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Cornell University Library PR 5206.R6 1895 A selection from the poems, translations 3 1924 013 538 370 /l! .c^/c^'^ ^^ 4D A SELECTION FROM THE POEMS, TRANSLATIONS, AND OCCASIONAL PIECES OF THE IvATK RIGHT HON. HENRY CECIL RAIKES Formerly Member for Cambridge University EDITED BV HENRY ST. JOHN RAIKES FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION LONDON RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON VublieketB in ©rSinstE to S«r itt»i«»tS *■<« «!»"" 189s v'u\ ERRATA . Pag-e 121, line g, for ' tnasseni' read ' messeui.' 125, „ i, for ' erit' read ^exii.' '% /J' PREFACE. After some consideration, it has been decided to publish the following collection of pieces for private circulation, in the belief that it will serve as a pleasing memento, not only to Mr. Raikes's rela- tives and personal friends, but to many of those with whom he was brought in contact in the course of his public career. And, indeed, if the book serves no other purpose, it may give to those who regard Mr. Raikes's career from the political stand- point only, some insight into the culture of his mind, which made him such a delightful com- panion to those with whom he was on terms of intimacy. The preparation of this volume has been accom- iv PREFACE panied with some little difficulty. Mr. Raikes wrote, for the most part, to amuse himself, arid in many instances did not, it seems, even make a fair copy of his work. In consequence, I have frequently found it far from easy to decipher copies of verses, sometimes scribbled on the backs of old envelopes, sometimes traced in faint pencil characters on odd sheets of paper, and frequently rendered almost illegible by alterations and inter- lineations. The probable result of this may well be that errors have crept into the text, for which the author must not be held responsible ; for though I have tried to guard against mistake, as far as possible, by placing doubtful words in brackets, I cannot feel confident that every pitfall has been avoided. Mr. Raikes wrote many pieces which are not included in this selection, and it is to be regretted that, in the case not only of many of those omitted, but also of a few contained in these pages, the PREFACE V final polishing touches, which lend such finish to many of the sets of verses — to take for example, 'The Swineherd of Provence,' or "HPAKAHS MONOIKOS '—should have been omitted. In conclusion, I must most gratefully acknow- ledge the valuable assistance which I have received from the Very Rev. E. H. Perowne, D.D., the Master of Corpus Christi . College, Cambridge, in the preparation of this volume. Henry St. John Raikes. Cornell University Library 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 3538370 CONTENTS. PART I. l86i — 1870. PAGE LINES- ON THE DESTRUCTION OF FAIRFAX CHURCH 3 PARODY ON 'BONNIE DUNDEE' 6 SCIPIO AFRICANUS - - 10 APPIUS CLAUDIUS - 15 AN EPITAPH ON CRCESUS - - 22 ST. PAUL ON THE APPIAN WAY - - "23 HYMN FOR EASTER EVEN - 28 ORPHEUS - 32 'FAREWELL, MY HOME' - 35 MILTON'S HOUSE 39 PART- II. 'COMES THE DAWN' - - - 43 THE SWINEHERD OF PROVENCE - - 46 THE COLISj«UM 49 ST. GILDAS • - - 54 POPE - ■ 57 LOUIS XVII., KING OF FRANCE - 60 FRAGMENT . - - 63 DEAR LITTLE GIRL OF GIMINGHAM . - - 65 CONTENTS LOVE CONDEMNED THE GREETING - - - - THE IRISH M.P.'S THE WILD WHITE ROSE THE FRENCH GOVERNESS THE LASS HE BORE AWA' CANUTE II. ... PARODY ON 'THE SURGEON'S WARNING' SORS ANNCEANA UNION STILL IS STRENGTH 'HPAKAHS MONOIKOS HERCULES MONCECUS - TO MY FUR-COAT IN MEMORIAM L. C. R. SHREWSBURY BY NIGHT ACROSS THE SEVERN PART III. TRANSLATIONS AND COMPOSITION. TO CYNTHIA - - - . AD MBLPOMENEN THE MOON ON THE LATMIAN MOUNTAIN 'YET ERE I GO' N/ENIA - - . . NULLUS PAR TIBI DEVENIT NAVIS QU^ TIBI CREDITOS IN STEPHANUM •A FEW MORE YEARS SHALL ROLL' 'ABIDE WITH ME' - . . 'BRIGHTEST AND BEST' 67 70 72 76 77 80 83 92 94 98 100 102 104 106 109 "3 116 118 120 121 122 123 125 127 129 131 PART I. 1861—1870. [3] LINES ON THE DESTRUCTION OF FAIRFAX CHURCH, IN VIRGINIA, BY THE FEDERAL AND CONFEDERATE ARMIES. Aye, fan the fire, your land can boast So many memories of the past, Your annals teem with such a host Of names which must for ever last ! Why spare those reverend walls, why not Destroy what must ere long decay ? Let fire consume what time would rot, And sweep the old-fashioned fane away. That church whose ruins' lurid flame You watch, a soldier founded, who Loved more pf freedom than the name, Fought, bled, and conquered, patriot true, LINES And zealot, for his country's weal, Then crossed in age the Western main, Bequeathing, as he hoped, his zeal To your sires' children ; vision vain ! Degenerate race, whose noisy hate Would seem your valour's only test. Half of ye traitors to your state, And foul-mouthed cowards all the rest, How should ye reverence the name Of one who fought in Freedom's cause, Ye, who are rivals but in shame, And conquerors only of your laws ? Confederate, Federal, yet agreed What time or Heaven has sanctified To desecrate, be this your creed, So wage your war of fratricide. A railway-station here may stand Upon the ruined church's site. Or Barnum take the place in hand For a museum of the fight LINES Ye fought a few months since hard by, Rechristen it New Marathon, Preserving for futurity The laurelled trophies of Bull Run. How Wilkes' pennon swept the seas Admiring listeners' ears shall mark. And how you coined Miltiades From a Chicago banking-clerk. Build then, and write, ' By Fairfax piled Here stood erewhile a church beside Whose altar, since by us defiled, George Washington received his bride.' Decejnb^r, 1861. [6] PARODY ON 'BONNIE DUNDEE.'* In the Court of Old Bailey 'twas Bramwell that spoke : ' The Crown can't allow all these crowns to be broke, So let each skulking thief who funks justice and me Just attend to the warning of bold Baron B. ' Just hand me my notes and some ink for my pen, And, gaoler, look sharp and bring up all your men, Under five years of servitude none shall go free, For it's up with the dander of bold Baron B. * Puljlished anonymously in Punch, December, 1862. PARODY ON 'BONNIE DUNDEE' 7 ' There are isles beyond Portland, more depots than Cork, Where such ruffians shall go, if there's more of this work. There's a cat whose tails number some three times tails three. You'll cry Ho ! when you feel it and bless Baron B. ' Just hand me my notes,' etc. ' Be off to the quarries, the forts, and the docks. If I spare a garotter, I'll stand in the stocks ; Yes, tremble, you scoundrels, you thought it a spree. But you didn't expect then to face Baron B. ' Just hand me my notes,' etc. There were ticket-of-leavers, with crowbars who tried And thick knuckle-dusters to cause homicide. But they shook in their shoes, as was pleasing to see, Beneath the stern accents of stout Baron B. 'Just hand me my notes,' etc. 8 PARODY ON 'BONNIE DUNDEE' He turned as he spoke to the hands of the clock, And then, with a scowl on the roughs in the dock, 'The time's getting on, but I've words two or three For your friends out of doors from your friend Baron B. ' Just hand me my notes,' etc. ' If one man dogs another as homeward he goes. And masters his purse by the aid of some blows. That man before long shall have audience of me, And I'll do my best for him,' quoth bold Baron B. He has got at his notes and some ink in his pen, Mr. Jonas before him has ranged all his men, ' For life, ten years, five ; none with less shall go free,' More strength to your elbow say we. Baron B. Note. — These verses were reprinted in the Evenings; News and Post of May lo, 1892, with the following comments : ' Thirty years ago this very year, the late Lord Bramwell (whose death we had to report in our yesterday's issue) by PARODY ON 'BONNIE DUNDEE' 9 his vigour and strength put down the epidemic of garotting from which London suffered in 1862. Of all the eulogies and the epitaphs which will be written upon the last of a great race of judges, who, as Mr. Goschen has said, " would make their wills and do their duty," what can beat this, that thirty years have not made die out of one man's recollection ? The verses are PuncA's— the Punch of Mark Lemon— and they are, of course, a parody on " Bonnie Dundee," printed at the time when London was in the funk of Paris — say a fort- night ago.* Tom Taylor is said to have written the verses, and the late Lord Bramwell had a copy of them, which he was known to show to his friends with much delight.' * The time of the Anarchist scare. [ 10] SCIPIO AFRICANUS. Tribunes of the Plebs, I stand before you : hither yesterday Came I, since you had summoned me to hear Enquiry made touching the recent war Against Antiochus. I heard your questions, Methinks I seem to hear them still. To-day In turn I ask what means this insolence ? Why are these charges made ? Why am I cited ? What moves you thus to seek to mar my fame ? Am I like you a thing of yesterday, A chattel to be bought by friend or foe ? Look to the City's Annals. They are ours. Read there the deeds of our Cornelian House : Failed one of them his country in her need ? Is treason written on their images ? SCIPIO AFRICANUS ii Mine ancestors sat in the Capitol, Each on his chair and in his robes of state, And looked the wild barbarian in the face. Where were your fathers then ? Did they not lurk Beneath the ruins of Etruscan walls Until Camillus brought them home again — Camillus, second founder of this Rome, Camillus, whom they paid with banishment ? You asked me what I had to meet the charge. Here, said I, is the reckoning of the war, The count of all the moneys I received. Their distribution in the public service. You bade me read the book and clear myself : You bade me prove my loyalty to Rome. Oh, shame ! Shame on the people that forget ! Did I not tear the volume where I stood. And scatter to the winds the proofs ye sought ? I could not stoop to meet a charge like yours. That was mine answer. Judge, then, as ye will ; Say on. I have borne the worst, to be accused. 12 SCIPIO AFRICAN us 'Twas on this day I vanquished Hannibal. This day o'er Zama's field.lay piled in heaps, Like withered leaves where Winter's wind hath blown, The swart battalions of Rome's deadliest foe. Remember Trebia's waters choked with death, Remember Thrasimene's reddened lake, Remember Cannae ; bring again to mind The tidings of that awful day ; recall The black-robed city mourning for her sons, Where not a house but felt the Punic sword. Where are the victors of those days of dread ? Where rests great Hannibal ? Came death to them But as the calm close of a glorious day. Amid the splendours that their arms had won ? Tell me ! What, silent ? Witness, then, this hand. How Scipio's arm rolled back the tide of war ; How 'mid the crash of ruining palaces, The blaze of pillaged temples, and the wreck, The desolation, of their ravaged homes, SCIPIO AFRICA NUS 13 Their fathers' graves defiled, their gods profaned, Learned they in death the weight of Scipio's ire ; How ran the fields with slaughter. Far and wide The serpent-headed monster shrieking fled, And trod his masters' lines in lanes of death ; Wild o'er the plain in flight unbridled tore Numidia's dusky horsemen. In the midst With ranks unbroken to the last, went down. Mowed by the legionary's steady sword. The goodliest harvest Afric's soil hath borne. And Hannibal ? He troubles Rome no more. A foreign strand, an exile's grave contains What was the terror of so many years. Nay, when in distant lands with alien arms His restless daring still would menace Rome, Did I not shake the Great King in his seat. Despoil his brows of Alexander's crown. And drive the African adventurer forth, Homeless, and helpless, to a hopeless death ? Thus have I conquered for you East and West, 14 SCI PI O AFRICAN US Thus have I met for you three worlds in arms ; And I have Hved to hear men talk of bribes ! Enough ! Let civil strife pollute not this The brightest day in all Rome's calendar ; I will go thank the Gods for victories, The heritage of every Roman here, And I will pray. Come with me, oh, my friends, And pray with me that in her hour of need. Should ever those dread days recur to us, When men look darkly in each others' eyes. When foreign watch-fires burn on Latin hills, When senators are arming for the field, And tribunes skulking to a hiding-place. May Rome ne'er feel the want of arm like mine ! [ 15 ] APPIUS CLAUDIUS. Part I. I LOVE Virginia — and I hate myself; Hate ? Nay, I scorn the soul that stoops so low ! The sagest lawgiver of this our time, Rome's lordliest patrician, to descend To tender with the best drops of his heart The little daughter of a low-born churl ! 'Tis false ! — Alas ! I know it to be true. How will the rabble soil with its vile breath The great Decemvir's name, coupling it still With the obscure plebeian's paltry girl ! I hear their ribald chant in every street, I know myself the laughing-stock of Rome ; Yet I must have her ; I have scorned their praise. And new must school myself to spurn their scorn. i6 APPIUS CLAUDIUS Aye, that is not so hard. I lift my head, And look above their petty mockeries. But she — and this is worst — she mocks my love. Rejects the suit of him who has no peer In Rome, and foils me with her pruderies. Shall I be foiled, then ? Must the learned sage, The high-born statesman, and the judge austere, Bend from his height to court her nothingness ? And must he stoop so low and stoop in vain ? Thinks she to sell herself at her own price ? Little she knows, methinks, our Claudian blood ; Freely we give to those who give to us. But he who haggles with us loses all ; What would she with her chastity, forsooth ? Her innocence ? These womanly perfections Are rare among ourselves, unknown to them Who earn their bread by traffic in their goods. Pretences they may be to cozen fools. But not to baffle him who rules in Rome. Is Marcus there ? Admit him ; nay, forbear, This plan of his I like it not, it savours Too much of all the knavery of his tribe. A PPI US CLA UmUS 17 Who find a false oath their most welcome service ; Yet must I strain the Law to meet my will, Or I must break it — I, the Maker of it ; I who still sit inexorable judge Of those who violate its sacred canons, And never sinned against the law ere this. It is against the nature of my being. What ho, there, Marcus ! I approve your plan. Get you about it ere I take my seat. ' What plan ?' About Virginia. See you to it. What? Had you hoped my lord had changed his mind ? What ? Do you tremble ? Have you truly heard Vague rumours of a vast conspiracy, And do you fear to meet the people's wrath ? Are you not armed with your patron's word ? Go, then, and drag the girl before my seat. Dost tremble still ? Fearest thou me, or them ? Come, then, and see a Claudius cow the crowd. What ho ! my lictors, ho ! my curule chair ! I will go forth and awe rebellious Rome. 2 i8 APPIUS CLAUDIUS Part II. So, you have heard the claim ; the proofs are clear ; The girl is Marcus' slave. Thus I decree. ' Will I not hear you ?' Sir, 'twere labour lost To waste your breath against so plain a right. Bred was she from her birth within your house. The darling of her widowed father's heart, The living image of her mother's youth, Her mother who had died to give her life. And who are you thus glib in your assurance ? Virginius is in camp. I know you not. Be you Virginius, yet I will not hear you. What right has he to quit his soldier's duty. And come to stir sedition thus at home ? What means the renegade within our walls, Parading here the lashes he has earned ? A soldier shows the scars upon his front, A mutineer the stripes upon his back. Would I could make each demagogue in Rome Bear such red witness to th' insulted law ! APPIUS CLAUDWS 19 And I would send them out to air their shame, And teach their dupes what fruit sedition bears. So you must prate of virtue Hke the rest. Is not my fiftieth winter on my head ? Know I not virtue upon lips like yours Is but a cant word for venality ? This loud-voiced honesty in which you boast, Is born, grows up, and lives but to be bought. Have I not marked ye bellow for your rights, Yet go to market like a flock of sheep, Each suffrage offered to the highest bidder, And none so freely as your demagogue's ? I know plebeian virtue, and its price ; I know your price, I say, and will not buy. Let others stoop to purchase or cajole, Mine be the Roman art to rule by power. Lead her away. — Now is she mine at last. Call the next suit. Ha ! what is that I see ? Immortal Gods ! He stabs her, and she sinks Like some fair flower nipped by the icy blast. Dead ? Ah, my beauty ! But mine eyes are dry. 20 APPIUS CLAUDIUS Arrest the murderer bloodstained as he stands, A mutineer dripping with civil blood. Hale him before my seat alive or dead ; Wealth without measure shall be his who brings him. Upon him, lictors ! Use your fasces well : Should they resist, forget not you have axes. Now, by swart Orcus, ere the sun goes down He shall attend his daughter to thy courts, Pass from my judgment-seat to thine, nor linger Upon the road from Rome to Tartarus. Bring him before me, and remove the corpse ; Arrest yon villain who harangues the mob. What is his name ? Icilius ? Pull him down. Break your most knotted rod across his head. What ! they resist ! Aye, crack your throats with shouting. ; Am I a woman to be scared by clamour ? What would they have ? The Tribunate restored ? Not while I breathe. — ' Death to the hated Claudius ! Down with the Ten !' Hath insolence no bounds ? APPIUS CLAUDIUS 21 Was that a stone that struck my ivory chair ? Will ye insult the majesty of justice, And cast your missiles at a judge enrobed ? Here do I sit the Law personified, And he who strikes at me assails the Gods.* ***** So they are breaking benches, and the storm Hurtles afresh around this reverend head. Ho, lictors, close around me, lift my chair ; I will go home, and spare you yet the crime Of murdering on his seat your magistrate. Ah ! I am sped, your hands have crushed the brain That framed the laws which shape your destiny. Support me. Yet another ! Oh revenge ! I would give all my wealth to have their blood. Yet, better than to live abridged of power. To perish thus by hands of those I hate. * In the MS. from which this piece is copied, here follow the eight lines, commencing, 'Mine ancestors sat in the Capitol,' which form part of Scipio's harangue in the pre- ceding poem. [22 ] AN EPITAPH ON CRCESUS. While Croesus lived, before him bowed On bended knee th' admiring crowd, Some for past favours grateful, some Grateful for favours yet to come ; So high they raised with one accord A marble statue of their lord, And carved beneath the sculptured stone The triumphs that his purse had won. When Croesus died, a sudden thrill Ran through them all to know his will ; What was it ? All his friends are dumb, Yet as a sign for times to come The form to which his people kneeled Confessed the truth so long concealed, Pierced as by some internal wound. And in the heart the flaw was found. [23] ST. PAUL ON THE APPIAN WAY. Great City, that hast sent thy children forth To subjugate the World, whose iron heel Rests on the neck of peoples and of kings. Thy knell has struck, thine ancient reign is o'er. In this thy day of pride, thy noon of power, Behold the invader at thy gates ; he comes, No Celtic chief borne on tumultuous shields. No gay Epirote, lance in hand for fame. No wily captain heading Punic hosts. Not such as these, nor such as erst thy womb Hath borne too perilous for their mother's peace. No cold Cornelius, piteous as brave. No fiery Julius, hot with lust of power. Is he who stands before thy walls — alone. 24 ST. PAUL ON THE APPIAN WAY Said not the Eastern King, ' Yon desperate Sand Seems for an envoy's following too large, Yet for a consul's army all too few ' ? Behold, in turn, thy destined Conqueror, Herald and envoy, host and chief, in one. Soldier unarmed, ambassador in bonds. Fit legate of his Lord the Prince of Peace. Say what thought busied most the captive's mind When first his foot trod on the Italian shore ? Which of the myriad memories of the past With keenest recollection smote his soul ? What dim presentiment of things to come With voice prophetic murmured in his ear ? Did he recall the scenes his childhood knew — Cilician headlands set in sapphire seas ; Behind, Amanus' snowy ridge ; before, The mimic forum of that petty Rome ? Or did he tread once more the paths of youth, With eager foot pursue Gamaliel's steps ; ST. PAUL ON THE APPIAN WAY 25 Burn for the highest life, the strictest rule, And glow with furious zeal o'er Stephen's death ? Or rose not rather on his eyes again The awful vision near Damascus' gate. The blaze that darkened Syria's noontide sun. The volleyed lightning, and the calm, sad face Of Him whose love such zeal repaid with hate ? Smelled he once more the sacrificial fumes, Which Lystra paid to gods that fancy framed ? Or stood he as of old in musings rapt Before the altar of the God Unknown ? Heard he again the midnight crash that told Of shocks that made Philippi's dungeon reel ? Seemed he once more to breast the angry sea, Or face the tumult of an angrier crowd ? Caught he again the echoes of the storm. Or the more ominous roar of human hate, Or did the weariness of years consumed In strife, in toil, in peril, and in pain. Stir some regret for tranquil seasons passed 26 ST. PAUL ON THE APPIAN WAY Amid Arabian solitudes — the days Of earnest self-communion, and the nights When lustrous heavens lifted his soul to God ? Think not whate'er the burden on his soul Of sad reflection, or of anxious care. One touch of fear disturbed that dauntless breast. Was this, the envoy of the King of kings. To crouch before a meaner potentate ? Could he now quail before the power of Rome, Who on its own height met the mind of Greece ? Could Csesar's Judgment Hall benumb the brain That grappled with the lore of all the schools Upon the hill of Areopagus ? Was he who fought with beasts beyond the sea. Who stood serene and beckoned with his hand To still the rabble howling for his blood. To be cowed before the judge he sought ? Could that high sense of right, that love of God, Which scared the favourites of a guilty court, That fiery zeal which had the power to change The placid scorn of Festus to strange awe, ST. PAUL ON THE APPIAN WAY 27 That passionate energy which almost brought Agrippa to his knees — could this now fade ? Could this now falter with the goal so near ? Ah ! no. The spirit which impelled that course Was of another sphere ; the (airs) that buoyed The vessel of Salvation through the storm, Were not of those that mock at prayerful hope. Not his the strength he had, and in that strength. Far mightier than the imperial foe he meets. He marches on, nor doubts a victory. Yet, if that ardent gaze would choose to rest Upon the vision of that crown before Than on the deeds he counted profitless, 'Twas not from lack of high emprise achieved, Great suffering, greater sorrow, greatest joy. But he disdained to dwell. . . . [28] HYMN FOR EASTER EVEN. ' He descended into hell.' There is a stir through all the dreary coast Where broods the endless Twilight, and no sound Has ever startled Silence at her post Since the first seasons went their primal round. On this side rolls the chill remorseless river, On that the mist now hides and now displays Dim cheerless plains, that, widening on for ever. Mock their faint denizens' uncertain gaze. But who the dwellers on that joyless shore. Where sun ne'er rose, which moonlight ne'er invades. Whose sad obscurity they still explore. Discerning not each other, formless shades ? HYMN FOR EASTER EVEN 29 It is the land beyond Death's gloomy portal, Where all things are forgotten — save the tomb, Its narrow vestibule — where souls immortal Flit restless till they meet their final doom. Unconscious of their comrades, shadowy nation, (To them nor righteousness nor sin allowed. Their trial past), they roam in isolation, A peopled solitude, a lonely crowd. What plash is that upon the silent river? What ray has lit the bank where sun ne'er shone ? What sudden shock has made that desert shiver. And roused to human life those spectres wan ? What distant roar of more than mundane thunder Peals its dread tale of more than human crime, Of rocks upriven, and veil rent asunder. As He who made them stooped to things of time ? 30 HYMN FOR EASTER EVEN Who lived a Victim, and a Conqueror died, E'en in the extremest malice of His foes Achieving victory, and, crucified. Set free mankind from sin and all its woes. He comes ! who triumphed as He bowed in death. The Seed foretold to bruise the serpent's head, Who, wrung by pain, while yielding up His breath Sought a new battlefield, the Ancient Dead. He comes ! the Lord of Life and Light divine : No sweeter sound e'er gladdened human ear, No brighter sun did e'er on mortal shine. Than bursts unhoped-for on that dismal sphere. He comes ! the Son of Man, of woman born. Vexed by man's griefs, by man's temptations tried. To those who sinned in far Creation's dawn To bear the boon, for which Himself had died. HYMN FOR EASTER EVEN 31 Around Him troop those shades of ages gone, By whose hoar cities Babel were a child, Who wrought with Tubal-Cain, or erst upon Jubal's first minstrelsy had haply smiled. And there are some, Eve's first and fairest daughters, Whose fatal beauty proved the seraphs' snare ; And men, who, wrestling with the world of waters On mountain-tops, had clutched the empty air : Primeval ghosts, whose life on earth endured Longer than nations of our later day. Yet on whose ears in prison thus immured First broke the tidings of a Saviour's sway. How 'mid their sad expectancy that tongue, . Which spake as never mortal utterance spake. Thrilled the faint hearts of all that viewless throng How on their eyes they felt the morning break ! What acclamations hailed the King of kings As Victor His last battlefield He trod ! What hymns of triumph swept th' angelic strings. As e'en the grave confessed the might of God ! [32] ORPHEUS. What ! do I wake ? Or doth some horrid dream Sent from that nether world pursue me still ? Methinks I wake : sadly I recognise The sullen roar of Hebrus in mine ears, Its swollen tide before me, and around Are faces darklier lowering than its waves. *■ vff * * * Alas ! and is it so ? Is such my doom ? Must he whose melody could lull the winds, Thrill through the adamantine heart of rocks. And lure the monarchs of the forest forth In mild submission to the master spell — The subtle pleadings of whose lyre have won Compassion from inexorable Fate, And melted into uncongenial drops ORPHEUS 33 The tearless eyes of the Erinnyes, Aye, in the charnel where he holds his state Have caused to throb the pulseless heart of Death, And through the icebound veins of her I loved Renewed the rosy course of Life and Love, What must he plead, and plead in vain to you ! Aye, I remember now those sunless halls. The gloomy precincts of the awful court That meets but to condemn ; the judges set. To whom both hope and mercy are unknown ; High on their right, enthroned in all his state. Glared the swart majesty of Hades' king, And by his side in terrors less, but not In mercy greater, brooded Proserpine. Before this dread tribunal in the midst Stood, wan and trembling, my Eurydice ; Then I essayed to speak, I struck the chords, And strove to breathe my spirit through the strings ; Faint on my lips the chant celestial died With which Apollo floods the halls of heaven ; 3 34 ORPHEUS Yet fainter on the chords its cadence failed, For hope was in its tones — and Hope was dead. Yet, when Hope fades, a mightier yet survives, For in the Poet's breast Love cannot die, And I burst forth, ' Give me my love again, The world is blank without her ; life hath lost Its colour ; men and things around appear To be the shadows of their former selves. And move like me, gray and mechanical ; Cold is the desolation of my home. Lonely I stray through the deserted bowers Late radiant with the light of our first love ' And more I know not what, but when anon Sobs choked my utterance, soft I swept the lyre And made the muse my soul's interpreter. [35 ] 'FAREWELL, MY HOME.' Farewell, my home ; not often in our life Hang on reluctant lips more mournful words ; Not often are our being's inmost chords Wrung by the presence of such inward strife. Far fiercer is the pang that rends the heart When the film comes o'er the lack-lustre eye. When on the faltering tongue the accents die. And from some loved one for this life we part. And there is misery in ambition crost, And there is sorrow in a friend's distress, And agony when love stakes happiness Upon a single die and all is lost. 36 'FAREWELL, MY HOME' But yet a home that was and is not ours Hath a pecuhar anguish of its own, More hkethe last ; we lose, but not alone, We yield our darling to another's powers. Will it be ever as it was of yore. Should years permit us to return again ? Will not the memory of that day remain ? The house that was our childhood's is no more. Sadly we turn, and veil the wistful eyes. That still would dwell on the familiar scene ; No more for us swells yonder upland green, No more for us those trees gigantic rise. How sweet it was to mark as day declined The long light slant across the sloping sward. In liquid emerald on the turf outpoured. And clothing every stem with golden rind ! How on yon slope the trees' tall shadows lay. Chequering the evening sunlight shed below, How did the many-coloured garden glow, Flooded with golden gleams of parting day ! 'FAREWELL, MY HOME' 37 How as he stooped, his busy journey run, Toward his rest beyond yon western height, With mellow gables bathed in orange light ■ ' The Evening Glory ' * faced the setting sun ! The door stands open, and the hall is bare, Darkened and desolate the rooms around, Nor aught to mark the place can now be found Where ranged my Father's shelves, or stood his chair. Stilled is the nursery's once tumultuous glee, No step save mine sounds through each vacant room. And hushed for ever in the silent tomb His voice, whose kindest tones would welcome me. Here helpless, hopeless, through that evening drear Stood we or knelt and watched our father die. Here, too, my little firstborn's quavering cry First broke in utterance on my anxious ear. * The poetic name given to Mr. Raikes's old home by one of its former possessors. 38 'FAREWELL, MY HOME' Here my young brother drooped upon my arm, And breathed his short unsuUied Hfe away ; Here, as our baby-girl unconscious lay, Were our prayers heard, our darling saved from harm. Another comes to whom our past is nought. The household gods flee from the stranger's face; Yet, will not those loved spirits haunt the place, Troubled to find not there the friends they sought ? Enough ; why linger thus my grief to tell. Why thus indulge in vain my longing sight ? One last fond look — may Heaven's best blessing light On thy dear roof for ever — so farewell. [39] MILTON'S HOUSE. So famous, yet forgotten ? Laurel-crowned, Yet unregarded ? Bears thy muse no fruit Save empty homage ? Are the echoes mute, Erst eloquent with thy great Epic's sound ? Is there no reverence for the glorious past ? Must ruffian hands deface the walls that shrined The lonely treasures of thy master-mind, And lay thy hearthstone naked to the blast ? No great Emathian conqueror rules the hour. No captain, colonel, or knight in arms, Chivalric minister of war's alarms. Lifts his rash spear against the Muse's bower. 40 MILTON'S HOUSE In vain thou pleadest now ; in other days Such plaintive melodies might touch the heart Of gallant soldier ; now the huckster's cart, The carrier's van, outsound the poet's lays. What war respects, trade scorns. We loudly prate Of Progress on her grand triumphal road ; What though she trample down the poor abode Where burns the hearth by which our Milton sate ! Thus Commerce desecrates what Time would spare; Can modern wisdom doubt if called to choose Betwixt a new street and the Classic Muse, A poet's house or wider thoroughfare ? Cease we to plead where his own words are vain. Why wrestle with the Spirit of an age That cannot rob us of his golden page, Although it lays his roof-tree in the plain ! PART II. [43 ] 'COMES THE DAWN.' Comes the dawn when Hope, ascending, Lifts her for another flight, Gone are all the hours whose ending Lies behind the waning night. Gone are all those wasted hours ; Though their bitter fruit survive, Weep not o'er the withered flowers. He who gave has more to give. Look not back on days departed. Rise to meet the rising Sun, Let him find us truer-hearted For the work not yet begun. 44 ' COMES THE DA WN ' Hopes have faded, joys have perished, Love has lured us but to show That the dream so fondly cherished Lives in pain and dies in woe. We have sinned, and we have suffered, We have longed, and we have lost ; Have we learned the lesson proffered To each soul at such a cost ? Love by fate in fetters fastened Still may grow to higher love, As the plant the steel has chastened Springs the other plants above. Not a sin, and not a sorrow. Not a sad hour passed away, But may serve to make to-morrow Better than was yesterday. He that loves us and chastises, Knows the discipline that wrings From bruised hearts the faith which rises To a sense of higher things. ' COMES THE DA WN ' 45 If the souls that suffer only Shall be perfect, why should we Shrink from pain ? Though sad and lonely. Turn we still, O God, to Thee. Upward ! though the hill seem endless. Though the briars our path o'erspread, One, we know once climbed it friendless ; Thorns like these have crowned His head. Onward ! though the past be dreary, Hope still lives to struggle on. Baffled, wounded, faint and weary. Still the victory may be won. So when years at last are ended, When our tale of work is done. Comes the day when life more splendid Springs to greet the brighter Sun. [46] THE SWINEHERD OF PROVENCE. A LEGEND OF ST. HONORAT. In the versification of the following legend, it has been sought to revert to the style — now, perhaps, almost forgotten — of Southey's ' Legendary Ballads.' And although I cannot pretend to have caught a full measure of their inspiration, I have endeavoured at least to recall a manner, which, perhaps from old associations, has always appeared to me singularly appropriate for dealing with a theme of this character. H. C. R. Seven altars built St. Honorat The Holy Aisle within ; At each might Pilgrim from afar Atone one deadly sin. And he who through seven faithful years Shall make his yearly prayer Before them all with sighs and tears, The Pilgrim's Palm shall bear. THE SWINEHERD OF PROVENCE 47 And he o'er whom the Prior shall bend That Palm-branch to bestow, Thenceforward to his journey's end Unscathed by sin shall go. Six year^ an humble Swineherd sought Renewal of each grace, And back to his base service brought A radiant, reverent face. And now the seventh year's end draws nigh, For three short days he pleads To crown by consummation high His soul's supremest needs. ' Back to thy swine — what need'st with prayer ?' His churlish lord replied. Beside his herd in mute despair He watched till Vesper-tide ; Perchance it was some Vesper chime That soothed him as he wept, Prone on his face mid stone and shme. He prayed until he slept. 48 THE SWINEHERD OF PROVENCE And now he hears the Convent bell. The holy sea-borne psalm ; What words his rapturous joy can tell As he receives the Palm ! He wakes — the heavenly vision flown— Yet, near him on the strand, Behold, a Palm, a Pilgrim's Crown, Dropt by an angel's hand ! [49] THE COLIS.EUM. A FRAGMENT. I. The long array Of spectral arches in their shattered pride Brings back to us the old Imperial day, The countless sufferers, whose blood has dyed 4 so THE COLISEUM The soil now green beneath us, as they lay Victims to Rome's brute lust for homicide, Martyr alike and felon ; as they fell Burst from unnumbered throats the exulting yell. Ah, what a monstrous festival was here ! The Saturnalia of the murderous beast, With fang and talon, or with sword and spear. To prey on man's defenceless limbs released ; With myriad faces swarming tier on tier. Spectators, all but partners, of the feast, As though mankind's arch enemy had built A newer Babel tower — with human guilt. Here, as the infernal fabric's seemliest base, Girt with his senatorial satellites, Lowered the Imperial Vampire's callous face ; Above his head in clustering ring the knights, THE COLISMUM 51 Vultures behind the eagle ; next in place Rome citizens and meaner carrion kites ; Highest, as floats the froth on turbid waves, The seething human cauldron's scum — of slaves. 7- They came, they saw, they conquered, truly taught That suffering is man's highest victory ; He triumphed who could set the world at naught. Encounter death with an unflinching eye. Hold life's best joys as scarcely worth a thought, Aspirant to a crown above the sky ; Torn from his home, the darlings of his heart, He perished here, and chose the nobler part. 8. There stands the trophy of the conquest won. Stern sign of faith superior to all pain ; Gone are the multitudes that shouted, gone The pomp and power of the Cassarean reign — 52 THE COLISMUM Like night's dark dreams before the rising sun ; Yet doth the symbol that they scorned remain Thus, rooted in the field of battle — well It marks the spot where its first soldiers fell. 9- So lives the cause for which they lavished life, Conq.uering and yet to conquer. On this field Did they not scorn the pangs of passing strife. Conscious of heavenly might that could not yield ? In vain the monster's paw, the butcher's knife ! This blood thus shed the doom of empire sealed ; What though to lust of blood and purblind pride They seemed to die ? — 'Twas Rome herself that died. 10. Dead ! dead ! And dead never to rise again ! The curse of many a year hangs o'er thee yet ; What trance of ages can efface the stain Of those foul days ? Can Heaven and Earth forget THE COLISMVM 53 What they have witnessed here, the gory rain With which these favourite shambles have been wet? Vain dream to rear anew this eagle's nest ; Death's seal is on the city. Let her rest. [54 ST. GILDAS. From lonely Carnac of the marshalled stones, And over reedy Lokmariaker, Where the rude rockings of the clumsy boats Still set the adventurous tourist shuddering, Leaped Gildas. Wherefore leaped he thus, and v^fhen, And how he leaped such leap as never saint Nor sinner hath embarked on since his time, They told to Arthur when he held his court Hard by in Kerlescant, when one night tired Of justicing among that savage race. And chasing golden stags with silver horns. He prayed the fine Gawain for something new ; ' Yea, new,' quoth he, ' O king ! if still your ear Must feed on what is new, be it to me ST. GILD AS 55 Permitted that I mar it not with truth.' And Arthur, as he sat with Hstless head Propt on his languid palm, forgetfully Assenting, thus the Prince beguiled his ear.* In lone G4ur Innis Gildas, the low saint. He was not high as Dubric ; such a height (Even in those days of odorous sanctity, Of soapless abstinence from change of shirt. And year-long provender of musty fish), 'Twas not for every saint to hope to reach ; So Gildas chose to be esteemed low. Nor was this grace of humbleness alone. For low indeed he was — low when first found Upon the desolate shore of Morbihan, A little caterwauling, helpless beast. Whom the rough mariners kept to be their drudge ; And low he grew under their tutelage — Low in his words, low in his actions, low In gesture as in thought ; till one day, tired * One or more lines are missing here. 56 ST. GILDAS Of menial labour in the seamen's hut, Of blows and taunts and mockery uncouth, And endless picklings of the rank sardine, He fled, and spoiled the taskmasters he fled ; Then took to preaching for his livelihood. And prospered in it ; though he might not match The sulphurous savour of his rival's cell, Yet did his eloquence, sonorous of the sea. And the vernacular vigour of his tongue, Rich with the racy dialect of the shore. So work upon his hearers, that they seemed In hearing him to breathe the noisome gale Straight from the nether pit, and in his voice To catch reverberations of (Yffern) ; And so two parties named of high and low, Of Dubric, and of Gildas, rent the court With hostile jargoning, and antics queer. And disquisitions hard to simple men ; And thus their followers still divide the world. [ 57] POPE. Come, then, my Friend, my Genius, come along, Oh, master of the Poet and the Song ! And, while the Muse now stoops and now ascends To Man's low passions and their glorious ends, Teach me like thee, in various nature wise. To fall with dignity, with temper rise ; Formed by thy converse happily to steer From grave to gay, from lively to severe. Correct with spirit, eloquent with ease. Intent to reason, or polite to please. Oh ! while along the stream of Time thy name Expanded flies and gathers all its fame, Say, shall my little bark attendant sail, Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale ? When statesmen, heroes, kings, in dust repose Whose sons shall blush their fathers were thy foes. 58 POPE Shall then this verse to future age pretend Thou wast my guide, philosopher and friend ? *Would'st thou be great ? True greatness lies within ; If thou art great, let others grandeur win'; If thou hast patience, and the cold calm strength That trusts itself till Honour comes at length, In camp, in mart, in Senate's high debate, Hold thou thy course, thou art, and wilt be, great. Not the high fancy, nor the popular breath. Not life triumphant, nor more glorious death — None of these things can change a man's estate ; The lofty steadfast soul alone is great. Can love of ease entice thee, or of fame ? Save thou thy pains if greatness be thine aim. Wouldst thou be happy ? Think not then to taste The joy thou seekest with ambitious haste ; * The following verses in the MS. are pinned to the sheet on which the lines to Pope are written. H. St. J. R. POPE 59 The primest goods of life will lose their zest When they have been the prizes of the quest. Hope not ; for hopes deferred our life annoy. And hope achieved is soon a tedious toy. Wouldst thou be loved ? Wouldst seek to prove the stress Of balked desire, or ruinous success ? Wouldst learn the bitterness of passion spurned, Or taste the perilous bliss of love returned ? Choose thou the luckless lover's sorry plight ; For Love attained is Heir of Fortune's spite. Wouldst thou live well ? Be ready to enjoy. As ready to forego, the sweets that cloy ; Accept thy good and ill, thy peace and strife. As things contrived to deck the show called life ; Play well thy part, be glad when others play, Yet grieve not that the Masque must end to-day. [6o] LOUIS XVII., KING OF FRANCE. In the dark dungeon, shivering, desolate, Poor child, what envious chance hath placed thee here ? What hath exposed thee to the brutish hate Of those who would insult what all revere ? Forlorn, yet not entirely alone, Robbed of thy royal crown, thy kingly state, Without a friend whom thou canst call thine own. Pale, crouching, victim of an evil fate. Though slaves have torn the sceptre from thy hand. And stripped thee of the birthright of thy race, Though thou must kneel thus where thou shouldst command. And change thy wide realm for this dungeon's space. LOUIS XVII., KING OF FRANCE 6i Yet art thou still possessor of the past ; No felon hands can spoil that heritage ; Yet on thy fair brow is the aureole cast, The legacy of many a glorious age. Discrowned, yet not dishonoured child of France, Young heir of Clovis and of Charlemagne, Though it destroy thy throne, no evil chance Can make thy race's great traditions vain. Say, midst the menial toil, the dungeon's gloom. Do not grand voices whisper in thine ear ? Do not thy fathers call thee from the tomb, Son of a royal line that knew not fear ? Have not those tearful eyes, that wasted form. Those feeble limbs, that sadly drooping head. Already learned to face Rebellion's storm. And under foot its odious badge to tread ? What though they call thee but to join their dust ! Is it not better thus in youth to die. Than to maintain, with slow-decaying trust. The hope too long deferred of sovereignty ? 62 LOUIS XVII., KING OF FRANCE So shalt thou die, yet wilt thou die a king — A king, though not a ruler ; force may take The accidents of Monarchy, no thing Of this earth born can Royalty unmake. [63 ] FRAGMENT. Rose the High Priest ; bright ghstened on his breast The jewelled oracle of Israel's race ; Yet brighter glowed, though passing manifest, The flash of inspiration o'er his face. Not that fixed splendour round the saintly head Which erst the great Lawgiver's mission sealed From Sinai's slope descending, as it shed From him bright witness of a God revealed. Nor yet, as some short sennights hence shall light On the meek heads of those who loved their Lord, The true Shecinah, through the world-wide night The Paraclete Himself in fire outpoured. 64 FRAGMENT Rather as once on Peor's ridge astray, With wild eyes dazzled and bewildered brain, Entranced yet waking, through the night and day The seer of Midian gazed o'er hill and plain. [6s J DEAR LITTLE GIRL OF GIMINGHAM. Why should I prate of other scenes, Or try my hand at rhyming 'em, While still thy bright face intervenes. My little girl of Gimingham ? I'd sauntered on my lazy hack From Cromer unto Trimmingham, And but for thee had scarce got back. Kind little girl of Gimingham. These finger-posts our search deride Unless we've skill in climbing 'em, I found in thee a clearer guide, Bright little girl of Gimingham. 5 66 DEAR LITTLE GIRL OF GIMINGHAM I see thee now. Artistic grace, Howe'er expert in limning 'em, Could ne'er portray a bonnier face, Sweet little girl of Gimingham. Aye, e'en the hardened libertine. Who dares to count all women game. Were foiled by innocence like thine, Frank little girl of Gimingham. So flit about thy quiet lanes. Like some sweet linnet skimming 'em. Till one, most favoured of thy swains. Shall make thee bride in Gimingham. [67] LOVE CONDEMNED.* ' Once is always ' — is it not ? Love that lives can ne'er expire ; Though betrayed, despised, forgot. Never dies the sacred fire. Pleasure fades, pain grows more dull, Habit teaches how to bear ; Yet you cannot love annul. Though you call his name Despair. In the dungeon dark alone. Where the treason laid him low, Writhes he through the years unknown E'en to her who dealt the blow. ■* 'The Newcomes,' chap. Ixviii., p. 591, line 9. 68 LOVE CONDEMNED Other cares, while lasts the light, Drown his voice with louder tones. In the sad and silent night Listen — ^you may hear his moans. Somewhat feebler ? It may be That the husks his gaolers give Have impaired his force ; yet he Cannot learn how not to live. Cost her something did it ? Well, E'en a pious treason should ; When the very best rebel They must risk some drops of blood. Acted for the best ? Of course ! Virtue is its own reward ; Privileged from all remorse. Let Love die, since Love has erred. But he will not ; let him lie Bruised and bleeding, starved and shamed ; Did he not deserve to die ? If he lives let him be blamed. LOVE CONDEMNED 69 Little hand, how could it bear Torch to show where Love lay hid ? Ah ! sweet eyes that will not dare Look in mine as once they did. Little traitress, now I know Thou'dst not strength my love to bless, 'Twas my folly fancied so. Yet I love thee none the less. Love thee ? while this heart can beat ! Hate thee ? Almost, yet not quite ; Happy could I kiss the feet Which have trampled out my light. [7o] THE GREETING. He sat beneath the beechen shade Beside his table fitly laid. Where beakers of the good old time Brimmed with the juice of summer clime. Above, the nymphs, their favour's proof, The four green sisters twined a roof. And on the turf beneath that bower Fair scrolls attest the Muses' power. The westering sun adown the glen Flashed on the towers of Hawthornden, And through the woods his course along The murmuring brook made evensong. What stranger comes with wandering feet To invade the bard's serene retreat ? What Southron vagrant dares intrude On Drummond's genial solitude ? THE GREETING 71 Yet, spite of travel-stained disguise, A lustre lightens in those eyes Softer than evening's parting gleam Lies mirrored on Esk's glittering stream ; And under that imperial brow A host of brighter fancies glow Than sunrise wakes to life again, When kindling Roslin's storied fane. Up to his feet with eager zest Springs Scotland's bard to clasp his guest ; Gladly his host the stranger meets With grasp as warm as that which greets. Yet hearts that glow, and minds that move. In simple words their greetings prove, 'Twas ' Welcome, welcome. Royal Ben,' And ' Thank ye, kindly, Hawthornden.' [72 ] THE IRISH M.P.'S.* Desinit ah tandem raucus cohibere Senatum, Quem porci novere olim, jam Curia noscit Carnificem, obstrepere ipsa et apud penetralia Legis Cessat lege vacans oculo speculator inani, Jam silet, ah utinam velit seternumque silere ! Infelix puer is, cui par nil vivere Fata Permittunt, neque proximum habebit patria natum, Hunc nova seditio et supra juga Hibernica flammas Legislatorem, qui legibus omnibus obstat, Expectant, et longa coronant tsedia tsedae ; Ibimus, en armis cessit toga, justitio jus ! Ibimus, invisa procul urbe beata petamus * Published anonymously mjohn Bull, August, 1877. THE IRISH M.P.'S 73 Arva iterum, et si quos victis trahit insula dives Navigiis, et si quos Scotia convocat, illic Curarum immemori silvae per devia cervum Instantem expectare detur,* vel vespere prffidam Aligeram aut pisces ereptos amne referre ; Talia Sextilis nobis bonus otia confert. At quo fida nimis mala, mens omittere tanta Possit ? Adhuc resonat discordia in auribus, segros Turbat adhuc animos clamor Parnellicus, amens * Dr. Kennedy (Mr. Raikes's old headmaster) wrote under date August 27, 1877 : ' My dear Raikes, — I have rec* yomJoM Bull with the hexameters, which have amused me very much, and I thank you for them. Your hand being a little out of late, you have slipt into a false quantity, forgetting that detur does not follow the law of datur, so I must amuse you in return by returning to my old vocation of " correcting," which is easily done : Curarum immemores inter desetta ferarum Instantem expectant cervum . . . and then for " referre " in the next line " reportent." " Inter deserta ferarum " is a crib from Virgil, ^n., vii., 404, and will do very well for the deer-forests of the Highlands.' 74 THE IRISH M.P.'S Donnelides rursus rursusque exordia sumit, Ebrius en Catalina novus spatiatur in aula Prasside contempto et promptus sua verba negare. Ast hoc ne facinus miretur Hibernica summum, Hie conjurantem vult exprobare senatum Quem sua turba refert, et conjurare potentem Et conjuratse fidei modo fallere pactum Tardo in secessus terrse pede fertur avitae, Gaudet ubi plumis scribendi nescius anser, Monstrum, horrendum, informe, ingens, cui nomen O'Gorman, Stridet apud tortum vix nunc abitura lacunar ^rea Nasonis vox Isetis reddita ab Indis, Arrogat iratus semper reboare Professor, Et fremit ille ferax quo non tulit Africa pestem Majorem primo collapsus scriptor in anno ; At nos quos prisci monuit doctrina senatus, ' Certare ingenio contendere nobilitate,' ' Noctes atque dies niti praestante labore,' Nos quae fama recens fert et meminisse pigebit, Et pudet invitam populo praedicere Musam, THE IRISH M.P.'S 75 Tristes excubias quas haud superanda tenebat Curia Barbarise lento collisa duello. Sic dum Celta ferox Romse insultabat, in aula Immoto expectare volebant ordine Patres ; Hinc cita pernicies hinc dira prooemia rixse. Vos autem quibus haud spernenda Britannia credit Seque decusque suum, crescenti occurite morbo, Neu sinite indignos hostes contemnere mores, Neu vetus imperium quod non domuere tyranni Opprimat exiguus postremo in tempore vulgus. [77-^ THE FRENCH GOVERNESS. You ask me why I weep so long, You chide the tears I shed, You say such grief as mine is wrong, Because my bird is dead. Pardon, madame, you scarcely know How much he was to me, My little friend who shared my woe As he had known my glee. The months, I know, may number few. Although with sorrow filled. Since in our garden at St. Cloud I watthed the linnets build. Then I had all and more than all Your children have to-day ; The Commune came, and roof and wall In hideous ruin lay. [ 76] THE WILD WHITE ROSE. The wild rose blooms on the woodland spray, It hangs o'er the wild bird's nest, And I longed as I passed by to-day To wear it upon my breast. But I had a flower already there, A rose, too, my garden's queen, And to spurn what had claimed my tenderest care Were a graceless act, I ween. So the wilding flower uninjured stands, For I bore it not away, And it waits for the grasp of ruder hands Than those it escaped to-day. Still I gaze on the garden's trim parterre. Where each flower in order blows, And I sigh for a breath of the mountain air. And I long for that wild white rose. 78 THE FRENCH GOVERNESS One day I dared to stand beside That wreck of happier years ; I Hngered on the lawn and tried To check my blinding tears. There underneath a shattered tree, Whose arms were strewn around, Crushed by the same calamity The linnet's nest I found. Within one little bird survived ; I held it to my heart. And vowed while both of us still lived That we should never part. And so, madame, I came to you ; Your skies are gray and cold ; And looks are grave, and friends are few ; Methinks one soon grows old ! But when rare sunshine came, elate My little bird would sing ; I shut my eyes to dream, and straight My heart to France would spring. THE FRENCH GOVERNESS 79 And so your lapdog came, and so — Indeed I don't complain — His little cage is empty now ; He'll never sing again. So pray forgive these foolish tears, I am not wise like you ; It's time for lessons ; come, my dears — Ah ! mon petit ! adieu ! [8o ] THE LASS HE BORE AWA'. HELEN MACGREGOR. Oh ! Robin dear, beware, beware ! Yon lass's love will cost ye sair. Is ne'er a Hieland maid sae fair As blue-eyed Jeanie Kay ? ROBIN. Nay, mither, why sae idly prate ? If loss o' life must be my fate, I'll lose my life to win my mate, My blue-eyed Jeanie Kay. HELEN. Nay, rest ye in Ben Lomond's Cave, Forbear to stray by Endrick's wave ; Why suld ye seek a bluidy grave Thro' Pass o' Balmaha ? THE LASS HE BORE AWA' 8i ROBIN. Sae saftly Endrick's waters glide, I'll cross them with a single stride, And hame I'll bring my bonnie bride Thro' Pass o' Balmaha. HELEN. Nay, bring not here a Lowland quean To scorn our rocks and valleys green ; On some Chief's daughter cast your e'en. Forgetting Jeanie Kay. ROBIN. No Chieftain's lass, to spare your grief, Will wed Clan Gregor's landless Chief, And mair's to me than land or fief The love of Jeanie Kay. jf ,j/, if ^ ^ Oh, loud the cry and hot the chase As thro' Buchanan's glades they race. But safe they reached the mountain's base Rowardennan's braes alang. 6 THE LASS HE BORE AW A' She didna feel her lovely load That gude gray mare on which she rode, But brought her to her lord's abode, Ben Lomond's crags amang. Alas ! the day he left his home. Through Endrick's tempting vale to roam, And brought on him the felon's doom Thro' Pass o' Balmaha. Yet still Clan Gregor's bards shall tell How in his flower their chieftain fell. Who loved not wisely, but too well The lass he bore awa'. [83] CANUTE II * WITH INFINITE APOLOGIES TO THE SHADE OF MR. THACKERAY. Ministers were getting anxious, they had ruled through sessions four, Scutthng, shirking, fihbustering, preaching much and plundering more. And they mused upon the speeches in Midlothian made of yore. 'Twixt his Chancellor and Herbert swayed the Chief with doubtful gait, Chamberlain and Dilke pushed on him, Harting- ton came following late ; Courtneys, Fawcetts, Henry Jameses, all the hangers on of State, * Published in Vanity Fair, January, 1884. 84 CANUTE II. Sliding after like his shadow, pausing when he chose to pause, If a frown his face contracted, straight his col- leagues dropped their jaws ; If to smile their chief was minded, out they burst in loud hee-haws. But that day a something vexed him, that was plain to all men there : Thrice the Chief had yawned at table, though he'd dined in Grosvenor Square ; Once his hostess wished to pet him, but he said he didn't care. ' Something ails mine ancient comrade,' cried the Keeper of the Seal ; ' Is it the Deceased Wife's Sister, or the Court of Church Appeal ?' ' Bah !' exclaimed the angry Premier, ' Selborne, 'tis not these I feel. CANUTE II. 85 ' 'Tis stern fact, not fad or fancy, goose, that doth my rest impair ; Can a man be grand as I am, prithee, and yet know no care ? Oh ! I'm sick of legislation — George Lefevre, get a chair!' Then towards the whips who waited grimly George Lefevre nodded ; Straight the Premier's chair was brought him by two nobles able-bodied ; Yet he took his seat as though some thorn within the cushion prodded. ' Letting loose my Irish rebels upon land, and law, and life, I have talked and I have triumphed, foremost in the wordy strife.' Here some curious echo muttered, ' How about the assassin's knife ?' 86 CANUTE 11. ' What avail me all my triumphs ? Half our friends suspect they're sold. One at least among my colleagues yearns to fill the place I hold. Would he did, and I were felling timber near the town of Mold ! ' Sense of failure, hateful presence, ever in my bosom dwells. While the list of my fiascos every morning's budget swells ; 'Mid the plaudits of my Party still I hear my victims' yells. ' Cattle tortured, murderous outrage, harmless houses wrapped in fire, Orphans starving, landlords flying vainly from the Land League's ire.' ' Such a tender conscience,' cried Sir William, ' one and all admire. CANUTE II. 87 ' But on such unpleasant bygones, don't, oh Grand Old Man, lay stress ! They're condoned, at least slurred over, by our blatant party Press ; Never, never will it own a Liberal Leader's made a mess. ' See your laws dispensed by judges by yourself to ermine raised, Benches stocked with holy men alike by you and Bradlaugh praised ; You to think about resigning ! on my conscience, I'm amazed.' 'Yet I feel,' replied the Premier, 'that our end. is drawing near.' ' Don't say so,' howled Leonard Courtney, o'er whose features (stole) a tear ; ' Sure the Party's most united, and may last at least a year.' 88 CANUTE II. 'Last another year!' Sir William roared, with actions made to suit ; ' Where's your boasted skill in figures thus our chances to compute ? Ministries have lasted twenty, and sure this of ours will do 't. ' Walpole, Pelham, Lord North even, William Pitt and Liverpool Reigned nigh twenty years apiece, as every school- boy learns at school.' ' Why should we,' here chimed in Fawcett, 'break from such a good old rule ?' ' We go out,' resumed Sir William; 'we go out like other folks ! You must be distraught with envy to invent so vile a hoax, Courtney ; why the bare suggestion's worse than any of my jokes. CANUTE 11. 89 ' With our wondrous skill in talking ne'er a Tory can compete, Every blunder as we make it, praise we as a glorious feat : Don't we prove that black is white, whenever such a course seems meet ? ' Did not our great founder Walpole keep his hand upon the till ? Bidding, while he paid his party, St. John's peer- less tongue be still ; So, no doubt, will our great leader when he has his pious will.' 'Can I still bamboozle England,' cried the Premier, ' with a speech ? Can I hush the voice of Salisbury, when his followers mount the breach ? If I can perform such wonders, sure I can bar- barians teach. 90 CANUTE II. ' Will the intrusive Mahdi listen, Granville, if I use my tongue ?' Cried his colleagues all in chorus, ' He who doubts it should be hung.' Turned the Premier to the Soudan, and this bold defiance flung : ' To the land which I've — hem — conquered, come not nearer, I entreat ; Seek not, oh ! my twin-impostor, my achievements to repeat. Mahdi, be advised, I pray thee ; let not two false prophets meet.' But the distant Mahdi answered with a still advancing host. Sweeping, spreading, onward treading, till th' Egyptian arms were lost. Back drew Grand Old Man and colleagues dread- ing what defence might cost. CANUTE II. 91 Yet he wildly looks about him for some other shift to try, And he bids his trembling colleagues still upon his name rely, And the more he blunders all the more their Chief to deify. Still our Grand Old Man is with us ; still we laud his ministry. [92] PARODY ON 'THE SURGEON'S WARNING.'* The Caucus grumbled at the Whigs — But the Leader knew his men ; And he taxed his wit to avoid a spHt, And he beckoned for his pen. ' Now call my old colleagues, and call them in haste,' The bewildered Leader cried; ' The Quaker, and the Umbrella-maker, Bid them hasten to my side.' The Quaker and the Umbrella-maker They came without delaying. And the Pet of the Caucuses flew to Wales To know what their Leader was saying. * Southey. PARODY ON 'THE SURGEON'S WARNING' 93 The Colleagues knocked at the Castle door, By one, by two, by three, With a sly grin came Joseph in, The first of the company. Their Leader sighed to see them ride Their hobbies in daylight clear ; ' You must learn to conceal what you really feel, I beseech ye, my colleagues dear.' He strove to control the rage of his soul, Yet he wrinkled his grim eyebrow ; ' That rascal Joe would succeed me, I know. But at least he should spare me now.' So he warned the Pet of the Caucuses, Who thought the remonstrance weak ; And he showed to the others a colourless draft For the speeches they should speak. ' Each party in turn have I broken up. And now my turn will be — But, Colleagues, I've been good to you. Now do your best for me.' [94 ] SORS ANNCEANA. lucan's pharsalia, book I. 121-157. It has been rumoured, though probably without any foun- dation in fact, that at an ah-eady famous ball, which took place at Hatfield in December, 1886, a mysterious stranger beckoned the present Prime Minister aside into his library, and, having indicated in a manner which admitted of no denial a particular volume which reposed among its classic kinsmen upon a lofty shelf, proceeded to insist upon his lord- ship's opening it at a particular page. Upon this demand being satisfied, he placed in his hands the following para- phrase and instantly vanished. Whether the course of future events will in any way repeat the historical parallel therein suggested remains to be seen ; at present the utterance appears to be certainly oracular. — H. C. R. You dread, great Chief, lest old feats disappear, Lost in the splendour of a new career, Lest captivated mobs should now outweigh The ' Peace with Honour ' of an earlier day, SORS ANN (BAN A 95 Yet still your long official record trace With pride that shrinks to own the second place. Nor now will Caesar as a follower stand, Nor Pompey with a colleague share command. Which had the juster cause forbear to pry, Each on a solemn voucher can rely ; Heaven sends the wreath that victor's brow to deck. But Cato gave the vanquished his blank cheque, Nor fair the match ; — The one in later years Grown long familiar with his peaceful Peers, In Senatorial robes which wrap the sage. Unlearnt the champion of a ruder stage, For power and office when he took the field Surrendered much he knew he should not yield, (Yet, as all actors some approval seek, Content to win the plaudits of a clique,) Gained no new force, but leaned on former fame, Still stands the shadow of a glorious name ; As some tall oak, that still to memory brings 96 SORS ANNCEANA The dust of ages and the gifts of kings, No longer safely rooted in the ground — In its own bulk its prop and stay has found ; While, with bare branches through the air dis- played. Its massy trunk affords a leafy shade ; Though doomed to fall beneath next winter's blast, Which sturdier woods around it shall outlast, Still keeps its solitary state. Renown Like this not yet can Caesar call his own ; Still in his veins the restless pulses beat. Which know no shame excepting in defeat. Eager, undaunted, ready for the fray. Whenever hope or hatred show the way ; Never averse to deal a mortal blow. Or press relentless on the yielding foe. Fortune's presumptuous favourite, on he goes, And sweeps away whate'er may interpose To bar the path which he to conquest takes, SORS ANNCEANA 97 Pleased with the ruin his ambition makes. So 'mid the storm from out the thunder-cloud, With shock of heaven and crash of earth aloud, The levin-bolt hath flashed on startled day, Dazzling men's eyes with meteoric ray ; On its own temples spends its headlong wrath Unchecked by aught encountered in its path, Spreads devastation as it comes and goes. With fires rekindled by the dint of blows. (Signed W. H. S.) [98] UNION STILL IS STRENGTH * Say, in Britain's hour of danger, Shall her firstborn t help the stranger. Who would seek by wiles to change her Children's love to hate ? Who for spite or lust of plunder Now this realm would rend asunder ; Who would wreck the world's best wonder, Britain's solid State. Howsoe'er descended, Long our feuds have ended. Equal laws, our Country's cause, In one our lines have blended ; * This piece was composed at Plas Machynlleth, in order that it might be sung at a Unionist meeting to the air of ' Men of Harlech.' t The Welsh. UNION STILL IS STRENGTH 99 Ye, who seek to disunite us, Think not to deceive or fright us. While to ruin you invite us, . Union still is strength. England's might and lofty bearing, Scotland's stedfast purpose sharing, With Hibernia's wit and daring, Cambria's spirit high ; Like four streams that draw their courses From four distant mountain sources Till they join their fourfold forces In one flood for aye. Proudly rolls the river. Broadening on for ever, On its breast great navies rest, Shall it flow backward ? Never ! Who the madman at whose chiding Back shall shrink those waves dividing ? Onward sweeps the current gliding. Union still is strength. [ 100 ] 'HPAKAHS MONOIR'OS. The well-known peninsular promontory on the Riviera, which, with its adjacent dependency of Monte Carlo, con- stitutes the tiny Principality of Monaco, is said to derive its name from a temple of Hercules Monoecus (the Solitary Dweller), built many centuries before the Christian Era by the early Greek colonists of the Ligurian coast. I. God of the lonely house, whose temple hoar Frowned o'er the waves from this sea-circled height. How wise were they who, on this rock-bound shore, Reared here their altar to Resistless Might ; For sure no God-like Presence saving thine Had seemed meet Guardian for so stern a Shrine ! HERCULES MONCECUS loi II. Gone are the days when on the blue expanse, Where sky meets sea in sweet confusion blent, Th' adventurous Greek would stay his prow's advance. To seek thy favour ere he westward went ; Grim Minister of Fate's behests wert thou. Yet scarce so grim as those who reign here now. III. For where the Gods have been the Harpies crowd ; Rings on the altar from stretched hands the gold; Peal through the Halls the strains of music loud, While human victims perish as of old ; But foul the hands that give and that receive. And Gain the only God they all believe. IV. Oh, that thy club and lion's-skin again Were seen descending from the mountain's side ! 102 HERCULES MONCECUS So should this idle throng, who play with pain, Fly from the face of Labour deified, And the fell Hydra that usurps thy seat Lie crushed once more 'neath thy victorious feet. HERCULES MONCECUS.'^ SoLAM Dive domum servans, cui scrupea in area ^des undisona prospiciebat aquas, Prudentes olim scopuloso in litore mentis Aram hie indomitse Vi posuere suam ; Prseter te quis enim tam formidabile fanum Prsesens ut custos optet habere Deus ? Qualis erat quondam sinus est, ubi mista sereno Coerula cum ccelo visa coire maris ; Non hodie proram audacem vult sistere nauta Auspice te sperans faustam iterare viam. Austerum Parcae te delegere Ministrum ; Nee minus austerum lux hodierna videt. * Published in the National Review, March, 1889. HERCULES MONCECUS 103 Harpyise glomerantur ubi Deus esse solebat : Aurum de larga concipit ara manu ; Cornua concentu resonante per atria clamant, Humana ut prisco victima more perit ; Sordida sed donans et sordida dextra prehendens. Lucrum grex unum vult retinere Deum. O utinam tua clava iterum cum pelle leonis Culmine descendens visa sit ire domum ; Sic pecus ignavum curaeque cupidine captum Hinc Labor expellat cognitus esse Deus. Et fera quae sacram sedem nunc occupat Hydra Victoria rursus sub pede ccesa cadat. [ I04 ] TO MY FUR-COAT. Upon the collar leans my head, Where her fair neck so late had rest ; Above my heart the furs I spread That wrapped but now her girlish breast ; Around my knees the skirts I draw That fenced from cold each dainty limb, And through the cuffs I stretch a paw. Rude contrast to those fingers slim. The broken vase, they say, retains For aye its vanished roses' scent ; On the deserted shell remains Each ghstening hue its inmate lent ; TO MY FUR'COAT Blest garment which she deigned to wear, If only for so short a space, For ever privileged to bear Mute witness of her tender grace ; What gold-laced coat, what robes of state With such associations vie ? Oh ! be my journey's life-long mate, Shrine of her presence till I die. [ io6 ] IN MEMORIAM L. C. R. The sun shines bright upon her new-made grave Embosomed in the fair Proven9al hills ; Beneath us basks in light the tideless wave, And sweet serenity our sorrow stills. Like to that Island Valley where there came ' Nor rain, nor sleet, nor any snow,' to mar Its calm felicity ; nor lightning flame. Nor earthquake shock, on deep repose to jar. Oh, had she lingered in our Northern clime. Perchance we still might hear her gentle voice, Have clasped her loving hand for longer time ! Should we not rather mid our grief rejoice ? IN MEMORIAM L. C. R. 107 The clear bright spirit could no longer bear The burden of the ever- wearier frame. Was it th' affinity of this pure air That drew it to the fount from which it came ? Ever around her gracious radiance played, Of faith, and love, and sympathy — the night Comes darker in her absence, others fade Into the gloom. She passes into light. So where she slumbers violets make their home ; The never-ending Summer holds the hill. Bright presage of the Golden Days to come. When Love made perfect knows no more of ill. IN MEMORIAM L. C. R. Sol fulgente novum tumulum face despicit, almo Cingit in amplexu Massiliense jugum ; Infra luce tepet pontus qui nesciit zestum, Agnoscunt genium tristia corda loci. io8 IN MEMORIAM L. C. R. Non ita dissimilis quem continet insula vallem Mystica felicem qua gravis imber abest, Nee vexant aquiloque nivesque aut fulguris ira, Nee terrae motus senserat alta quies. O si vellet adhuc Boreali in sede morari, Vox ea nunc aures posset adire meas, Caram iterum fortasse manum tetigisse lieeret ! Nonne inter laerimas Isetius omen adest ? Hinc animse clarse non amplius esse ferenda Corporis infirmi sareina visa sui, Non etiam transit genialis litoris aura In fontem rursus quo semel orta fuit. Semper apud matrem lueebat gratia triplex, Quam conjunctus amor spesque fidesque ereant. Nigrior absentem noctis monet umbra. Recedunt In tenebras alii. Lucia lumen obit. Nunc ubi dormit habent propriam violaria sedem ; .Estas regna jugo non abitura tenet; En faustum auspicium melioris cernimus sevi, Tristia ubi summus cuncta fugarit Amor. [ 109 ] SHREWSBURY BY NIGHT ACROSS THE SEVERN. Bright o'er thy darkling river Thou lift'st thy diadem, The hurrying wavelets quiver Around thy garment's hem ; Salopia, proud, beloved. Home of my heart ! the years Rush past thee still unmoved By all their joys and tears. Whene'er I hail thy spires, My soul goes forth to thee. Again flash up the fires Of boyhood's fancy free ;* * Mr. Raikes was educated at Shrewsbury. The fifth stanza refers to the three places he at different times repre- sented in Parliament — Chester, Preston, and Cambridge University. SHREWSBURY BY NIGHT First love of youth ! The yearning Thy gracious influence nurst, Still in this breast is burning The last as well as first ; As fair are Preston's towers, As dear the low red walls That girdle Cestria's bowers, As stately Granta's halls. But thine the charm most tender Amid my heartstrings twined, Which love will ne'er surrender, Nor aught but Death unbind. PART III. TRANSLATIONS AND COMPOSITION. [ "3 ] TO CYNTHIA. PROPERTII ELEGIARUM, LIB. II., ELEG. VI. Such throng ne'er trod Corinthian Lais' floors When Greece unanimous beset her doors ; And crowd Hke this might e'en, methinks, annoy Menander's Thais, Athens' favourite toy ; Nor did so many loves conspire to bless Fair Phryne, Thebes' would-be patroness. Yet more relations still you coin at sight ; No end of cousins claim their kiss by right. I hate your miniatures, your lists of fellows. E'en yonder cradled infant makes me jealous ; To see your mother kiss you turns my head. Your sister, and that girl who shares your bed ; Nay, everything provokes ; I fear some lover — Forgive me — e'en that petticoat may cover. 8 114 TO CYNTHIA This sort of mischief used to lead to blows, At least, they say so, hence the Trojan woes ; This madness made the Centaurs try the weight Of cups on poor Pirithous's pate. Why go to Greece for samples ? We inherit. Sire Romulus, your she-wolf's hungry spirit ; 'Twas you who seized unscathed those Sabine maids. And taught their lesson to our Roman blades. Ah, blest Alcestis, blest Ulysses' spouse. And every wife who loves her husband's house ! Build shrines to Virtue for our girls ! What good. When every wife can be the thing she would ? The hand which first lascivious scenes portrayed, And in a modest home foul sights displayed, 'Twas that our maidens' simple eyes beguiled. And, base itself, debased the spotless child. Ah ! foul fall him who thus to all revealed The sportive conflict's voiceless joys concealed. Not such the figures in our ancient halls, No pictured sin bedecked our fathers' walls-; TO CYNTHIA 1 15 No wonder spiders veil our Temples' lines, And grass besets our long-neglected shrines ; What guardians, what retreat can I devise, Which hostile footfall never can surprise ? No use, I know, to lock fair rebels in. She's safe, my Cynthia, who revolts from sin ; Me ne'er from thee shall wife or mistress sever. Thou art my wife and mistress both for ever [ii6] AD MELPOMENEN. HORACE, BK. IV., ODE 3. He, on whose earliest hour the pensive Muse Hath deigned to cast her eye's serene regard, Shall ne'er with doughty arm, and many a bruise. Earn the renown the Isthmian games award. Him ne'er shall flying steed in Grecian car To victory bear ; around his brows shall cling No laurel of the Capitol by war Won for the chief who tames each boastful king. But him the waters, that secluded love By fertile Tibur still to glide along. And the rich foliage of full many a grove. Shall make illustrious in ^Eolian song. AD MELPOMENEN 117 Amid the bards' beloved and lovely choir, The sons of Rome, of Rome the cities' queen, Think worthy of a place my humble lyre. And even envy's tooth no more is keen. Oh ! Goddess, who controllest by thy skill The sounds harmonious of the golden shell, Who couldst bestow on fishes dumb at will The note that rings the swan's melodious knell, 'Tis by thy gift, and by thy gift alone. That me all passers-by with simple sign As master-minstrel of the Romans own, Aye, that I breathe and please, if I do please, is thine. [ "8 ] THE MOON ON THE LATMIAN MOUNTAIN* SCHOLARSHIP PAPER, 1859. Et nunc excubias agit La:tmi continuas Luna super jugum, Nee jam lucida, Doridis Vallis deliciae, fons lacrimas tenet : Cedunt ast ea somnia, Cedunt, Endymion quae stupent, deam Flent crystallina, cui decor Clarabat latices, flumina candidam. Dilectse Bromio viret Intertexta hederse copia in Arcadi Quercu, non tamen amplius Per frondes nitidas Faunus agit jocos : * E. B. Browning. THE MOON ON THE LATMIAN MOUNTAIN lig Longo muta silentio Desuevit Lycios tibia jam modos, Culmo Moenala adhuc fovent Crescenti calamos, ipse tacet deus. Phoebo sub medio micant Frondes, inque jugis alta abies tremit, Silvani nitido specum Quo dudum Tiberis flumine prseterit : Cedunt at mihi mortui Fratres, ipse procul palor, et heu ! miser Bustis longius avehor, Solum et prseteriti ludor imagine. [ 120 ] ' YET ERE I GO.' Cedens usque moror, moror, Dum formosa nimis, sseva nimis, scias Ploratura, quot ejicis Mecum proficiens exule gaudia, Mittis, quam neque mordeat Mta.s longa nee mala lucidam, Mittis, quae cineres meos Constans signa tui tradat amantibus ; Spernis, quae juvenilia Circumdet viridi tempora laurei, Donee clara ferat procul Formam Fama tuam, clara meam fidem Hsec omissa gemes diu, Spretis nam studiis falsa fidelibus Coetus inter amantium Et vento levior semper habeberis. [121 ] N^NIA. OcciDiT ! in montes non regressurus avitos, Occidit ! in silvas non rediturus, abest : Occidit baud abter prassertim optandus egenis, Qui perit sestatis sole calente vater ; Imbribus baud pariter surgit recreantibus aucta Atque novis undis fons reparata madet : Pristina sed redeunt non unquam gaudia nobis, Crastinus baud nobis Ducanus ipse redit. Incanescentem messoris dextera massem Arripit, excutitur falsa vetusta Ceres, Luget at aetatis mature flore virentem Abreptum fato nsenia nostra virum ; Non nisi Marcentes undato ex arbore frondes Imbriferi Autumni saeva procella rapit, Quum roseo noster flos se jactabat honore Invida rubigo jam meditata (necem). [ 122 ] NULLUS PAR TIBI DEVENIT. NuLLUS par tibi devenit Nullus te potior ; solus habes locum Ut longe Philomela habet Cantum sola ; mihi vox cadit impotens, Laudes quas recinat, neque Sunt qui te celebrent undique nobilem : Sed me tantus amor rapit Ut te, nil aliud proficiens, amem. Die tu quid faciam tibi ? An sim cura gravis causa molestise ? An (connisa) numero premam Adspersum lacrimis te miserum meis ? Ah ! ne me teneas, ames Nequaquam, tibi te restituam sinas, Heu ! me talis amor tenet Ut te, delicise, te fugiam semel. [ 123 ] NAVIS QU^ TIBI CREDITOS. Navis quae tibi creditos Ponti lenta super marmora, Telephi Dulcis,' litore ab Italo, Caros pulchra mihi jam cineres vehis, Plenis strenua carbasis Mox reddas gemitu flentibus irrito. Nee malum tolerent mari Reflexum vitreo flabra faventia Urnam dum referant domum Sacram per latices undique prosperos : Nee longam violentior Per noetem eelerem ventus agat ratem Donee rursus amabili Par desiderio lampade Phosphorus Primo rore liquentia Illustrat tremula transtra redux face. 124 NAVIS QUM TIBI CREDITOS Circum lucida sidera Tsedas atque super volvite, leniter Prse rostro requiescete Nubes (vosque) simul languida flamina ; Somno quo recubat semel Longo nunc animse dimidium mese Quo ceu frater amoribus Vinctus nunc fruitur, vos quoque carpite. [ I2S ] IN STEPHANUM. 'THE SON OF GOD GOES FORTH TO WAR.' Bellator erit progenies Dei Nacturus aurum cuspide regium ; Porrecta vexilli coruscant Lintea sanguinolenta rubri. Quis jam sequetur ? Quis comes ? Asperum Victor doloris qui calicem queat Sorbere, qui possit molestam Ferre crucem patiens malorum. Nee te caremus ; primus in ordine Succedit heros lumine fervido Qui mortis instantem per umbram Respiciens super astra regem, 126 IN STEPHANUM In spem vocavit, dignus eo duce Qui vel supremis in cruciatibus (Heu, vocis extremum laborem !) Carnificum veniam petebat. Quis subsequetur ? Palmiferum en chorum ! Insedit in quos spiritus ignifer, Rideret ut flammas crucemque Conscia mens decoris futuri. His testibus ter quattuor arduum Coelum licebat scandere, per dolos Per dura luctantes : sequamur, Corda Dei modo tangat ignis. [ 127 ] A FEW MORE YEARS SHALL ROLL.' Restat annorum brevis ordo, restant Mensium lapsus aliqui, subinde Turba nos Christi in reditum quiescens Adnumerabit. Haud frequens colles pereuntis sevi Sol super fuscos tenebras obibit Ante quam, Lux qua Deus ipse, coeli Luce fruemur. Rursus interdum ferus adsonabit Litori scabro Notus — en futura, Qua semel cessere et hiems et sestus, Otia nobis. 128 M FEW MORE YEARS SHALL ROLL' Hie datur certare iterum, remotos Flere nonnullos, datur hie labores Lacrimas explere — ita lacrimandi Denique finis. Me diem promptum, Domine, in tremendum Me precor servas, recrea cruore Me salutari, scelus hoc sit omne Christe piandum. Interest angusta mora et redibit, Qui suis vitam moriens paravit, Qui dabit vivens iterum triumphi Carpere partem. [ 129 ] 'ABIDE WITH ME.' Ah maneas mecum ! cito vespertina procumbit Umbra, ruunt tenebrse, Christe, manere velis ; Quum fugiant socii, quum coetera commoda desint, Spes desperantis, tu meus esto comes. Ocior in finem vitse brevis eifluit hora, Vanescunt terrse gaudia, cedit honos ; Omnia mutari circum, ruere omnia cerno. Qui sis mutari nescius, esto comes. Quseque tui renovat desiderium hora recurrens, Insidiatorem qua secus arte domem ? Quis tibi dux similis, tibi quis tutela sit instar ? Luceat an lateat sol, meus esto comes. Nullum hostem timeo modo te praesente beatus, Lacrima tristitii, pondere cura vacat. 9 130 'ABIDE WITH ME' Mortis ubi stimulus, tibi qua, gravis urna, trium- phus ? Usque triumphus erit, te comitante, meus. Sic et apud tremulos oculos in morte coruscans Crux tua per nebulos monstret in astra viam. En nova lux coeli ! terrae simulacra fugantur ; Vivam seu moriar, sis mihi, Christe, comes. [ 131] ' BRIGHTEST AND BEST.' O QUAS roscida Eos parit Fraternis facibus clarior, alma lux Pulsa nocte, crepuscula Nobis grata refer ; Phosphore pallidi Cceli dulce decus, puer Salvator hominum due ubi dormiat. En cunabula frigida Ros nocturna super luce nitet liquens ; En circum Pueri caput Submissum stabuli stat pecus, at simul Somnos coelicolas colunt Auctoris, Domini, Vindicis omnium. 132 'BRIGHTEST AND BEST' Quse donanda parabimus Sumptu sacrifico ? Ferre libet Sabas Tus divinaque munera Gemmas mons retegat, contribuat nemus Myrrham, nee lateant opes Sub terri, neque sub fluctibus unio. Largimur tamen irrita, Frustra muneribus gratia poscitur : Pluris constat amabile Quod praebent studium corda fidelia ; Optandse potius Deo Quas et pauperies nuda ferat, preces. THE END. BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. DATE DUE Interlibn iry Loan ' CAVLORO PRINTEDINU.S.A.