical 
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 THE HIGHEST ANDES. By E. A. FitzGerald. With 
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 Royal %vo, 30J. net. 
 
 Also, a Small Edition on Handmade Paper, limited to 50 Copies, 
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 A narrative of the highest climb yet accomplished. _ The illustrations have been 
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 CHITRAL : The Story of a Minor Siege. By SiR G. S. Robert- 
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 Clark, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Lincoln College. %vo. 12s. 6d. 
 
 ' A work which will certainly be appealed to for many years as the standard book on 
 the Colleges of Oxford.' — Athenaum, 
 
 Perrens. THE HISTORY OF FLORENCE FROM 1434 
 TO 1492. By F. T. Perrens. Zvo. izs, 6d. 
 
 A history of Florence under the domination of Cosimo, Fiero, and Lorenzo de 
 Medicis. 
 
 J. Wells. A SHORT HISTORY OF ROME. By J. Wells, 
 
 M-A., Fellow and Tutor of Wadham Coll., Oxford. With 4 Maps. 
 
 Crown Svo, ^s, 6d. 
 This book is intended for the Middle and Upper Forms of Public Schools and for 
 
 Pass Students at the Universities. It contains copious Tables, etc. 
 * An original work written on an original plan, and with uncommon freshness and 
 
 vigowi.''^^peaker, 
 
 0. Browning. A SHORT HISTORY OF MEDIEVAL ITALY, 
 A.D. 1250-1530. By Oscar Browning, Fellow and Tutor of King's 
 College, Cambridge. Second Edition. In Two Volumes. Crown 
 Svo. $s. each. 
 
 Vol. I. 1250-1409; — Guelphs and Ghibellines. 
 Vol. II. 1409-1530. — The Age of the Condottieri. 
 
 ' Mr. Browning is to be congratulated on the production of a work of immense 
 labour and learning.' — Westtninster Gazette. 
 
 CGrady. THE STORY OF IRELAND. By Standish 
 O'Gradv, Author of ' Finn and his Companions.' Cr. Svo. 2s. 6d. 
 'Most delightful, most stimulating. Its racy humour, its original imaginings, 
 make it one of the freshest, breeziest volumes.' — Metkodist Times. 
 
14 Messrs. methuens i-ist 
 
 Biography 
 
 S. Baring Gould. THE LIFE OF NAPOLEON BONA- 
 PARTE. By S. Baring Gould. With over 450 Illustrations in 
 the Text and 12 Photogravure Plates. Large quarto. Gilt top, 36J. 
 
 'The best biography of Napoleon in our tongue, nor have the French as good a 
 biographer of their hero. A book very nearly as good as Southey's " Life of 
 Nelson." ' — Manchester Guardian. 
 
 'The main feature of this gorgeous volume is its great wealth of beautiful photo- 
 gravures and finely-executed wood engravings, constituting a complete pictorial 
 chronicle of Napoleon I.'s personal history from the days of his early childhood 
 at Ajaccio to the date of his second interment,' — Daily Telegraph. 
 
 ' Nearly all the illustrations are real contributions to\C\s^oty .' —Westminster Gazette. 
 
 Morris Fuller. THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF JOHN 
 DAVENANT, D.D. {1571-1641), Bishop of Salisbury. By Morris 
 Fuller, B.D. Demy ivo. 10s. 6d. 
 
 J.]y[.Kigg. ST. ANSELM OF CANTERBURY: A Chapter 
 IN THE History of Religion. By J. M. Rigg. DemySvo. Js. 6d. 
 
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 an interesting chapter to the history of the Norman period.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 F. W. Joyce. THE LIFE OF SIR FREDERICK GORE 
 OUSELEY. By F. W. Joyce, M.A. ^s. 6d. 
 
 ' This book has been undertaken in quite the right spirit, and written with sjmipatby, 
 insight, and considerable literary skill.' — Times. 
 
 W. G. CoUingwood. THE LIFE OF JOHN RUSKIN. By 
 W. G. CoLLiNGWOOD, M.A. With Portraits, and 13 Drawings by 
 
 Mr, Ruskin. Second Edition. 2 vols, Svo, 32^, 
 
 * No more magnificent volumes have been published for a long time.' — Times. 
 
 ' It is long since we had a biography with such delights of substance and of form. 
 Such a book is a pleasure for the day, and a joy for ever.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 C. Waldstein. JOHN RUSKIN. By Charles Waldstein, 
 M.A. With a Photogravure Portrait. Post 8vo. ^s. 
 ' A thoughtful and well-written criticism of Ruskin's teaching.* — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 A. M. F. Darmesteter. THE LIFE OF ERNEST KENAN. By 
 
 Madame Darmesteter. With Portrait. Second Edition, Cr, %vo, 6j. 
 
 * A polished gem of biography, superior in its kind to any attempt that has been made 
 
 of recent years in England. Madame Darmesteter has indeed written for English 
 
 readers " The Life of Ernest Renan."' — Atheneeu-m. 
 ' It is a fascinating and biographical and critical study, and an admirably finished 
 
 work of literary art.' — Scots-man. 
 ' It is interpenetrated with the dignity and charm, the mild, bright, classical grace of 
 
 form and treatment that Renan himself so loved ; and it fulfils to the uttermost 
 
 the delicate and difficult achievement it sets out to accomplish. ' — Academy. 
 
 W. H. Hutton. THE LIFE OF SIR THOMAS MORE. By 
 W. H. Hutton, M.A. With Portraits, Crown %vo, 5j. 
 
 ' The book lays good claim to high rank among our biographies. It is excellently, 
 even lovingly, written.' — Scotsman. * An excellent monograph.' — Times. 
 
Messrs*^ Methuen's List ij 
 
 Travel, Adventure and Topography 
 
 H. H. Johnston. BRITISH CENTRAL AFRICA. By Sir 
 
 H. H. Johnston, K.C.B. With nearly Two Hundred Illustrations, 
 and Six Maps. Second Edition, Crown ^to. 30J, net. 
 
 'A fascinating book, written with equal skill and charm— the work at once of a 
 literary artist and of a man of action who is singularly wise, brave, and experi- 
 enced. It abounds in admirable sketches from pencil.' — Westminster Gazette. 
 
 ' A delightful book . . . collecting within the covers of a single volume all that is 
 known of this part of our African domains; The voluminous appendices are of 
 extreme value.* — Manchester Guardian. 
 
 ' The book takes front rank as a standard work by the one man competent to write 
 it.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 L. Decle. THREE YEARS IN SAVAGE AFRICA. By 
 Lionel Decle. With 100 Illustrations and 5 Maps. Second 
 Edition* Demy Szjo. 21s. 
 
 * A fine, full hooW— Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 * Abounding m thrilling adventures.'— ZJaz'/j/ Telegraph. 
 
 * His book is profusely illustrated, and its bright pages give a better genera! survey 
 
 of Africa from the Cape to the Equator than any single volume that has yet been 
 published." — Times, 
 'A delightful book.' — Academy* 
 
 * Astonishingly frank. Every pagedeserves close attention.* — Literature. 
 
 ' Unquestionably one of the most interesting books of travel which have recently 
 
 appeared . '—»y^<!i;»£/a7'i!^. 
 ' The honest impressions of a keeh-eyed and intrepid traveller.' — Scoisvtan. 
 
 * Appealing powerfully to the popular imagination.' — Globe, 
 
 Henri of Orleans. FROM TONKIN TO INDIA. By Prince 
 Henri of Orleans. Translated by Hamley Bent, M.A. With 
 100 Illustrations and a Map. Crown ^to, gilt top. 25^. 
 
 * A welcome contribution to our knowledge. The narrative is full and interesting, 
 
 and the appendices give the work a substantial value.' — Times. 
 ' The Prince's travels are of real importance . . . his services to geography have been 
 considerable. The volume is beautifully illustrated.' — Athenceum.. 
 
 R, S. S. Baden-PoweU. THE DOWNFALL OF PREMPEH. 
 A Diary of Life in Ashanti, 1895. By Colonel Baden-Powell. 
 With 21 Illustrations and a Map. Cheaper Edition. Large Crown 
 %vo. 6j. 
 
 * A compact, faithful, most readable record of the campaign.' — Daily News. 
 
 R. S. S, Baden-PoweU. THE MATABELE CAMPAIGN, 1896. 
 By Colonel Baden-Powell. With nearly 100 Illustrations. Cheaper 
 Edition. Large Crown %vo. 6s. 
 ' As a straightforward account of a great deal of plucky work unpretentiously done, 
 this book is well worth reading.' — Times. 
 
 S. L. Hinde. THE FALL OF THE CONGO ARABS. By 
 S. L. Hinde, With Plans, etc. Demy 8vo. 12s. 6d. 
 
 * The book is full of good things, and of sustained interest.' — St. James's Gazette. 
 
 ' A graphic sketch of one of the most exciting and important episodes in the struggle 
 for supremacy in Central Africa between the Arabs and their European rivals.'— 
 Times. 
 
i6 Messrs. methuens i^ist 
 
 A. St. H. Gibbons. EXPLORATION AND HUNTING IN 
 CENTRAL AFRICA. By Major A. St. H. Gibbons, F.R.G.S. 
 With 8 full-page Illustrations by C. Whvmper, 25 Photographs and 
 Maps. Demy 8wo. 15^. 
 
 * His book is a grand record of quiet, unassuming, tactful resolution. His adven- 
 
 tures were as various as his sporting exploits were exciting.' — Times. 
 
 E. H. Alderson. WITH THE MOUNTED INFANTRY AND 
 
 MASHONALAND FIELD FORCE, 1896. By Lieut. -Colonel 
 
 Alderson. With numerous Illustrations and Plans. Devty%vo. \os.6d, 
 
 'An interesting contribution to the story of the British Empire's growth,' — Daily 
 
 News. 
 ' A clear, vigorousj and soldier-like narrative.' — Scotsman, 
 
 Seymour Vandeleur. CAMPAIGNING ON THE UPPER 
 NILE AND NIGER. By Lieut. Seymour Vandeleur. With 
 an Introduction by Sir G. GoLDiE, K.C.M.G. With 4 Maps, 
 Illustrations, and Plans. Large Crown Svo. los. 6d. 
 Upon the African question there is no book procurable which contains so much of 
 value as this one.' — G-uardian, 
 
 Lord Fincastle. A FRONTIER CAMPAIGN. By the Viscount 
 FiNCASTLB, V.C, and Lieut. P. C. Elliott-Lockhart. With a 
 Map and 16 Illustrations. Second Edition. Crown %vo. 6j. 
 
 * An admirable book, combining in a volume a piece of pleasant reading for the 
 
 general reader, and a really valuable treatise on frontier war.' — Athenamn. 
 
 J. K. Trotter. THE NIGER SOURCES. By Colonel J. K. 
 
 Trotter, R. A. With a Map and Illustrations. Crown %vo. f,s. 
 ' A most interesting as well as a lucidly and modestly written book.' — Spectator. 
 
 Michael Davitt. LIFE AND PROGRESS IN AUSTRAL- 
 ASIA. By Michael Davitt, M.P. With 2 Maps. Crotun%vo. 
 6s, 5*^0 pp. 
 
 ' An interesting and suggestive work.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 'Contains an astonishing amount of practical information.' — Daily Mail. 
 ' One of the most valuable contributions to our store of Imperial literature that has 
 been published for a very long time,' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 W. Crooke. THE NORTH-WESTERN PROVINCES OF 
 INDIA : Their Ethnology and Administration. By W. 
 Crooke. With Maps and Illustrations. Demy Svo. los. 6d. 
 ' A carefully and well-written account of one of the most important provinces of the 
 Empire. ^ Mr. Crooke deals with the land in its physical aspect, the province 
 underHindoo and Mussulman rule, under British rule, its ethnology and sociology, 
 its religious and social life, the land and its settlement, and the native peasant. 
 The illustrations are good, and the map is excellent.' — Manchester Guardian* 
 
 A. Boisragon. THE BENIN MASSACRE. By Captain 
 
 BoiSRAGON. Second Edition. Crown Svo. ^s. 6d, 
 
 ' If the story had been written four hundred years ago it would be read to-day as an 
 English classic' — Scotsman. 
 
 *If anything could enhance the horror and the pathos of this remarkable book it is 
 ihe simple style of the author, who writes as he would talk, unconscious of his 
 own heroism, with an artlessness which is the highest art.' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 17 
 
 H. S. Cowper. THE HILL OF THE GRACES : OR, the Great 
 Stone Temples of Tripoli. By H. S. Cowper, F.S.A. With 
 Maps, Plans, and 75 Illustrations. Demy %vo. \Qs. dd. 
 Forms a valuable chapter of what has now become quite a large and important 
 branch of antiquarian research.' — Titties. 
 
 W. Kinnaird Rose. WITH THE GREEKS IN THESSALY. 
 By W. Kinnaird Rose, Renter's Correspondent. With Plans and 
 23 Illustrations. Crown %vo. ds. 
 
 W. B. Worsfold. SOUTH AFRICA. By W. B. Worsfold, 
 M.A. With a Map. Second Edition. Crown %vo. 6s. 
 ' A monumental work compressed into a very moderate compass.' — World. 
 
 Naval and Milit 
 
 ary 
 
 G. W. Steevens. NAVAL POLICY : By. G. W. Steevens. 
 Demy ivo. 6s. 
 This book is a description of the British and othermore important navies of the world, 
 with a sketch of the lines on which our naval policy might possibly be developed. 
 ' An extremely able and interesting work.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
 D. Hannay. A SHORT HISTORY OF THE ROYAL NAVY, 
 
 From Early Times to the Present Day. By David Hannay. 
 Illustrated. 2 Vols. Demy %vo. "js. 6d.each. Vol. I., 1200- 1688. 
 We read it from cover to cover at a sitting, and those who go to it for a lively and 
 brisk picture of the past, with all its faults and its grandeur, will not be disappointed. 
 The historian is endowed with literary skill and style.' — Standard. 
 ' We can warmly recommend Mr. Hannay 's volume to any intelligent student of 
 naval history. Great as is the merit of Mr. Hannay's historical narrative, the 
 merit of his strategic exposition is even greater.' — Times, 
 
 C. Cooper King. THE STORY OF THE BRITISH ARMY. By 
 Colonel Cooper King, Illustrated. Demy Svo. "js. 6d. 
 
 ' An authoritative and accurate story of England's military progress.' — Daily Mail. 
 
 ' This handy volume contains, in a compendious form, a brief but adequate sketch of 
 the story of the British army.' — Daily News. 
 
 K. Southey. ENGLISH SEAMEN (Howard, Clifford, Hawkins, 
 Drake, Cavendish). By Robert Southey. Edited, with an 
 Introduction, by David Hannay. Second Edition. CrownZvo. 6s. 
 , 'Admirable and well-told stories of our naval history.' — Army and Navy Gazette 
 'A brave, inspiriting book.' — -Black andWkite. 
 
 W. Clark RusseU. THE LIFE OF ADMIRAL LORD COL- 
 
 LINGWOOD. By W. Clark Russell, With Illustrations by 
 
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 * A book which we should like to see in the hands of every boy in the country.' — 
 
 St. James's Gazette. ' A really good book.' — Saturday Review. 
 
 E. L. S. Horsburgh. THE CAMPAIGN OF WATERLOO. 
 
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 *A brilliant essay — simple, ?ound, and thorough.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
1 8 Messrs. iviKiHuiiiv 
 
 O J_<XO X 
 
 H.B. George. BATTLES OF ENGLISH HISTORY. ByH. B. 
 George, M.A., Fellow of New College, Oxford. With numerous 
 Plans. Third Edition, Crown Svo. 6s. 
 Mr. George has undertaken a very useful task — that of making military affairs in- 
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 able intelligence and industry, and with a large measure of success.' — Times. 
 
 General Literature 
 
 S. Baring Gould. OLD COUNTRY LIFE. By S. Baring 
 Gould. With Sixty-seven Illustrations. Large Crown %vo. Fifth 
 Edition, 6s. 
 ' " Old Country Life," as healthy wholesome reading, full of breezy life and move- 
 ment, full of quaint stories vigorously told, will not be excelled by any book to be 
 published throughout the year. Sound, hearty, and English to the core. ' — JVorld. 
 
 S. Baring Gould. HISTORIC ODDITIES AND STRANGE 
 EVENTS. By S. Baring Gould. J^our^k Edition. Crown %vo. 6s. 
 ' A collection of exciting and entertaining chapters. The whole volume is delightful 
 reading. ' — Times, 
 
 S. Baring Gould. FREAKS OF FANATICISM. By S. Baring 
 Gould. Third Edition. Crown 87/0. 6s. 
 ' A perfectly fascinating book.' — Scottish Leader. 
 
 S. Earing Gould. A GARLAND OF COUNTRY SONG : 
 
 English Folk Songs with their Traditional Melodies. Collected and 
 arranged by S. Baring Gould and H. F. Sheppard. Demy nio. 6s. 
 
 S. Baring Gould. SONGS OF THE WEST: Traditional 
 Ballads and Songs of the West of England, with their Melodies. 
 Collected by S. Baring Gould, M.A., and H. F. Sheppard, 
 M.A. In 4 Parts. Parts I., II., III., y. each. Part IV., Jj. 
 In one Vol., French morocco, \^s, 
 A rich collection of humour, pathos, grace, and poetic fancy.' — Saturday Review, 
 
 S. Baring Gould. YORKSHIRE ODDITIES AND STRANGE 
 EVENTS. By S. Baring Gould. Fourth Edition. Crown %m. 
 6s. 
 
 S. Baring Gould. STRANGE SURVIVALS AND SUPER- 
 STITIONS. By S. Baring Gould. Crown %vo. Second Edition. 
 6s. 
 
 S. Baring Gould. THE DESERTS OF SOUTHERN 
 FRANCE. By S. Baring. Gould. 2 vols. Demy 8vo. 32s. 
 
 Cotton Minchin. OLD HARROW DAYS. By J. G. Cotton 
 
 Minchin. Crown 8vo Second Edition. t,s. 
 *This book is an admirable record.' — Daily Chronicle. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 19 
 
 W. E. Gladstone. THE SPEECHES OF THE RT. HON. 
 
 W. E. GLADSTONE, M.P. Edited by A. W. Button, M. A., 
 and H. J. CoHEN, M.A. With Portraits. Demy Stio. Vols. IX. 
 and X. 12s. 6d. each. 
 
 E. v. Zenker. ANARCHISM. By E. V. Zenker. Demy Zvo. 
 ^s. 6d. 
 
 ' Well-written, and full of shrewd comments.' — Tfie Speaker. 
 
 * Herr Zenker has succeeded in producing a careful and- critical history of the growth 
 
 of Anarchist theory. He is to be congratulated upon a really interesting work.' — 
 Literature. 
 
 H. G. Hutchinson. THE GOLFING PILGRIM. By Horace 
 G. Hutchinson. Crown %vo, 6j. 
 
 ' Full of useful information with plenty of good stories.' — Truth. 
 
 'Without this book the golfer's library will be incomplete.' — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 * We can recommend few books as better company.' — St. James's Gazette. 
 ' It will charm all golfers.' — Times. 
 
 'Decidedly pleasant reading.' — Athenezum. 
 
 J. Wells. OXFORD AND OXFORD LIFE. By Members of 
 the University. Edited by J. Wells, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of 
 Wadham College. Crown Svo, ^s. 6d, 
 ' We congratulate Mr. Wells on the production of a readable and intelligent account 
 of Oxford as it is at the present time, written by persons who are possessed of a 
 close acquaintance with the system and life of the University.' — Aihetueum. 
 
 J.Wells. OXFORD AND ITS COLLEGES. ByJ.WELLS,M.A., 
 Fellow and Tutor of Wadham College. Illustrated by E. H. New. 
 Second Edition. Fcap. %vo. 3J. Leather, 3^. 6(/. 7iet. 
 'An admirable and accurate little treatise, attractively illustrated.' — World, 
 
 * A luminous and tasteful little volume.' — Daily Chronicle, 
 
 * Exactly what the intelligent visitor wants.' — ■Glas.gow Herald, 
 
 C. G. Robertson. VOCES ACADEMIC^E. By C. Grant 
 Robertson, M.A., Fellow of All Souls', Oxford. With a Frontis- 
 piece. Pott. ?ivo. 3j. dd. 
 ' Decidedly clever and amusing.' — Atheneeufic. 
 
 * A clever and entertaining little book.'— Pa:// Mail Gazette. 
 
 L. Whibley. GREEK OLIGARCHIES : THEIR ORGANISA- 
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 of Pembroke College, Cambridge. Crown %vo. 6s. 
 ' An exceedingly useful handbook : a careful and well-arranged study.' — Times. 
 
 L, L. Price. ECONOMIC SCIENCE AND PRACTICE. 
 
 By L. L. Price, M.A., Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. Crown 
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 J. S. Shedlock. THE PIANOFORTE SONATA : Its Origin 
 and Development. By J. S. Shedlock. Crown %vo. t,s. 
 
 ' This work should be in the possession of every musician and amateur. A concise 
 and lucid history and a very valuable work for reference.' — AthentEUm. 
 
 E.M. Bowden. THE EXAMPLE OF BUDDHA: Being Quota- 
 tions from Buddhist Literature for each Day in the Year. Compiled 
 by E. M. Bowden. Third Edition. i6mo. zs. 6d. 
 
20 Messrs. Methuen's j-ist 
 
 Science and Technology 
 
 Freudenreich. DAIRY BACTERIOLOGY. A Short Manual 
 for the Use of Students. By Dr. Ed. von Freudenreich. 
 Translated by J. R. Ainsworth Davis, B. A. Crown %vo 2s. dd. 
 
 Chalmers Mitchell. OUTLINES OF BIOLOGY. By P. 
 Chalmers Mitchell, M.A., Illustrated. Crown %vo. ds. 
 
 A text-book designed to cover the new Schedule issued by the Royal College cf 
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 a.Massee. A MONOGRAPH OF THE MYXOGASTRES. By 
 George Massee. With 12 Coloured Plates. Royal%vo. \%s, net, 
 'A work much in advance of any book in the language treating of this group of 
 organisms. Indispensable to every student of the Myxogastres. ' — Nature. 
 
 Stephenson and Suddards. ORNAMENTAL DESIGN FOR 
 WOVEN FABRICS. By C. Stephenson, of The Technical 
 College, Bradford, and F. SUDDARDS, of The Yorkshire College, 
 Leeds. With 65 fall-page plates. Demy Sw. Js. 6d. 
 ' The book is very ably done, displaying an intimate knowledge of principles, good 
 taste, and the faculty of clear exposition.* — Yorkshire Post. 
 
 HANDBOOKS OF TECHNOLOGY. 
 
 Edited by Professors GARNETT and WERTHEIMER. 
 
 HOW TO MAKE A DRESS. By J. A. E. Wood. 
 
 Illustrated. Crown %vo. is. 6d. ; 
 
 A text-book for students preparing for the City and Guilds examination, based on 
 the syllabus. The diagrams are numerous. 
 
 * Though primarily intended for students, Miss Wood's dainty little manual may be 
 
 consulted with advantage by any girls who want to make their own frocks. The 
 directions are simple and clear, and the diagrams very helpful.' — Literature. 
 
 * A splendid little book.' — Evening Nffws. 
 
 Philosophy 
 
 L. T. Hobhouse. THE THEORY OF KNOWLEDGE. By 
 L. T. HoBHOUSE, Fellow of C.C.C, Oxford. Demy^vo. 21s. 
 ' The most important contribution to English philosophy since the publication of Mr. 
 
 Bradley's " Appearance and Reality." ' — Glasgow Herald. 
 ' A brilliantly written volume.' — Times. 
 
 W. H. Fairbrother. THE PHILOSOPHY OF T. H. GREEN. 
 
 By W. H. Fairbrother, M.A. Crown 8vo. y. 6d. 
 ' In every way an admirable hook.'— Glasgow Herald. 
 
 F. W. Bussell. THE SCHOOL OF PLATO. By F. W. 
 BussELL, D.D., Fellow of Brasenose College, Oxford. Demy %vo. 
 \os. 6d. 
 • A highly valuable contribution to the history of ancient thonghu'—Glasgou/ Herald. 
 ' A clever and stimulating book, — Manchester Guardian. 
 
Messrs. Methuen's List 21 
 
 F. S. Granger. THE WORSHIP OF THE ROMANS. By 
 F. S. Granger, M.A., Litt.D., Professor of Philosophy at Univer- 
 
 ^ sity College, Nottingham. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' A scholarly analysis of the religious cereinonies,heliefs, and superstitions of ancient 
 Rome, conducted in the new light of comparative anthropology.' — Times, 
 
 Theology 
 
 1Ban&I)Oof50 of ZbeolOQ^. 
 
 General Editor, A. Robertson, D.D., Principal of King's College, 
 London. 
 THE XXXIX. ARTICLES OF THE CHURCH OF ENG- 
 LAND. Edited with an Introduction by E. C. S. Gibson, D.D., 
 Vicar of Leeds, late Principal of Wells Theological College. Second 
 and Cheaper Edition in One Volume. Demy %tio. 12s. 6d. 
 
 * Dr. Gibson is a master of clear and orderly exposition. And he has in a hi|;h 
 
 degree a quality very necessary, but rarely found, in commentators on this topic, 
 that of absolute fairness. His book is pre-eminently honest.' — Times. 
 
 * After a survey of the whole book, we can bear witness to the transparent honesty 
 
 of purpose, evident industry, and clearness of style which mark its contents. 
 They maintain throughout a very high level of doctrine and tone.' — Guardian. 
 ' The most convenient and most acceptable commentary.' — Expository Times. 
 
 AN INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF RELIGION. 
 By F. B. Jevons, M.A., Litt.D., Principal of Bishop Hatfield's 
 Hall. Demy %vo, ioj. td, 
 ' Dr. Jevons has written a notable work, which we can strongly recommend to the 
 serious attention of theologians and anthropologists.' — Manchester Guardian. 
 
 * The merit of this book lies in the penetration, the singular acuteness and force of the 
 
 author's judgment. He is at once critical and luminous, at once just and suggestive. 
 A comprehensive and thorough book. ' — Birminghani Post. 
 
 THE DOCTRINE OF THE INCARNATION. By R. L. 
 
 Ottley, M.A., late fellow of Magdalen College^ Oxon.,and Principal 
 of Pusey House. In Two Volumes, Demy^vo. 15^. 
 
 * Learned and reverent : lucid and well arranged.' — Record. 
 
 'A clear and remarkably full account of the main currents of speculation. Scholarly 
 precision . . . genuine tolerance , . , intense interest in his subject — are Mr. 
 Ottley's merits.' — Guardian. 
 
 ^be Cburcbman'0 Xlbrar^, 
 
 Edited by J. H. BURN, B.D. 
 
 THE BEGINNINGS OF ENGLISH CHRISTIANITY. By 
 
 W. E. Collins, M, A., Professor of Ecclesiastical History at King's 
 
 College, London. With Map. Crown Sfo. ^s. 6d. 
 An investigation in detail, based upon original authorities, of the beginnings of the 
 
 English Church, with a careful account of earlier Celtic Christianity. Some very 
 
 full appendices treat of a number of special subjects. 
 ' An excellent example of thorough and fresh historical work. — Guardian. 
 
 SOME NEW TESTAMENT PROBLEMS. By ARTHUR 
 Wright, Fellow of Queen's College, Cambridge. Crown Svo 6s. 
 ' Bold and outspoken ; earnest and reverent.' — Glasgow Herald. 
 
22 Messrs. methuen s j-,ist 
 
 S. E. Driver. SERMONS ON SUBJECTS CONNECTED 
 WITH THE OLD TESTAMENT. By S. R. Driver, D.D., 
 Canon of Christ Church, Regius Professor of Hebrew in the Uni- 
 versity of Oxford. Crown Svo. 6s. 
 ' A welcome companion to the author's famous ' Introduction/ — Guardian. 
 
 T. K. Cheyne. FOUNDERS OF OLD TESTAMENT CRITI- 
 CISM. By T. K. Cheyne, D.D., Oriel Professor at Oxford. 
 Large crown %vo. Is. 6d. 
 A historical sketch of O. T. Criticism. 
 * A very learned and instructive work.' — Times. 
 
 H. H. Henson. DISCIPLINE AND LAW. By H. Hensley 
 Hbnson, B.D., Fellow of All Souls', Oxford; Incumbent of St. 
 Mary's Hospital, Ilford ; Chaplain to the Bishop of St. Albans. 
 FcaJ). Siio. 2s. 6d. 
 ' An admirable little volume of Lent addresses. We warmly commend the general 
 drift of Mr. Henson's book.' — Guardian. 
 
 H. H. Henson. LIGHT AND LEAVEN : Historical and 
 Social Sermons. By H. Hensley Henson, M.A. Crown Zvo. 
 (>s. 
 
 ' They are always reasonable as well as vigorous. ' — Scotsman. 
 
 W. H. Bennett. A PRIMER OF THE BIBLE. By Prof. 
 
 W. H. Bennett. Second Edition. Crown %vo. 2s. 6d. 
 *The work of an honest, fearless, and sound critic, and an excellent guide in a small 
 
 compass to the books of the Bible.' — Manchester Guardian^ 
 'A unique primer.' — English Church-man. 
 
 C.H. Prior. CAMBRIDGE SERMONS. Edited by C.H. Prior, 
 M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Pembroke College. Crown %vo. 6j. 
 A volume of sermons preached before the University of Cambridge by various 
 preachers, including the late Archbishop of Canterbury and Bishop Westcott. 
 
 Cecilia Eobinson. THE MINISTRY OF DEACONESSES. 
 By Deaconess Cecilia Robinson. With an Introduction by the 
 Lord Bishop of Winchester and an Appendix by Professor Armitage 
 Robinson. Crown 8vo. y. 6d. 
 
 *A learned and interesting book, combining with no ordinary skill the authority of 
 learned research with the practical utility of a descriptive manual of parish work.' 
 — Scotsman. 
 
 E. B. Layard. RELIGION IN BOYHOOD. Notes on the 
 Religious Training of Boys. By E. B. Layard, M.A. i8oto. i.r. 
 
 W. Yorke Fausset. THE DB CATECHIZANDIS 
 
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Messrs. Methuen's List 23 
 
 k Kempis. THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. By Thomas a 
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 late Student of Christ Church. 
 
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 THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. A Revised Translation, 
 
 with an Introduction, by C. Bigg, D.D., late Student of Christ 
 
 Church- 
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24 Messrs. Methuen's ost 
 
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 JOHN DONNE. By AUGUSTUS JESSOPP, D.D. 
 THOMAS CRANMER. By A. J. Mason. 
 
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Messrs. Methuen's List 25 
 
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26 MESsks. ivii!,r±iUJiJN & i-iisi 
 
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Messrs. Methuen's List 27 
 
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28 Messrs. methuens i^ist 
 
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Messrs. Methuen's List 29 
 
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30 MESSks. Xviiiitiui-JN b J-ilbT 
 
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Messrs. Methuen's List 31 
 
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32 Mes 
 
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