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Cornell University Library 
 PR 6035.H97L8 
 
 A London rose, and other rhymes. 
 
 3 1924 013 216 597 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis 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/cu31924013216597 
 
A LONDON ROSE 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER RHYMES 
 
Of this edition 350 copies have ttm printed for England 
 and 150 copies for America 
 
AiONDON-ROSE 
 ^OJHER'RHYm 
 
 BY 
 ERNE6J-RHY5 
 
 i8p4 
 
 LONDON 
 
 ELKINMAJHEWSBflOHNL'ANE 
 
 NEW YORK-D ODD MEADANDQ 
 
 
Edinburgh ; T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty 
 
TO 
 
 THE DEARER DIANA 
 
 OF THESE DAYS 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. A LONDON ROSE AND OTHER RHYMES 
 
 A Loudon Rose, .... 3 
 
 London Feast^ ... . . 4 
 
 A Winter-night's Bacchante, . 7 
 
 On a Harp playing in a London Fog, . . 9 
 
 Westminster, . . ii 
 
 Chatterton in Holhorn, 13 
 
 Orange Song i 
 
 In a London Chamber,. .18 
 
 II. WELSH RHYMES AND BALLADS 
 
 Barley Bread, 21 
 
 The Mountain Cottage, . 22 
 
 Mountain Twilight, 28 
 
 The Mountain Wedding, .... 29 
 
 The Wedding of Pale Bronwen, . 30 
 
 The House of Hendra, • • • • 33 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Brechva's Harp Song, 
 Olwen. (From 'Kilhwch and Olwen/J 
 ' Y Fam a'i Baban/ .... 
 The Birch Grove. (From Davyth ap 
 Gwilym.) By G. R., . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 44 
 45 
 46 
 
 47 
 
 III. A RHYME OF DIANA 
 
 The New Diana, 
 
 SI 
 
 A Dream of Diana, .... 
 
 52 
 
 Ah, dear Diana, 
 
 54 
 
 The Mystical Mountaineer, 
 
 56 
 
 The Idle Rhymer, 
 
 57 
 
 Invocations, .... 
 
 59 
 
 Night Song . ... 
 
 60 
 
 Pilgrimage, . ... 
 
 61 
 
 Epithalamion, .... 
 
 62 
 
 IV. THE ROMANCE OF JULIUS ROY 
 Romance, 
 
 The Mount of Vision, 
 The Dreamer's Tragedy, 
 Margaret, . 
 
 65 
 66 
 
 67 
 68 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Cor Mortis, 
 
 ' Hamlet ' in Countytown, 
 
 The Melancholy Jester, 
 
 The Night Ride, 
 
 Red Roses, and White, 
 
 SUvia's Solitude, 
 
 Saucta Silvia, 
 
 On the Eve, 
 
 The Pride of Death, 
 
 V. OCCASIONAL VERSE 
 
 AdMatrem, 83 
 
 To Walt Whitman, 84 
 
 To Percy, 85 
 
 To Mabel, 86 
 
 To Violet, 87 
 
 To M. H. E 89 
 
 At the Rhymers' Club — 
 
 The Toast, go 
 
 Marlowe, .... .91 
 
 The New King of Brentford, ... 92 
 
 A Dialogue concerning Love's Delays, 94 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Wanting Rhyme, .... 95 
 
 The Secret (after Heine); .... 96 
 
 An Autobiography^ ..... 97 
 
 The Last Word, 98 
 
 The Mountain Song : A Fable for Critics, 
 
 by way of Epilogue, .... 99 
 
I 
 
 A LONDON ROSE 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 RHYMES 
 
A LONDON ROSE 
 
 Diana, take this London rose. 
 
 Of crimson grace for your pale hand, 
 Who love all loveliness that grows : 
 A London rose — ah, no one knows, 
 A penny bought it in the Strand ! 
 
 But not alone for heart's delight ; 
 
 The crimson has a deeper stain 
 For your kind eyes that, late by night. 
 Grew sad at London's motley sight 
 
 Beneath the gaslit driving rain. 
 
 And now again I fear you start 
 
 To find that sorry comedy 
 Re-written on a rose's heart : 
 'Tis yours alone to read apart. 
 
 Who have such eyes to weep and see. 
 
 Soon rose and rhyme must die forgot. 
 
 But this, Diana — ah, who knows ! 
 May die, yet live on in your thought 
 Of London's fate, and his, who bought 
 For love of you a London rose. 
 
LONDON FEAST 
 
 O WHERE do you go, and what 's your will. 
 My sunburnt herdsmen of the hiU, 
 
 That leave your herds no pastoral priest. 
 And take the road where, sad and dun. 
 The smoke-cloud drapes the April sun ? — 
 ' We go to taste 
 Of London Feast.' 
 
 O country-lads, this April tide. 
 Why do you leave the country-side ? 
 
 The new-come Spring stirs bird and beast ; 
 The winter storm is over now. 
 And melted the December snow : — 
 ' We go to taste 
 Of London Feast.' 
 
LONDON RHYMES 
 
 O village maidens, April girls. 
 With dancing eyes and country curls. 
 
 Is April nought, the Maypole ceased. 
 That you must leave the daisied places 
 That painted all your pretty faces ? — 
 
 ' We go to taste 
 Of London Feast.' 
 
 And ancient dalesmen of the north. 
 
 That leave your dales, and the sweet brown earth. 
 
 Are country acres so decreased. 
 And Cumbrian fells no longer ringing 
 With bleating lambs, and blackbirds singing ? — 
 ' JVe go to taste 
 Of London Feast.' 
 
 O sailor lads, that love the sea. 
 Are you, too, of this company ? — 
 
 The shifting wind 's no longer east ; 
 Yet you have put the helm about. 
 To come ashore, and join the rout ? — 
 
 ' JVe go to taste 
 Of London Feast.' 
 
LONDON RHYMES 
 
 Too late, my golden mariners ! 
 
 I have seen there these many years. 
 
 How Most grew more, and less grew Least ; 
 And now you go too late ; the board 
 Cannot one crumb to you afford : 
 
 You cannot taste 
 Of London Feast. 
 
 Too late, dear children of the sun ; 
 
 For London Feast is past and gone ! 
 I sat it out, and now released 
 
 Make westward from its weary gate. 
 
 Fools and unwise, you are too late : 
 
 You cannot taste 
 Of London Feast. 
 
 They did not heed, they would not stay ; 
 I saw the dust on London way 
 
 By denser thousands still increased : 
 My cry was vain. As they went by 
 Their murmur ran, for all reply : — 
 
 ' We go to taste 
 Of London Feast.' 
 
A WINTER-NIGHrS BACCHANTE 
 
 The little tumult of the hour is past. 
 The quick beseeching of the music, still, 
 That made the moments reel. 
 While night gave way, and faster and more fast 
 Pressed 'tirelessly her circling feet upon romance's 
 heel. 
 
 The spell was hers, — hers fiddle, piping flute. 
 Whose rapturous md,gic sped the giddy throng. 
 While swift she glanced along, 
 A pale Bacchante, passionate of foot. 
 Whose swaying limbs and laughing eyes turned all 
 our hearts to song. 
 
 She charmed the night till care was stolen away. 
 And left us happy, for an hour of heaven. 
 Our sins of earth forgiven. 
 As still we watched white arms, white garments, 
 sway. 
 And radiantly she swept along, by winds of music 
 driven. 
 
8 LONDON RHYMES 
 
 Now dawn is wintry in the sleeping street^ 
 
 And day comes back to cast its gloom on men, — 
 Ah me ! I think, and then, 
 I see white garments sway, and circling feet. 
 That charm the wintry gloom away, and bring 
 delight again. 
 
 But she is gone ; and only now in dreams 
 May fancy follow, over land and sea. 
 To where her haunt may be. 
 Where in the l3Tic south her footing seems 
 As of the fawn that wakes the day in fabled 
 Italy. 
 
ON A HARP 
 
 PLAYING IN A LONDON FOG 
 
 What Ariel, far astray, with silver wing. 
 Upborne with airy music, silver-sweet. 
 Haunts here the London street ? — 
 And from the fog, with harping string on 
 string. 
 Laughs in the ear, and spurs the lagging feet. 
 While Caliban-like, London sulks, though all the 
 stars should sing. 
 
 Such mystic harping once its silvery scale 
 Ran in grey Harlech, and on Merlin's Hill, 
 Where listening fancy still 
 Can hear it, like some song in fairy-tale ; 
 And still in Broceliaunde the oak-trees will 
 Repeat its lingering sighing strain to many a cold 
 sea-vale. 
 
10 LONDON RHYMES 
 
 Here harps the mystic noise should make the 
 dead 
 Of London wake, and all its walls have ears ; 
 As when in Troy the spears 
 Rang in the streets, by Helen's beauty sped : 
 Here harps the song of Merlin, or the spheres : 
 But London sleeps, unmoved, and dreams his other 
 dreams instead. 
 
 So may he sleep, — the waking hour unknown. 
 When Ariel's song shall end what it began. 
 And waken Caliban. 
 And yet, who knows, his sleep is lighter grown 
 By half-a-song's weight, since that chiming ran. 
 Athwart the fog, like thistledown o'er misty up- 
 lands blown. 
 
WESTMINSTER 
 
 The play is doncj and shadow lies. 
 Where late the empire of an hour 
 Waxed great and waned before men's eyes ; 
 And homeward I, with brooding thought 
 Of art that bravely comes to flower^ 
 
 And soon is nought. • 
 
 I dream of artj remembering well 
 The hopes it gave, that still up-soared. 
 But one by one defeated fell. 
 Cast out eternally from heaven. 
 Like those lost angels that their Lord 
 From grace had driven. 
 
 So moved, to royal Westminster 
 Betimes I come, and gladly find 
 Those stately churches towering there. 
 Whose walls that Milton saw, we see : 
 Ah were, I cried, like these my mind ! 
 Great praise might be. 
 
12 LONDON RHYMES 
 
 Were strength like theirs that hold the night 
 With solemn watch, though London sleep, 
 To arm my soul with steadfast might. 
 Then fear might end and hope be sure. 
 Could I like them my vigil keep. 
 Like them endure. 
 
 But they were built 'twixt hope and fear 
 By men who took the passing day. 
 And gave its moments heavenly wear ; 
 Though they who built are darkly gone 
 Their art remains, and in it they 
 
 Are greatly known. 
 
 So art is frail, but art is strong ; 
 And he is wise who keeps the way 
 His soul shall lead, and sings his song. 
 Or bids dead stone take life and climb, — 
 So yields his service for a day. 
 Or for all time. 
 
CHATTERTON IN HOLBORN 
 
 From country fields I came, that hid 
 
 The harvest mice at play. 
 And followed care, whose summons bid 
 
 To London's troubled way. 
 
 And there, in wandering far and wide, 
 I chanced ere day was done 
 
 Where Holborn poured its civic tide 
 Beneath the autumn sun. 
 
 So hot the sun, so great the throng, 
 
 I gladly stayed my feet 
 To hear a linnet's captive song 
 
 Accuse the noisy street. 
 
 There heavily an old house bowed 
 
 Its gabled head, and made 
 Obeisance to the modem crowd 
 
 That swept athwart its shade. 
 
 Below, an open window kept 
 
 Old books in rare display. 
 Where critics drowsed and poets slept 
 
 Till Grub Street's judgment-day. 
 
14 LONDON RHYMKS 
 
 One book brought care again to me, — 
 
 The book of Rowley's rhyme, 
 That Chatterton, in seigneury 
 
 Of song, bore out of time. 
 
 The merchant of such ware, unseen. 
 Watched spider-like the street ; 
 
 He came forth, grey, and spider-thin, 
 And talked with grave conceit. 
 
 Old books, old times, — he drew them nigh 
 
 At Chatterton's pale spell : 
 ' 'Twas Brook Street,' said he, ' saw him die, 
 
 Old Holborn knew him well.' 
 
 The words brought back in sudden sway 
 
 That new-old tale of doom ; 
 It seemed the boy but yesterday 
 
 Died in his lonely room. 
 
 Without, the press of men was heard ; 
 
 I heard, as one who dreamed. 
 The hurrying throng, the singing bird, 
 
 And yesterday it seemed. 
 
 And as I turned to go, the tale 
 
 A pensive requiem made. 
 As though within the churchyard rail 
 
 The boy was newly laid : 
 
LONDON RHYMES 15 
 
 REQUIEM 
 
 ' Perhaps, who knows ? the hurrying throng 
 Gave hopeless thoughts to him ; 
 
 I fancy how he wandered, long. 
 Until the light grew dim. 
 
 ' The windows saw him come and pass 
 
 And come and go again. 
 And still the throng swept by — alas ! 
 
 The barren face of men. 
 
 ' And when the day was gone, the way 
 
 Led down the lethal deeps : 
 Sweet Life ! what requiem to say ? — 
 
 'Tis well, 'tis well, he sleeps ! ' 
 
ORANGE SONG 
 
 TO BRIAN AND MARGARET, WITH SOME SICILIAN ORANGES 
 
 Children, these gold orbs were won 
 From the circling of the sun. 
 Where its golden light is free 
 On the shores of Sicily. 
 Northward, then the ship set sail. 
 Brought them here to tell the tale, — 
 Brought them by the bold sea-way, 
 Round to London's wintiy day. 
 
 Now, their sweetness of the south. 
 Quartered, kiss each merry mouth ! 
 And their fragrances be spent 
 On the air in sweeter scent. 
 But ere yet you all unseal them 
 Of their sweets, and lightly peal them 
 Of their yellow jackets, — stay ! 
 Ere you taste, in golden play 
 Spin them, children, in the sight 
 Of the friendly red firelight ; 
 
LONDON RHYMES 17 
 
 And their golden wayward dancing, 
 Over wall and ceiling glancing. 
 Shall like fairy sifas illume 
 All the deep December gloom. 
 
 They shall stUl go shining on 
 Then, and still your eyes be feasted ; 
 They shall be in fancy tasted 
 Then, when aU their gold is gone. 
 
IN A LONDON CHAMBER 
 
 Strange things pass nightly in this little room, 
 AU dreary as it looks by light of day ; 
 Enchantment reigns here when at evening play 
 
 Red firelit glimpses through the pallid gloom : 
 
 Then come — perchance the shadows there assume 
 The guise — heroic guests in dim array. 
 The kings of eld, returned the human way 
 
 By Bridge of Dread, from star to straitening tomb. 
 
 High dreams they bring that never were dreamt in 
 sleep : 
 These walls yawn wide to Time and Death and 
 
 Hell, 
 To the last abyss of men's wild cries to Heaven ; 
 While night uncurtains on a sobbing deep. 
 And lo ! the land wherein the Holy Grail, 
 In far Monsalvat to the soul is given. 
 
II 
 
 BARA HAIDD 
 
 (BARLEY BREAD) 
 WELSH RHYMES AND BALLADS 
 
BARLEY BREAD 
 
 A COTTAGE on earth, and a castle in air. 
 And Diana Mereryd's white apron shall wear. 
 And bake barley bread to a tender old song 
 Of Love in a cottage, that always was young : 
 And when winter comes, and the storm holds 
 
 the hill. 
 And Davyth can find no more grist for the mill, 
 Ah, hers are the kisses shall frighten away 
 The cares of his heart at the close of the day ; 
 When at nightfall they sit in the glow of the 
 
 fire. 
 And he draws closer still as the shadows draw 
 
 nigher ; 
 And the night-wind without, as it wintrily calls 
 From the hill to the glen, cries in window and 
 
 walls. 
 Like the world's cold reply to the poet's desire. 
 
 Gaenen Hir, 1892-3. 
 
THE MOUNTAIN COTTAGE 
 
 Far below the gold and green 
 
 High on Moel l^orvyth seen. 
 
 Where more rarely thrusts the heather 
 
 Through the gorse its purple feather ; 
 
 Far below, yet far aloft 
 
 From the wa)rward wizard Dee ; 
 
 Secret in its garden croft. 
 
 Fenced with rural mystery 
 
 By the homely mountain-sides : 
 
 There a lonely cottage hides. 
 
 There, the summer through, our cares 
 In the freer mountain airs 
 Change their guise, as may the thorn 
 When the wild white rose is born : 
 There, the early morning light. 
 Leading day across the height. 
 O'er the climbing larch-tree tops 
 And the birchwood's silvery copse. 
 Brings such greeting to our glen 
 And our windows, half-asleep. 
 That the lurking day again 
 Seems with sudden life to leap. 
 
WELSH RHYMES 
 
 Hailed with rapturous carollingSj 
 Lifted on a thousand wings, — 
 As it were the promised morn 
 Of the perfect day of earth. 
 That between his death and birth 
 Once for every man is born. 
 
 Now the rising sun may show 
 Through the treetops, all aglow. 
 And the lowing calf is mute. 
 And the blackbird drops his flute : 
 But the day, as you shall see. 
 Has a changing harmony : 
 Once within our threshold, all 
 Has its hour of festival ; 
 Every rafter in our rhyme 
 Tells of its old forest-time ; 
 And our lattice-windows hold 
 In their panes the mystic gold 
 Of the gorse, and many a gleam 
 Of the sunset's airy stream. 
 
 All too soon, the setting sun 
 Radiantly withdraws his light. 
 Solemnly, from Morv3rth's height, 
 And the summer's day is done. 
 
24 WELSH RHYMES 
 
 But we see the night descend 
 From the mountains, like a friend ; 
 And, if chill the twilight falls. 
 High we pile the fragrant hearth. 
 And the peace of all the earth 
 Settles on our lonely walls. 
 So we keep our evening feast 
 With all rural savours spread, — 
 Charge the cup, and break the bread. 
 Counting most what may seem least : 
 Then, if storm be all abroad. 
 Witching every lonely road. 
 And the wind cry in the tree. 
 And with impish hands the rain 
 Shake and snatch the window pane ; 
 Then we tell old country tales. 
 While without the night wind wails. 
 And the more, at what we hear. 
 Grows and glows our fireside cheer. 
 
 Many a long-gone poet, then. 
 
 In our feasting lives again : 
 
 Herrick, and old Henryson, 
 
 Milton, Marvell, Campion, 
 
 Or, the king of heart and mind. 
 
 Master of the mimic kind ; 
 
 Many more, whose names are gold. 
 
AND BALLADS 26 
 
 ■ Need a g t that our love be told : 
 Heine's note and Shelley's song 
 Lead us round to Bums ere long. 
 Or with Keats we turn and hark 
 His April eve of old St. Mark, 
 Or Wordsworth, with austerer rhyme, 
 Mountainous, sets thought to climb. 
 But of all whose hearts have sung 
 One there is, of older tongue. 
 Tunes his woodland note apart 
 Still more near to touch the heart : 
 Davyth of the leafy line 
 Pours for us his lyric wine. 
 Till our pulses thrill with song. 
 And all wondrous fancies throng 
 With an elfin melody 
 And a strain of old romance 
 Every glade and green expanse 
 Of the poet's forestry. 
 
 Too remote the mountain life 
 From the modern noise and strife. 
 It may seem. Yet, well it knows 
 Other lives and deeper throes. 
 Where in London's splendid dust 
 Men and women strive, and thrust 
 Weary hands to find the gold 
 
26 WELSH RHYMES 
 
 Sunk beneath it, and grow pale, 
 Seeking still, that still must fail ; 
 While sweet youth grows keen and old. 
 And three times the die is cast. 
 Shows the master-chance is past. 
 Oft at night, if silence fall 
 In our 'midst, we seem to hear 
 London's pulse beat fast and near. 
 And the fierce continual call 
 Of its multitude that waits 
 A deliverer at the gates. • 
 
 But another tale is ours : 
 All the summer history 
 Of the changing mountain flowers. 
 Of oaken bough and birchen tree ; 
 From the hour that sees unclose 
 First the shy white maiden rose. 
 To the empurpled August weather 
 When the wild-bee seeks the heather. 
 If our fancy, bee-like, roam, 
 Tired at last its wings fly home ; 
 As of old Glendower turned 
 To this vale whose name is his. 
 To his pastoral house of peace. 
 From the fields where battle burned. 
 Now is sheathed that ancient sword. 
 
AND BALLADS 2? 
 
 But its song remains, and still 
 Sounds from lonely field and hill. 
 Clear as when Glendower warred ; 
 Still it hangs mysteriously 
 On our walls, where they may see 
 Who have subtle art to read 
 All the rose in one grey seed,* 
 All the passion of romance 
 In the maiden's timid glance. 
 All the Druids, dimly shown. 
 In the fallen mountain stone ; 
 And within our mountain gate. 
 All the ancient Kymrie state. 
 
 Heart and harboiu" of our days ! 
 If afar our feet may roam. 
 Glad at last we hasten home. 
 Following the famous ways 
 Where your bards and heroes passed. 
 Glad at heart to come at last 
 Here, and find a breathing space 
 In your mountain resting-place. 
 
 Gaenen Hir, 1892-3. 
 
MOUNTAIN TWILIGHT 
 
 Sunset fades, and in the sky 
 Twilight shows that night is nigh ; 
 But its pale and paler glow 
 Lingers long on yonder stream, 
 Where the silent waters seem 
 Loth to leave the vale below. 
 Now the trees turn old and grey 
 In the wan white evening light. 
 While the shadows drape the day 
 With the purple robe of night. 
 Moel Morvyth's sombre height 
 Fills Glendower's vale with awe ; 
 Mountain-side, and lonely farm 
 Which an hour ago you saw 
 Nestling in the mountain's arm. 
 Empty road, and stream and field. 
 In this dusk enchantment yield 
 Mysteries it was not given 
 Even to Merlin's eye to read. 
 Till from earthly habit freed 
 On the mountain heights of heaven. 
 
THE MOUNTAIN WEDDING 
 
 The purple and the gold are gone 
 
 . From Moel-y-Gamelyn, 
 That made our summer crown and throne ; 
 And now from its cold slopes^ alone 
 
 I watch the year close in. 
 
 The year goes fast ; now Autumn calls 
 
 On Winter from the hill j 
 While round and round our lonely walls 
 The dead leaf flies and whirls and falls. 
 
 At wild October s will. 
 
 But these late voices of the year. 
 
 The dead leaf on the pane, 
 As love's new rhyme of love, I hear ; 
 They bring the bridal morning, dear. 
 
 When we '11 be wed again ! 
 
THE WEDDING OF PALE BRONWEN 
 
 The wind was waked by the morning light, 
 And it cried in the grey birch-tree. 
 
 And the cry was plain in Bronwen's bower, 
 ' O Bronwen, come to me ! ' 
 
 Pale, pale sleeps Bronwen, pale she wakes— 
 ' What bird to my bower is flown ? 
 
 For my lover, Red Ithel, is at the wars 
 Before Jerusalem town.' 
 
 But stiU the wind cried in the tree, 
 ' Come forth, 'tis your wedding morn. 
 
 And you must be wed in Holy Land 
 Ere your little babe is bom.' 
 
 And still the wind had her true-love's cry, 
 
 ' Kind Bronwen, come ! ' until 
 She could not rest, and rose to look 
 
 To the sea beyond Morva Hill. 
 
WELSH RHYMES 31 
 
 And afar came the cry over Morva Hill, 
 
 ' Kind Bronwen, come to me ! ' 
 Till she could not stay, for very love. 
 
 And stole away to the sea. 
 
 She crossed the hill to the fishing-boats. 
 
 And away she sailed so fine, — 
 ' Is it far, my love, in the summer sun 
 
 To the shores of fair Palestine ? ' 
 
 There was no sun at sea that day 
 To watch pale Bronwen drown ; 
 
 But the sun was hot on the deadly sands 
 Before Jerusalem town. 
 
 All day Red Ithel lay dying there. 
 But he thought of the far-off sea ; 
 
 And he cried all day till his lips grew white, 
 ' Kind Bronwen, come to me ! ' 
 
 And so it passed till the evening time. 
 
 And then the sea-wind came. 
 And he thought he lay on Morva Hill 
 
 And heard her call his name. 
 
32 WELSH RHYMES 
 
 He heard her voice, he held her hand : 
 
 ' This is the day/ she said, 
 ' And this is the hour that Holy Church 
 
 Has given, for us to wed.' 
 
 There was no strength in him to speak. 
 
 But his eyes had yet their say, — 
 ' Kind Bronwen, now we will be wed 
 For ever and ever and aye ! ' 
 
 Beneath the sea pale Bronwen lies. 
 Red Ithel beneath the sand ; 
 
 But they are one in Holy Church, 
 One in love's Holy Land. 
 
 Red Ithel lies by Jerusalem town. 
 And she in the deep sea lies ; 
 
 But I trow their little babe was bom 
 In the gardens of Paradise. 
 
THE HOUSE OF HENDRA 
 
 *S'ai Plas Hendre 
 Yn Nghaer Fyrddin : 
 Canu Brechfa, 
 Tithau Lywelyn.' 
 
 *Ef a welai hen-IIys adfeiliedig, a neuadd drydolL' 
 
NOTE 
 
 Hendra*^ Hendre ; or Hendref : ' An old or established 
 habitation, the same as a ganafdy or winter house, l;.eing 
 opposed to the hafotty^ or the temporary residence in the 
 mountains, to attend the flocks during the winter months. 
 It forms the name of many old mansions : as Hendref Gadog, 
 Hendref Urien ' (Dr. Owen Pughe). Pronounce Haindra. 
 The Brechva of this poem must not be confused with the 
 other Carmarthenshire bard of the same name. 
 
THE HOUSE OF HENDRA 
 
 The House of Hendra stood in 
 Merlin's Town, and was sung by 
 Brechva on his Harp of gold, at 
 the October Feasting of Ivor. 
 
 In the town where .wondrous Merlin 
 
 Lived, and still 
 In deep sleep, they say, lies dreaming 
 Near it, under Merlin's Hill. 
 
 In that town of pastoral Towy, 
 
 Once of old 
 Stood the ancient House of Hendra, 
 Sung on Brechva's harp of gold. 
 
 With his harp to Ivor's feasting 
 
 Brechva came. 
 There he sang and made this ballad. 
 While the last torch spent its flame. 
 
36 WELSH RHYMES 
 
 Long they told, — the men of Ivor, 
 
 Of the strain 
 At the heart of Breehva's harping. 
 Heard that night, and not again. 
 
 Incipit Breehva's Ballad of the 
 House of Hendra, and of his deep 
 sleep there on Hallowmas night, 
 and of his strange awaking. 
 
 In yon town, he sang, — there Hendra 
 
 Waits my feet, 
 In renowned Merlin's town where 
 Clare's white castle keeps the street. 
 
 There, within that house of heroes, 
 
 I drew breath ; 
 And 'tis there my feet must bear me. 
 For the darker grace of death. 
 
 There that last year's night I journeyed, — 
 
 Hallowmas ! 
 When the dead of earth, unburied, 
 In the darkness rise and pass. 
 
 Then in Hendra (all his harp cried 
 
 At the stroke). 
 Twelve moons gone, there came upon me 
 Sleep like death. At length I woke : 
 
AND BALLADS 37 
 
 I awoke to utter darkness. 
 
 Still and deep. 
 With the walls around me fallen 
 Of the sombre halls of sleep : 
 
 With my hall of dreams downfallen. 
 
 Dark I lay. 
 Like one houseless, though about me 
 Hendra stood, morefast than they : 
 
 But what broke my sleep asunder, — 
 
 Light or sound ? 
 There was shown no sign, where only 
 Night, and shadow's heart, were found. 
 
 Anon he hears a voice in the night, 
 111 and rising from sleep, looks out 
 
 upon the sleeping town. 
 
 So it passed, till with a troubled 
 
 Lonely noise, 
 Like a cry of men benighted, 
 Midnight made itself a voice. 
 
 Then I rose, and from the stairloop. 
 
 Looking down. 
 Nothing saw, where far before me 
 Lay, one darkness, all the town. 
 
38 WELSH RHYMES 
 
 In that grave day seemed for ever 
 
 To lie dead^ 
 Nevermore at veake of morning 
 To lift up its pleasant head : 
 
 All its friendly foolish clamour, 
 
 Its delight. 
 Fast asleep, or dead, beneath me. 
 In that black descent of night : 
 
 But anon, like fitful harping. 
 
 Hark, a noise ! 
 As in dream, suppose your dreamer's 
 Men of shadow found a voice. 
 
 Hearing his name called, Brechva 
 ry descends to the postern, and sees 
 
 thence a circle of Shadows, in a 
 solemn dance of Death. 
 
 Night-wind never sang more strangely 
 
 Song more strange ; 
 All confused, yet with a music 
 In confusion's interchange. 
 
 Now it cried, like harried night-birds. 
 
 Flying near. 
 Now, more nigh, with multiplying 
 Voice on voice, ' O Brechva, hear ! ' 
 
AND BALLADS 39 
 
 I was filled with fearful pleasure 
 
 At the callj 
 And I turned, and by the stairway 
 Gained the postern in the wall : 
 
 Deep as Annwn lay the darkness 
 
 At my feet ; — 
 Like a yawning grave before me. 
 When I opened, lay the street. 
 
 Dark as death, and deep as Annwn, — 
 
 But these eyes 
 Yet more deeply, strangely, seeing. 
 From that grave saw life arise. 
 
 And therewith a mist of shadows 
 
 In a ring. 
 Like the sea-mist on the sea-wind, 
 Waxing, waning, vanishing. 
 
 Circling as the wheel of spirits 
 
 Whirled and spun. 
 Spun and whirled, to forewarn Merlin 
 In the woods of Caledon. 
 
40 WELSH RHYMES 
 
 The Spirits are no dream-folk ; but 
 V ancient inmates of the House of 
 
 Hendra. 
 
 Shades of men, ay, bards and warriors ! — 
 
 Wrought of air. 
 You may deem, but 'twas no dream-folk. 
 Bom of night, that crossed me there. 
 
 And my heart cried out, — ' O Vorwyn ! 
 
 They are those 
 Who of old-time lived to know here 
 Life's great sweetness in this house.' 
 
 I had bid them kinsman's welcome. 
 
 In a word. 
 For the ancient sake of Hendra, 
 Which they served with harp and sword. 
 
 But as still I watched them, wondering. 
 
 Curiously, 
 Knowing all they should forewarn me, — 
 Of my death and destiny ! 
 
 Ere I marked all in the silence. 
 
 Ere I knew. 
 Swift as they had come, as strangely 
 Now their shadowy life withdrew. 
 
AND BALLADS 41 
 
 The Spirits being gone, Brechva hears 
 VI aerial music, and sees in vision all the 
 
 Bards in the seventh Heaven. 
 
 They were gone ; but what sweet wonder 
 
 Filled the air ! — 
 With a thousand harping noises^ — 
 Harping, chiming, crying there. 
 
 At that harping and that chiming. 
 
 Straightway strong 
 Grew my heart, and in the darkness 
 Found great solace at that song. 
 
 Through the gate of night, its vision. 
 
 Three times fine. 
 Saw the seventh heaven of heroes, 
 'Mid a thousand torches' shine : 
 
 All the bards and all the heroes 
 
 Of old time 
 There with Arthur and with Merhn 
 Weave again the bardic rhyme. 
 
 There a seat is set and ready, 
 
 And the name 
 There inscribed, and set on high there, — 
 Brechva of the Bards of Fame ! 
 
42 WELSH RHYMES 
 
 Here ends the song with the im- 
 VII mortal consolation of Death, and 
 
 Brechva prays for peace. 
 
 Know then, O ye men of Ivor, 
 
 How elate 
 To his death at last goes Brechva, 
 When he fares from out your gate ! 
 
 Three nights hence, and all his journeying 
 
 Gladly done. 
 Then the friendly door of Hendra 
 Opens to her destined son. 
 
 Once more shall it open for him. 
 
 And no more ; 
 When they bear him out for burial. 
 With the singing boys before. 
 
 Then the gate of night those circling 
 
 Spirits crossed 
 Shall be opened wide, and show him 
 Heaven and all the bardic host ; 
 
 All the bards, and golden Merlin 
 
 In the throng. 
 Gathered there, and harping Brechva 
 To his peace with solemn song. 
 
AND BALLADS 43 
 
 And all peace be yours and Brechva's 
 
 Now, and fate , 
 
 In the ancient House of Hendra 
 Yield him soon death's high estate ! 
 
BRECHVA'S HARP SONG 
 
 ' And there'shall yet arise a King in Wales ! ' 
 
 Ancient Prediction. 
 
 Little harp, at thy cry. 
 
 He shall come in good time ; 
 
 And thy sword-song on high. 
 High shall chime. 
 
 Little harp, in his brain 
 
 Is the fire ; in his hand 
 Are the sword and the rein 
 
 Of command. 
 
 Little harp, like the wind 
 
 Is his strength ; like thy song 
 
 Are his words, to unbind 
 Wales ere long ! 
 
 Little harp, if his name 
 Be unknown, ye shall hear 
 
 How the stars tell his fame 
 Far and near. 
 
 Little harp, if unknown 
 
 He come, ye shall sing 
 When Eryri shall throne 
 
 Him AU King ! 
 
OLWEN 
 
 (from ' KILHWCH AND OLWEN ' ) 
 
 The message was sent, and the maiden came, 
 
 And the maiden was clad in a robe of flame. 
 
 And about her neck was a collar enrolled 
 
 Of emerald and ruby and ruddy gold. 
 
 More yellow her hair than the flower of the broom. 
 
 And her skin more white than the white sea-foam ; 
 
 And fairer her hands and her fingers fine 
 
 Than the wood-anemones that twine 
 
 In the spray of the meadow fountain's dance. 
 
 The falcon's eye, the gerhawk's glance. 
 
 Not brighter than Olwen's eyes of light ; 
 
 Her bosom was more snowy white 
 
 Than the swan's white breast, and not more red 
 
 Than Olwen's lips the roses spread : 
 
 Four white trefoils lightly leapt. 
 
 Where'er on the forest floor she stepp'd. 
 
 The forest flowers tell her fame ; 
 
 And Olwen therefore is her name. 
 
 Whoever Olwen once may see. 
 
 For ever must her lover be. 
 
'Y FAM A'l BABAN' 
 
 (from the welsh) 
 
 The mother yields her little babe to sleep 
 
 Upon her tender breast. 
 And singing still a lullaby. 
 
 Hushes its heart to rest : 
 ' O sleep in peace upon my bosom, 
 And sweetly may your small dreams blossom : 
 And from the fears that made me weep you, 
 And from all pains, as soft you sleep you. 
 The angels lightly guard and keep you. 
 
 And hold you blest ! 
 
 ' Your mother dear, is often full of fear. 
 
 As the moments run ; 
 Her love entwines so close, ah dear, 
 
 Dearest little one. 
 Her song is in its music weeping. 
 To think of death and its dark keeping. 
 That yet might turn those red cheeks white,- 
 Life's rose, that grows so in her sight ; 
 And your bright eyes, like morning light ! — 
 
 Dearest little one ! ' 
 
THE BIRCH GROVE 
 
 (from davyth ap gwilym) 
 
 Ah, the pleasant grove of birohes, 
 A pleasant place to tarry all the day ; 
 Swift green path to holiness ; 
 Place of leaves on branches deftly strung, — 
 Tapestry meet for proudest princess ; 
 Place of the thrush's voice, the king of song, 
 Place of the fair breasted hill, green place of tree- 
 tops. 
 Place set apart for two, far from jealous strife ; 
 Veil that hides the maiden at the wooing. 
 Full of delight is then the green birch grove. 
 
 Lo, I possess the whole extent of the birches. 
 Each comer of the greenwood is my throne ; 
 I have loved as my Saviour this building of Nature, 
 Tapestried in tenfold royalty by the leaves of the 
 
 grove. 
 The sweet-voiced nightingale beneath the green 
 
 boughs, 
 Is the herald inhabitant of the wood. 
 Endlessly pouring his song from within the forest. 
 
48 WELSH RHYMES 
 
 From the jutting hill and the glistening green tree- 
 top; 
 
 And so I pour forth songs in praise of my green 
 enclosure. 
 
 My purest green parlour framed of leaves. 
 
 There is a chamber for us within the grove 
 
 Made all of young vines ; 
 
 A gleaning of the birch boughs, fair in colour, 
 
 Makes in this chamber a fragrant bed. 
 
 A place for the gentle gift of love 
 
 Is the house of leaves made by God the Father. 
 
 Fair chapel, sacred from strife. 
 
 Of boughs and leaves in the green and airy May ; 
 
 Be ye, O trees, my fitting consolation. 
 
 In that I am left houseless to-day. 
 
 O nightingale, with the grey wings trailing low. 
 
 That art from the beginning the love messenger in 
 
 May, 
 Be a strong voice from the steep hillside ; 
 Let the day bring the meeting between Morvjdh 
 
 and me ! 
 
Ill 
 
 A RHYME OF DIANA 
 
THE NEW DIANA 
 
 Diana J in that older time. 
 Was only a cold goddess. 
 
 Who never hid a lover's rhyme 
 Within her heaving bodice. 
 
 But now, so long as love can write, 
 
 Diana shall be human. 
 And to Olympian grace unite 
 
 The sorrows of a woman. 
 
A DREAM OF DIANA 
 
 In dream I saw Diana pass, Diana as of old. 
 Across the greenwood radiantly, attired in green 
 
 and gold : 
 With spear alert, with eyes afire, as they had seen 
 
 the sun. 
 And gave its glances back again, with brightness 
 
 of their own ; 
 No human maid is she, I thought, who there so 
 
 lightly fares 
 Upon her sylvan empery, afar from our pale cares. 
 
 She passed, and left me to that thought, who felt 
 
 the sadder then. 
 That only once, and not again, she might be seen 
 
 of men ; 
 Though constantly, by lawn and wood, and hanging 
 
 mountain-side. 
 My restless eye might dare to hunt the huntress in 
 
 her pride : 
 
A DREAM OF DIANA 53 
 
 Without her all was lonely grown : I had no liking 
 
 left, 
 For ferny glade, or fox-glove bloom, of her bright 
 
 grace bereft. 
 
 And in that taking, in a bed of softest fern I lay, 
 And found no joy of woodcraft left, the livelong 
 
 summer day ; 
 When lo ! at eve, a silvery horn, a questing hound, 
 
 a cry. 
 And swift, Diana came again, and sat her down 
 
 thereby : 
 And then I saw those radiant eyes were full of 
 
 perfect rest. 
 And found beneath the goddess there, the 
 
 woman's softer breast. 
 
AH, DEAR DIANA 
 
 This new Diana makes weak men her prey. 
 
 And, making captive, still would fain pursue. 
 And still would keep, and still would drive away, — 
 So day by day. 
 Hate, hunt, do murder, and yet love them too ; 
 
 Ah, dear Diana ! 
 
 'Twere well, poor fools, to shun her cruel spear. 
 
 More fatal far than that which slew of old ; 
 Her spear is wit, that she so brings to bear ; 
 Then laughs to Ijear 
 When it has struck, and one more heart runs cold; 
 
 Ah, dear Diana ! 
 
AH, DEAR DIANA 66 
 
 Be wise, O fools, and shun her cruel eyes, 
 Which, when you see, you straight must love, to 
 death. ' 
 
 This new Diana has such sorceries. 
 Who loves her, dies ; 
 And dying, cries still, with his latest breath, — 
 
 Ah, dear Diana ! 
 
THE MYSTICAL MOUNTAINEER 
 
 The morning sun shone out, and showed the way. 
 Showed glen and greenwood, hill and lonely height; 
 
 Said he, ' The mountains call me forth to-day ' : 
 Said she, ' Then go ; but come again to-night ! ' 
 
 He hailed the sun, he hailed each field and stream. 
 And every hill up-poised, and every tree. 
 
 His wanderer's pulse made all the morning seem 
 Some sweetest love-song's natural melody. 
 
 In glen and greenwood, hill and lonely height. 
 He heard that song ; whereat, as 'twere a spell 
 
 To charm the day, he saw a wondrous sight, — 
 Diana everywhere : he knew her well : 
 
 He knew her well, though no one else might see 
 Her by the river, and upon the height : 
 
 And as he saw, and heard that melody. 
 
 The morning rang with the refrain, ' To-night ! ' 
 
THE IDLE RHYMER 
 
 Here alone in Aber grove 
 Still I match my rhymes with love. 
 While the good September sun 
 Turns the green of earth to gold, 
 And the river's never done 
 Telling secrets never told. 
 Here I lie, who should be bent 
 At my cloistral table still, 
 O'er the tardy instrument 
 Of my brain's laborious will ; 
 Here I lie and turn to rhyme 
 Anything that first may rise 
 In my fancy's airy clime, — 
 Thoughts of dear Diana's eyes 
 When they light with wit's surprise, 
 (Wit, 'tis said, too quick for me,) 
 And their merry sudden smile, — 
 And the deeper mystery 
 Of their tears, (Here pause awhile. 
 While I sorrow for each tear !) 
 
58 THE IDLE RHYMER 
 
 And the beauty rare and fair 
 Of her fomij and all the grace 
 Pictured in Diana's face 
 'Neath the halo of her hair : 
 
 Ah, ye trees of Aber glen. 
 If I roam apart from men. 
 And am idle in your grove ; 
 Know it is because I love. 
 And my rhymes absolve me then ! 
 
INVOCATIONS 
 
 Come over, Diana, across the grey sea ; 
 From the green hills and valleys, come over ! 
 And bring, as you love me, the shy little key 
 That can open your heart to your lover ! 
 Come over, 
 Diana, come over the sea ! 
 
 Fair wind, blow fair, to bring Diana over ! 
 Fair sun, shine out across the Irish sea ! 
 And all you fragrant airs the earth sets free. 
 And all you lovely things, as I 'm her lover, 
 Put on your best to bring her back to me. 
 
VII 
 
 NIGHT SONG 
 
 I HAVE waited long in the night for you. 
 
 And the hour is late. 
 And the songs are hushed, and the watchers few, 
 
 At the palace-gate. 
 
 The torches have lit the revellers forth. 
 
 And shown them home ; 
 And the stars have changed in the sombre north : 
 
 But you do not come. 
 
 The night wind stirs with a lonely sound : 
 
 You do not know 
 What loneliness in my heart is found. 
 
 As I turn to go. 
 
PILGRIMAGE 
 
 Storm down, October, on the earth. 
 
 As with December's rage ! 
 Come hail or snow, I journey forth 
 
 On lover's pilgrimage. - ^ 
 
 By field and stream, this bolder path 
 
 I follow for her sake. 
 Whose thought can of the winter's wrath 
 
 A song of summer make. 
 
 Among these wintry fells and fields, 
 
 For her dear sake I roam. 
 Until some greener valley yields 
 
 Her sweetest heart a home. 
 
EPITHALAMION 
 
 The pains of earth are over. 
 The joys of heaven begin ; 
 To-night 'tis told your lover, — 
 ' O wanderer, enter in ! 
 
 ' Her feet have passed before you. 
 She opens wide the door. 
 
 Who, for the love she bore you. 
 Your pain and passion bore. 
 
 ' One word to your dear lady. 
 And heaven is yours for aye ; 
 
 The feast is spread and ready. 
 The harping minstrels play. 
 
 ' Your sins of earth forgiven ! 
 
 Oh, she forgives each one ; — 
 Now, pilgrim, enter heaven. 
 
 Your pilgrimage is done ! ' 
 
IV 
 THE ROMANCE OF JULIUS ROY 
 
ROMANCE 
 
 Here I must -write what may never be shown you 
 Till all is past — romance and its grace ; 
 
 When but the knowing how I could have known you 
 Shall call up love's torchlight too late in your 
 face. 
 
 Ah, starry-eyed ! shall this sorrowful passion 
 But burn on out, when love is so deep ? 
 
 Why should I try then to sing, poet-fashion ? 
 Far better be sUent, far better asleep. 
 
 Asleep — if to dream ! No Hamlet's misgiving 
 Shall e'er make me fear it. Ah, only to dream 
 
 That we far away in some dream-land are living. 
 And your eyes are alight there, the stars that 
 they seem ! 
 
THE MOUNT OF VISION 
 
 ' I 'll climb to-night/ he said, 
 • And see the day die at the feet of night. 
 Till earth and heaven are back to chaos fled. 
 And darkness knows not light ! 
 
 ' And there, as freed by death. 
 The world withdrawn, I '11 test the immortal fire, — 
 What heaven outlasts this passionate human breath. 
 
 What love outlasts desire.' 
 
Ill 
 
 THE DREAMER'S TRAGEDY 
 
 In the taking of dreamy in the old way of sorrow. 
 
 Led in deep sleep, through a darker than night, 
 Night cries I heard, unknown as the morrow. 
 
 Crying, ' Oh see, where Saint Silvia passes ! ' 
 And I saw where she passed, like a star in the 
 height. 
 
 This is the dream that by night comes upon me. 
 And leaves me to darkness more deep ; for 'twas 
 writ. 
 Writ so by fate, when her starry eyes won me : 
 
 There is her way to the light, mine to darkness. 
 That 's deeper dark now, for the fire she once lit. 
 
MARGARET 
 
 They were two children, like these flowers. 
 
 In changing beauty drest ; 
 I loved as dearly Margaret's grace 
 
 As Silvia's deep unrest. 
 
 They were but children, and I thought, — 
 
 I thought no harm to tell 
 Of the hope of eternal fame of song. 
 
 That the poet knows so well. 
 
 But time went on, and they became 
 New dowered in woman's ways. 
 
 And I saw their eyes had a deeper light 
 And their forms a fairer grace. 
 
 And Silvia shone, a flower of gold, 
 
 A flower to sun the night ; 
 But Margaret as the Spring's first bloom, 
 
 That makes the sad heart light. 
 
MARGARET 
 
 And light and glad, with boundless love 
 
 My sad heart quickly grew, 
 And the merry sun of spring and youth 
 
 Made all old things seem new. 
 
 And yet a little while, and then — 
 And then the end was come ; 
 
 And Margaret's was the way of light. 
 And mine was the way of gloom. 
 
COR MORTIS 
 
 The way is dark and hardj 
 Beset by death, and darker dreams and fears ; 
 The way is long and dark and evil-starred ; 
 
 And still no end appears. 
 
 With god-like challenge, life 
 May call me forth with sword and song to fight ; 
 But I go doubting, hopeless, to the strife. 
 
 With heart of death and night. 
 
'HAMLET- IN COUNTYTOWN 
 
 The play was over, and to dreams consigned 
 
 That tardy, desperate dreamer's cry of pain ; 
 
 While through dark streets, beneath the gusty 
 rain, 
 Now Silvia passed, and I was stayed behind 
 To hear the yawning critics gape their blind 
 
 Generic commonplace, and vacant strain ; 
 
 While Silvia passed to take the midnight train. 
 Smiles on her lips, old Denmark in her mind. 
 
 So much for love's delay ! A moment more, 
 
 And then the storm stayed Silvia in the throng, — 
 A moment more and she was mine at will : 
 In Countytown we talked of Elsinore, — 
 The midnight train was grown a myth, a song. 
 And the gusty climbing street,an enchanted hill. 
 
THE MELANCHOLY JESTER 
 
 Now the end of all be sung : 
 He is old, who once was young ; 
 He is old, and to the gate 
 Of the gods is come too late : 
 Jester, gladly yield your breath ; 
 Now the only jest is Death. 
 Soon shall Silvia, passing, say — 
 ' Faith, my clown is turned to clay : 
 Deep, with solemn obsequies. 
 Hide the clay that once was his. 
 Keep him, earth, sun, wind and rain, 
 Till his wit shall rise again ! ' 
 
vin 
 THE NIGHT RIDE 
 
 To-night we rode beneath a moon 
 That made the moorland pale ; 
 
 And our horses' feet kept well the tune 
 And our pulses did not fail. 
 
 The moon shone clear ; the hoarfrost fell. 
 The world slept, as it seemed ; 
 
 Sleep held the night, but we rode well. 
 And as we rode we dreamed. 
 
 We dreamed of ghostly horse and hound. 
 And flight at dead of night ; — 
 
 The more the fearful thoughts we found. 
 The more was our delight. 
 
 And when we heard the white owl fly. 
 And hoot with mournful tone. 
 
 We thought to see dead men go by, 
 And pressed our horses on. 
 
74 THE NIGHT RIDE 
 
 The merrier then was Silvia's song 
 Upon the homeward road, — 
 
 Oh, whether the way be short or long 
 Is all in the rider's mood ! 
 
 And still our pulses kept the tale. 
 Our gallop kept the tune. 
 
 As round and over hill and vale 
 We rode beneath the moon. 
 
RED ROSES, AND WHITE 
 
 RED ROSES 
 
 Roses, if my passion burn 
 
 Red as you, with fragrant fire. 
 
 Shall it die like you, and turn 
 Soon to death its great desire ? 
 
 Or, shall love die every year 
 But to live, with deeper hue 
 
 Every June because of her ? 
 Roses, shall it live like you ? 
 
WHITE ROSES 
 
 No sleep like hers, no rest. 
 In all the earth to-night : 
 
 Upon her whiter breast 
 Our roses lie so light. 
 
 She had no sins to lose. 
 
 As some might say ; 
 But calmly keeps her pale repose 
 
 Till God's good day. 
 
SILVIA'S SOLITUDE 
 
 She has left the places 
 Of our common day ; 
 
 Here are still the traces 
 Where she took her way : 
 
 Here a primrose^ lying 
 By a beechen tree ; 
 
 Here a footprintj spying 
 Out her destiny. 
 
 But no tree, nor flower 
 Ever in greenwood, 
 
 May lead you to the bower 
 Of Silvia's solitude. 
 
XI 
 
 SANCTA SILVIA 
 
 She was the lady of our hearts and minds. 
 Our queen of beauty, by the natural spell 
 Of her deep eyes, whose hue the sky may tell ; 
 
 As now it seems my fancy newly finds 
 
 Their likeness in this little brook that winds 
 Reflecting every sky-change through its dell : 
 So all things rare, of earth and sky, so well 
 
 Her memory keep, in all their fairest kinds. 
 
 But all her beauty had the sky's impress. 
 
 Her eyes were tinct with : so in memory now 
 An aureole of sky-born mystery plays 
 Above the vision of her loveliness. 
 
 That never more on earth may make us bow 
 With the old boyish chivalry of those days. 
 
ON THE EVE 
 
 The clouds are strangers in the sky to-night : 
 Two only, far above, grey-lighted, fare 
 In all the night's long wilderness of air, — 
 
 Two lonely travellers in the starry height. 
 
 Eastward, whence they are come, the sea in might 
 Cries in the darkness from its wintry lair ; 
 Now westward lies their way, to mountains where 
 
 Earth's ancient bastions rise against their flight. 
 
 In all the night, in mountain, sea, and sky. 
 There is no augury my heart can find. 
 
 Save in yon clouds that coldly mark my fate, — 
 Intent to-night on pilgrimage more high, 
 
 Barred by the ancient bastions of the mind, — 
 ' A journey,' say they, ' do not take ! ' Too 
 late. 
 
THE PRIDE OF DEATH 
 
 If adverse wind then meet my ship of fate. 
 Let me be careless that thou comest, Death ! 
 
 Who still would live, but know my frail estate 
 To make an end full soon, and pass beneath 
 To thy last darkness. Death, which proudly I await. 
 
 The quondam dream that men, so passing, went 
 
 To other seas, is gone ; with this frail breath 
 Ends all, I know, and sail on well content, — 
 Pleased as I live with life, well pleased, O 
 Death, 
 To meet thy wind full soon, on thy pale errand 
 sent. 
 
V 
 
 AD MATREM 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 OCCASIONAL 
 
 VERSE 
 
AD MATREM 
 
 There is no envied gift of perfect grace 
 And priceless fragrance, but is still too poor 
 To bring and lay this morning at your door 
 
 In sign of all love's quiet tale can trace. 
 
 Since first your boyish tyrants ran a race 
 To hail your coming, and you still forbore 
 To chide their careless hearts, that strove the 
 more. 
 
 The more they read love's challenge in your face. 
 
 To riper deeds now time has called us forth. 
 And wider fields, and some abroad are gone ; 
 But though deep seas divide, and still we roam 
 
 Unto the Indian south, or Arctic north. 
 
 Once more to-day your love can make us one. 
 And failing other gifts our love flies home. 
 
TO WALT WHITMAN 
 
 ON HIS SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY 
 
 Here health we pledge you in one draught of song. 
 Caught in this rhymer's cup from earth's delight. 
 Where English fields are green the whole year long. 
 The wine of might. 
 That the new-come Spring distils, most sweet and 
 
 strong. 
 In the viewless air's alembic, wrought too fine for 
 
 sight. 
 
 Good health ! we pledge, that care may lightly 
 
 sleep, 
 And pain of age be gone for this one day. 
 As of this loving cup you take, and, drinking deep. 
 Grow glad at heart straightway 
 To feel once more the kindly heat of the sun 
 Creative in you, as when in youth it shone. 
 And pulsing brainward with the rhythmic wealth 
 Of all the summer whose high minstrelsy 
 Shall soon crovra field and tree. 
 And call back age to youth again, and pain to 
 
 perfect health. 
 
 May 1889. 
 
TO PERCY 
 
 WITH A COPY OF WORDSWORTH 
 
 In the hottest crowd, when grace 
 Seems to hide her maiden facCj 
 Here you '11 find a mystic voice 
 Full of heaven's supernal noise : 
 Lake and stream and woodland here 
 Wait you always, far, yet near; 
 And a breath of mountain wind 
 Rustling in the leaves you '11 find : 
 In the world's seducing clan 
 It shall be your tahsman, — 
 Keep it, Percy, long in honour 
 Of its author (and its donor) ! 
 
TO MABEL 
 
 WITH THE 'golden TREASURY OF 
 SONGS AND lyrics' 
 
 Hidden here, with hearts of song, 
 Live the poets, always young ; 
 Read them, Mabel, through and through ;- 
 They will give their hearts to you ! 
 
TO VIOLET 
 
 IN HER SICKCHAMBER 
 WITH SOME MOUNTAIN FLOWERS 
 
 VioLETj we send you here 
 
 This for mountain messenger, 
 
 News from field and hill to bring 
 
 Of a day when everything 
 
 That has seemed so grey and sad 
 
 Shall again be only glad ; 
 
 When all natural things that knew you 
 
 Shall give health again unto you. 
 
 And pain's requiem be said. 
 
 And the rose be doubly red. 
 
 And all flowers in the sun 
 
 Shake their dainty frocks for fun. 
 
 Violet, the Spring is flown 
 
 When your kindred-flowers were strown 
 
 In our mountain lanes, and soon 
 
 We shall see the harvest moon : 
 
Filled with finer flowers and rhymes. 
 When no pains of earth shall bind you. 
 But each sun that shines shall find you 
 Happier and happier yet 
 While your name is Violet ! 
 
TO M. H. E. 
 
 In England I know it is Spring, — 
 In old England to-day. 
 With primrose and violet and rare daffodil. 
 In many a valley, on many a hill. 
 And the birds are beginning to sing, 
 As I would, if I knew the way. 
 
 But I know the way of the Spring, 
 ^ When old England turns gay 
 With primrose and violet and rare daffodil. 
 And all that I know, you know better still. 
 And all that I mean, but can never sing. 
 You will let my daffodils say. 
 
 Boston, U.S.A., 
 ApHl 1888. 
 
AT THE RHYMERS' CLUB 
 
 I. THE TOAST 
 
 Set fools unto their folly ! 
 
 Our folly is pure wit. 
 As 'twere the Muse turned jolly : 
 For poets' melancholy, — 
 
 We will not think of it. 
 
 As once Rare Ben and Herrick 
 Set older Fleet Street mad. 
 With wit, not esoteric. 
 And laughter that was lyric. 
 
 And roysterijig rhymes and glad 
 
 As they, we drink defiance 
 
 To-night to all but Rhyme, 
 And most of all to Science, 
 And all such skins of lions 
 That hide the ass of time. 
 
AT THE RHYMERS' CLUB 91 
 
 To-night, to rhyme as they did 
 
 Were well, — ah, were it ours. 
 Who find the Muse degraded. 
 And changed, I fear, and faded. 
 
 Her laurel crown and flowers. 
 
 Ah, rhymers, for that sorrow 
 
 The more o'ertakes delight. 
 The more this madness borrow : — 
 If care be king to-morrow. 
 
 We toast Queen Rhyme to-night. 
 
 II. MARLOWE 
 
 With wine and blood and wit and deviltry. 
 He sped the heroic flame of English verse : 
 Bethink ye, rhymers, what your claim may be, 
 Who in smug suburbs put the Muse to nurse } 
 
THE NEW KING OF BRENTFORD 
 
 TO R. LE G. 
 
 IN REMINDER OF AN OLD PROMISE ^ 
 
 Are there no buds at Brentford ? 
 
 We ask our budding rose. 
 Whose stem each day a tiny sword 
 
 Of tender green, unsheathes and shows 
 
 Against his February foes. 
 
 No cakes and ale at Brentford ? — 
 Though Brentford's King be dead. 
 
 We know a King whose lyric word 
 Was given, in his jovial stead. 
 To pour the wine, to break the bread. 
 
 1 ' When there are buds enough in the garden, you two must 
 come and feast at Brentford ! ' 
 
THE NEW KING OP BRENTFORD 93 
 
 Are there no buds at Brentford, 
 Where, round your ancient house. 
 
 The crocus hears the blackbird. 
 Bid every blade of grass arouse 
 Within the garden close ? 
 
 Dear lyric King of Brentford, 
 
 Though March on fifty stormwinds sail. 
 We hold you to your royal word : 
 
 By every bud that feels the gale. 
 
 We call for cakes and ale ! 
 
A DIALOGUE 
 
 CONCERNING LOVe's DELAYS 
 
 ' Seven years Sir Song must wait for me ; 
 
 I shall not change/ — she said. 
 'Seven years,' he said, 'this change may see; 
 
 Live lords may then be dead ! 
 
 ' And dead may live, but live may die. 
 And Love's young blood run pale ; 
 
 And year by year, ere seven go by. 
 End many a true-love tale. 
 
 ' Ah then, too late, your heart may say 
 To Love — What, are you flovirn ? 
 
 When one of us is turned to clay. 
 And one is worldly grown.' 
 
THE WANTING RHYME 
 
 I WOULD love you for ever and ever, my dear. 
 
 And that were a little time : 
 I would love you for ever and ever and aye 
 
 If your name would but rhyme. 
 
 But no rhyme can I find you, Mereryd, 
 
 And until love find you one. 
 And the lover come with the wanting rh3Tiie, 
 
 You still must roam alone. 
 
THE SECRET 
 
 AFTER HEINE 
 
 We do not sighj our eyes are tearless ; 
 And if we smile, we laugh no more ; 
 Never shall the hidden secret 
 From our eyes gleam as of yore. 
 
 The ancient wound, for ever aching. 
 Throbs on beneath its blood-red stain ; 
 Within the heart its pang is hidden. 
 Within the lips its speechless pain. 
 
 Ask of the babe within the cradle. 
 Ask of the dead within the grave : 
 'Tis only these can ever tell you. 
 What fate as secret to me gave. 
 
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
 
 Wales England wed ; so I was bred. 'Twas merry 
 
 London gave me breath. 
 I dreamt of love, and fame : I strove. But Ireland 
 
 taught me love was best : 
 And Irish eyes, and London cries, and streams of 
 
 Wales, may tell the rest. 
 What more than these I asked of Life, I am 
 
 content to have from Death. 
 
THE LAST WORD 
 
 The last word 's uttered, and the last line writ. 
 Of thought's long tarrying in these quiet walls ; 
 And now oppressively the feeling falls 
 
 That all the past, by hope and wonder lit. 
 
 May never more renew the noble heat 
 
 And passionate hope of youth, that set the blood 
 So wildly brainward, as it surely would 
 
 Have throbbed aloud, and made men know of it. 
 
 But what has been may never be again ; 
 Even now to-morrow dawns, another day. 
 Whose sun is not the sun that shone before 
 And painted Heaven on my window pane : 
 
 To-morrow comes, and points the different way. 
 That I must take, and so return no more. 
 
THE MOUNTAIN SONG 
 
 A FABLE FOR CRITICS, BY WAY OF EPILOGUE 
 
 Now came Diana, as in ancient story. 
 
 With shining spear, and tunic gold and green. 
 And I, of late so sorry. 
 Grew glad again to see her, the forest boughs 
 between. 
 
 ' What news ? ' I cried : ' A-hunting I have 
 been. 
 To find the fawn,' she said, 'and took this bird. 
 Whose like I have not seen ! ' 
 Within her hand I saw then, where some silver 
 feathers stirred. 
 
 Her hand she opened, and a note we heard. 
 And ruffling wings, and straight, away it flew ;— 
 Yet not as if it feared. 
 But as if it needs must haste to the mountain 
 haunts it knew. 
 
100 THE MOUNTAIN SONG 
 
 And piping as it passed^ its silvery hue 
 Gleaming afar, like sun on April grass. 
 We heard it still pursue 
 Its piping way and disappear within the moun- 
 tain pass. 
 
 But much I wondered what wild kind it was. 
 And asked Diana, what its forest name ? 
 She laughed — she said, ' Because 
 I fear its unknown note foretells your doubtful 
 fame. 
 
 ' For few will understand, and many blame. 
 The simple piping of your unknown song. 
 And many cry you shame ,• 
 And yet your rhyme shall turn again, and keep 
 . its moimtain tongue. 
 
 ' And if it fail, it shall not be for long : 
 
 For some there are who knew the note before ; 
 And some who did you wrong 
 Shall find that piping in their ears, and lose the 
 spell no more ! ' 
 
List of Books 
 
 in 
 
 Relies ]^ttres 
 
 i8g4 
 
 fek 
 
 
 ALL BOOKS IN THIS CATALOGUE 
 ARE PUBLISHED AT NET PRICES 
 
 Telegraphic Address — 
 ' Bodleian, London ' 
 
' A WORD must be said for the manner in wliich the publishers 
 ■^*- have produced the volume (i.e. "The Earth Fiend"), a 
 sumptuous folio, printed by Constable, the etchings on Japanese 
 paper by Mr. Goulding. The volume should add not only to 
 Mr. Strang's fame but to that of Messrs. Elkin Mathews and 
 John Lane, who are rapidly gaining distinction for their beautiful 
 editions of belles-lettres.' — Daily Chronicle, Sept. 24, 1892. 
 
 Referring to Mr. Le Gallienne's 'English Poems' and 
 ' Silhouettes ' by Mr. Arthur Symons : — ' We only refer to them 
 now to note a fact which they illustrate, and which we have been 
 observing of late, namely, the recovery to a certain extent of good 
 taste in the matter of printing and binding books. These two 
 books, which are turned out by Messrs. Elkin Mathews and 
 John Lane, are models of artistic publishing, and yet they are 
 simplicity itself. The books with their excellent printing and their 
 very simplicity make a harmony which is satisfying to the artistic 
 sense.' — Sunday Sun, Oct. 2, 1892. 
 
 ' Mr. Le Gallienne is a fortunate young gentleman. I don't 
 know by what legerdemain he and his publishers work, but here, 
 in an age as stony to poetry as the ages of Chatterton and Richard 
 Savage, we find the full edition of his book sold before publication. 
 How is it done, Messrs. Elkin Mathews and John Lane? 
 for, without depreciating Mr. Le Gallienne's sweetness and 
 charm, I doubt that the marvel would have been wrought under 
 another publisher. These publishers, indeed, produce books so de- 
 lightfully that it must give an added pleasure to the hoarding of first 
 editions.'— Katharine Tvnan in Tke Irish Daily iTidepeTident. 
 
 ' To Messrs. Elkin Mathews and John Lane almost more 
 than to any other, we take it, are the thanks of the grateful singer 
 especially due; for it is they who have managed, by means of 
 limited editions and charming workmanship, to impress book- 
 buyers with the belief that a volume may have an aesthetic and 
 commercial value. They have made it possible to speculate in the 
 latest discovered poet, as in a new company — with the difference 
 that an operation in the former can be done with three half-crowns.' 
 
 St. James's Gaxette, 
 
March 1894 
 
 List of Books 
 
 IN 
 
 BELLES LETTRES 
 
 (Including some Transfers) 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Elkin Mathews and John Lane 
 
 VIGO STREET, LONDON, W. 
 
 N.B. — The Authors and Publishes reserve the right of reprinting 
 any book in this list if a second edition is called for > except in cases 
 where a stipulation has been made to the contrary t and of printing 
 a separate edition of any of the books for America irrespective of the 
 numbers to which the English editions are limited. The numbers 
 mentioned do not include the copies sent for review or to the public 
 libraries. 
 
 ADAMS (FRANCIS). 
 
 Essays in Modernity. Cr. 8vo. Ss. net. [Immediately. 
 
 ALLEN (GRANT). 
 
 The Lower Slopes : A Volume of Verse. 600 copies. 
 Cr. 8vo. Ss. net. 
 
 ANT.ffiUS. 
 
 The Backslider and other Poems. 100 only. 
 Small 4to. 7s. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
 BENSON (EUGENE). 
 
 From the Asolan Hills : A Poem. 300 copies. Imp. 
 i6mo. Ss. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 BINYON (LAURENCE). 
 
 Lyric Poems. With Title-page by Selwyn Image. 
 Sq. l6ino. 5s. net. 
 
 BOURDILLON (F. W.). 
 
 A Lost God : A Poem. With Illustrations by H. J. Ford. 
 500 copies. 8vo. 6s. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
 CHAPMAN (ELIZABETH RACHEL). 
 
 A Little Child's Wreath : A Sonnet Sequence. 
 350 copies, Sq. l6mo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 COLERIDGE (HON. STEPHEN). 
 
 The Sanctity of Confession : A Romance. Second 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. 3s. net. [A few remain. 
 
 CRANE (WALTER). 
 
 Renascence: A Book of Verse. Frontispiece and 38 
 designs by the Author. 
 
 [Small ^aper edition out of print. 
 There remain a few large paper copies, fcap. 410. ;£ij is. net. 
 And a few fcap. 4to, Japanese vellum. ;£i, 15s. net. 
 
 CROSSING (WM.). 
 
 The Ancient Crosses of Dartmoor. With 11 plates. 
 8vo, cloth. 4s. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
 DAVIDSON gOHN). 
 
 Plays : An Unhistorical Pastoral ; A Romantic Farce ; 
 Bruce, a Chronicle Play ; Smith, a Tragic Farce ; 
 Scaramouch in Naxos, a Pantomime, with a Frontis- 
 piece, Title-page, and Cover Design by Aubrey 
 Beardsley. 500 copies. Small 4to. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 DAVIDSON gOHN). 
 
 Fleet Street Eclogues. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo, 
 buckram. 5s. net. 
 
 DAVIDSON (JOHN). 
 
 A Random Itinerary: Prose Sketches, with a Ballad. 
 Frontispiece, Title-page, and Cover Design by Laur- 
 ence HousMAN. Fcap. 8vo. Uniform with ' Fleet 
 Street Eclogues.' Ss- net. 
 
ELKIN MATHEWS &■ JOHN LANE 
 
 DAVIDSON (JOHN). 
 
 The North Wall. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net. 
 
 The/ew remaining copies transferred hy the Author 
 to the present P-ublishers. 
 
 DE GRUCHY (AUGUSTA). 
 
 Under the Hawthorn, and other Verses. Frontis- 
 piece by Walter Crane. 300 copies. Crown 8vo. 
 5s. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
 Also 30 copies on Japanese vellum. 155. net 
 DE TABLEY (LORD). 
 
 Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical. By John Leicester 
 Warren (Lord De Tabley). Illustrations and Cover 
 Design by C. S. Ricketts. Second Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 FIELD (MICHAEL). 
 
 Sight and Song. (Poems on Pictures.) 400 copies. 
 Fcap. 8vo. ss. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
 FIELD (MICHAEL). 
 
 Stephania: A Trialogue in Three Acts. 250 copies. 
 Pott 4to. 6s. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
 GALE (NORMAN). 
 
 Orchard Songs. Fcap. 8vo. With Title-page and 
 Cover Design by J. Illingworth Kay. Js- net. 
 Also a Special Edition limited in number on hand-made paper 
 bound in English vellum. ;£i, is. net 
 
 GARNETT (RICHARD). 
 
 Poems. With Title-page designed by J. Illingworth 
 Kay. 350 copies. Crown 8vo. Ss. net. 
 
 GOSSE (EDMUND). 
 
 The Letters of Thomas Lovell Beddoes. Now 
 first edited. Pott 8vo. Ss. net. 
 
 GRAHAME (KENNETH). 
 
 Pagan Papers : A Volume of Essays. With Title- 
 page by Aubrey Bkardsley. Fcap. 8vo. S^- net. 
 
THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 GREENE (G. A.). 
 
 Italian Lyrists of To-day. Translations in the 
 original metres from about thirty-five living Italian 
 poets, with bibliographical and biographical notes. 
 Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 HAKE (DR. T. GORDON). 
 
 A Selection from his Poems. Edited by Mrs. 
 Meynell. With a Portrait after D. G. Rossetti, 
 and a Cover Design by Gleeson White. Crown 
 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 HALLAM (ARTHUR HENRY). 
 
 The Poems, together with his essay ' On Some of the 
 Characteristics of Modem Poetry and on the Lyrical 
 Poems of Alfred Tennyson.' Edited, with an 
 Introduction, by Richard Le Gallienne. 550 
 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
 HAMILTON (COL. IAN). 
 
 The Ballad of Hadji and other Poems. Etched 
 Frontispiece by Wm. Strang. 50 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 
 3s. net. 
 Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers, 
 
 HAZLITT (WILLIAM). 
 
 Liber Amoris, a reprint of the 1823 edition, with 
 numerous original documents appended never before 
 printed, including Mrs. Hazlitt's Diary in Scotland, 
 Portrait after Bewick, Facsimile Letters, etc., and 
 the Critical Introduction by Richard le Gallienne 
 prefixed to the edition of 1893. A limited number 
 only. 4to. £1, is. net. [/» the Press. 
 
 HICKEY (EMILY H.). 
 
 Verse Tales, Lyrics and Translations. 300 copies. 
 Imp. i6mo. 5s. net. 
 
ELKIN MATHEWS b- JOHN LANE 
 
 HORNE (HERBERT P.). 
 
 DiVERSi COLORES : Foems. With ornaments by the 
 Author. 250 copies, i6mo, 5s. net. 
 
 JAMES (W. P.). 
 
 Romantic Professions : A Volume of Essays, with Title- 
 page by J. Illingworth Kay. Crown 8vo. Ss.net. 
 
 JOHNSON (EFFIE). 
 
 In the Fire and Other Fancies. Frontispiece by 
 Walter Crane. 500 copies. Imp. i6mo. 3s. 6d. 
 net. 
 
 JOHNSON (LIONEL). 
 
 The Art of Thomas Hardy: Six Essays. With 
 Etched Portrait by Wm. Strang, and Bibliography 
 by John Lane. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net. 
 
 Also 150 copiesi large paper, with proofs of the portrsdt. ^i, is. 
 net. [Very shortly, 
 
 JOHNSON (LIONEL). 
 
 A Volume of Poems. Fcap. 8vo. Js. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 KEATS gOHN). 
 
 Three Essays, now issued in book form for the first time. 
 Edited by H. BuxTON FORMAN. With Life-mask 
 by Haydon. Fcap. 4to. los. 6d. net. 
 
 [ Very few remain. 
 
 KEYNOTES SERIES. 
 
 Each volume complete in itself. Crown 8vo, cloth. 
 3s. 6d. net. 
 Vol. I. Keynotes. By George Egerton. With 
 Title-page by Aubrey Bbardsley. 
 
 [Fourth edition now ready. 
 Vol. II. Poor Folk. Translated from the Russian of 
 F. Dostoievsky by Lena Milman. With 
 a Preface by George Moore. 
 
 [In rapid preparation. 
 
THE PyBLlCATIONS OF 
 
 KEYNOTES SERIES— cottiinueii. 
 
 Vol. III. The Dancing Faun. By Florence Emery. 
 
 Vol. IV. A Child of the Age. By Francis Adams. 
 
 [Shortly. 
 
 Vol. V. The Great God Pan and The Inmost 
 Light. By Arthur Machen. 
 
 [SAortly. 
 LEATHER (R. K.). 
 
 Verses. 250 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. net. 
 
 Transferred by ike Author to the present Publishers, 
 
 LEATHER (R. K.), & RICHARD LE GALLIENNE. 
 The Student and the Body-Snatcher and Other 
 Trifles. [Small paper edition out of print. 
 
 There remain a very few of the 50 large paper copies. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). 
 
 Prose Fancies. With a Portrait of the Author by 
 Wilson Steer. Crown 8vo. Purple cloth, uniform 
 with 'The Religion of a Literary Man.' 55. net. 
 
 Also a limited large paper edition. 12s. 6d. net 
 
 LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). 
 
 The Book Bills of Narcissus. An Account rendered 
 by Richard le Gallienne. Second Edition. 
 Crown 8vo, buckram. 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). 
 
 English Poems. Third Edition, crown 8vo. Purple 
 cloth, uniform with 'The Religion of a Literary Man.' 
 5s. net. 
 
 LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). 
 
 George Meredith : Some Characteristics. With a Biblio- 
 graphy (much enlarged) by John Lane, portrait, etc. 
 Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 53. 6d. net. 
 
ELKIN MATHEWS *• JOHN LANE 
 
 LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). 
 
 The Religion of a Literary Man. 3rd thousand. 
 Crown 8vo. Pnrple cloth. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Also a special rubricated edition on hand-made paper. 8vo. 
 los. 6d. net. 
 
 LETTERS TO LIVING ARTISTS. 
 
 500 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
 MARSTON (PHILIP BOURKE). 
 
 A Last Harvest: Lyrics and Sonnets from the 
 Book of Love. Edited by Louise Chandler 
 MouLTON. 500 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net. 
 Also 50 copies on large paper, hand-made. los. 6d. net. 
 
 \Very/ew remain. 
 MARTIN (W. WILSEY). 
 
 Quatrains, Life's Mystery and other Poems. i6mo. 
 2s. 6d. net. [ Very few remain, 
 
 MARZIALS (THEO.). 
 
 The Gallery of Pigeons and Other Poems. Fcap. 
 8vo. 4s. fid. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
 Transferred by the Author to the present Publishers. 
 
 MEYNELL (MRS.), (ALICE C. THOMPSON). 
 
 Poems. Second Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. A 
 few of the 50 large paper copies (First Edition) remain. 
 I2s. fid. net. 
 
 MEYNELL (MRS.). 
 
 The Rhythm of Life, and other Essays. Second 
 Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. fid. net. A few of the 50 
 large paper copies (First Edition) remain. 12s. fid. net. 
 
 MONKHOUSE (ALLAN). 
 
 Books and Plays : A Volume of Essays. 400 copies. 
 Crown Svo. 5s. net. 
 
 MURRAY (ALMA). 
 
 Portrait as Beatrice Cenci. With critical notice 
 containing four letters from Robert Browning. 
 Svo, wrapper. 2s. net. 
 
THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 NETTLESHIP (J. T.). 
 
 Robert Browning : Essays and Thoughts. A Third 
 Edition is in preparation. Crown 8vo. Ss. 6d. net. 
 Half a dozen of the Whatman large paper copies 
 (First Edition) remain. £i, is. net. 
 
 NOBLE gAS. ASHCROFT). 
 
 The Sonnet in England and Other Essays. Title- 
 page and Cover Design by Austin Young. 600 
 copies. Crown 8vo. Ss. net. 
 Also 50 copies large paper. X2S. 6d. net. 
 
 NOEL (HON. RODEN). 
 
 Poor People's Christmas. 250 copies. i6mo. is. net. 
 
 [ Very few remain. 
 OXFORD CHARACTERS. 
 
 A series of lithographed portraits by Will Rothenstein, 
 with text by F. York Powell and others. To be 
 issued monthly in term. Each number will contain 
 two portraits. Parts I. to V. ready, zoo sets only, 
 folio, wrapper, 5s. net per part; 25 special large 
 paper sets containing proof impressions of the por- 
 traits signed by the artist, los. 6d. net per part. 
 
 PINKERTON (PERCY). 
 
 Galeazzo: a Venetian Episode and other Poems. 
 Etched Frontispiece. l6mo. Ss. net. 
 
 [ Very few remain. 
 Transferred ly the Auihsr to the present P«ilUhirs. 
 
 RADFORD (DOLLIE). 
 
 Songs. A New Volume of Verse. \In preparation, 
 
 RADFORD (ERNEST). 
 
 Chambers Twain. Frontispiece by Walter Crane. 
 2S0 copies. Imp. l6mo. S^- n^t- 
 Also so copies large paper. los. 6d. net. [Very fern remain. 
 
 RHYS (ERNEST). 
 
 A London Rose and Other Rhymes. With Title-page 
 designed by Selwyn Image, tpa copies. Crown 
 8vo. Ss. net. 
 
ELKIN MATHEWS &• JOHN LANE 
 
 RICKETTS (C. S.)AND C. H. SHANNON. 
 
 Hero and Leander. By Christopher Marlowe 
 and George Chapman. With Borders, Initials, and 
 Illustrations designed and engraved on the wood by 
 C. S. RicKETTS and C. H. Shannon. Bound in 
 English vellum and gold. 200 copies only. 35s. net. 
 
 RHYMERS' CLUB, THE BOOK OF THE. 
 
 A second volume will appear in the Spring of 1894. 
 
 SCHAFF (DR. P.). 
 
 Literature and Poetry: Papers on Dante, etc. 
 Portrait and Plates, 100 copies only. 8vo. los. net. 
 
 STODDARD (R. H.). 
 
 The Lion's Cub; with other Verse. Portrait. 
 100 copies only, bound in an illuminated Persian 
 design. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net. [ Very few remain. 
 
 STREET (G. S.). 
 
 The Autobiography of a Boy. Passages selected by 
 his friend G. S. S. With Title-page designed by 
 C. W. FURSE. S°o copies. Fcap, 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 SYMONDS gOHN ADDINGTON). 
 
 In THE Key of Blue, and other Prose Essays. 
 Cover designed by C. S. Ricketts. Second Edition. 
 Thick Crown 8vo. 8s. 6d. net. 
 
 THOMPSON (FRANCIS). 
 
 Poems. With Frontispiece, Title-page and Cover Design 
 by Laurence Housman. Fourth Edition. Pott 4to. 
 5s. net. 
 
 TODHUNTER (JOHN). 
 
 A Sicilian Idyll. Frontispiece by Walter Crane. 
 250 copies. Imp. i6mo, 5s. net. 
 Also 50 copies large paper, fcap. 4to. zos. 6d. net. 
 
 \Vtryfffiu remain. 
 
THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 TOMSON (GRAHAM R.). 
 
 After Sunset. A Volume of Poems. With Title-page and 
 Cover Design by R. Anning Bell. Fcap. Svo. 5s. 
 net. 
 Also a limited large paper edition. 125. 6d. net. \ln preparation. 
 
 TREE (H. BEERBOHM). 
 
 The Imaginative Faculty : A Lecture delivered at the 
 Royal Institution. With portrait of Mr. Tree from 
 an unpublished drawing by the Marchioness of Granby. 
 Fcap. Svo, boards. 2S. 6d. net. 
 
 TYNAN HINKSON (KATHARINE). 
 
 Cuckoo Songs. With Title-page and Cover Design by 
 Laurence Housman. scxj copies. Fcap. Svo. 5s. 
 net. 
 
 VAN DYKE (HENRY). 
 
 The Poetry of Tennyson. Third Edition, enlarged. 
 Crown Svo. 5s. 6d. net. 
 Tkt late Laureate himself ffave vahtabU aid in correcting 
 various details. 
 
 WATSON (WILLIAM). 
 
 The Eloping Angels: A Caprice. Second Edition. 
 Square i6mo, buckram, 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 WATSON (WILLIAM). 
 
 Excursions in Criticism : being some Prose Recrea- 
 tions of a Rhymer. Second Edition. Cr. Svo. Ss. net. 
 
 WATSON (WILLIAM). 
 
 The Prince's Quest, and other Poems. With a 
 Bibliographical Note added. Second Edition. Fcap. 
 Svo. 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 WEDMORE (FREDERICK). 
 
 Pastorals of France — Renunciations. A volume of 
 Stories. Title-page by John Fulleylovb, R.I. 
 Third Edition. Crown Svo. 5s. net. 
 A few of the large paper copies of Renunciations (First Sdijtiok) 
 remain. 10s. 6d. net. 
 
ELKIN MATHEWS &• JOHN LANE 
 
 WICKSTEED (P. H.). 
 
 Dante. Six Sermons. Third Edition. Crown 8vo. 2s. net. 
 
 WILDE (OSCAR). 
 
 The Sphinx. A poem decorated throughout in line and 
 colour, and bound in a design by Charles Ricketts. 
 250 copies. £2, 2s. net 25 copies large paper. 
 £5, Ss. net. 
 
 WILDE (OSCAR). 
 
 The incomparable and ingenious history of Mr. W. H., 
 being the true secret of Shakespear's sonnets now for 
 the first time here fully set forth, with initial letters 
 and cover design by Charles Ricketts. 500 copies. 
 los. 6d. net. 
 
 Also so copies large paper. 2xs.net. [In preparation. 
 
 WILDE (OSCAR). 
 
 Dramatic Works, now printed for the first time with a 
 specially designed Title-page and binding to each 
 volume, by Charles Shannon. 500 copies. Small 
 4to. 7s. 6d. net per vol. 
 Also 50 copies large paper. 155. net per vol. 
 
 Vol. I. Lady Windermere's Fan : A Comedy in 
 Four Acts. [Ready. 
 
 Vol. n. A Woman of No Importance : A Comedy 
 in Four Acts. [Shortly. 
 
 Vol. III. The Duchess of Padita : A Blank Verse 
 Tragedy in Five Acts. [In preparation. 
 
 WILDE (OSCAR). 
 
 Salome : A Tragedy in one Act, done into English. 
 With II Illustrations, Title-page, and Cover Design 
 by Aubrey Beardsley. 500 copies. Small 4to. 
 , 15s. net. 
 
 Also 100 copies, large paper. 30s. net. 
 
 WYNNE (FRANCES). 
 
 Whisper. A Volume of Verse. With a Memoir by 
 Katharine Tynan and a Portrait added. Fcap. 8vo. 
 2s. 6d. net. 
 Tram/erred hy the Author to the present Publishers. 
 
14 PUBLICATIONS OF KLKIN MATHEWS <&• JOHN LANK 
 
 The Hobby Horse 
 
 A new series of this illustrated magazine will be published 
 quarterly by subscription, under the Editorship of Herbert 
 P. Home. Subscription £i per annum, post free, for the 
 four numbers. Quarto, printed on hand-made paper, and 
 issued in a limited edition to subscribers only. The 
 Magazine will contain articles upon Literature, Music, 
 Painting, Sculpture, Architecture, and the Decorative Arts; 
 Poems ; Essays ; Fiction; original Designs; with reproduc- 
 tions of pictures and drawings by the old masters and 
 contemporary artists. There will be a new title- 
 page and ornaments designed by the Editor. 
 Among the contributors to the 
 Hobby Horse are : 
 
 The late Matthew Asnold. 
 
 Laurence Binyon. 
 
 WiLFKiD Blunt. 
 
 Ford Madox Brown. 
 
 The late Arthur Burgess. 
 
 £. burne-jones, a.r.a. 
 
 Austin Dobson. 
 
 Richard Garnett, LL.D. 
 
 A. J. Hipkins, F.S.A. 
 
 Selwyn Image. 
 
 Lionel Johnson. 
 
 Richard Le Gallienne. 
 
 Sir F. Leighton, Bart, P.R.A. 
 
 T. Hope McLachlan. 
 
 May Morris. 
 
 C. Hubert H. Parry, Mus. Doc. 
 
 A. W. Pollard. 
 
 F. York Powell. 
 Christina G. Rossbtti. 
 w. m. rossettl 
 
 John Ruskin, D.C.L., LL.D. 
 
 Frederick Sandys. 
 
 The late W. Bell Scott. 
 
 Frederick J. Shields. 
 
 J. H. Shorthouse. 
 
 The late James Smetham. 
 
 Simeon Solomon. 
 
 A. Somervell. 
 
 The late J. Addington Svmonds. 
 
 Katharine Tynan. 
 
 G. F. Watts, R.A. 
 Frederick Wedmork. 
 Oscar Wilde. 
 
 Prospectuses on Application. 
 
 THE BODLEY HEAD, VIGO STREET, LONDON, W, 
 
' Nearly every book put out by Messrs. Elkin Mathews & 
 John Lane, at the Sign of the Bodley Head, is a satisfaction to 
 the special senses of the modern bookman for bindings, shapes, 
 types, and papers. They have surpassed themselves, and 
 registered a real achievement in English bookmaking by the 
 volume of ' ' Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical, " of Lord De Tabley. ' 
 
 Newcastle Daily Chronicle. 
 
 ' A ray of hopefulness is stealing again into English poetry 
 after the twilight greys of Clough and Arnold and Tennyson. 
 Even unbelief wears braver colours. Despite the jeremiads, 
 which are the dirges of the elder gods, England is still a nest 
 of singing-birds {teste the Catalogue of Elkin Mathews and John 
 Lane).'— Mr. Zangwill in Pall Mall Magazine. 
 
 'All Messrs. Mathews & Lane's Books are so beautifully 
 printed and so tastefully issued, that it rejoices the heart of a 
 book-lover to handle them ; but they have shown their sound 
 judgment not less markedly in the literary quality of their 
 publications. The choiceness of form is not inappropriate to 
 the matter, which is always of something more than ephemeral 
 worth. This was a distinction on which the better publishers 
 at one time prided themselves ; they never lent their names to 
 trash ; but some names associated with worthy traditions have 
 proved more than once a delusion and a snare. The record of 
 Messrs. Elkin Mathews & John Lane is perfect in this respect, 
 and their imprint is a guarantee of the worth of what they 
 publish.' — Birmingham Daily Post, Nov. 6, 1893. 
 
 ' One can nearly always be certain when one sees on the title- 
 page of any given book the name of Messrs Elkin Mathews & 
 John Lane as being the publishers thereof that there will be 
 something worth reading to be found between the boards.' — 
 World. 
 
Edinburgh : T. and A. Constable 
 Printers to Her Majesty 
 
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