afdrttell UniocrBity Eibtary atljaca. New Inrk BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE SAGE ENDOWMENT FUND THE GIFT OF HENRY W. SAGE 1891 Cornell University Library PR6013.A37S6 Skylark and swallow. 3 1924 013 615 186 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013615186 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW BX THE SAME AUTHOR [David in Heaven Ballads and Carols A Posy of Folk Songs A Parson in Arcadjr Etc., etc., etc. TO BESSIE AND FRED SKYLARK AND SWALLOW R. U: GALES The skylark sings high in the air, The swallow darts here and there. LONDON, W.C.I ERSKINE MACDONALD LTD. W 'w f}5 Ai^ Rights Reserved. Cofyright in the United States of America hy Erskine Macdonald Ltd, First Published ig20 {• Jis.^^ ' ^i^l^ '- ^ ^ a<^>i-* vv V I DAVID IN HEAVEN (Crown 8vo, boards, 3s. 6d. net) The Athenamn says : ' What Mr. Gales has given us is poetry instinct with glow, atmo- sphere, and tenderness, and further, in the few pieces which are not concerned with religion, lit with pleasant capriciousness, and with touches of a quality which recalls Herrick. ' The Observer says : ' Many people, remembering his Studies in Arcady and his delight- ful Posy of Folk Songs, keep on the look-out for the work of the Rev. R. L. Gales. It has qualities of simplicity and freshness which are most attractive, and are to be found on every page of his new book of poems. ' The Spectator says : ' Mr. Gales is a master of delicious harmonies, so new and haunting and compelling, that for his mere gift of music he would deserve high ■ rank. The poems about children are among the best we have seen, and nothing could be more entrancing for children themselves than the 'fairy-tale hagiology of pieces like The Heavenly Noel and The Last Journey, which is a noble hymn. One last word for Mr. Gales's inimitable translations of French folk-songs. ' The Times says : ' The ballad, the folk-song, the carol, the child's rhyme absorb Mr. Gales's poetic activity ; and he catches, with great success, both the naiveti of thought and phrase and the melody of cadence which give them life.' The Expository Times sa3^s : ' The poem which gives its name to the volume, David in Heaven, is daring in conception, but charming in execution.' The Church Times says : ' These are songs which make glad the heart. We ask from Mr, Gales more and yet more.' The Poetry Review says : ' Sib to him who wrote The Burning Babe is the author of David in Heaven and the quaintly mystical, audaciously simple poems that follow. ' The Bookman says : ' One need not be invidious and say that David in Heaven is the most beautiful book of the memorable year, because that would be to compare it with earthly books, whereas it is pure heavenly. Mr. Gales is own brother to the makers of Jerusalem my Happy Home and In a, Valley of the Restful Minde. This is a big claim to make for any poet, but it is substantiated. This is saving grace ; this is gold and spikenard. All the glow, the simplicity, the tender intimacy of the Ages of Faith are here. . .No earthly poet after Mr. Gales. ' Unijor^n with the Above BALLADS AND CAROLS (Crown 8vo, boards, 3s. 6d. net) The Westrnhister Gazette says : ' Mr. Gales's Ballads and Carols are of many strands. They are archaic and grotesque, romantic and humorous, whimsical and tender, grave and fantastic, all his own, and as natural as ' honey or apples or home-made bread.' He is a scrupulous craftsman, though he seems only to write for the love and joy of it, and to walk about his mind as Aladdin walked in the magical garden. Two blessed gifts are his, invention and the witchery of words.' The Church Ti7nes says : ' Mr. Gales's latest volume of verse can but strengthen the admira- tion of that circle of readers over whom he casts a spell. His work has the notes of simplicity and faith which were characteristic of the Middle Ages ; he sings with the freedom of the un-self-conscious. . . Ballads and Carols must take its place beside David in Heaven. A POSY OF FOLK SONGS The English Rn'iew says : ' It is a dewy garland of homely flowers which Mr. Gales has gathered for our delight. . . . We are not so absurd as to attempt to criticise the posy. We can only express our gratitude by telling other folk about it. . We should never know where to stop if we began transcribing out favourites from this priceless book.' The Times says : ' They have the perfect security of work that is more than an exercise. The sympathy of the translator's mind leads to the clearest aptitude of expression. . . . An entrancing naiveti is over all the volume.' The Daily News says : ' The highest compliment we can pay to a translator has been well earned by Mr. Gales. . . . He has gathered his flowers from many lands, and has made them into a posy of delight. We have read these songs many times with increasing pleasure.' The Spectator sa3's : ' Mr. R. L. Gales is a perfect translator for such songs, for he can ring the most musical of changes on the simplest words.' CONTENTS Page THE BEATIFIC VISfoN »....! LADY DAY ....... 4 THE EXPECTATION ..... 7 THE GUESTS ....... 8 NOEL ........ 9 THE TRAVELLERS . . . . . .12 A CHILDERMAS RHYME . . . . . 14 COCKADOODLEDOO ! . . . . •15 THE LAMENT OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN . . I& EASTER EVE ....... I7 THE CHRIST OF GLOUCESTER . . . .21 THE PAGEANT OF HOLY THURSDAY ... 22 MARIA ....... 25 A PRAYER TO OUR LADY ..... 26 ST. PETEr's END ...... 28 A BALLAD OF ST. LAURENCE .... 29 A BALLAD OF ST. URSULA .... 32 HIC REQUIES NOSTRA ..... 39 THE DOOR ....... 40 THE DICE-PLAYER . . . . . .41 viii SKYLARK AND SWALLOW ARCHES OF TRIUMPH THE bishop's cope THE IMAGES .... THE SPADE .... THE SWALLOWS THE SHIP OF SWALLOWS THE GOOSE-GIRL . THE THREE CARDINALS . BUTTERFLIES BEASTS, BIRDS, AND FISHES LONG AGO .... SEARCH THE FLOWER-PEOPLE THRO' HE HAS GONE THE OATH .... Page 43 45 48 52 56 58 60 63 66 69 71 73 75 76 The Author gratefully acknowledges his indebtedness to the Editors of The Nation, The Treasury, The Vineyard, and The Daily News for permission to reprint these poems. THE BEATIFIC VISION Thro' much tribulation The Saints have gained Their Consolation ; They have attained, James who by violence entered in And the thief who heaven did win In another fashion ; Paul who said * Jesus ' five times fifty times In his passion. And Bernard the maker of rhymes. With Margaret-Mary there are seen, And Ludmilla, Martyr, and Queen. The Vision makes their holiday. The Perpetual Spring in which they play Like children gathering May-time buds ; All day they plunder as they will Lilies o* the valley and violets still And little strawberries of the woods. SKYLARK AND SWALLOW They grasp their joy As a child his toy, When the fretful No Of days of snow, Of fogs and mists Dissolves at last, And the treasure is fast In the fat little fists, A bird in the hand. And their great Yes The Saints possess And understand. They play all day with their Desire, Their plaything that can never tire. Their never-wearying picture-book. The wonder-glass in which they look, Their magical kaleidoscope, Their spinning-top, their skipping-rope. Their parasol of pink paper and green. Their rattle and their tambourine. The rocking-horse they ever ride. Their doU's-house in three-storied pride. Their Noah's Ark that fears no weather. Their puzzle now all put together. The doll that still clasped tight they keep When they lie down to praise in sleep, 2 THE BEATIFIC VISION Their ship full-rigged with all her sails, Their gathering fish with golden scales, Their snowy lamb so sweet and meek. Whose fleece is silk to a child's cheek. Their iridescent bubble that does not burst, Omega and Alpha, Last and First. The endless kiss That thrills and charms To perfect bliss. Day and night. Night and day, And alway. Is that great Sight, Their sole Delight, Jesus Christ Who once lay On Mary's breast. In the Eternal Father's arms In Glory and at rest. They see the Father thro' the Son, With the Holy Spirit, Three in One, In the haven after their passage rough They see God and it is enough. LADY DAY (Gabriel, on the day of the Annunciation, announces to Pan, speaking darkly and in figures, that Freedom has entered the world of necessity.) Said Pan to Gabriel, ' You come from far, in sooth ; Have you news to tell 5* . . . In this leafy booth You will find good cheer. Sausage wrapped in vine-leaves. Honey and strong beer ; Rest a moment here.' Said Gabriel to Pan, ' I would fain take breath ; But tell me if you can The way to Nazareth. * I must fly many a mile, But when I come back, (News I shall not lack) I will rest awhile.' * * * * Gabriel's pinions flagged In that stupendous flight, 4 LADY DAY (So it seemed to those Who saw him descend, Watching from their height At the far World's End ;) But the Eternal Word Travelled from His home And entered Mary's womb Like a flash of light. ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ Said Gabriel to Pan, ' Tired are the wings Of one who tidings brings Of a Change for man. ' Darkly I must speak. But in part I tell ; O'er the dumb, blind realm Breaks the perpetual spell. * To-day the opened heavens Have rained upon the earth, That she may break in flower And blossom a new Birth. * Darkly I must speak. But I tell in part ; In the flux of things Beats to-day a Heart.' 5 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW * Then my realm is changed^ There is a change in Fate ; In my world's fast bars You make an open gate ; Something new is here From beyond the stars. What this bodes who can tell i Said Pan to Gabriel. THE EXPECTATION Over the apple-trees with their red load In world's-end orchards, over dark yew woods, O'er fires of sunset glassed in wizard streams. O'er mill and meadow of those farthest lands, Over the reapers, over the sere sails Of homing ships and every breaking wave. Over the haven and the entranced town. O'er hearths aflame with fir-trunks and fir- cones. Over the children playing in the streets. Over the harpers harping on the bridge. O'er lovers in their dream and their desire. There falls from the high heaven a subtle sense Of presage and a deep, expectant hush. And the wise watchers know the time draws on And that amid the snows of that same year The earth will bear her longed-for perfect Fruit. THE GUESTS * Why is there such a dancing din About the Stable of the Inn 5" ' * An old man^ winter-white, is here, A Wayfarer he doth appear.' ' If this be all, why is the night Lit up with this unearthly light f* ' ' A Maid, the fairest maid, is here. Some great Lady she doth appear/ ' But even so, why do there fly Such flocks of Angels from the sky S* ' ' A Babe, a most sweet flower, is here, A Child from Heaven He doth appear.' NOEL Bleak is the night, The weather wild, But June is round The Holy Child. All men and Angels Do their part To light His Eyes And glad His Heart. The Angels sing To harps of gold, But they to Him Are known of old. He smiles at new friends Unafraid, At shepherd-lad And shepherd-maid. He sees the treasures Each one brings, And laughs for joy Of these new things. 9 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW His Eyes grow wide At beads and bells And velvet bands With silver shells ; Roses a-bloom^ Earth's thanks for pardon, Cherries and strawberries From the Queen's garden ; Lizards that dart across The stable-stones, And, carved like Ntirnberg toys, Fragrant fir-cones. Angels and men All the twelve days Give all they can For thanks and praise. With gems and jewels Glittering bright The three Kings come Out of the night. Little St. John Cries out with glee As they bear in Their lighted Tree. lO NOEL The Ox and Ass Upon their straw Chant and respond • Moo * and ' hee-haw.' They have no gifts The Child to please, But they go down Upon their knees. Thirty-three times They *re up and down ; Their praise is heard In all the town. Brave sights and gay Before Him pass j But He loves best The Ox and Ass. II THE TRAVELLERS The Kings have trod Near lands and far, But gained no rest Beneath their star. The Kings have sailed The great salt seas. But to no haven Have won from these. The Kings have travelled The globe of thought. But never found The thing they sought. Like foolish men, In truth most wise. These pilgrims fare To Paradise. Year after year. Day after day. These wayfarers Still seek the Way. 12 THE TRAVELLERS They reach their Goal In a good hour. The Tree of Life Is all in flower. Their journey ends In the ox-stall ; They see at last Their God and All. 13 A CHILDERMAS RHYME Babes in the wood, Babes in the tower, Babes killed at Childermas In an evil hour, Babe safe in Egypt From the tyrant's power ; Wicked uncles, wicked kings. Robbers counting chains and rings. Wicked kings who killed for greed, A good thief who stole for need, Herod gone and crook-back sped. The old villainous uncle dead, When the Babe is crowned a King That good thief will find his meed In a green place where robins sing, Where the holy babes and meek In the wood play hide-and-seek. 14 COCKADOODLEDOO ! COCKADOODLEDOO ! Our Lady *s lost her shoe^ St. Joseph 's lost his lantern, What will they do ^ The Child will be both Shoes and Staff And a Lantern too. In the dark night He '11 be their Light And their Guide so true. Cockadoodledoo ! They that slept for sorrow Wake on a glad morrow, Their goal won, Their travel done. Their trouble thro'. How cunning is His little laugh, His Eyes how blue ! Cockadoodledoo ! The sun is high in Egypt's sky, Cockadoodledoo ! 15 THE LAMENT OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN (From the Latin of an unknown fourteenth- century author.) From her Son parted, Sick with sore pain, Mary to Gabriel Thus did complain. ' Once thou didst greet me " Full of grace, hail," Now filled with anguish. My heart doth fail. ' Next came the message " Our Lord is with thee," Now in the grave He lies. No more with me. ' Words that were honey Once to me said Now are like wormwood, For He is dead.' i6 EASTER EVE High in the dark sky Gleams the gold spire ; The Church is blessing Water and Fire ; The old man of ninety Sings in the choir. Outside the snow flies In fitful showers ; The purple cope Blooms with gold flowers ; The old man sings on Thro' the long hours. That old, old man The words doth know, Since he was seven He has sung so ; They light the Great Candle, He feels its glow. 17 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW Sir Christopher Wren Was not so old As the old man who sings In the dark Church and cold ; The cocks all crow As the sun shows gold. ' AU-e-lui-a ' For the New Fire, For water that slakes The World's desire, For Death dead, They sing in the choir. The Gloria goes Like a lark to the sky. The cages are opened, The birds all fly, Loud clang the bells. The old man sings high. Outside the Church ' Who '11 buy < Who '11 buy < ' Crespelle and fritters And cakes they cry. Inside the Church The old man sings high. i8 EASTER EVE While the old man sings The air grows clear, To men in the town Far things appear. The Churches of Venice Seem most near. They reach out their hands. The children at play, To the domes and towers Long leagues away ; * Christ is Risen ' The old man doth say. There lies outstretched The sea with its sails ; Things very far off The old man too hails ; As he sings his voice For joy breaks and fails. ' AU-e-lui-a ' Higher and higher. For Death dead The notes aspire ; The old man sobs As they sing in the choir. 19 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW The clocks strike twelve, Our life is won ; The old man departs, The Mass is done ; The folk stream out In the Easter sun. 20 THE CHRIST OF GLOUCESTER Our Lord came up from the country. Our Lord that is so dear. He came up from the country Out of Gloucestershire. He came to St. Paul's in London, He stood in the Church and taught. The sinful folk and cripples Unto Him they sought. He lightened poor men's burdens, He brought the storm-tossed peace, As the people drew anigh Him No heart-ache but did cease. But men spread a net and took Him In the time of Spring's green leaves ; To a tall tree they hanged Him, Set between two thieves. ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ Our dear Lord from the Severn, That sweet Lad for love slain. Upon some happy morning That breaks upon earth's pain. As sure as God 's in Gloucester, One day will rise again. 21 THE PAGEANT OF HOLY THURSDAY Angeli deducentes Redemptorem in caelum, extra portas. ' Lift up your heads, ye gates, He comes for Whom Heaven waits.' Angeli intra portas, ' Who doth from Edom come, Like a King returning home 't ' Angeli extra portas. ' Ye doors, fly open wide For One with garments dyed.' Angeli intra portas. ' Who travels in His might From Bozra to the Height ^ ' Redemptor, ' I, from the Cross and Grave, The Just One, strong to save.' Cicada, de Monte Oliveto assumpta in vestimento Salvatoris. * Cri-cri-cri-cri-cri-cri Cri-cri-cri-cri-cri-cri.' 32 THE PAGEANT OF HOLY THURSDAY Sanctus Michael Archangelus, * Why is thy chasuble red Like theirs that the wine-fet tread i * Redemptor, * I trod the wine-press alone When My Father's Will was done/ Sanctus Michael Archangelus, ' What are the wounds in thy hands Thou bringest from those far lands ^ ' Redemptor, * In the house of My friends as was meet They pierced My Hands and My Feet/ Cicada, ' Cri-cri-cri-cri-cri-cri Cri-cri-cri-cri-cri-cri/ Angeli extra portas, * Lift up your heads, ye gates, For the King of Potentates/ Angeli minores intra porter, ' Who is this King of Glory ^ Tell the long-hidden story/ 23 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW Angeli major es intra portas. ' The Lamb from earth's foundation slain, The Lord of Virtues come to reign/ Cicada. * Cri-cri-cri-cri-cri-cri Cri-cri-cri-cri-cri-cri.' 24 MARIA Where Our Lady domineers, Domina, Over the angelic tiers, Regina, As the Gateway she appears, Janua, Of the Bhss of endless years, Maria. Where the Rose is all in flower, Mystica, Where the Hill 's topped by the Tower, Ebumea, Is Our Lady's House and bower, Aurea ; Bring us there in a good hour, Maria. 25 A PRAYER TO OUR LADY Look kindly where poor people are, Mary of Homes, keep trouble far. Shelter beneath thy prayers' wings, Mary of Roses, all young things. Kfeep children warm thro' winds and rains Of cold nights, Mary of Counterpanes. Send us high skies, blue days and fair, Mary of Swallows, bless the air. Pray for the sea with pleading lips. Make storms still, Mary of the Ships. Bring whalers home from Iceland seas To their port, Mary of Oranges. Paint lovers' days a rose-red hue, Mary of Peacocks, green and blue. All wandering men, abroad at night, Mary of Candles, give them light. 26 A PRAYER TO OUR LADY Make a wide space behind their bars For prisoners, Mary of the Stars. Give lightsome hearts to folk that toil, And shining faces, Mary of Oil. To mourners meek that seek thy shrine Give mirth for sadness, Mary of Wine, Shed balm on aching eyes that weep In woods of summer, Mary of Sleep. Mary of Tyrol, thy care be For Flanders and for Brittany. Send soon these weary wars may cease, Mary of Jesus, give us peace. Pray for me as I ring thy chimes In my poor belfry, Mary of Rhymes. 27 ST. PETER'S END Saint Peter on Good Friday went From his long exile home ; On Maundy Thursday he sang Mass With rattle^ pax, and pome. He blessed the oils, he washed the feet Of twelve poor men of Rome. Next day head downward to a cross They tied him with a rope ; * In Thee I believe, true God and Man ; In Thee is all my hope ; Thee I love above all and all in Thee ; I am sorry,' said the Pope. Now when men say Confiteor In hovel or in hall. To Blessed Peter who denied Confess poor sinners all. And to the Chief of sinners, The Blessed Apostle Paul. (, . . Albeit the Pax be not given on Maundy Thursday, yet St. Peter, being fore- warned of his end, gave it in charity to the faithful on that day. . . .) 28 A BALLAD OF ST. LAURENCE Saint Laurence^ deacon of that Guild To which men turned in woe, That raised the low things to the skies And laid the high things low, Heard the old Pope for the last time Sing the Praefatio. Saint Laurence saw the old man pass A rough way to his rest ; ' Thou art too young,' the Prefect said, * To die, for life has zest ; Give me for ransom of thy head The Church's treasure-chest,' Saint Laurence said, * Within three days The treasure thou shalt see ; I promise you that at the sight Amazed you will be ; To splendour more than Caesar has This treasure is the key/ Saint Laurence gathered a great crowd Of sick and poor and old, Of halt, dumb, withered, maimed, and blind. And said with courage bold, 29 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW * This is the treasure of the Church, These are her gems and gold.' Saint Laurence saw the Prefect's face Grow white with scorn thereat ; Then coloured purple by his rage As in a dyer's vat ; That foul wretch, foaming at the mouth, Upon Saint Laurence spat. Saint Laurence looked with steadfast eyes That mocked the torturers' toil. And all the work of racks and ropes. Red iron and hot oil ; The Prefect swore a dreadful oath That he this fish would broil. Saint Laurence thro' the Roman streets They dragged in little ease. He seemed to ribald men of Rome And strangers like to these An Ecce Homo set to scare The birds off from the peas. Saint Laurence seemed a sorry fool In his dalmatic red. As to the gridiron and the fire He thro' the streets was sped ; He signed himself and so lay down Upon his iron bed. 30 A BALLAD OF ST. LAURENCE Saint Laurence in the ardent heat Into a trance did fall ; New lands appeared and distant years As in a crystal ball ; Far off he saw Don Philip kneel In the EscoriaL Saint Laurence felt no scorching pain On the graticola ; Sweet tears came as his eyes beheld A river shining far, He heard the beat of rustic feet To flutes of Canada. Saint Laurence from the love of God Nor death nor life could part, Nor noise of trumpets and of drums, Nor whips nor hangman's cart ; To see Saint Laurence honoured It does me good at heart. Saint Laurence wears the Martyr's crown, He clearly sees to-day What he saw then per speculum Et in enigmate ; Wherefore we ask that Martyr blest That he for us will pray. 31 A BALLAD OF ST. URSULA The paynim King of England His messengers did send To ask the hand of Ursula, Princess of the World's End. Ursula was the fairest maid, Strange countries knew her fame. Her eyes they were sweet shining stars, Her hair was a gold flame. Ursula's candle was alight Whatever way she trod. She wore beneath her gold brocade A hallowed Lamb of God. That Christmas Eve in her father's chapel They chanted with such glee As if that night the Child had come Unto them from the sea. But fear fell on Ursula And trouble filled her mind, Her candle flickered to and fro As in a sudden wind. 32 A BALLAD OF ST. URSULA She answered to those messengers And gave to them this word : ' I thank him but I bid him know I will no pagan lord. * Eleven maidens let him send To me if he be true^ And every maid must have of maids A goodly retinue. ' Then if he constant is in mind> And if he christened be, After three years your lord may come Himself to speak with me.' Oh I quickly came the gallant ships That those fair maids did bring ; Oh ! humbly went that mighty lord Unto his christening. Those maidens around Ursula, They learned the sacred lore. They filled that place with mirth and grace, And aye folk loved them more. These maidens around Ursula Upon their christening day. Their fragrant candles all were made Of berries of the bay. c 33 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW Those maidens around Ursula Like handmaids of a bride. They were the joy of all the court And all that countryside. Ursula walked in the mystic wood Whereto she oft did go ; The oaks in that enchanted wood Were hoar with mistletoe. Deep in the heart of that haunted wood She found in a hollow tree The Rood on which Our Sweet Lord hung With the Spear and Nails three. She bade them build a goodly ship To voyage without loss, Of which the stoutest planks should be The Wood of the True Cross. (That fair ship with her lateen sails, Her lateen sails so white, Sailed after many a hundred years Into Hans Memling's sight.) Ursula and her maidens all In that ship set to sea, They sailed all night and with the dawn They came to the Low Countree. 34 A BALLAD OF ST. URSULA All day their holy hymns were loud As they sailed up the Rhine, When night drew on the dark was bright With their wax candles' shine. They came to a fair town and there Ursula's lot was known ; An Angel came to her in sleep In holy great Cologne, (He caught it in some wizard's glass, That goodly Angel's show, He captured it in distant time, Victor Carpaccio.) ' Thou shalt return,' the Angel said, * Go with thy maidens now ; Each shall receive in this same town Her crown and laurel bough.' They sailed to Basle and thence afoot They sought St. Peter's dome ; All mounts and marvels they beheld And came at last to Rome. The Pope with all his Cardinals Came out to greet them free ; They moved all crowned with oaken-leaves Like a wood of Brittany. 35 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW The Pope he doffed the Triple Crown, He left St. Peter's chair. He joined him to that company Into the world to fare. Yet laid he not his charge aside With those young maids to sport. But for to sail with Ursula Unto a blissful port. He heeded not men's jests and jeers, For he knew secretly In Caesar's town upon the Rhine What passage theirs must be. The three years done, the English king Over the plains did ride, And he had come to fair Cologne In quest of his dear bride. Then pagan hordes besieged the town With fury and with rage ; Around the city they lay waste The goodly heritage. That blessed ship with its fair freight Came on an evil day ; All the white lambs of Ursula Fell to those wolves a prey. 36 A BALLAD OF ST. URSULA So marvellous her beauty was Amid her maidens dead, The pagan Prince would comfort her. And fain would Ursula wed. And when he saw that her no prayers Could from her purpose part, He shot an arrow in despite That pierced sweet Ursula's heart. With Florence and with Cordula And many a maiden more. And with that true knight and the Pope They gained the blissful shore. They heard the songs upon the land Across that bitter sea ; They saw the citi2;ens come forth To greet them on the quay. *Twas a more southern clime than Rome That smiled upon those maids, The myrtle spring out of the rock All cut in balustrades. Oh ! heaven's feast that day was fair. And heaven's dance was gay ; The pillars of its hall were twined With laurel and with bay. 37 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW Ursula and her maidens made Their voyage without loss, And came into that happy port In the ship of the True Cross. That sacred ship moved of itself And sailed down the Rhine, And no man knows what cave or wood Is now its hidden shrine. 3« HIC REQUIES NOSTRA The Cradle of the Living God They rock in Bethlehem ; The simple folk kneel all about. And we too kneel with them. The Gallows of the Living God We see uplifted high Where all the sorrows of the world Meet on Mount Calvary. The Grave-place of the Living God Will be our own last bed ; In that great space is room enough, And rest for all the dead. 39 THE DOOR In the dark porch, in the cold porch We kneel before the Door ; A sound of sobs fills all the place, Blood-stains are on the floor, We tell our beads with fingers numb, We look up and implore, In a dim ivory we descry A Tale told long before ; We see the Door, we have no glimpse Of what Sight is in store When the Door opens and we see What is inside the Door. 40 THE DICE-PLAYER In manibus Tuis sortes meae Our Lord beyond the Heavens, On Whose Will all things wait, Throws dice that falling rule The works of Chance and Fate. Above the strong, blind Powers Set over mortal hap He shakes the box and throws ; The dice fall in His lap. The dice are in His Hands, He throws them as He wills. He orders every cast With Love that knows and skills. He from the box shakes out Men's time of death and birth. Their little meed of joy. Their travel on the earth. The Player plays His game, So ruling from on High The world He knows so well Of things that change and die. 41 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW He sees beyond all Change That to which changes tend, And so with a clear mind He plays to the World's End. Then for that one last time, As strike Earth's midnight clocks. He '11 shake the dice and throw. Then lay them in the box. 43 ARCHES OF TRIUMPH In cloth of silver with crimson roses The Saints stood fair to see, Oliva, Ninfa, Agatha, And the Rose-Queen, Rosalie ; Festooned and wreathed and crowned with roses Was the Arch of Sicily. White silk with coral, red silk was hung With pearls of the deep seas ; Tier over tier in great stone pots Stood orange and lemon trees That bore fruit and flower at once in that bower. The Arch of the Genoese. With all her flags and painted sails Queened a triumphant barque O'er cloth of gold and gold brocade And gems that shine in the dark ; It was hung with all the stuffs of the East, The Arch of the great Saint Mark. 43 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW The slender pillared colonnades Rose over ivory shrines ; It was all decked with lily-buds For heavenly valentines. The loggia where they played on lutes In the Arch of the Florentines. But the cressets glared, the torches flared, On the Arch of the Catalans ; Round a red Heart that flamed and slowed The ladies had hung their fans ; Boys all in red shrilled their trumpets loud From the Arch of the Catalans. ( . . . But the nation of the Neapolitans made no Arch, but devised in the City a lively image of Paradise, with great plenty of trees and flowers, and in the midst the Fountain of Life, and a marvellous great company of Angels, playing all manner of instruments. . . .) 44 THE BISHOP'S COPE May was ablaze On the Ascension morning : the sun's rays Beat down upon the Churches and all the town, St, Nicholas, St. Margaret, St. Gervase. The streets were thronged with people ; in due order The Bishop passed to Church by his flower- border. Vested for the procession ; all alight Were the flaming tulips, gold, rose, crimson, white ; Swifts screamed and darted in the dizziest height. The Bishop's- cope was glorious ; never a shade Of a peacock, never a colour-freak Of a carnation but was there displayed ; There flowered amid the seed-pearls the brocade With the Tree of Jesse and the Mystic Rose ; 45 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW There flamed the Angels with their wings of gold. Of the Nine Orders was not one to seek ; There was the Sacred Legend blazoned and told From the Annunciation to the Assumption, within that span The Joy and Sorrow and Glory given to Man. Quid aspicitis in ccclof' Benedictus, Te Deum, Gloria et honore coronasti Eum. * * * * * An old devote Who spent her days in telling of her beads Said always the same prayers by rote For the Church's needs. She prayed as she was able The rosary prayers that do not vary And the Litany of Mary, After the Name of Jesus, name most venerable. Her prayers were hindered in their upward flight. Things vexed her mind. The price of butter and the neighbour's spite ; To the high mysteries her soul's eyes were blind ; 46 THE BISHOP'S COPE She had no sense of them as angry and old She droned the decades till her beads were told; But as the darling cope flamed in the sun She saw God in a point and all Mysteries in One. ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ A ballad-maker thrummed upon his lute, Poor^ ageing, once a clerk, of small repute, He sang sad stories of the deaths of kings, But as the Bishop passed he hushed his strings. He scarce dared count himself God's friend. He went not into Church that day. His friendship was lowly, mystical, hidden. He sought perhaps the End, but lingered in the Way. He loved the earth and men and beautiful things, His joy was a great flame, a flickering spark his hope. But that day he rejoiced in the Glory of God And in the Bishop's'^cope. 47 THE IMAGES The people of the images Are silent all the day, But in the night with busy tongues They gossip and they pray. All day the holy images Are wrapped in slumber deep, And the prayers of the poor people Like dreams come to their sleep. They come down from their niches When their house is all their own, Their house so wide and lofty With walls of glass and stone. They light the lamps and candles, And by their flickering light The wise and happy images Together talk all night. They cluster in dim corners, And each has dreams to tell. The prayers of the poor people In sleep they heard so well. 48 THE IMAGES In her embroidered mantle How gay Saint Catherine stands ! She holds a lottery number In her small^ dainty hands. * A poor old cripple woman/ Her gossips hear her say, * Put this in my hands this morning And thus to me did pray. ' '* You go in silk and spangles, You hold your head so high. You, sure, to talk to a great King Are far more fit than I. * " I 'm old and ill and pining. My last poor mite is spent. And to the door they 'U put me Unless I find the rent. ' " Dear Princess, take this paper. My number here is told, Show Jesus Christ and ask Him To send me the good gold." ' . . ♦ • ♦ Some talk of their poor clients. And some they dance and sing. Each bows to each and curtsies. The beggar-maid and king. D 49 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW Saint Joseph stands and grumbles By a pillar like a cliff, Because the night is frosty And his old knees are stiff. But while they tell their stories And while their games are played, She lays the cloth for supper. Saint Zita, the cook-maid. Saint Thomas comes from over-sea. For him a place is set ; ' Pazienza,* says Saint Andrew, * We shall see Thomas yet.' ' To Dover,* says Saint Nicholas ' The coaches cannot go ; All the road from Canterbury To-night is blocked with snow. * We shall not see his mitre. Storm-stayed he cannot come.' ... * Ma, Cristo benedetto ! ' Says Saint Frances of Rome. « 4 « ♦ 4 The merry, merry images. Their feast is fair and fine. They put things right for poor folks O'er their chestnuts and white wine. 50 THE IMAGES But e'er their haloes ghmmer In the first rays of the sun They stand up in their niches In silence every one. ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ For joy the little old cripple Will not believe her eyes When they post up on Sunday The number of the prize. 51 THE SPADE (A doomed man playeth cards thro' all countries with every manner of people, and by help of the Devil ever winneth by means of the Ace of Spades. It is here seen how he played in England and also in the provinces of Lorraine and Alsace and thereafter in the New World.) . . . This fortunate and luckless wight His weary way he went, His days and nights, his nights and days Over the cards were spent, Beneath his winnings and their black seal His back was bowed and bent. He played with Yatton, Yarde, and Yarborough In their ancestral halls. With Lombards 'neath their far-seen sign Of the Three Golden Balls, With shepherds of the Malvern Hills And herdsmen in their stalls. So thro' the length and breadth of England In all her shires he played. In all the shires of merry England 52 THE SPADE His prowess was displayed, And peasant, peer, and parson knew The signal of the Spade* Then up and down he played in Alsace, And likewise in Lorraine, From autumn when the storks fly southward (Fearing the cold and rain) Till when the mirabelle 's in bloom And the storks come again. He played with La Mere I'Oye by Colmar That stuffs the foie-gras geese, For forty-eight hours of blinding snow They played without surcease Till he took all her flock to the town Thro* a white world wrapped in peace. He brought his winnings to the market And did with them good trade. Then in the Inn of Good Queen Goosefoot He with the bourgeois played. And they like all that played before them Were beaten by the Spade. He bore across the broad Atlantic His doom and miracle, (A butterfly went with the ship 53 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW That sailed from La Rochelle) Still amid transient things that passed His changeless fate befell. Over far pampas and savannahs His fame before him flew, O'er desert waste and despoblado, O'er canyon and bayou, And where the hunters track the trail Of moose and caribou. He played in Quebec at Ste-Anne's Pardon, In Montreal he played. At habitants' fetes where fiddle and flute An old-time music made ; He played with Creoles and mulattoes, And they, too, knew the Spade. No player of the Mississippi But doffed to him his cap, They marvelled as on river steamers He played to fill a gap. And held trumps, ace, queen, knave, nine, ten. With the deuce for lagniappe. Poupart, Favart, and Baudrillart Sat down with him to play, They played upon the lazy deck 54 THE SPADE All the long summer day, And those skilled players saw their piles Of dollars melt away. He played with soldiers and with sergeants That were of the Old Brigade, He played with friars of the Mission And won their gold brocade ; In each Pacific far pueblo He played and won with the Spade. . . . 55 THE SWALLOWS ... He was a captive in a city of huge stones^ piled up in an enormous and fantastic archi- tecture, inhabited by men like goblins who practise strange cruelties and lusts. He must die: in that unhomelike alien land, where no swallows come in spring, a country far from Europe and Canary and the Cape, far from the friendly lands of the giraffe and the happy African kraals, behind vast deserts and enor- mous walls, which the spirits that put a girdle round the earth do not encircle in their flight, where no wings beat against the simoom which for ever blows between it and the world, and the hot air is stirred by no sense of message and communication. He thought of green fields, of spring flowers and sweet herbs, the tokens of the boundless force of life and heal- ing hid in the inexhaustible and indestructible earth. But more than for any of these things he longed for the swallows. He thought of the swallows of Europe, the swallows of those living lands, to-day as in all past time, the swallows that darted by Hans Memling's window, that clustered on the rigging of St. 56 THE SWALLOWS Ursula's ship as she sailed down the Rhine, It was long since he had wept, for in that land the fount of tears is dried. But on that hot, gloomy evening, in the sullen air which had never known the benediction of their flight, his eyes filled with tears. . • . • • He fell asleep and woke in Europe. It was day, and high in the blue, glistening air an ecstatic lark, a lark of the Revolution, was singing wildly. But neither the lark's song nor the freshness of the morning, nor the new sight of the old homely things, so touched and moved him as that dance of the swallows with which the air was alive, and which, in his long immobility and remoteness, had become for him the symbol of Europe and of the growing, moving world. The slow length of his strange captivity had all but worn him into a dull, listless clod, but in the freedom of that morn- ing he was reborn a pure cherubin, a soul of fire. . . . 57 THE SHIP OF SWALLOWS The Queen in her bower Eats an artichoke-flower ; She sees from her tower The hills and the hollows ; Round that most ancient castle of kings The air is a-quiver with myriads of wings. The blue air is filled with a sweetness of swallows. The swallows are white On the lantern-light wire, They flicker and gleam In the sun's gold fire. The morning is sweet And sweet its breath As when all the swallows (As History saith) Flew to Loretto From Nazareth. Those blessed spirits Of pure delight In their divine 58 THE SHIP OF SWALLOWS Miraculous flighty As on that journey To-day they fare Thro' the blue tides Of sacred air. The Queen is joyous To see them dance ; She sails from Ireland To-day for France, She goes to the sea, And her train follows ; In the little seaport It snows swallows. They glide and dive, They dance and dip, They crowd the rigging Of the good ship. Each line of her tackle. Her masts and spars. To count them would be Like counting the stars. With all her sails So gay and free The Ship of Swallows Sets out to sea. 59 THE GOOSE-GIRL On Christmas Eve in the clear, cold air The town was full for the Gingerbread Fair ; The tiny windows sparkled red, Bejewelled and bediamonded ; To see the decking of the stalls The folk were early out of bed. There were ginger and pepper from over- sea, Pink and white fruit of the sugar-plum tree, Marzipan sweets and true-lovers '-knots, And gingerbread children on chamber-pots. The King in hat and wig was there (Given by God and debonair) With all those in Authority set, The Beadle, the Constable, and the Mayor. At the end of the street in the Market-square Under a dais was raised a chair ; The King took his seat and the folk did greet Before the Bellman proclaimed the Fair ; The ladies curtsied as was but meet, As with high-heeled shoes on their dainty feet They hobbled across the cobbled square. • ♦ • ♦ ♦ 60 THE GOOSE-GIRL So gentle and simple and sweet and gay The goose-girl came to the Fair that day ; With her goose-herd's stick and her tattered gown, Bringing her seven white geese to town, A handkerchief tied on her red-gold hair. Her flock before her all her care. Hissing and straggling everywhere. As up the street she made her way. Up the street and into the square : — As one that awakens out of sleep And comes into light from darkness deep The King stepped down from his high chair. On St. John's Eve in the quivering heat. The town was full for the Peacock Fair ; Great heaps of marjorain and thyme And southernwood made sweet the air ; The innkeeper's children, Pippin and Pip, Fiddled and sang by the Golden Ship ; All a-shimmer was square and street With burnished gold and green and red And blue of peacocks' tails outspread ; The ladies shielded their dazzled gaze With their fans from the peacocks* orbed blaze. 6i SKYLARK AND SWALLOW There were ripe cherries and hot cakes, Pasties and pies that Jennifer bakes. Hearts and rings for forget-me-nots, Parrots in cages and pinks in pots. The ladies now had come to town To see the new Queen wear her crown. And under a dais in the square. The golden crown on her red-gold hair, Beside the King on a golden chair The goose-girl sat at the Peacock Fair. 62 THE THREE CARDINALS (A Ballad of Lucrezia Borgia) Madonna said^ ' Most Ample Sir, We crave your company, A basket of fresh, black, fat figs Has come from Tivoli ; To share them with Our Littleness Will be great courtesy/ The Cardinal Gran Veglio, An honoured guest, I ween, Sat gloomy at Madonna's board Where the first figs were seen, Tho' care was driven from the feast By pipe and tambourine. He left the oysters all untouched. Untouched the faisandelle. But when they passed the big, black figs He yielded to their spell. All heedless if the dead-ripe fruit Concealed the pains of hell. 63 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW The Cardinal Pargoletto Sat pale and ill at ease, He trifled with the fillet pink And fairy-like green peas, As tho' some fateful force malign Were hidden under these. Madonna said, ' Of late, Your Grace, We to our house did take A little gipsy cooking-maid That can a hedgehog bake To ravishment, and like a dream A gipsy tipsy-cake/ The gipsy maid herself bore in The rounded ball of clay Wherein in peace and perfectness The fragrant hedgehog lay ; They broke it and the scent that rose Suspicion charmed away. The Cardinal kissed Madonna's hand, Altho' his knees they shook, He trembled as at Judgment set And at the opened book ; Madonna rang a silver bell And called her mussel-cook. 64 THE THREE CARDINALS * Good Master Mussel-cook/ she said, * Thou must thyself outshine, The Cardinal Sant' Osculo To-day with us will dine ; Prepare forthwith a cunning dish Of mussels Tiburtine/ A page-boy served on bended knee The mussels piping hot, Deep in a creamy sauce they lay All in a copper-pot ; The Cardinal his foreboding dark At sight of them forgot. At Santa Trinitk in Rome Where those three Cardinals lie, Madonna by their marble tombs Will sometimes softly sigh In musing on their deaths so strange And her great gains thereby. 65 BUTTERFLIES ♦ . . LiiCE Angels Are peacock butterflies With wings full of eyes ; Admirals a-sail. Demoiselles that dance ; Their flight Is pure delight. These rapturous things When fresh life springs Flicker above the wood's events^ Primroses, violets, innocents, And make the air More fair. Decked as the earth is dight. When cherry-trees are white. With wind-flowers red and blue And purple too. They spend the hours In bliss untold. As they flit by Like flying flowers 66 BUTTERFLIES Or bits of sky ; No revels tire Their wings a-fire With speckled gold. Flutes unheard by mortal ears And aerial tambourines Make a music, it appears, For these light-winged knights and queens. They toil not neither spin, Their movement makes no din ; lo moved so on her hills With vine-flowers all ablow ; lo in her cypress wood So danced to and fro ; lo down her temple steps To the sea went so. They are quick and changeable In the way they go ; They have the flutter of fans Spanish ladies know. They float on velvet wings All in full feather Over Tours in France In the summer weather. 67 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW They haunt a sun-baked spot, The Battle all forgot, And the great things once seen As tho* they had not been. To Messer Perugino In loveliness they come ; Sure on earth in Umbria They are most at home. Living in such happy wise They seem things of Paradise All made of bright Soft light. . , ♦ 68 BEASTS, BIRDS, AND FISHES I SEE creatures leonine. Elephantine and asinine. Equine, canine, and feline. I see sea-monsters and all things That swim with fins or fly with wings. Nancy Dishwasher washes her dishes. The kingfisher flashes as he fishes. Round about and in and out In the water they swim low, Fario, the river-trout. And the gudgeon, Gobio. Leviathan and Kraken In the deep take their ease. And all the swarming fish Of the Norwegian seas. Huge lobsters and big brill And shoals of anchovies. I see solitaries three. Sad while all creatures live in glee. E3 69 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW Life was a song, But after St. Luke's Day deep in October Things went wrong ; Troubled was the stream's smooth flow. Long ago Peace has fallen upon the pain, The grief, the madness of these twain. Lovely lovers by Love slain, Long ago. 72 BEASTS, BIRDS, AND FISHES I SEE creatures leonine. Elephantine and asinine, Equiiie, canine, and feline. I see sea-monsters and all things That swim with fins or fly with wings. Nancy Dishwasher washes her dishes. The kingfisher flashes as he fishes. Round about and in and out In the water they swim low, Fario, the river-trout. And the gudgeon, Gobio. Leviathan and Kraken In the deep take their ease. And all the swarming fish Of the Norwegian seas. Huge lobsters and big brill And shoals of anchovies. I see solitaries three. Sad while all creatures live in glee. E2 69 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW Life was a song. But after St. Luke's Day deep in October Things went wrong ; Troubled was the stream's smooth flow. Long ago Peace has fallen upon the pain, The grief, the madness of these twain. Lovely lovers by Love slain. Long ago. 72 SEARCH THE FLOWER-PEOPLE THRO' . . , Search the flower-people thro*, Cowslips wet with May-day dew. Valley-lilies and sweet peas. And all pinks and picotees. Honeysuckles red and yellow. The jonquil that has no fellow. Cherry-pie and plumbago, Lavender of long ago, Fritillaries under Iffley tower, Rosemary from Fair Rosamond's bower. Tulips, cups of coloured light. Periwinkles and eyebright. Vervain, white and purple stocks. Red rosettes of hollyhocks, Love-in-a-mist and bleeding-love, Larkspur, snapdragon, foxglove, 73 SKYLARK AND SWALLOW Nero's roses^ lilies that hold In their hearts a treasure of gold, Gentians in the Alpine grass, Maids of honour of Candlemas, Crocus-flames that upward dart From the fire at the earth's heart, Golden vanity, sweet Nancie, Thrift that blows beside the sea. Meadowsweet and mignonette. Peach-bloom, primroses, privet. Flowers of the Paradise-garden Where the Angel stands as warden ; Search the flower-people thro'. There is no flower found like you. 74 HE HAS GONE . . . He has gone with the rest into the twilight grey That grows a minute longer every day. The year will pass, March winds will rave. The rooks will hold in the tall trees Their parliament and their conclave. The orchis flowers will star the grass. The flat pods of green peas Will fill and swell when June is rainy and warm. Around their Queen the bees will swarm At their High Mass, The hard, green mulberries will grow red, then black. The yellow leaves will fall, the dark days come ♦ . . But he will not come back ; He goes to his long home. 75 THE OATH By these unnumbered foully slain We will not rest, we swear, Till Freedom, unto eyes that weep, That Sight so fair, Arises deathless from the deep Of our despair ; Till night falls on the dotard lords And vampire kings. Till all the sceptres and the swords Are broken things ; Till babes are born into the world Not cannon-food from birth. Till all the mirage of our dreams Is solid earth. Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty at the Edinburgh University Press