 | The violet crown by Sir Rennell Rodd |  |
91
ADDITIONAL POEMS
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SPRING IN THE CAMPAGNA
Young April waved a milk-white hand
And made new magic in the land.
Now over all the rolling plain
Her purple wind-bells bloom again;
The blossom falls, the Judas-trees
Unthread their coral rosaries;
The tufted fennels thrust on high
A golden broom to sweep the sky;
And over broken archways flows
The saffron of the budding rose.
And made new magic in the land.
Now over all the rolling plain
Her purple wind-bells bloom again;
The blossom falls, the Judas-trees
Unthread their coral rosaries;
The tufted fennels thrust on high
A golden broom to sweep the sky;
And over broken archways flows
The saffron of the budding rose.
Now all the green grass country sings,
Now stirs the sap, and where it springs
A memory-haunted fragrance fills
The ilex hollows in the hills.
Now misty seas of borage bloom
En-isle the ruined roadside tomb,
And now as when the world began
The lamb's first cry goes out to Pan.
Now where the winding stream divides
The poplars on its willowed sides,
The whitethroat tells his happy tale
And mocks the lingering nightingale.
Now in the shadows of the glen
Uncurls the timid cyclamen,
And he may find who cares and knows
Wet dips where white narcissus blows;
Now all the warm, caressing air
Breathes violets, violets everywhere.
Now stirs the sap, and where it springs
A memory-haunted fragrance fills
The ilex hollows in the hills.
Now misty seas of borage bloom
En-isle the ruined roadside tomb,
And now as when the world began
The lamb's first cry goes out to Pan.
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The poplars on its willowed sides,
The whitethroat tells his happy tale
And mocks the lingering nightingale.
Now in the shadows of the glen
Uncurls the timid cyclamen,
And he may find who cares and knows
Wet dips where white narcissus blows;
Now all the warm, caressing air
Breathes violets, violets everywhere.
And here, where still the tender touch
Of slow decay has left so much,
Where centred memories linger round
Each landmark set in storied ground,
When spring makes all things fresh and fair
And felt more keenly, glimpses rare
Of that unfathomed world arise
Which once I saw with childhood's eyes.
Of slow decay has left so much,
Where centred memories linger round
Each landmark set in storied ground,
When spring makes all things fresh and fair
And felt more keenly, glimpses rare
Of that unfathomed world arise
Which once I saw with childhood's eyes.
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NINFA
Where the steep Volscian ridge leans down
To the low Pontine shore
We found a little silent town
In which men dwell no more.
Mid-spring had strewn with lavish hands
That wilderness with flowers,
Where mirrored in her mere she stands
A wreck of broken towers,
A fortress of the border feud
In long-forgotten years,
That consecrates to solitude
Her triumphs and her tears.
To the low Pontine shore
We found a little silent town
In which men dwell no more.
Mid-spring had strewn with lavish hands
That wilderness with flowers,
Where mirrored in her mere she stands
A wreck of broken towers,
A fortress of the border feud
In long-forgotten years,
That consecrates to solitude
Her triumphs and her tears.
Dark ivy shrouds her girdling walls
A hundred summers deep,
And stillness like a spell enthralls
Her everlasting sleep;
A sleep no jarring voices break,—
The faint sob from her stream,
The sway of rush-beds in the lake
Accord with her long dream.
The marsh bird comes to hide her nest
Here in a safe retreat;
The silver nettles have possessed
Wide square and trackless street;
The arches of her palace courts
Are tapestried with vine;
Tall thistles close her battle-ports
And bar the unroofed shrine,
Where frescoed choir and moss-green nave
Are choked with bramble-rose,
And through the creviced apse a wave
Of honeysuckle flows;
Where wild valerien's crimson fires
Light altars long grown dim,
And jasmine's heavy scent inspires
The insect's drowsy hymn.
A hundred summers deep,
And stillness like a spell enthralls
Her everlasting sleep;
A sleep no jarring voices break,—
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The sway of rush-beds in the lake
Accord with her long dream.
The marsh bird comes to hide her nest
Here in a safe retreat;
The silver nettles have possessed
Wide square and trackless street;
The arches of her palace courts
Are tapestried with vine;
Tall thistles close her battle-ports
And bar the unroofed shrine,
Where frescoed choir and moss-green nave
Are choked with bramble-rose,
And through the creviced apse a wave
Of honeysuckle flows;
Where wild valerien's crimson fires
Light altars long grown dim,
And jasmine's heavy scent inspires
The insect's drowsy hymn.
Beyond, toward the waning day,
The fens stretch rank and wide,
In all their reckless pomp of May,
To the blue Tuscan tide.
The poppied fields are one red flare,
And banks of golden broom
Make all the languid lowland air
Oppressive with perfume.
The fens stretch rank and wide,
In all their reckless pomp of May,
To the blue Tuscan tide.
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And banks of golden broom
Make all the languid lowland air
Oppressive with perfume.
What bandit clan of lawless days,
What brood of outcast men,
Dwelt here to watch the southward ways
That cross the ill-famed fen!
What hands for good or evil wrought!
What fervent hearts grew cold!
What thinkers here untimely thought
In that grim world of old?
What stricken captives fronted fate?
What penitents cried woe?
How did they fare in love and hate
Who died here long ago?
Alike on belfry tower and keep
Impartial ivy waves,
And wheresoe'er her dead folk sleep
The poppies hide their graves.
What brood of outcast men,
Dwelt here to watch the southward ways
That cross the ill-famed fen!
What hands for good or evil wrought!
What fervent hearts grew cold!
What thinkers here untimely thought
In that grim world of old?
What stricken captives fronted fate?
What penitents cried woe?
How did they fare in love and hate
Who died here long ago?
Alike on belfry tower and keep
Impartial ivy waves,
And wheresoe'er her dead folk sleep
The poppies hide their graves.
Lo while we dream the skies turn gold,
The evening draws to end,
Dark over Ninfa's ruined hold
The purple shadows blend;
And gabled fane and fortress tower,
And lake and winding stream
Grow conscious of the passing hour,
And catch the transient gleam.
The rose flush fades from Norba's height
And Circe's cape afar;
Now Cori shows a single light
Beneath a single star.
Now myriad swarms of flitting fires
Light up the path we climb
Between dark banks of scented briars
With feet that bruise the thyme;
The heart's quick pulse is almost pain
In this tense mood of May;
And as we leave the shadowy plain
And make the mountain way,
We turn and see, where swift night falls,
The marsh-land's misty breath
Refold the shroud round those grey walls
Long dedicate to death.
The evening draws to end,
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The purple shadows blend;
And gabled fane and fortress tower,
And lake and winding stream
Grow conscious of the passing hour,
And catch the transient gleam.
The rose flush fades from Norba's height
And Circe's cape afar;
Now Cori shows a single light
Beneath a single star.
Now myriad swarms of flitting fires
Light up the path we climb
Between dark banks of scented briars
With feet that bruise the thyme;
The heart's quick pulse is almost pain
In this tense mood of May;
And as we leave the shadowy plain
And make the mountain way,
We turn and see, where swift night falls,
The marsh-land's misty breath
Refold the shroud round those grey walls
Long dedicate to death.
99
THE SILENT PRESENCE
Spring brings us back the nightingales,
But one of all her voices fails.
Could we that stay behind but know
The journey that our loved ones go,
And if our longing be not vain
To bring their presence near again!
But one of all her voices fails.
Could we that stay behind but know
The journey that our loved ones go,
And if our longing be not vain
To bring their presence near again!
I must believe this April mirth
Still moves you, lover of the earth,
To haunt familiar pathways yet
And feel how little we forget.
Still, happy spirit, freed by death,
I think you breathe the violet's breath,
Or lean against the song-bird's breast
To watch the secret of the nest,
And clasped in nature's warm embrace
See all things nearer face to face;
A consciousness without the strife,
A soul without the pain of life.
Still moves you, lover of the earth,
To haunt familiar pathways yet
And feel how little we forget.
Still, happy spirit, freed by death,
I think you breathe the violet's breath,
Or lean against the song-bird's breast
To watch the secret of the nest,
And clasped in nature's warm embrace
See all things nearer face to face;
A consciousness without the strife,
A soul without the pain of life.
100
FRANK RHODES: A MEMORY
To that fierce land of gloom and gleam
Where we at least once lived our dream,
From this remote and placid north
My longing and my love go forth
To five good friends,—and surely few
Have linked their lives with friends like you!
Some bore brave scars, well won in fight,
But not in battle's stern delight
Was it their happier fate to fall;
An evil siren lured them all;
And poison swamp and tropic sun
Stayed their strong heart-beats, one by one,
Till you, dear Frankie, you the last
Have gone the way the rest had passed,
And only I alone remain
To dream the good time back again.
Where we at least once lived our dream,
From this remote and placid north
My longing and my love go forth
To five good friends,—and surely few
Have linked their lives with friends like you!
Some bore brave scars, well won in fight,
But not in battle's stern delight
Was it their happier fate to fall;
An evil siren lured them all;
And poison swamp and tropic sun
Stayed their strong heart-beats, one by one,
Till you, dear Frankie, you the last
Have gone the way the rest had passed,
And only I alone remain
To dream the good time back again.
Young were we still, twelve years ago
When we went southward, proud to know
We were of those the sea queen sends
For witness where her mandate ends.
And still it seems but yesterday
That eve we sighted far away
The shadowy horn of Guardafui,
When sudden night closed round a sea
That drowned the old familiar stars,
And we beheld through dripping spars
The Southern Cross climb up the sky,
Raymond and Roddy, you and I.
How all was welcome, morn and noon
And starry eve and Afric moon;
As yet we had no watch to keep,
Light-hearted farers through the deep.
When we went southward, proud to know
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For witness where her mandate ends.
And still it seems but yesterday
That eve we sighted far away
The shadowy horn of Guardafui,
When sudden night closed round a sea
That drowned the old familiar stars,
And we beheld through dripping spars
The Southern Cross climb up the sky,
Raymond and Roddy, you and I.
How all was welcome, morn and noon
And starry eve and Afric moon;
As yet we had no watch to keep,
Light-hearted farers through the deep.
At last one dawn revealed our goal,
The palm-fringed shore, the fretting shoal,
The spice-groves, sloping greenly down
To the long white-walled Arab town,
The anchored dhows, the teeming beach,
Where with a hand we thronged to reach
Stood Gerald's self,—a shade of care
Across the brow once debonair,
But in his eyes the joy and power
Of him who feels his triumph's hour.
And one was by his side whose name
Were high on England's roll of fame,
Had it not been his choice to shun
The paths in which applause is won,
A friend to love, a foe to fear,
Sailor and soldier and vizir.
The palm-fringed shore, the fretting shoal,
The spice-groves, sloping greenly down
To the long white-walled Arab town,
The anchored dhows, the teeming beach,
Where with a hand we thronged to reach
Stood Gerald's self,—a shade of care
Across the brow once debonair,
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Of him who feels his triumph's hour.
And one was by his side whose name
Were high on England's roll of fame,
Had it not been his choice to shun
The paths in which applause is won,
A friend to love, a foe to fear,
Sailor and soldier and vizir.
Your dusky train had gone before
A day's march from the mainland shore,
For the sea queen's work brooked no delay,
And four must go and two must stay.
First when the moment came to part
That shadow fell to chill the heart,
The half-formed thought, which would it be
If Dame Adventure claimed her fee,—
As you four took the inland track,
And we two lost you looking back,
A day's march from the mainland shore,
For the sea queen's work brooked no delay,
And four must go and two must stay.
First when the moment came to part
That shadow fell to chill the heart,
The half-formed thought, which would it be
If Dame Adventure claimed her fee,—
As you four took the inland track,
And we two lost you looking back,
Of those who met and parted so
Good Raymond was the first to go.
A thousand miles from that sea's strand
That links the English to their land,
Where few who cared will ever pass
His hillock in the matted grass,
Beyond the great dividing Rift
He lies, the brave, the strong, the swift.
Good Raymond was the first to go.
A thousand miles from that sea's strand
That links the English to their land,
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His hillock in the matted grass,
Beyond the great dividing Rift
He lies, the brave, the strong, the swift.
A year went by and Gerald came
Returning flushed with early fame;
And as the race is to the fleet
All ways seemed smooth before his feet;
His outstretched hand was on the goal
Responsive to his ardent soul,—
But still the witch that knows no ruth
Reached back to claim his conquering youth,
And all our love and hope and pride
Were spent in vain, when Gerry died.
Returning flushed with early fame;
And as the race is to the fleet
All ways seemed smooth before his feet;
His outstretched hand was on the goal
Responsive to his ardent soul,—
But still the witch that knows no ruth
Reached back to claim his conquering youth,
And all our love and hope and pride
Were spent in vain, when Gerry died.
By ancient Nile a barren Khor
Hides yet another of the four,
Where seven feet of desert sand
Check eager Roddy's bridle-hand;
Where caravans that pay their toll
To the Sheikh who watches Ambigol,
Enquire what means the granite scored
With alien writing and a sword,
What soldier holds the rock defile
That leads them back to Father Nile.
Hides yet another of the four,
Where seven feet of desert sand
Check eager Roddy's bridle-hand;
Where caravans that pay their toll
To the Sheikh who watches Ambigol,
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With alien writing and a sword,
What soldier holds the rock defile
That leads them back to Father Nile.
And where the palms of Zanzibar
Sway languid to the tropic star,
Tired out at last and borne to rest
By those dark folk who loved him best
Lloyd Mathews lies, his wanderings done,
His thirty years of toil and sun.
True English heart, whom all too few
Of those you served so greatly knew,
Sleep, full of peace, in that far grave,—
The all you gained for all you gave.
Sway languid to the tropic star,
Tired out at last and borne to rest
By those dark folk who loved him best
Lloyd Mathews lies, his wanderings done,
His thirty years of toil and sun.
True English heart, whom all too few
Of those you served so greatly knew,
Sleep, full of peace, in that far grave,—
The all you gained for all you gave.
So you, dear Frank, were last of those
To whom a tender thought outgoes,
With dreams of days not lived in vain.
For you while life and love remain
Shall memory keep, undried by years,
A green place near the source of tears.
Well know we how, in evil days,
You bore the brunt of men's dispraise;
Well prized we then the stern control
That sealed from speech your loyal soul;
And cared to feel your silence bear
The blame it would not shift elsewhere.
O golden heart in time of stress,
Of failing hope or ill success,
Who met the scorn of fate with mirth
And loved your fellow-man on earth;
You that had seen your share of strife
And lived and cared so much for life,
Why did you heed the siren hand
That drew you back to Upas land?
To whom a tender thought outgoes,
With dreams of days not lived in vain.
For you while life and love remain
Shall memory keep, undried by years,
A green place near the source of tears.
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You bore the brunt of men's dispraise;
Well prized we then the stern control
That sealed from speech your loyal soul;
And cared to feel your silence bear
The blame it would not shift elsewhere.
O golden heart in time of stress,
Of failing hope or ill success,
Who met the scorn of fate with mirth
And loved your fellow-man on earth;
You that had seen your share of strife
And lived and cared so much for life,
Why did you heed the siren hand
That drew you back to Upas land?
What wonder if I hear the call
Of that far voice that lured them all!
I cross the sandy wastes again
The great mimosa-tufted plain,
I share the thirsty march, through clear
Clean mornings, and with eve I hear
The marsh things crying, see the fierce
Short sunsets, the large stars that pierce
The tangled tent of tropic green,
And all the wonders we have seen
In that grim world of gloom and gleam,
Where evermore, across my dream,
Pervading all, I still behold
The kind worn face, so young, so old,
The lifted chin, the deep-set eyes
At once so merry and so wise,
The never-failing helpful smile
That haunts all ways from Cape to Nile.
Of that far voice that lured them all!
I cross the sandy wastes again
The great mimosa-tufted plain,
I share the thirsty march, through clear
Clean mornings, and with eve I hear
The marsh things crying, see the fierce
Short sunsets, the large stars that pierce
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And all the wonders we have seen
In that grim world of gloom and gleam,
Where evermore, across my dream,
Pervading all, I still behold
The kind worn face, so young, so old,
The lifted chin, the deep-set eyes
At once so merry and so wise,
The never-failing helpful smile
That haunts all ways from Cape to Nile.
1905.
107
ONCE, LONG AGO
Once, long ago, my own winged words
Bore me I knew not where,
As in a stormy spring the birds
Are blown about in air.
Bore me I knew not where,
As in a stormy spring the birds
Are blown about in air.
Now I am master of my theme
To sing or to refrain,
To analyse the prisoned dream
Or give it life again.
To sing or to refrain,
To analyse the prisoned dream
Or give it life again.
I may not doubt that truth belongs
To this serener day,
But some lost magic touched those songs
That went their own wild way.
To this serener day,
But some lost magic touched those songs
That went their own wild way.
108
A DEDICATION
I thought indeed to make you many songs,
To whom the best of all I am belongs.
But now I know why one beloved name
Shall prompt no music to importune fame.
Songs are but words, and words are poor and cold,
And hollow, hollow all the set rhymes ring;
I sang of love who knew it not of old,
And now I know I cannot sing!
To whom the best of all I am belongs.
But now I know why one beloved name
Shall prompt no music to importune fame.
Songs are but words, and words are poor and cold,
And hollow, hollow all the set rhymes ring;
I sang of love who knew it not of old,
And now I know I cannot sing!
Let this content you, if my whole life show
What none but you would greatly care to know,
If mute communion more avail to teach
The depth and height no range of song can reach.
Not both good gifts the jealous gods allot,
The artist's self forbears to touch one string;
Of old I sang of love who knew it not,
And now I know I cannot sing!
What none but you would greatly care to know,
If mute communion more avail to teach
The depth and height no range of song can reach.
Not both good gifts the jealous gods allot,
The artist's self forbears to touch one string;
Of old I sang of love who knew it not,
And now I know I cannot sing!
109
ENVOI
Twenty years have gone their way,
City of the Violet Crown,
Since I sang of thy renown.
Twenty years, and what are they
By thine immemorial age!
Time to see the gold turn grey,
And the worthiest miss their wage,
And the fool outlive the sage.
City of the Violet Crown,
Since I sang of thy renown.
Twenty years, and what are they
By thine immemorial age!
Time to see the gold turn grey,
And the worthiest miss their wage,
And the fool outlive the sage.
They have seen thine arm made bold,
City of the Violet Crown,
And the horned moon go down,
As a voice long still foretold
Once by Misolonghi's fen;
Twenty years that made me old
Gave thee all thy youth again
In the motherhood of men.
City of the Violet Crown,
And the horned moon go down,
As a voice long still foretold
Once by Misolonghi's fen;
Twenty years that made me old
Gave thee all thy youth again
In the motherhood of men.
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Now where far Corcyra's isle
Like a lonely outpost stands
Watching the unransomed lands,
Where Chimari's crags revile
Memories of an evil past,
Where across the grim defile
Tragic Suli's shade is cast,
Surely dawn comes up at last.
Like a lonely outpost stands
Watching the unransomed lands,
Where Chimari's crags revile
Memories of an evil past,
Where across the grim defile
Tragic Suli's shade is cast,
Surely dawn comes up at last.
Athens, we were lovers long,
All the old unhappy days,
Through division and dispraise,
When thy nearest did thee wrong:
I whose faith has not been vain
Need to bring thee no new song
Now the wingless Nike's fane
Claims its goddess back again.
All the old unhappy days,
Through division and dispraise,
When thy nearest did thee wrong:
I whose faith has not been vain
Need to bring thee no new song
Now the wingless Nike's fane
Claims its goddess back again.
Red with storm the year goes by;
Much is done,—far more to do,
When thy banner's white and blue
Fronting a serener sky
Brings these stricken valleys peace.
Not enough to dare and die,
Dare to live when strife shall cease
Greatly for the greater Greece!
Much is done,—far more to do,
When thy banner's white and blue
Fronting a serener sky
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Not enough to dare and die,
Dare to live when strife shall cease
Greatly for the greater Greece!
Dec. 31, 1912.
| The violet crown by Sir Rennell Rodd | |