 | Teresa and Other Poems |  |
103
GHOSTS
When from Rugby's time-worn tower
Peals the magic midnight hour,
When the latest light is out,
And no footstep stirs about,
But deep slumber for the nonce
Makes the wisest as the dunce,
In the dark, which is their day,
Spirit-shapes come forth to play;
Through barred gate and bolted door,
Moon-washed court and corridor,
In they stream, and on they flow,
The grey ghosts of long ago.
Peals the magic midnight hour,
When the latest light is out,
And no footstep stirs about,
But deep slumber for the nonce
Makes the wisest as the dunce,
In the dark, which is their day,
Spirit-shapes come forth to play;
Through barred gate and bolted door,
Moon-washed court and corridor,
In they stream, and on they flow,
The grey ghosts of long ago.
By the lips of men long dead
Names are called and answerèd;
Then the phantom-game begins,
With hard hacks on shadowy shins,
And bruised limb, and broken crown,
And thin shrieks of ‘touch’ and ‘down’;
Soothly all the bitter-sweet
Of their boyhood they repeat,
Con hard books in study pent,
Or home-letters, tear-besprent,
Acting o'er in empty show
The lost days of long ago.
Names are called and answerèd;
Then the phantom-game begins,
With hard hacks on shadowy shins,
And bruised limb, and broken crown,
And thin shrieks of ‘touch’ and ‘down’;
Soothly all the bitter-sweet
Of their boyhood they repeat,
Con hard books in study pent,
Or home-letters, tear-besprent,
Acting o'er in empty show
The lost days of long ago.
Foolish fable, if you will,
Launched on idle ears; but still
Teems not all our life to-day
With their labour and their play,
Wrought through thrice a hundred years,
Half of laughter, half of tears?
For men's thoughts and deeds are what
But the Spirit of the Spot?
And grey court and grassy lea
By our deeds must haunted be,
When above our dust shall flow
The dark waves of long ago.
Launched on idle ears; but still
104
With their labour and their play,
Wrought through thrice a hundred years,
Half of laughter, half of tears?
For men's thoughts and deeds are what
But the Spirit of the Spot?
And grey court and grassy lea
By our deeds must haunted be,
When above our dust shall flow
The dark waves of long ago.
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