Orellana and Other Poems By J. Logie Robertson |
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 | Orellana and Other Poems |  |
107
BRIERS
“There grows a bonnie brier buss in oor kailyard.”
—Old Song.
—Old Song.
109
I. IN MEMORIAM.
“There is one event unto all.”
Out there in the sunshine, that's gilding
The garden that seldom is green,
The workmen are lazily building
A pillar in praise of the Dean.
The garden that seldom is green,
The workmen are lazily building
A pillar in praise of the Dean.
Last week they were at a church-steeple,
And next week it may be a jail:
—They're a common mechanical people,
You see, and their labour's for sale.
And next week it may be a jail:
—They're a common mechanical people,
You see, and their labour's for sale.
Two soldiers at them are gazing,
Schoolboys, and a loafer or two:
Asks one, “What is it they're raising?”
Another, “And what did he do?”
Schoolboys, and a loafer or two:
110
Another, “And what did he do?”
Pale Frank hurries past to the College,
Hollow-eyed, red-nosed, and lean;
The way to get on is get knowledge,
And he's hoping one day to be Dean.
Hollow-eyed, red-nosed, and lean;
The way to get on is get knowledge,
And he's hoping one day to be Dean.
II. THE MASK OF MISERY.
“Thou art unto them as a very lovely song of one that hath
a pleasant voice and can play well on an instrument: for they
hear thy words but they do them not.”
The lattice is open, and into the street
Floats music sad and slow;
To the midnight Bobby it's quite a treat
—Up there there's company, light, and heat,
And the luxury of woe.
Floats music sad and slow;
To the midnight Bobby it's quite a treat
—Up there there's company, light, and heat,
And the luxury of woe.
111
Now none will say she cannot play,
That lady at the keys;
And the singer that beside her stands
With Gounod's music in his hands
Can melt a soul with ease.
That lady at the keys;
And the singer that beside her stands
With Gounod's music in his hands
Can melt a soul with ease.
There is a green hill far away—
And the passion sinks and swells.
—Do you think they believe it? that lady gay?
That silken tenor? . . . Or would you say
It's a sound and nothing else?
And the passion sinks and swells.
—Do you think they believe it? that lady gay?
That silken tenor? . . . Or would you say
It's a sound and nothing else?
Be this as it may, they dissipate
The night with wailing psalms;
And the rest of the company clap and prate,
While a waif from the Pleasaunce at the gate
Sings merrily for alms.
The night with wailing psalms;
And the rest of the company clap and prate,
While a waif from the Pleasaunce at the gate
Sings merrily for alms.
112
III. FOUND DEAD.
A little wayward human elf
Lay dead at Cæsar's feet
Where sceptred Cæsar lifts himself
Out of the vulgar street.
Lay dead at Cæsar's feet
Where sceptred Cæsar lifts himself
Out of the vulgar street.
A passing workman at the dawn
Of a December day,
He found this little doeless fawn,
This “Home”-reared runaway.
Of a December day,
He found this little doeless fawn,
This “Home”-reared runaway.
A wild bud by the rude winds blown
From its untended sod;
A young life on the altar stone
Flung to a pagan god.
From its untended sod;
A young life on the altar stone
Flung to a pagan god.
They bore the slender fragile thing
From Cæsar's feet of stone.
And who was she?—By their whispering
A child of Cæsar's own.
From Cæsar's feet of stone.
And who was she?—By their whispering
A child of Cæsar's own.
113
IV. THESE AND THOSE.
Under an apple-tree, laden
With pink promissory-notes,
Loiter a man and a maiden
—Each on the other one dotes.
With pink promissory-notes,
Loiter a man and a maiden
—Each on the other one dotes.
Blue through the apple-boughs o'er them
It gleams like a sapphire, the sky;
Rosy and radiant before them
Vistas invitingly lie.
It gleams like a sapphire, the sky;
Rosy and radiant before them
Vistas invitingly lie.
Out of their sight and their hearing,
But only over the wall,
Two are snarling and sneering
Who love not each other at all.
But only over the wall,
Two are snarling and sneering
Who love not each other at all.
What had you said had you seen them
As I have put them in rhyme?
For these are those, and between them
Is only a measure of time.
As I have put them in rhyme?
For these are those, and between them
Is only a measure of time.
114
V. PARTING AND MEETING.
They quarrelled, parted with a frown,
Took each his separate path,
And that and many a day went down
And rose upon their wrath.
Took each his separate path,
And that and many a day went down
And rose upon their wrath.
And Jim went east and Duncan west,
And not a word said Jim;
And Duncan—well, he would be blest
Before he'd speak to him.
And not a word said Jim;
And Duncan—well, he would be blest
Before he'd speak to him.
The tranquil hamlet of their birth
The brothers left behind;
Wider between them grew the Earth
And keener blew the wind. . . .
The brothers left behind;
Wider between them grew the Earth
And keener blew the wind. . . .
In 'Frisco where the cypress waves
Its melancholy green,
Are James and Duncan Gordon's graves,
And but a step between.
Its melancholy green,
Are James and Duncan Gordon's graves,
And but a step between.
115
VI. THE PLEADER.
It's an edifying sight to see
His teeth like ivory shine
As he laughs with a lord familiarly
Over the walnuts and wine:
His teeth like ivory shine
As he laughs with a lord familiarly
Over the walnuts and wine:
Or as from court to court he skips,
Too busy to look grand,
With a golden lie between his lips
And truth half-choked in his hand.
Too busy to look grand,
With a golden lie between his lips
And truth half-choked in his hand.
Busy indeed! And, little with big,
And one time with another,
Must many a thought hive under his wig:
—There's never one of his mother.
And one time with another,
Must many a thought hive under his wig:
—There's never one of his mother.
Over a tub in the village she bends,
Red-armed amid the suds,
While he a titled rogue defends
In town before my Luds.
Red-armed amid the suds,
While he a titled rogue defends
In town before my Luds.
116
VII. DELILAH.
“Quod dicit amanti
In vento, et rapidâ scribere oportet aquâ.”
In vento, et rapidâ scribere oportet aquâ.”
She put an arm around his neck, and, looking in his eyes,—
“For other love I nothing reck; 'tis yours alone I prize.”
“For other love I nothing reck; 'tis yours alone I prize.”
She kissed his brow, she kissed his mouth, she made his heart rejoice,—
“In all the land from north to south you are my only choice.”
“In all the land from north to south you are my only choice.”
—And yet he knew within a week, at most within a year,
A like confession she might speak in some one else's ear.
A like confession she might speak in some one else's ear.
117
VIII. THE TWO SUNSETS.
Finished, on the studio wall
Hangs the painter's masterpiece;
Round it crowd the critics all
Gabbling like a flock of geese.
Hangs the painter's masterpiece;
Round it crowd the critics all
Gabbling like a flock of geese.
This is good, now! That is splendid!
—The foreshortening on that oak!
See how well the greys are blended!
Ah! but here's the master-stroke!
—The foreshortening on that oak!
See how well the greys are blended!
Ah! but here's the master-stroke!
—So they gabble, heads awry,
Craning all their necks together,
Just like geese when in the sky
There's a change to dirty weather.
Craning all their necks together,
Just like geese when in the sky
There's a change to dirty weather.
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Sad at heart the painter pale
Turns his back upon them all,
Watching down the long green vale
Summer's sun in glory fall.
Turns his back upon them all,
Watching down the long green vale
Summer's sun in glory fall.
Pass unseen, translucent splendour!
Change and pass, ye coloured fires!
Apes to art their homage render
—Heaven's great pictures Art admires.
Change and pass, ye coloured fires!
Apes to art their homage render
—Heaven's great pictures Art admires.
They will gabble over paint
Till the night descending blind them,
Heedless of the gold that, faint,
Fades, and fainter yet behind them.
Till the night descending blind them,
Heedless of the gold that, faint,
Fades, and fainter yet behind them.
119
IX. THE PROMENADE.
He beats his wife, who in the street
Hangs smilingly upon his arm
With such a sad, pathetic, sweet,
And tremulous grace in the deceit
—None but a devil could do her harm.
Hangs smilingly upon his arm
With such a sad, pathetic, sweet,
And tremulous grace in the deceit
—None but a devil could do her harm.
The crowds sail on, the coaches roll;
And once, as former friends drove by,
One tearful glance at him she stole:
Yet this man with the little soul
—He has a body six foot high.
And once, as former friends drove by,
One tearful glance at him she stole:
Yet this man with the little soul
—He has a body six foot high.
120
X. JOAN THAMSON'S MAN.
He fears his wife, who in the street
Leads him about from shop to shop;
His training is a thing complete,
He's taught to carry, and look neat,
And stop wherever she may stop.
Leads him about from shop to shop;
His training is a thing complete,
He's taught to carry, and look neat,
And stop wherever she may stop.
To-day I marked him when a shoal
Of boisterous bachelors cantered by;
At them a greyhound glance he stole:
And this man of the little soul
—His body's over six foot high.
Of boisterous bachelors cantered by;
At them a greyhound glance he stole:
And this man of the little soul
—His body's over six foot high.
121
XI. WITHOUT AND WITHIN.
Martial words to a mournful chant!
But martial words her patrons want
Where the bounce is big if the sense be scant
—Though to her it's nothing at all;
It happens to be some jingo rant
Caught from a music-hall.
But martial words her patrons want
Where the bounce is big if the sense be scant
—Though to her it's nothing at all;
It happens to be some jingo rant
Caught from a music-hall.
A white face hooded in a shawl,
Upon whose faded tartan fall
Prelusive hail-drops round and small
In the blaze of the dram-shop seen:
—A tapster flings her a coin, and a call
For “Jock o' Hazeldean.”
Upon whose faded tartan fall
Prelusive hail-drops round and small
In the blaze of the dram-shop seen:
—A tapster flings her a coin, and a call
For “Jock o' Hazeldean.”
122
Within, across a table bend
A drunkard and his drunken friend,
Who with the empty gill-stoup end
Keeps time with noisy beat
To the song the girl he should defend,
His wife, sings in the street.
A drunkard and his drunken friend,
Who with the empty gill-stoup end
Keeps time with noisy beat
To the song the girl he should defend,
His wife, sings in the street.
123
XII. THE AULD HOOSE AND THE NEW.
Click go the balls in the billiard-room,
The glasses clink at the bar,
Mine host at the door looks into the gloom
—Looks up at the evening star.
The glasses clink at the bar,
Mine host at the door looks into the gloom
—Looks up at the evening star.
That star of old has looked too cold
On a Cæsar's cinctured brow
To envy the gold whose links enfold
The breast of a Boniface now!
And covet not, mine honest host,
The treasury of heaven:
'Tis to enrich some beggar's ghost
Yon gold will yet be given.
On a Cæsar's cinctured brow
To envy the gold whose links enfold
The breast of a Boniface now!
And covet not, mine honest host,
The treasury of heaven:
'Tis to enrich some beggar's ghost
Yon gold will yet be given.
And here it comes adown the street,
Slips into the window blaze
And sings with tremulous voice and sweet
A song of eldern days.
Slips into the window blaze
And sings with tremulous voice and sweet
A song of eldern days.
124
The auld house, the auld house,
What tho' the rooms were wee?
Kind hearts were dwellin' there
And bairnies fu' o' glee!
What tho' the rooms were wee?
Kind hearts were dwellin' there
And bairnies fu' o' glee!
The mavis still doth sweetly sing,
The bluebell sweetly blaw,
The bonnie Earn's clear-windin' still—
But the auld house is awa!
The bluebell sweetly blaw,
The bonnie Earn's clear-windin' still—
But the auld house is awa!
The Auld Hoose to the simple strain
Rises in memory clear;
He sees the round-stone walls again,
In youthful days so dear;
A bent old man with silver hair,
His father! at the plough—
God! what avails the anguished prayer
That he were living now?
Rises in memory clear;
He sees the round-stone walls again,
In youthful days so dear;
A bent old man with silver hair,
His father! at the plough—
God! what avails the anguished prayer
That he were living now?
He looks out into the vocal gloom,
But his thoughts are wandering far,
While the balls go click in the billiard-room
And the glasses clink at the bar.
But his thoughts are wandering far,
While the balls go click in the billiard-room
And the glasses clink at the bar.
| Orellana and Other Poems | |