■ m n w w t iwwug ^y -i ' 4//-^ Cornell University Library PR5021.M28L8 A London comedy, and other vanities. 3 1924 013 524 966 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/cu31924013524966 A LONDON COMEDY AND OTHER VANITIES A LONDON COMEDY AND OTHER VANITIES BY EGAN MEW WITH SEVEN REPRODUCTIONS OF PICTURES BY MAURICE GREIFPENHAGEN London GEOEGE EEDWAY 1897 A.)t>:r'7/ LONDON : PRINTED BY WILLIAM CL0WE3 AND SONS, LIMITED, STAMFORD STKEET AND CHARING CROSS. IF THERE CHANCE TO BK ANTTHINQ tVORTHT IN THIS SLIM VOLUME, IT IS DEDICATED WITH ADMIRATION AND WARM AFFECTION TO THE COMRADE OK MY YOUTH, MY TRIED AND CONSTANT LIFE-LONG FRIEND, JOHN ROBERT MANNERS, OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE. Some of these verses have appeared in ' ' Temple Ba/r," the " Oraphic," the " Queen," and the " Pall Mall Budget." I am greaily indebted to the editors and proprietors of these journals for permission to reproduce them here, and especially to the " Pali Mali Budget " for the same kindness in regard to four of Mr. Qreiffenhagen's illustrations. These, luniiever, have been to some extent redrawn for the purposes of this booh. CONTENTS TO MY FIRST READER A LONDON COMEDY . PROLOGUE PAGE 11 15 A DINNER-PARTY A BALCONY AN OLD GARDEN IN A CONSERVATORY V. AT HENLEY vi. AN "at home" vii. AT COWES viii. A WATTEAU PARTY IN THE RIDE ST. PETER'S MAYFAIE HER HO0SE ENVOI U. IV. IX. XI. sii. LAGGARD FAME . IN REMEMBRANCE . t'waeds ARCADIE . in a suburban cemetery sic passim . collaboration . Eileen's eyes . a lady at her piano with glebson white's anthology of verse an old-fashioned com- PLIMENT .... MY DEAREST FLIRT. 29 30 35 40 42 43 45 46 47 48 49 ROPES OF SAND ' LIL ASKED ME TO-DAY A man's REASON A SOLENT SONG. TO MANY EYES . SHADOWS LOVE AND DEATH LONDON MAIDS . FAQB 50 52 53 55 58 59 64 65 1. THE 'A, B C MAID ii. THE VISITING GOVERNESS iii. THE TYPEWRITER iv. FLOWER-GIRLS V. THE PROGRAMME MAID vi. THE POST OFFICE CLERK vii. THE NURSEMAID viii. THE READING MAID BLACK AND TAN . A WOODMAN LOVED LOVE SAILS AWAY . TO RED WINE . WE TWO. VILLANELLBS OF VANITY i. SOMEBODY KNOWS ii. WHICH OP THE TWO iii. THE WAY TO WOO 78 79 81 62 83 87 92 TO A COUNTRY MUSE ADIEU 93 A VOUS ... 96 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS —'S'^e^i — FACING PAGtt I. A MODISH MASK ..... 11 II. IN A BALCONY . . . . . .15 III. AN "AT home'' ..... 31 IV. A WATTEAD PARTY ... .23 V. " A HOUSE AT WHICH TO DINE " . . .27 VI. IN A SUBUEBAN CEMETERY . . . .40 VII. A WOODMAN LOVED . . . . 79 117/// xlhjiilil, mil's iirjijlilniirs finii ii ciiri Ahniit mil- linnis I Till- mili/ unn- '^ ft niodliih iniisfc . •* TO MY PIEST EEADER The candles cast a topaz light About your room ; the fire's bright On silk and silver. You are dight In robe-de-The. When, lo ! the post is just brought in, And there, two little notes between. Lies a small book, in format lean, And white array. I note a touch of welcome fire Brighten dear eyes, and then expire : Would I could send " celestial choir " To cheer and please you. You will not care for all that's set, You hate the note of " mad regret," You don't care much for amourette — Such trifles tease you. 12 To My First Reader But here, but there, across my page, A phrase may hint that golden age When L was young and you were sage. When Hfe ran gayer. Yet hfe was sad as well, for we Were haunted by the minstrelsy That, following Love with mystery, Hints a betrayer. Though oft we met with straining hearts, We ne'er forgot those worldly arts Which made us actors — playing parts — And left us masking. I've tangled warp with tangled weft, The right with wrong, and all that's left Of a just meaning stands bereft. Yet still I'm asking — How rang that old true song in air We used to hear ? Despair ! Despair ! The voices call — they echo where Once laughter Hlted. To My First Reader 13 We've left undone those things we ought (As every Worldly-wiseman taught) To make our own peculiar thought. We've sometimes jilted Those who were kind. We've laughed to scorn Our loved ones, and our vows forsworn. Dearest of all — cold Death hath shorn Of human fashion. Hopes that were virgin lie profaned : We sought for joy, for fortune strained, The happy gods our prayers disdained, And now the passion Of our queer world is upside-down. The cynic's kiss, the lover's frown, The poet's fame and rogue's renown Grow complicated. The sour is somewhat sweetly drawn, In Christian haunts go nymph and faun, The primal colours of our dawn Fly — dissipated. 14 To My First Reader But as we say, ' The time goes by,' And no one cares that I am — I. And then, of course, the ' psychic cry ' Is rather silly. Why should one's neighbours fain a care About our hearts ? The only wear 'S a modish mask 'gainst cutting air And critics chilly. A few may turn my verse about And push the ragged edges out : The wise will sneer ; I have no doubt About their greeting. And you were hard to please, I know, And yet I always long to show The broken dreams that come, that go, To you, my sweeting. A LONDON COMEDY Prologue THE SPIRIT OF MODEEN COMEDY L' esprit Moqueur ! the only gnome Whose presence now is always sure : In London town he's free to roam — U esprit Moqueur. He'll win you with a laughing lure. Deep in your heart he'll make his home — All other loves you'll then abjure. He'll haunt your house from base to dome, And sap your soul, this gay flaneur. Make Death a jest as light as foam — Uesprit Moqueur. IS 1 6 A London Comedy Dramatis Personm "She". . . . Diane Carruthers. " He " . . . . Vernon Aylmer. "Another" . . The Hon. John Adair. A dinner-party. "She" is talking in a lively ivay ivith "Another.'''' " He " is 7iot included in the conversation. When first we met, a year ago, I thought you rather too coquette ; You guessed I should prove bornS — slow, When first we met. I'd often watched you, through lorgnette, I'd often seen you in the Kow — And plaimed an entrSe to your set. You seemed that night all allegro, Handsome and bright and sweet — and yet. Somehow, you made me feel de trap. When first we met. lilitit. JiC/ijis nf thiii'js irc re IcarnrO to knon Since first I frll u-ifjiin yfinr net .] ijcar fif/"." A London Comedy 17 II • He " and " She " are on a balcony overlooking the Park at night. A year ago ! no more, my pet. What heaps of things we've learned to know Since first I fell within your net A year ago. You've laughed at suitors Mgh and low : I've noted how (without regret) You've sacrificed no end of beaux. I wonder — is your heart to let : I dream I've gained a chance morceau — Since that dear night you made me fret, A year ago. 1 8 A London Comedy III A corner in an old garden. Beehives, a statue of Pan ; hayfields beyond. We snatched a day from out our lives, And spent it 'mid the fields of hay : From London town, from social gyves. We snatched a day. We heard the lark's fresh roundelay. We watched the bees about their hives. We joined the summer winds at play. How is't rusticity contrives To give blue eyes a tenderer grey ? I thank old Pan (who still survives) We snatched that day. A London Comedy 19 IV In a conservatory. No one shall know what came by chance When we were seated dos-&-dos, And you threw back a tempting glance — No one shall know. Through all the years that come and go That moment will the rest enhance, Casting across my world a glow. Can you recall our next sweet dance? Could you repeat that action ? — so ! Ah! pray forgive, nor look askance, — No one shall know ! c 2 20 A London Comcdx At Henley. If life be vain, as wise men say, And we're foredoomed our meed of pain, Let's laugh throughout our little day — If life be vain. To-morrow I shall catch the train Which takes your party Henley way. And so we'll meet just once again. We'll watch together the essay Of those who mean the sculls to gain ; An you are by, living is play — If life, be vain. "J liiirr Ml ruses liDli; 1" jiinil llviU'itli ijony flit ; A London Comedy 21 VI An '■'■ At HomeT To thee, dear Di, I fain would bring Fortune, and Fame, and Eevelry : These are not mine, I can but sing To thee, dear Di. Others there be who woo and sigh — The Wit, the Fool, the Hireling: They bring their wares your heart to buy. I have no roses now to fling Beneath your feet; my star's awry — I send a song on halting wing To thee, dear Di. 2 2 A London Comedy VII At Cowes. On East Cowes Creek I'd love to stay And in soine eyes my fortune seek, And watch their sparkling, subtle play. On East Cowes Creek. There we may dream that wrong is weak, And cease to laugh the world away. Nor hold all hfe a weary freak. And yet, the Fates curtail our stay To just the sweet regatta week. Adieu ! to eyes too kind to slay On East Cowes Creek. • mi llif ii-hnlr. We'll IfHIn- Iniii/li, aiiil /nose the eliii'iH ilf roses,' A London Comedy 23 VIII A Watteau party in a ivood. We've played our roles of nymph and swain, And found our masque exceeding droll; From Season's zenith to its wane We've played our rdles. And now you say that " on the whole. We'd better laugh, and loose the chain Of roses, ere we reach the goal." So you, dear Di, will cease to reign O'er my poor " analytic soul." How cold 'twiU grow; yet there's the gain, We've played our roles. 24 A London Comedy IX In the Pari: "She" and ''Another" riding. "She" turning aivay. " He" also on horseback, in foreground, looking hack. You turned aside as I went by; I longed to speak. You know I tried To meet the swift light of your eye. You turned aside. Thanks to the philosophic guide Who talks with you so earnestly, Who's always with you in the Eide. Ah ! did you mean my mood to try ? Hardly, I think ; you could not hide That you still blush responsively — You turned and sighed. A London Comedy 25 St. Peter's, Eaton Square. We've laughed away the wise men's saws, And mocked the Fates for many a day. An earnest mood — a tell-tale pause— We've laughed away. Only the truth was hasardee ; Our smiles were based on tears, as cause ; Our songs were doubtful melody. All life's perfection, all its flaws, All hasty progress, dull delay, Keligion, love, emotion, laws. We've laughed away. 26 A London Comedy XI Later. So you have wed old Jack Adair ! In ropes of pearls you're captive led; You " felt inclined his lands to share," So you are v?ed. You write me that " old hopes are fled " ; You say you know I " shall not care " — We'll think the past lies cold and dead. A pretty house in smart Mayfair, A Berkshire park where oak trees spread, Outweigh our castles of the air . . . So you are wed. '■'"' y*-/^ ^^"' /i''"(-^ (jods hold in. stor< A London Comedy 27 XII After a Season or two. A house at which to dine, no more, You think I think your dweUing fine, A house where it's not quite a bore To dine. We've laughed away all thoughts divine, We've learnt our jot of worldly lore, And bowed our last at any shrine. Yet there's a rite man can't ignore — Women and song go by, and wine — One gift the kind gods hold in store : To dine. 28 A London Comedy Envoi. Looking backward, who shall tell All the glories — all the lack — There is Heaven, there is Hell, Looking back. There lie hopes, a sorry pack, Rising hopes which quickly fell — Swift to teach a cynic knack. Behind — the chimes ring like a knell, Joy-bells jangle all a-crack ; Happier an we mar no spell — Looking back. LAGGABD FAME After much toil and passion A poet learned to wear A smile for life's poor fashion, A mask for biting care. He, faithful to his art, sings, Mocking his sense of wrong. Pain's finger on his heart-strings — Sweet music in his song. Now Fortune seeks a meeting. She calls his name one morrow ; She gets strange tears for greeting ; He'd laughed too long with sorrow. 29 TO TWO FEIENDS in memory of Hubert Montague Ceackanthoepe. I Old friends ! old friends, the name Eings doubly good Now, as we count the loss Of his fair manlihood, Now, as we cry in bitterness and blame, Behold ! his life is gone — Lost with the flotsam and the dross — Inconsequently caught in the ever-lengthening, wan Trooping of Death, who hunts in merry and un- tiring mood The loved, the beautiful, the brave. O ! could not then the grave— The horrible, insatiate — Be this time propitiate With lesser souls than his, whose soul had grovsm Melodiously in concord with our own. 30 In Remembrance 31 II. Unto my friends who doubted, wept, despaired, Disputed, argued, while there yet remained Uncertainties, and hope with time was gained — Unto my friends : "If he be gone, if he, indeed, has fared Beyond these bounds of complex destiny, O, remember and be cheered — Those who were dear on earth are more endeared. The thing that pained no longer pains. Down the cold corridors, within the silent alcoves of the dead, The great renunciations are as stored gains, The once poor negatives of life shine newly, bright As jewels indiademed. Obliterate the dread Compressed vpithin that day of troubles, that horrific night." Ill Comrade of days — the years were yet to be — Dearest you were to my sweet friends. Through them to me; And now, alas, so soon our converse ends. 32 In Remembrance 'Neath the umbrageous shadow of their tree Of love, we've met, welcome in fellowship, free Of amicable highways, cities, and fair meads ; Free of fair speech and courteous, kindly deeds. IV Friend, this poor thing is true — Your voice, remembered, rings. Still rings the melody anew. For ever in the hearts whose tenderest note Has echoed your clear music. In our hearts Is bound the cherished vision of your face, serene, remote. Crowned with those garlands sad-sweet memory brings. Limned by the deftest, subtlest of the arts, — The nameless art that neither paints nor sings. Yours were high gifts, and you were ardent, young. How much achieved ! how much is left undone ! Fair and fresh-hued, the cameo of your face Shone oft with satire, oft with wit, And oft with merriment was ht, In Remembrance 33 And oft with genial grace. The sensitive soft mouth, the clear, firm jaw, The potent brow, both generous and bold. The frank grey-blue of eyes without a flaw, Told of wide views, capacity, and power. Potentialities the future should unfold — Blotted from life in one misgotten hour. VI Athwart the happiness of golden autumn days. Athwart the life that seemed of hope compact, Grew, from no whither, a miasmic haze. . VII No more the kind heart feels the anguish and the gust Of passion. No more the pain of broken hope or trust : No more the fret and clash of indeterminate Souls, whose loves, like hates, exterminate. Never again his nature (sensitive o'er much But nobly reticent) shall bear the touch 34 In Remembrance Of hands still unattuned to lyric things. His thoughts suggested, half expressed, on earth, shall fly In beauty and rich lights on high : No longer clad in modish drapery To hide ethereal, silver-shining wings. VIII Adieu, Prince of golden hearts. Adieu, O rare and happy spirit that we knew. Ours is the sorrow, ours the empty pain, Yours is for heritage some wide domain, Some wider world than ours Where love, the rose divine. And friendship, the soul's eglantine. Afar, in starry bowers. Develop and outshine Life's galaxy of flowers. Christmas, 1896-7. T'WAEDS AECADIE A DUOLOGUE To the Audience. OuB play is short, requiring little casting ; Two people in a sweet conservatory ; Later maybe We'll chance to see This couple trip it into Arcadie, Thinking their ecstasy For ever lasting. She. " Our waltz at last ! yet let it go, — I've danced through one with Hugh Defoe, And learned to weigh that guardsman's toe; His step is all too dashing." 35 D 2 36 Towards Arcadie He. "Yes? Then rest we will and hear the flow Of fiddle and of piccolo ; I'll watch " Ehc. "The dancers?" He. " Ah, no, Your eyelids flashing." She. " Monsieur, de grace . . . . ' In Arcadie,' I see this waltz is said to be : How sweet the music's melody And fountain plashing." He. "'In Arcadie'? Have you been there?" She. "Is it the region of the stair. Far up above the candle's flare, And cymbals clashing?" He. " Sometimes, perhaps . . . ." She. " You know it then : You've entered there ? Oh, tell me when ? T' wards Arcadie 2sl Or is't a land of smoke — and men, Of sahretasche and sashing?" He. " I've only glanced in once — or twice, — Just now in handing you an ice. Something I saw that would entice All Arcadie." She. " Indeed ! what .... lenses did you use ? " He. " Your eyes : their blueness my excuse." She. " Yours is, I think, too worn a ruse For Arcadie. But tell me of this happy land — Do nymphs and swains go hand-in-hand To airs — like the Hungarian band Is playing?" He. " Daphnis and Chloe still are there ; — He binds bright myrtle in her hair. No whisper comes of carking care. Of cold heart's slaying . . ." 38 T' wards Arcadie She. " Go on, I pray." He. " There roses bloom ; The golden days can know no gloom ; Eternal happiness their doom, — So Chloe's saying. Yet no one is bored ; bright eyes meet eyes Still brighter, for they lack disguise. Life sweetly comes, but never flies In Arcadie." She. "Would I could visit, at season's end, The world you paint vnth cunning blend Of colour words, as though you'd send Us all to Arcadie. Which is the way? I'll journey there Alone ; the land seems passing fair. ..." He. "Not so — alone; they go a-pair In Arcadie." She. "Oh!...." T'wards Arcadie 39 jffe. " There's one sweet way, may I show how ? " She. "But — where and when?" Tie. " Ah ! here and now. Dearest, you know, you must allow — My heart is breaking." She. " Sir, you forget ; our waltz is done. Through the camellias dancers come . . . Your heart, my heart — I think they're one. Is't worth the taking?" He. " While there be life, one it shall be — Yours : yours and mine — no room for three In all the breadth of Arcadie." Envoi And so, messieurs, we've chanced to see Two more trip up to Arcadie. Ah me ! They think the land will ever he Their property. IN A SUBUEBAN CEMETEEY " Harsh grief doth pass in time into far music " Dear, kindly eyes, that love has taught to weep ; Sweet, pensive lips, that know not of disdain. Heart that can hold, sacred and deep. Life's joy, life's pain. Azaleas bloom; your odorous heUotrope Loads the cool air with aromatic freight. It seems the blossoms sing of love, of hope — Too late, too late. Pure love that lived shall last the worlds away, There is no parting for the souls once met ; Soon shall hope gild with tender, ambient ray The passions of regret. 4u " Dfiir. k'nidhi ri/rs that lore has iauf/hi to irccp In a Suburban Cemetery 41 And years shall come, not wholly sad, nor sere, And knowledge of the tattered silken skein Of life and death shall make more dearly dear Love's joy, love's pain. SIC PASSIM Falsity, Folly, and Vanity, Fates that govern our world of shame; A trinity formed by humanity — Falsity, Folly, and Vanity. All life plays at this empty game. Dancing or praying, the song's the same. Echoing over vitality, Laughing at pale morahty. Masking alike the gallant and maim. Sober Master and dainty Dame Whisper, smile, and give them name — Tact and Mirth and Sanity. They know it not, but their triple aim Is Falsity, Folly, Vanity. 42 COLLABORATION EN L'AIE TO F. T. D. Life's hopes and sorrows we have known, We've laughed the laugh, held back the groan — Like others, masking. And yet to us Time's changing dial Showed hours that grew cordial Without the asking. Not when dear girls with kindly eyes Join tears with laughter, smiles with sighs, Though that's delightful. Nor yet when enemies He low, Unseated by our jeux-de-mots, We're not too spiteful. But that sweet time, quite late at e'en, Which comes to neither saint, I ween. Nor total sinner : You know the hour, old chap, I think. When thought to thought we quickly Hnk — Well, after dinner. 43 44 Collaboratio7i en I' Ah' When pipes of trusty cherry-wood Do all they can to make us good And leave us purer — Giving us aid o'er passes rocky, Teaching us subtle ways to jockey Cold atra cura. Snug by the fire, in shppered ease, We've planned the sweets of life to seize — Those toys so brittle. What if, out there, 'midst sturni uiid draug, We've felt the pinch and known the pang. And failed — a little, Within our world of smoky dreams Are ways delicious, potent schemes, And Ughtsome laughter : What clever plots we've limned, ah, me ! They should have echoed merrily Here — and hereafter. But these have drifted with our smoke. Ending, perchance, in some light joke Which we thought witty Collaboration en VAir 45 While in the air they made us gay, Evanishing with dawn of day — A doubtful pity. Well, well, come fill your pipe again. Not heeding now the joy or pain Of loser, winner: If in our day there still be time For what is good — love, laughter, rhyme — 'Tis after dinner. EILEEN'S EYES My Eileen's eyes are laughing-bright, Now all the world runs gaily dight. A word will make them softly grave ; But tender-true and always brave Are Eileen's eyes. While merry's the mood, an engaging sprite Will boldly grant me the boon I crave. Then leave me all in the sadder plight. Ah ! . . . Eileen's eyes. TO A LADY AT HEE PIANO Athwaet the k«ys of ivory Your pink-tipped fingers seize The very soul of melody Athwart the keys. And we — who know of life's dark lees, Of cold Fate's bitter irony, Of hopes the world will ne'er appease. You wake in us old memory Of love we learned by dear degrees ; Ah ! sweet's the little hand so free Athwart the keys. 46 TEIOLETS WITH ME. GLEESON WHITE'S ANTHOLOGY OP VERSE Dear Lou, do you remember. When our total years were few. How you loved some verses slender? Dear Lou, do you remember How you used to read and render The tale, " If I were you " ? Ah, dear, do you remember Time when our years were few? When song could fill our hearts With sense of pleasure true, — Thwart hfe fell simny darts, When song could fill our hearts. Time sped, birds piped in parts. The summers came — and flew — When song could fill our hearts With sense of pleasure true. 47 48 Triolets I send the wit of many With wishes good to you. An you're pleased by all or any, I send the wit of many. May it prove good company In its suit of Quaker hue. I send the wit of many With wishes good to you. AN OLD-FASHIONED COMPLIMENT White roses and red I send To garland a dainty head That might some of its own grace lend White roses- and red. MY DEAEEST FLIET TO N. B. My dearest Flirt hath shy brown een, She's proud and petite, piquant and pert ; Her smile hints, " Ah ! but it might have been." My dearest Flirt. She knoweth of glances tender, keen; Of the love that many would fain assert; Of the play — before and behind the scene. Yet she beareth her knowledge hke Fairy Queen. She is coy or careless, cotirteous or curt ; Her hand is for all, but her heart I've seen — My dearest Flirt. 49 EOPES OF SAND In answer to a picture of Amaryllis dancing and the injunction to — " Jog on, jog on, the footpath way. And merrily hent the stile-a ; A merry heart goes all the day. Your sad tires in a mile-a." — Winter's Tale. Dear May, another stile is hent, a year is over; We've striven and we've wrought ; we've left un- done ; Anow we've buckled to, then laughingly turned rover And loitered in the sun. To jogging manhood such poor fate is given : We've loved and trusted, we have lost and won, Dear ties that bound us lie asunder riven, Hopes — spat upon. 50 Ropes of Sand 5 1 Maybe we've thought with Art's lithe pole to spring Upon the stile of Fame — a tottering gateway ; But picture, verse, or prose lacks the true ring. And fails us straightway. We've fallen back battered, battered but not hope- less, A merry heart next obstacle shall carry ; While there be sands we cannot quite be ropeless. So weave — and tarry. Jog, leap, or tumble, soon the last of stiles is hent, Down into the earth six foot on t'other side; Our hopes, desires, dreams, regrets, are spent — And scattered wide. A New- Year wish is that I fain would send. In place is scribbled down a silly wail ; And yet, I know the kindness of a friend Who'll never fail. B 2 52 Ropes of Sand Dear thoughts and wishes fair to you, your heart a-merry, Leap your Hfe-stile as nature may suggest ; Live bright as some sweet sparkling winter berry, Lips ripe . . . for jest. TO A DELIGHTFULLY YOUNG LADY LiL asked me to-day To write her some verses. Heigh-ho ! that's the way, Lil asked me to-day. In a year or two, say. The question reverses, Yet Lil asks me to-day To write her some verses. A MAN'S EEASON. TO V. H. G. " Uamour a passe par-la." Why do I wear this coat ? you say. I always shall. I know I swore it Oft, in the studio that day When Viola wore it. It's making somewhat t'ward decay, And every Spring the winds are colder — I'm warmed by thinking : " Once it lay Athwart her shoulder." The velvet of the collar's old, Yet, still with all its faults, I love it. Once little hairy rings of gold Peer'd coy above it. Ah, round about the sleeves enough Of hght o' love still lingers. For out beneath this coarse old cuff Peeped- rose-tipp'd fingers. 54 A Man s Reason You hint the thing is quite antique — Not cut to match with modish taste ; I'll answer " that " for fashion's freak- It zoned her waist. And so I wear it, sans remorse ; I'll use no other overcoat, For this was fastened close across Dear Viola's throat. Envoi But if, perchance, you'd care to know A fact I thought romance might smother. Lend me thine ear, in whisper low — I have no other. A SOLENT SONG BEMINISCENT OF DAMP FIEEWORKS AKD COMPENSATIONS A big steam yacht, moored near the West Cowes Roads. The characters — a Redfern-made girl, with Irish eyes, and a man in ordinary yachting dress ; they are standing on the stairs of the bridge; he is protecting her from wind and rain. The evening is grey and wet. The yachts and other vessels in distance are half illuminated with Bengal lights ; rochets and other fireworhs are seen intermittently. Behind is East Cowes, with vagm suggestion of Osborne Towers and wooded park. To shore, to sea, afar the fireworks flare, Half seen in transit through the rainy air : But your sweet eyes make sweet the gloomy scene, Eileen. The harbour's dull with smoke ; 'neath clouded sky, Athwart the sea grey sweeping gulls go by : Tell me, I pray, what may those bright eyes mean, Eileen ? 55 56 A Solent Song I care not for the blustering wind Or drifting rain, so that those kind Eyes hint a joy all unforeseen, Eileen. They tell, I think, how they the lattice are Of a sweet soul within more clear by far, Or, maybe, they a fickle heart do screen, Eileen. Perchance, some day they'll worlds of love miclose. Perchance their tenderness is just a pose : Yet on their trustful truth I'm fain to lean, Eileen. How can I doubt the Irish blue Of eyes whose softness bids me sue — Eyes that have beckon'd mine, I ween, Eileen. Ah ! would it were my art to truly trace A shining soul 'neath your dear piquant face. Plumbing the starry depths with glance so keen, Eileen. A Solent Song 57 That I for once — for once and all — could tell Whether or no they merely were a ..." sell." If you're coquette, then I despair of e'en Eileen. Envoi Heigh-ho ! a while Love crowned the prow, We'll own that "Paradise enow." We go our ways : it " might-have-bee?i," Eileen. TO MANY EYES To many eyes I've sung a lay, To many girls in merry guise : "Welcome I've given — well-a-day ! — To many eyes. Let those wlio can, the vain despise, Let those who will, refuse to pay Tribute of laughter and of sighs. Life's sterner joys we cast away, I'll own we are not overwise ; Yet I'll deny, an you should say, " Too many eyes." 5S SHADOWS A Eecitation with Dances written for Miss Florence Bourne CHRISTMAS OF THE PRESENT TEAR Before the curtain is drawn up, the music of the very latest thing in rapid waltzes is heard. The scene is a stately 'ballroom in an old castle. As the servants extinguish the candles, the moonlight floods through the tall windows and lies in pools of opaline colour upon the polished black oak floor and faintly illuminates the musicians' gallery at the end of the salon. From the mysterious shadows of the gallery, a delicate figure, clad in a dainty dress of the middle of last century, is seen to glide down the stair- way and across the ballroom. She looks about heir, recognising the scene of many conquests past, and merry days that have flown. She trips along through the moon- light, she flirts her fan, shrugs a pretty shoulder, and makes a little moue. At last the dancers of to-day Have tired of our dear old hall. How sweet the silence, sweet the way The moonlight and the shadows fall ! The music of a minuet is heard. 59 6o Shadows On such a glistening floor 'tis bliss To dance like this, to dance like this. Dances. How oddly rang their tunes to-night, They trip and turn a deal too fast ; I wonder can they find delight In whirling till all breath is past. Gone's the hel air of my fresh youth, Now men grow hot, and red, and rude. The girls are pretty — but, in truth, I vow their steps are all too crude. Music of some old measure is heard. She has not learned, the modem miss. To dance like this, to dance like this. Dances. So long ago, those olden days. When I was really flesh and blood, Methinks I have forgot some ways Of happiness, that made life good. Shadoivs 6 1 Well I recall a distant time When gladness lived in heart and brain ; Through Life's dance flowed so sweet a rhyme, I fain would haunt old earth again. So here I glide when light is spent ; They guess not of my passing near, — Tho' lovers tell of subtle scent From a rose of yester-year. Oft have I wished in summer days To mingle with this later race, Who see my portrait there, and praise The beauty of the Lady Grace. They know me not ; tho' at midnight hour I've heard them talk of another ghost. 'Tis grim Sir Eaymond ; in the tower He slew his kinsman and his host. An ancestor, sure, but years before I came to the Castle he'd passed away : I only bow when we meet. There's gore On the track of his steps, they say. The air of a lively countrij dance is heard. 62 Shadows He is too wicked and old, I wis, To dance with me, to dance like this. Dances. So I foot my measure, d solitaire; Tho' there's one I know who'd Uke to come. The reason he fought, was a lock of hair, That matched my own, said some. I loved him not in the days agone : That night he died . . . 'Twas here he stood. In the mom the brow I had joked upon Was stained with his own hfe's blood. Oh yes, I grieved, in thoughtless fashion ; To jest, to dance, was my desire. Poor boy, I laughed at his fervid passion, I laughed, and bade the world admire. Old Time, you ring the changes stiU ; Sure, could he come this very night His heavy heart I'd try to fiU With joy, and set our lives aright. Shadows 63 Hist ! 'tis his form beside the door, — ■ He comes at last. Once more we've met. Dear Hugh, life's gone. Let's take the floor And dance, tho' late, our minuet. The music of the minuet is heard more softly than at first. Ghosts have forgotten how to kiss. But we can dance : yes, dance Uke this. They dance. CUBTAIN. LOVE AND DEATH The Picture hij F. Q. Watts, R.A. LoATE and Death, Calm with upHfted hand, the mother, angel, friend. Advances t'wards Life's portals. See her bend O'er the young Love, who'd fain the house defend. Impotent Love cries burning tears of rage. But conquering Death, the kindly, certain, sage, Bids Love regard her as his appanage. Love learns not, but with tender strength opposes The passing of the Stranger o'er the roses ; Still Death moves on, and as she wills, disposes. Love and Death, Be reconciled, each guarding well the other. Love and Death, strong sister, tenderest brother. 64 LONDON MAIDS I. — THE "ABC MAID She's pale and neat ; she's dressed in black : She comes to your table wearily, With pensive air, but a modern knack Of hinting all life's vacuity. She carries no old-world courtesy, But the air is freighted odorously, For they give one excellent tea In the sober salons of "A B c." In convent garb of black and white By the counter, where urns work steamily, She waits and watches — mom tiU night — She's quick, yet her eyes move dreamily. She gives no heed to a pleasantry, She returns a guest's gratuity, — But she brings one excellent tea In the sober salons of "a b c." 6s F 66 London Maids She'll hardly answer ; her smile soon fades. She foregoes all mundane vanity. Ah ! subtle sphinx among London maids, Who shall guess what your riddle be ? 'Neath that stoic calm does the heart beat free? Could you tell us of hope — or of agony ? Could you tell how they make it, the excellent tea, In the sober salons of "a b c " ? London JMaids 67 II. — THE VISITING GOVEBNESS Early she journeys from Camden Town, Brisk and pretty, supple and slim. She's busy en route with the missing noun ; She'U glance at the " dictee " — a " theme " she'll skim, Casting a look at the lesson-book, Or loosing her thoughts on a casual whim. The carmen have learnt her morning hour; They guard the comer she always fills. Fine days or wet days have no power To alter her ways — the ways she wills. She travels afar in her rumbhng car, T 'wards Grosvenor Gate from the Camden Hills. Confident, clever, and cool is she, And learned in much of the Girton lore, A Grad of the newest school is she — Yet bears no taint of the 'Varsity bore : The savoir-faire of her graceful air Tells one as much — and hints far more. F 2 68 London Maids As she passes on with a courage sweet, 'Mid a world of chance, thro' a web of Fate- Ah, how she brightens Life's gloomiest street ! For a maid more merry, yet sane, sedate, You may look for long in the crowding throng Of Camden Town — or of Grosvenor Gate! London Maids 69 III. — THE TYPEWEITBR The window shows a legal street "Where children run from the beadle's cane : Where hansoms wait, where lawyers meet, Chatter their gossip, and part again. A hundred faces pass by outside ; But quite unconscious of all of these, The imtiring typist's trade is phed With dancing hands on the letter 'd keys. The words fly forth with a click, cHck, chck ; The whirr of the " carriage " the air is fining, While the restless bell and the fingers' trick Make an impression " frightfully thrilling." 70 London Maids IV. — FLOWER-GIRLS. Flower-girls call in the street, Where the East and the West End meet ; The poUceman goes by on his beat, They move to a distance discreet. " Violets, sweet ! Violets, sweet ! " Flower-girls call in the street. They stand where the traffic increasing flows ; With the pomp of bedraggled plumes they're clad ; They Ught up the road till it gorgeously glows. With mimosa and jonquille and dehcate rose — To make other people glad. Flower-girls call in the street, (Weary voices, and wet, worn feet,) " Penny a button-hole, all complete ! " Flower-girls call in the street. If they be coarse and vulgar, fond of row ; If their strident air all fancy slaughters ; — London Maids 71 Of spring-time glories they carry enow To shelter their failings, and e'en to endow With beauty — beauty's daughters. Flower-girls call in the street, They bully, and wrangle, and cheat ; Flower-girls call in the street — The blossoms whose odour is fleet. Men laugh as they pass, and repeat : — " All purity fades in the street." 72 London Maids V. — THE PROGRAMME MAID. When tlie theatre's lighted, the gilding a-glare, She comes to your aid with a grace debonnaire : She points you the way to a plush-cover'd chair, And she offers you glasses. Though her costume is quiet, of black or of brown, It's a " note " in the scene — and yon gay, garish gown (Intended to ring in the ears of the town) Ineffectively passes. As the fiddles are busy with light overture, — She hunts for the number, your stall to secure — You note that her apron is wrought in guipure, That her manner is polished ; Her cap does not tell of a drear servitude. It's exceedingly chic. She will hardly intrude — But I think she can hint of a sweet gratitude, Though all fees are abohshed. London Maids 73 She is rapid and bright ; chastement corsettee, An you try, you will find she has plenty to say As she gives you a smile and a bill of the play. And she knows, quite by heart, The Comedy musicale now on the stage, And sneers at the lady who's playing the page : She's younger, more pretty, and could, I'll engage, Fill as lively a part. 74 London Maids VI. — THE POST OFFICE CLEEK. Behind your grille of lattice work You ply your trade with hearty will ; Anon you frown, anon you smirk, Behind your grille. Like prison'd bird you pause and trill. When leisure comes ; you preen and perk, Adjust a lock or smooth a frill. An commerce pours, you do not shirk ; Then runs the ever ready quill ; Sure, much of happiness may lurk Behind your grille. London Maids 75 VII. — THE NURSEMAID To the outer world she comes in view When chestnuts bloom, when birds are trilhng, When nature is seen in its gayest hue, And the Parks are fiUing. In a merry meeting she takes her place ; Dear little sons and dear httle daughters — Laughing, tumbling — sparkle and race Like the fountain's waters. When the sun shines bright through the delicate green. When the sunshade's white against blue, I' the cool of the morning are sure to be seen These ambulant two. She tenderly watches her charge a-crow, Untouched by cynic modernity ; Each kindly gesture goes to show The instinct of maternity. 76 London Maids Her gifts are more sterling than outward charm ; On baby she pours her devotion, Noting, all day, with gentle alarm, His slightest emotion. Sturdily, bravely, she goes her ways. Generous, kindly, of even pace ; And the gorgeous drama in which she plays Is " The Coming Race." London Maids yj VIII. — BEADING MAID AT BRITISH MUSEUM Beneath the dome Panizzi planned, Bach day she makes her busy home — With all the largest books to hand Beneath the dome. Perchance she longs afield to roam, Out on the shore to take her stand. And watch the surf lash up in foam. But she has joined our writing band, And follows Fame (that tricksy gnome Who haunts the air — capricious, bland) Beneath the dome. BLACK AND TAN For a picture hy Mr. Ludovici, shoiving a girl with Hack and tan terrier in her arms. Jack, soliloquising : How is't, I wonder, all our pleasures fade? I'm very small, but every inch a terrier, — Yet here I'm held in fairest gants de Suede. Oh ! for a rougher life — oh ! for a merrier. I used to own a master up at Cam, And often had a day with rat or rabbit. He sent me to her; and so here I am Growing a lap-dog by the very habit. But we small canes know a thing or two. Ah ! when he comes a-courting here next Vac. I shall be free to do as I would do ; I shall withdraw to please the other Jack. Heigho ! these humans seem a droll division ; My master loves the lass, and she adores me. I'd hke to whisper him my own decision, That she is very sweet, but sadly bores me. 78 The in««l ijiiih initrhnl hnir j,ijl ,hruilnl. /Jnir hillrr llie uiu-i-eii dud." A WOODMAN LOVED Ballade from the unacted tragedy "Reaping" A WOODMAN loved a lady fair Of wanton mood. This wayward maid Could guile him on to mad despair — Many a light love-freak she played. "Ah, Life," he cried, "your pleasures fade. What worth the crown without its jewel ? " He cursed the Fates in woody glade— " Sure sprites be kind, as well as cruel ? " The wood gods answered from their lair : " We grant you her for whom you prayed. Mate for a while and go a-pair — Until we come to be repaid." "Ye gods," he cried, "all, all is laid Before your shrines ; my soul is fuel To feed your fires. Who is't has said Sprites are not kind as well as cruel ? " 79 8o A Woodman Loved Lust hurried out \vith scorching flare, With lambent flame, with flashing raid, Until all joys evanished ; there A silvern pall, white ashes stayed. The woman's sweets lay disarrayed, Her heart showed black as any tewel — " I've pawned a soul in wrongful trade. Sprites are not kind — but they are cruel. Envoi The wood gods watched how joy decayed, How bitter the uneven duel. They laughed: "We take the wanton jade. Give back your soul, — sprites are not cruel." LOVE SAILS AWAY A song, set to musk by Miss Conroy Down, down by the shore where the breakers beat In musical rhyme o'erflowing, We bade each adieu, our hearts beat true To an air of Love's own knowing ; Adieu, adieu, to my sailor true. With tears at heart, but a smile for you. Adieu, adieu, for a sailor's true. On land or on sea. Ah me, ah me ! Away to the West with its silvern sheen My dear heart's-love is flying. As I kiss my hand, where the golden band Of our phghted troth is lying ; Away, away, for many a day. Till Winter's chang'd to Spring-time's May. Adieu, adieu, is a sailor true? On land or on sea. Ah me, ah me ! 8i G 82 Love Sails Away 'Mid April's changes, 'neath August's glow, Full long I watched by the murm'ring sea ; But a lover flown is a rose o'erblown, Alas and alas, that this must be ! Love sailed away, for that vessel gay Held a heart for me that has gone for aye. Adieu, adieu, to my sailor true. On land or on sea No more to me. To my heart, adieu ! Ah ! a sailor is true Until he has sailed across the sea. TO EED WINE IN A SILVEE BOWL A topaz draught in a silvern cup — (Hot life zoned by a pallid pale) : Ah, Time ironic will have his sup, A topaz draught from a silvern cup. But while all nature fills it up, None turn glance to the threatening flail, From a topaz draught in silvern cup — Hot life zoned by a pallid pale. WE TWO ' There be good fellows in the world, an a man could light on them.'' We were a pair of friends : ah me ! Friends who would never sever. We hnked our arms continually ; I talked, Jack hstened, frequently. We did not always quite agree, 'Twas not my fault, however. I often told my hopes to Jack : How Fame and Fortune I would vnn, How I the world of fools would rack, How in the years to come no lack Of honours should fiU up the sack Of his friend Benjamin. He'd smoke, and sneer, and smile, Assume an air of squalor. Let me talk on for half-a-mile, 83 G 2 84 We Two Then hold out what he named his " tile," And hint that of this future pile He'd now beg — half-a-dollar. Whene'er I told of coming book — "Wherein my wisdom lashed at folly — He'd curl himself in cosy nook And give me just a sleepy look, And say that " Wisdom he'd forsook, Because the fools were jolly." I'd stir him with dramatic thought, I'd tell him of romances. Of whimsies that my brain had caught, Of battles that my wits had fought, Of lessons that the sages taught, Of sly or lurid fancies. I sang him songs of Arcadie, — My Arcadie, a land afar — Where man and maid roamed fancy free Where pipe and lute made music : he Broke in — " Now, Ben, I'll trouble ye. My pipe is out, for a cigar." We Two 85 Once as 'midst hills we toured about, I paused to point the view in Wales, I know I felt inclined to spout, The picturesque he should not flout. He gently took his penknife out And neatly pared his nails ! Later, when Love his silken bond Entangled vnth my heart strings, I told old Jack of my dear blonde, How sweet she was, how over-fond, How our two souls did aye respond, — • He murmured, " Ah, Love has wings." One day I sought Madge at her cot — Oft from our tryst she tarried — I sang, " My Lady of Shalott, Hie to the arms of Lancelot." She smiled, "Dear Ben, I'd rather not, For Jack and I have married." I laid my hand upon my breast To save my heart from breaking ; 86 We Two I bid the twain be doubly blest — But to myseK I then confessed I'd give their love a shaking. I vowed I'd soon revenged be : Last night I bade old Jack to tea, I plied old Jack vnth rare whiskey, I lured him on to eau de vie, I told him many a wild storee. My whilom friend grows queer, alack ! My whilom friend in cab I pack,— I pack him in, I steal his key, I send him home to Margarie What time the clocks are striking three. Envoi I know the dear girl perfectly. Ha, ha, I am revenged. But he? Poor Jack — poor Jack ! VILLANELLES OF VANITY I. — SOMEBODY KNOWS A pretty girl lefore her glass is about to add a tovch of rouge to an already satisfactory complexion. To blanch the hly, to rouge the rose, To brighten Nature with subtle Art, — Such are the vanities Somebody knows. Somebody perched in a dehcate pose. Armed with a hare's-foot, ready to start To blanch the lily, to rouge the rose. To add a little to lovers' woes, To polish the tip of Dan Cupid's dart : Such are the vanities Somebody knows. To see that her beauty gracefully flows To an exquisite centre — hers the part To blanch the lily, to rouge the rose. 87 88 Vil lane lies of Vanity The haunting touch of the feet of crows. The tiny blemish that wcmJt depart : Such are the vanities Somebody knows. Heigh-ho ! the toilette has tender throes, But they pass as one turns with a merry heart To blanch the lily, to rouge the rose : Such are the vanities Somebody knows. Villanelles of Vanity 89 II. — WHICH OF THE TWO ? A lady lefore the fire in her dressing-room : the maid waits while she makes her choice between two evening gowns — one cut high, the other cut low. Which of the two, the staid or the gay ? Either will capture a dozen beaux. Should it be chaste or decolletSe ? For an elderly Crcesus, growing grey, For a youthful guardsman who loves, I trow, — Which of the two, the staid or the gay ? There are poets who sing, and parsons who pray ; I care not for sermons, nor sweet rondeau. Should it be chaste or dScoUetee ? There are those whose raptures I'd fain delay ; There are those who often become de trop. Which of the two, the staid or the gay ? go Villanelles of Vanity If only he would his will betray — The lord of my heart. Ah! then I would know Should it be chaste or dScolleth. From over the sea he returns to-day ; And his present taste ? (How one's troubles grow !) Which of the two, the staid or the gay? Should it be chaste or dicoUetSe ? Villanelles of Vanity 91 III. — THE WAY TO WOO O maiden of the dainty shoe, And hosen of carnation clocks, Teach us the potent way to woo. Should man advance with cap askew, With air bizarre or orthodox, maiden of the dainty shoe ? Will best of luck to him accrue Who prates aloud of " shares " and " stocks " ? Teach us the potent way to woo. Dost love the pose of " dare and do," Or psychologic paradox, O maiden of the dainty shoe ? Would it be wise to send — a vous — A ruby bangle, bonnets, frocks? Teach us the potent way to woo. But I inchne to boldly sue The right to guard you from Life's shocks. maiden of the dainty shoe. You teach the potent way to woo ! TO A COUNTEY MUSE Where runs the brook athwart the wood With silver secret for each nook — I near forgot my worldlihood Where runs the brook. There, when the fresh young hazels shook With song the thrushes poured in flood : In your clear eyes I stayed to look .... They told me all you could and would, An I the townward path forsook. I was the fool who turned : you stood Where runs the brook. 92 ADIEU To Richard Matthew Dudley Fell " till my last of lines is peim'd, love, grief, laughter, at an end. Whene'er I write your name, may I write friend." We've laughed away the old men's saws, We've grinned at young men's poses ; We've mocked at the Mosaic laws And pagan " Love and Eoses." We've laughed at men who've won their way, At faiHng men, at stoics ; We've jeered the puny roundelay, Guffawed at the Heroics. We've laughed at foes — at friends as well. At Wisdom's shafts, at Folly's elves : We've laughed at Heaven and at hell — But loudest laughed at our own selves. 93 94 Adieu For Fortune's poor essays to aid, For biting disappointment, For general bitterness, we've said — Laughter's the only ointment. And so we've laughed wi' tongue i' the cheek, At all our hopes and all our fears : The reason is not far to seek. Since laughter masks the rising tears. So rag the London life we mourn. Compact of weary striving, But "out there" you shall find the bourne Ample and peaceful — thriving. And then across New Zealand's plain — Across the plains primeval — Shall laugh, maybe, in happier vein. Kick sadness to the devil. Adieu 95 Adieu, dear friend of many days, Of mine own mood, but truer. May fresh-bom Fortune light your ways In broader lands and newer. May life assume its rightful guise, Unwarped by C3mic neighbour; Ah, may we grow uncommon wise And earn delight — of labour. A VOUS Dear Chloe of the wavy hair, That painters paint, that poets sing : Dear Chloe, blithe and debonair, To thee I wing My fragile story, writ with care. My Httle book, alas ! for gift to thee, A paltry thing. Others may hymn thy shining eyes. All-conquering smile. Thy constant beauty and surprise : And judge they gain the greatest prize With metric guile. 'Tis not their skill that I despise. Not skill, nor style. But merely this, that all their song Is song external. They know not what fair views belong To the eternal Chambers within thy heart, where throng Sweets that could make hell heaverJivdse, An thou wert by, dense night diurnal. An thou wert gone, fair lawns of Paradise Infernal.