The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith ... Revised by the Author: Coll. ed. |
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 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
NOTE
Riding one day from Cairnoch on the hill
Across the moor, Dick Ostler flicked the ear
Of the brown mare, then jerked his elbow and thumb
To bid me note a rounded hill that lay
Well to the setting sun, grotesquely planted
With various forest trees—oaks, elms, and pines.
Upon the lower slopes were hollow squares
Just touching each a corner of the other,
And in the bay between, a single tree
Or little group, but on the heights above
Were solid masses, interspersed with some
Carelessly strewn about.
Across the moor, Dick Ostler flicked the ear
Of the brown mare, then jerked his elbow and thumb
To bid me note a rounded hill that lay
Well to the setting sun, grotesquely planted
With various forest trees—oaks, elms, and pines.
Upon the lower slopes were hollow squares
Just touching each a corner of the other,
And in the bay between, a single tree
Or little group, but on the heights above
Were solid masses, interspersed with some
Carelessly strewn about.
“Queer woodcraft that,”
Dick Ostler said; “and yet I planted them.
You see, our last lord went a soldiering
In his hot youth, and brave enough he looked,
Though not much of a soldier—that needs headpiece;
And coming home he took to forestry
When I was in my teens. He said the Duke
Ordered the battle so at Waterloo,
And I must range them like his regiments,
Though all the country laughed at him. Ere long
He went to Parliament and made a speech,
Although he was no Senator—that too
Needs headpiece; and he wanted me to plant
The speakers and the members as they sat
To hear his oratory; but that I would not;
And that was how I took to horses, sir,—
Me who had lived in forests all my days,
And loved the trees, and knew their forms and times,
And every sound of every swinging branch
When the wind blew; and I must handle brutes!
Because my lord would have it he must serve
The nation fighting, though he was no soldier,
Or parliamenting, though he could not speak!
If he had just believed that God made some
To stay at home, and see the farming done,
And look to cottar's houses, and consort
With neighbours on the market-days! But he,
He was my lord, and must as other lords,
And would have writ his foolish life in trees
Sprawling about the estate for folk to laugh at.
That's how I took to horses.” Then he gave
The Brown another flick on the left ear,
And screwed his face into a look of strong
Disgust.
Dick Ostler said; “and yet I planted them.
You see, our last lord went a soldiering
In his hot youth, and brave enough he looked,
Though not much of a soldier—that needs headpiece;
And coming home he took to forestry
When I was in my teens. He said the Duke
Ordered the battle so at Waterloo,
And I must range them like his regiments,
Though all the country laughed at him. Ere long
He went to Parliament and made a speech,
Although he was no Senator—that too
Needs headpiece; and he wanted me to plant
The speakers and the members as they sat
To hear his oratory; but that I would not;
And that was how I took to horses, sir,—
Me who had lived in forests all my days,
And loved the trees, and knew their forms and times,
And every sound of every swinging branch
When the wind blew; and I must handle brutes!
Because my lord would have it he must serve
The nation fighting, though he was no soldier,
Or parliamenting, though he could not speak!
If he had just believed that God made some
To stay at home, and see the farming done,
And look to cottar's houses, and consort
With neighbours on the market-days! But he,
He was my lord, and must as other lords,
And would have writ his foolish life in trees
Sprawling about the estate for folk to laugh at.
That's how I took to horses.” Then he gave
The Brown another flick on the left ear,
272
Disgust.
I laughed, and vowed I did not wonder
At his displeasure; but he set me musing:
Had not my old friend writ his life likewise,
Planting along its paths a little border
Of verses like so many daisy-flowers
In memory of his failures. He was not
A preacher, though he writ some sermons, nor
A politician, though he joined a party,
And did it service. Better sure for him
Had he believed God makes some men to write,
And brighten life with gleams of better life,
Or oil its wheels with humour. So it seemed
To me, when turning over articles,
Reviews and essays, and the odds and ends
Of verse, that lay among them all confused,
Whereof some samples follow, like the thrums
Remaining when the web has been wrought out.
At his displeasure; but he set me musing:
Had not my old friend writ his life likewise,
Planting along its paths a little border
Of verses like so many daisy-flowers
In memory of his failures. He was not
A preacher, though he writ some sermons, nor
A politician, though he joined a party,
And did it service. Better sure for him
Had he believed God makes some men to write,
And brighten life with gleams of better life,
Or oil its wheels with humour. So it seemed
To me, when turning over articles,
Reviews and essays, and the odds and ends
Of verse, that lay among them all confused,
Whereof some samples follow, like the thrums
Remaining when the web has been wrought out.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |