 | A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." |  |
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December 31st.
To-day they voted a battueAnd hunt among the kangaroo.
Himself a horseman bold and good
As very few who ever rode,
Will on the hunt cold water threw.
“At all events it would not do
For the Professor, or indeed
For Chesterfield, to ride full speed
Through the thick scrub with fallen trees
And rabbit-burrows thick as bees.
And he would be much loath to lend
His worst horse to his dearest friend
For such a freak. Of course if Lil
And Kit and Margaret and Phil
Liked to ride their own nags they could,
Or lend them just as they thought good.
But in his judgment it was best—
At any rate he would suggest—
To get a shooting-party up,
And send some men ahead to stop
And some men back to drive the game
Right past. He knew the tracks they came
To drink and feed, and easily
Could post guns just where they passed by.”
“Why not do both?” asked Kit, who was
Ready upon the slightest cause
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Of breaking neck or limb, as brisk
In courting danger as her wit
Was ready in eluding it.
“Why not do both? We might divide
Some post ourselves, and others ride
To help the men. I volunteer.”
“And I,” cried Phil just after her,
Fired with the possibilities
Which might from the rencontre rise
(And which shrewd Kit had duly weighed
But thought she could contrive t'evade
On plea of ‘beating’ properly
Whenever he came too close by).
Phil lent the horse which Hall rode on,
First offered to Maud Morrison,
Who rode sometimes but “did not care,”
So she said, meaning “did not dare”
To ride that day. The only one
Who did not go but would have gone
Was Lil, who as above was told
When upon horseback was as bold
As she was timid otherwise.
But she was met with pleading eyes
By the Professor, when she glanced
In question, and discountenanced.
The bare idea of the ride
His active fancy terrified
With nightmare dreams of accidents,
Nor did he like experiments.
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Will, a good bushman, knew each track
The kangaroo would likely take
When beaten up, and spread his force
At vantage-points along the course.
He took the first point, that his gun
Might warn the others. Further on
Was Chesterfield, and Lachlan Smith
Still further. Lil was posted with
Her lover—one good reason was
That they enjoyed it, one because
Lil bred to country life had eyes
More open to its mysteries
Than the Professor, and the two
Were posted last, because Will knew
That folks so prepossessed as they
Might hear a gun go off all day
And hardly notice. While they lay
Crouched in the fern, they watched the life
With which the forest depths are rife,—
The cold snake coiling in the sun
On any open space; the dun
And drowsy ‘native bear’ at ease,
Wedged in high forks of lofty trees;
The blue and scarlet lory sitting
Close by his much-loved mate, or flitting
With a discordant scream between
The ‘lightwood's’ dense and sombre green,
Rivalled in his metallic blue
By ‘warbler’ cock ‘superb’ in hue,
But little as a common wren
With a most unpretentious hen;
The jackass, perched upon a branch
Of a bare gum-tree, who would launch
From time to time unearthly peals
Of laughter, watching as it steals
And darts alternately, his prey,
The common lizard, while there lay
Seemingly sleeping in the heat,
A huge iguana 'neath his feet.
The insect-world was everywhere,—
Flies and mosquitoes in the air,
Tyrannical and trumpeting;
Spiders of all kinds ravelling
In filmy threads each bush and tree;
Ants all round far as one could see
Pursuing their eternal march,
Coming and going through an arch
Made by two pebbles in the ground,
Or crossing a ravine profound,
Nothing so little or so great
To baffle them—as stern as Fate.
The kangaroo would likely take
When beaten up, and spread his force
At vantage-points along the course.
He took the first point, that his gun
Might warn the others. Further on
Was Chesterfield, and Lachlan Smith
Still further. Lil was posted with
Her lover—one good reason was
That they enjoyed it, one because
Lil bred to country life had eyes
More open to its mysteries
Than the Professor, and the two
Were posted last, because Will knew
That folks so prepossessed as they
Might hear a gun go off all day
And hardly notice. While they lay
Crouched in the fern, they watched the life
With which the forest depths are rife,—
The cold snake coiling in the sun
On any open space; the dun
And drowsy ‘native bear’ at ease,
Wedged in high forks of lofty trees;
The blue and scarlet lory sitting
Close by his much-loved mate, or flitting
With a discordant scream between
The ‘lightwood's’ dense and sombre green,
Rivalled in his metallic blue
By ‘warbler’ cock ‘superb’ in hue,
But little as a common wren
With a most unpretentious hen;
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Of a bare gum-tree, who would launch
From time to time unearthly peals
Of laughter, watching as it steals
And darts alternately, his prey,
The common lizard, while there lay
Seemingly sleeping in the heat,
A huge iguana 'neath his feet.
The insect-world was everywhere,—
Flies and mosquitoes in the air,
Tyrannical and trumpeting;
Spiders of all kinds ravelling
In filmy threads each bush and tree;
Ants all round far as one could see
Pursuing their eternal march,
Coming and going through an arch
Made by two pebbles in the ground,
Or crossing a ravine profound,
Nothing so little or so great
To baffle them—as stern as Fate.
But strange! in all the hum of life
With which the forest-morn was rife,
No single note of song was heard
Like that the yellow-billed, black bird
Raises when cherries turn to red
In Kent: nor aught was heard instead
Save the deep-throated native thrush
Calling out from the leafy bush
Of some tree-top his ‘who are you,’
Clear-toned but tuneless, and the new
Incomparable chant, bell-like
Resounded by the magpie-shrike.
With which the forest-morn was rife,
No single note of song was heard
Like that the yellow-billed, black bird
Raises when cherries turn to red
In Kent: nor aught was heard instead
Save the deep-throated native thrush
Calling out from the leafy bush
Of some tree-top his ‘who are you,’
Clear-toned but tuneless, and the new
Incomparable chant, bell-like
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At last they came, the kangaroo,
Not in a drove but one or two,
And these not the great ‘foresters’
But small ‘brush-kangaroo,’ with furs
Of reddish tinge, not that there was
A dearth of them there but because
The riders, five of them in all,
Two men and Phil and Kit and Hall
Had failed to keep the proper line
Which constituted Will's design.
Phil was in fault: he was to ride
Upon the left on the outside
The shooters being on the right
And the ‘stops’ posted opposite.
And this was how it came about:
Kit was next Phil and he fell out,
Attracted by her pretty face,
To be near her; and thus a space
Was left uncovered on the left
By which the game with instinct deft
Broke sideways out of the cordon.
Only a few were hurried on,
In their blind flight unnoticing
The gap left open on the wing,
And Will had settled two of them,
And Chesterfield one after him,
Bringing them down to one or two,
Which scarcely as much leapt as flew,
So scared were they when they came up
To where the last gun had to stop.
He fired two cartridges away
After the heltering-skeltering prey
Without result, and then crouched still
Until he heard a shout from Will
Calling to lunch, which he discussed
With pleasure, tempered by disgust
Attendant on his ill-success,—
Doomed to be transient none the less.
Not in a drove but one or two,
And these not the great ‘foresters’
But small ‘brush-kangaroo,’ with furs
Of reddish tinge, not that there was
A dearth of them there but because
The riders, five of them in all,
Two men and Phil and Kit and Hall
Had failed to keep the proper line
Which constituted Will's design.
Phil was in fault: he was to ride
Upon the left on the outside
The shooters being on the right
And the ‘stops’ posted opposite.
And this was how it came about:
Kit was next Phil and he fell out,
Attracted by her pretty face,
To be near her; and thus a space
Was left uncovered on the left
By which the game with instinct deft
Broke sideways out of the cordon.
Only a few were hurried on,
In their blind flight unnoticing
The gap left open on the wing,
And Will had settled two of them,
And Chesterfield one after him,
Bringing them down to one or two,
Which scarcely as much leapt as flew,
So scared were they when they came up
To where the last gun had to stop.
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After the heltering-skeltering prey
Without result, and then crouched still
Until he heard a shout from Will
Calling to lunch, which he discussed
With pleasure, tempered by disgust
Attendant on his ill-success,—
Doomed to be transient none the less.
Lunch over, when the rest had gone
Partly to leave the two alone,
Partly to try the ground once more
In the same order as before
Beginning from the other side,
With Phil and Kit told off to ride
On the two flanks to quite prevent
Any such tender incident
As that which spoiled the morning's sport.
Partly to leave the two alone,
Partly to try the ground once more
In the same order as before
Beginning from the other side,
With Phil and Kit told off to ride
On the two flanks to quite prevent
Any such tender incident
As that which spoiled the morning's sport.
The morning had left Philip Forte
More hopelessly in love than e'er
With Kit. She looked so queenly fair
In her close-fitting habit made
Of light-grey tweed; and in the glade
With her blood dancing as she rode
Full speed, no mortal woman could
Maintain an iciness of mien;
The magic of the time and scene
And motion lured her back into
A mood that really was her true
And natural mood, and she received
Advances with what he believed
Was wakening love, but which in truth
Was just the heartiness of youth
Laid open with excitement's wand.
More hopelessly in love than e'er
With Kit. She looked so queenly fair
In her close-fitting habit made
Of light-grey tweed; and in the glade
With her blood dancing as she rode
Full speed, no mortal woman could
Maintain an iciness of mien;
The magic of the time and scene
And motion lured her back into
A mood that really was her true
And natural mood, and she received
Advances with what he believed
Was wakening love, but which in truth
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Laid open with excitement's wand.
In course of time the lovers fond
The old adage did illustrate,
That he who can afford to wait
Must win. For, as they sat at ease
Under the overhanging trees
On cushions from the waggonette,
Still lingering where lunch was set,
One of the horses tethered near
Began to snort and prick his ear.
Lil, a good bushman, noticed it,
And bade him load his gun and sit
As still as death, and soon the sound
Of a dull thud upon the ground
Confirmed suspicions, and there hopped
Almost to where they were, and stopped,
Looking about suspiciously
At the strange sights which met its eye,
A full-grown ‘old man’ kangaroo.
“Shoot it,” said Lil, and full and true
Into its head her lover poured
A charge of buckshot, on the sward
Dropping his prey, without a kick
As stiff and lifeless as a stick.
Lil first felt glad that it was shot,
And then she wished that it were not.
Glad that her lover had obtained
What he so much desired, and pained
For the poor beast, whose great dark eyes
Pled mutely for her sympathies.
At last she gave adherence to
Her lover, not the kangaroo.
The old adage did illustrate,
That he who can afford to wait
Must win. For, as they sat at ease
Under the overhanging trees
On cushions from the waggonette,
Still lingering where lunch was set,
One of the horses tethered near
Began to snort and prick his ear.
Lil, a good bushman, noticed it,
And bade him load his gun and sit
As still as death, and soon the sound
Of a dull thud upon the ground
Confirmed suspicions, and there hopped
Almost to where they were, and stopped,
Looking about suspiciously
At the strange sights which met its eye,
A full-grown ‘old man’ kangaroo.
“Shoot it,” said Lil, and full and true
Into its head her lover poured
A charge of buckshot, on the sward
Dropping his prey, without a kick
As stiff and lifeless as a stick.
Lil first felt glad that it was shot,
And then she wished that it were not.
Glad that her lover had obtained
What he so much desired, and pained
For the poor beast, whose great dark eyes
Pled mutely for her sympathies.
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Her lover, not the kangaroo.
Ida was queen that night, and made
Her choice of subject ‘Love,’ and bade
The lover concentrate his tale
Not on the female but the male.
“You've given us a picture of
A pretty English girl in love
In Ethel. Show us if you can
The feelings of an Englishman
In the same sweet predicament.”
“Bravo!” exclaimed with one consent
Kit and the statesman, and the first
Whispered, “I did not think she durst,
Has not she splendid impudence
To sally thus at his expense?”
Her choice of subject ‘Love,’ and bade
The lover concentrate his tale
Not on the female but the male.
“You've given us a picture of
A pretty English girl in love
In Ethel. Show us if you can
The feelings of an Englishman
In the same sweet predicament.”
“Bravo!” exclaimed with one consent
Kit and the statesman, and the first
Whispered, “I did not think she durst,
Has not she splendid impudence
To sally thus at his expense?”
Cobham took refuge in a smile,
And, thinking for a little while,
Gave them a tale half revery
And half of it reality.
And, thinking for a little while,
Gave them a tale half revery
And half of it reality.
SAPPHO.
(A REVERY.)
The full moon glitters on the sand,The North Sea ripples on the strand,
The low cliff's shadow from above
Falls on a little landlock'd cove,
Which, deep and dang'rous to the edge,
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Save where the bank, with gentle sink,
Slopes downward to the water's brink.
Here Harold stood: the night was clear,
And through the purple atmosphere
The stars shone brightly, and the sea
Sang chorus to his rhapsody:
A man whom all might happy deem,
And women love, and men esteem;
Full broad of shoulder, strong of arm,
And deaf to anger or alarm,
But chivalrous in hastiness
To champion trouble or distress;
As great in spirit as in frame,
In danger and distress the same,
With wild, dark, handsome, haunting face—
And strength in manhood serves for grace:
Able was he to hold his own,
And worthy admiration;
Accustom'd since he scarce could stand
To the stern pastimes of his land:
At first to shoulder off the stool
The other little boys at school,
And then to wrestle and to fight
With ten-year rivals, his delight;
Then competition took the place
Of stand-up fighting face to face;
There were brave battles to be fought
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And as the rolling years went on
Great glory in such sports he won;
Fours to true leg, straight spanking drives
Snick'd twos and threes, clean cuts for fives,
Fast ripping balls, well on the wicket,
Made him renown'd in Rugby cricket.
Hot ‘hacks’ exchanged, ‘tries’ dearly bought;
A hero in the sterner sport.
He'd stalk'd the red deer over Highland rocks;
He'd ‘taken’ untried fences for the fox;
In Kentish copses, 'neath an autumn sun,
The largest bag had fallen to his gun;
In Norway rivers, waist-deep in the flood,
Salmon of weight had yielded to his rod:
Alone, afoot, on many a weary day,
O'er steep wet moor and featureless highway,
He strode to fields of unforgotten fights
Of Rupert's cavaliers and Clifford's knights;
To storied castles shatter'd in the war
'Twixt Crown and Commons, minsters where of yore
Dunstan and Baeda fed the sacred light
Of learning in the long dark English night;
To abbeys rich with knightly founders' bones,
And gifts of bygone heroes and kings' sons;
To great cathedrals hallow'd by the pray'r
Of great dead men; to cities famed and fair;
To torrents foaming, fretting, falling fast,
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By stately halls and immemorial trees;
To lonely wolds and humming village leas,
Green downs, and grey gaunt mountains, and broad plains
Strewn with old chieftains' tombs and fallen fanes;
To silent reed-fring'd lake and lone sea-shore,
As silent, save for surf and storm wind's roar.
He knew the names of all known stars in heaven—
The heralds of the morning and the even;
He knew the names of all the birds that fly,
And beasts that range beneath the Northern sky,
And many fish that in the north seas ply;
He knew the gauzy denizens of air,
And had a hoard wherein the rich and rare
Of daily butterfly and nightly moth
Were ranged together, and he knew in troth
The name of every flow'r that wood and field
From Cornwall to Northumberland do yield.
Ballads he knew, and many a legend old
In knightly Kent and daring Devon told,
And many a border-boast and roundelay
Sung in the good green wood: these he would say
Word by word, line by line, and verse by verse,
After the croonings of a fond old nurse,
Who had nought else to teach him: these he knew,
And sought out many other when he grew,
In dingy quarto bought at fusty stall
Or 'neath old cottage prints fantastical.
In knightly Kent and daring Devon told,
And many a border-boast and roundelay
Sung in the good green wood: these he would say
Word by word, line by line, and verse by verse,
After the croonings of a fond old nurse,
Who had nought else to teach him: these he knew,
And sought out many other when he grew,
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Or 'neath old cottage prints fantastical.
Oft far into the night he converse held
With the great minds and noble hearts of eld—
Caedmon and Mallory, and old Geoffry,
The sire and sieur of English poesy;
Spenser and More and Shakspere, England's voice,
In whom the ears of ages shall rejoice;
Sweet Sidney, Beaumont, Fletcher, ‘rare old Ben,’
And glorious Milton, brave John Bunyan,
Pepys, Evelyn, Clarendon, Addison,
Dick Steele, Defoe and Swift—these he would con,
And Keats and fairy Shelley, who could tell
The sadness of all happiness too well;
And Landor, he to whom 'twas given to show
The longings and the life of long ago.
With the great minds and noble hearts of eld—
Caedmon and Mallory, and old Geoffry,
The sire and sieur of English poesy;
Spenser and More and Shakspere, England's voice,
In whom the ears of ages shall rejoice;
Sweet Sidney, Beaumont, Fletcher, ‘rare old Ben,’
And glorious Milton, brave John Bunyan,
Pepys, Evelyn, Clarendon, Addison,
Dick Steele, Defoe and Swift—these he would con,
And Keats and fairy Shelley, who could tell
The sadness of all happiness too well;
And Landor, he to whom 'twas given to show
The longings and the life of long ago.
And often to these meetings at midnight
Came old school friends he'd studied with delight,
Not diligence: Homer the editor,
And Hesiod the old, and many more;
Dear babbling, loosely-learn'd Herodotus,
Euripides, Sophocles, Æschylus,
Plato and Aristotle; and the soft
Anacreon came with them; nor less oft
Came sage Lucretius and Cicero,
Virgil and witty Horace, Gallio
And legendary Livy; oft too came
The second sire of poetry—a flame
From his own Hell was burning in that breast,
Whence the triunal vision was express'd—
Condemn'd, his love unknown and dead, to roam
In poor and painful exile from his home.
And with him came Messer Boccaccio,
Full of the loves and jests of long ago;
And many a bard who'd listed to his tales,
And sung them o'er again, and one from Wales,
And one from Alcalà, and many more
Whose names were writ in fire, in days of yore.
And sometimes, when he heard the stirring hum
Came old school friends he'd studied with delight,
Not diligence: Homer the editor,
And Hesiod the old, and many more;
Dear babbling, loosely-learn'd Herodotus,
Euripides, Sophocles, Æschylus,
Plato and Aristotle; and the soft
Anacreon came with them; nor less oft
Came sage Lucretius and Cicero,
Virgil and witty Horace, Gallio
And legendary Livy; oft too came
The second sire of poetry—a flame
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Whence the triunal vision was express'd—
Condemn'd, his love unknown and dead, to roam
In poor and painful exile from his home.
And with him came Messer Boccaccio,
Full of the loves and jests of long ago;
And many a bard who'd listed to his tales,
And sung them o'er again, and one from Wales,
And one from Alcalà, and many more
Whose names were writ in fire, in days of yore.
Of music or great shoutings, there would come
Heroes and hosts: Herman and Hannibal,
Etzel, the Cid, Roland of Roncesvalles,
Harold of Hastings, Richard Lion-heart
And Edward the Black Prince; nor far apart,
Hawkins and Drake, Raleigh and Frobisher,
And the great Howard, Ironside Oliver
And his Ironsides, and Rupert, hand-on-sword,
And Buonaparte, and he who cross'd the ford
Against advice and conquer'd on that day
When he won Plassey and England India;
And those Six Hundred heroes. And at times,
Releas'd by midnight's necromantic chimes,
Came the true lovers and wild souls of yore—
Dauntless Medea, one from Naxos' shore,
Helen and light-heart Paris, Psyche true,
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More glory from her sweetness than the sway
Of Athens in her hour, and Thaïs gay,
Who ruled the world's commander: with these came
Dido and lone Iarbas, hearts of fame,
That lov'd at odds; and some of later name—
Abelard, Heloïse, and Rosamond,
And Castile's Eleanor, whose love was found
Proof against poison, and the Florentine
Who bore deep graven on his heart divine
The little maid twice seen through years of power
And years of pain: and many a rare hour
Came the white Queen of Scots. Here all who fell
Victims to service true, or lov'd too well,
Were welcome, for his wild heart long'd to know
Such love as beauty tender'd long ago.
Indeed, he ev'ry gift could boast
But the three gifts he valued most—
Wealth to pet beauty, beauty's self,
Won for his own sake, not for pelf,
And laurels of a poet: he
Enough had tasted of all three
To thirst for more. To many a maid
His fancy'd for a moment stray'd;
Blue eyes and hazel, grey and brown,
Had answer'd frankly to his own;
Auburn and flaxen, black and gold,
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But ever came an undertone
Of something wanting in each one.
The lady of his choice should be
Sublime in her simplicity,
Of lowly mind and high estate,
And fairy-light in grace and gait;
One who would try to understand
Whate'er he wrote, whate'er he plann'd;
With fitful anger for defence
Against abus'd obedience,
And just sufficient patience
To obviate unjust offence;
With beauty intellectual,
The rarest witchery of all,
And curly clustering wealth of hair
Indented by a forehead fair,
And broad and creamy; thoughtful eyes,
Open in innocent surprise,
Melting in pity, fired in wrath,
Pouring the soul's whole secret forth
In love, not unacquaint with tears.
She must have tender girlish fears,
And a soft voice, with elfin mirth,
And presence equal to her birth;
She must be coy—the more they cost
More dear they are, the dearest most;
But when she yields let her confess
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And hungry kiss and hot caress.
Passion and love walk hand in hand:
Content is imitation bland
For widowers and second wives,
And men whose ledgers are their lives;
Youth's passion-flow'r is delicate
And, blighted, blossoms not till late.
Sooth'd by the sweet salt soughing breeze,
He linger'd over shapes like these,
Now peering from the ledge above
Into the clear depth of the cove,
Now gazing upward at a star,
And now across the sea afar,
To a lithe schooner-yacht that lay,
Nodding her slim masts, on the bay;
When suddenly he heard the plash,
And saw the phosphorescent flash
Of dipping oars, and then a skiff,
Making the shore beneath the cliff.
A muffled lady and old man
Sat in the stern-sheets; soon it ran
To where the coast with gradual sink
Sloped downwards to the water's brink.
He linger'd over shapes like these,
Now peering from the ledge above
Into the clear depth of the cove,
Now gazing upward at a star,
And now across the sea afar,
To a lithe schooner-yacht that lay,
Nodding her slim masts, on the bay;
When suddenly he heard the plash,
And saw the phosphorescent flash
Of dipping oars, and then a skiff,
Making the shore beneath the cliff.
A muffled lady and old man
Sat in the stern-sheets; soon it ran
To where the coast with gradual sink
Sloped downwards to the water's brink.
The old man rose, and lightly sprung
Ashore, and safe. The shallop swung
Just as his daughter leapt, and she
Sank in the clear depth of the sea;
She swerv'd and sank without a sound,
And as she fell the scarf unwound
That veil'd her features, and laid bare
A sweet fair face and gold of hair
Crowning it; as she sank she smiled,
And shot a glance intense and wild
Up at the ledge where Harold stood.
He in a strange ecstatic mood
Was gazing downwards at the flood,
And the wet face, which seem'd to be
That of a goddess of the sea.
Then in he plung'd, she gripp'd his arms
And, in the terror that disarms
The mind of reason, dragg'd him down,
As Sirens in the legend drown
The victims of their song.
He thought in that short minute's space
Of his long start and ill-run race,
Of all the waste and wrong
That crowded in his misspent life,
Of all the soarings and the strife
Of his foreshorten'd day,
Of ev'ry uncompleted aim,
Of unachiev'd desire of fame,
And chances slipp'd away:
And ere his senses lost control
He thought of his immortal soul,
And felt he could not pray.
Ashore, and safe. The shallop swung
Just as his daughter leapt, and she
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She swerv'd and sank without a sound,
And as she fell the scarf unwound
That veil'd her features, and laid bare
A sweet fair face and gold of hair
Crowning it; as she sank she smiled,
And shot a glance intense and wild
Up at the ledge where Harold stood.
He in a strange ecstatic mood
Was gazing downwards at the flood,
And the wet face, which seem'd to be
That of a goddess of the sea.
Then in he plung'd, she gripp'd his arms
And, in the terror that disarms
The mind of reason, dragg'd him down,
As Sirens in the legend drown
The victims of their song.
He thought in that short minute's space
Of his long start and ill-run race,
Of all the waste and wrong
That crowded in his misspent life,
Of all the soarings and the strife
Of his foreshorten'd day,
Of ev'ry uncompleted aim,
Of unachiev'd desire of fame,
And chances slipp'd away:
And ere his senses lost control
He thought of his immortal soul,
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The Dream.
He, standing by the landlock'd cove,
Built airy palaces of love,
And, leaning over, strove to peer
Beneath the starlit waters clear,
When suddenly arose a maid
Out of the depth, and, unafraid,
Swam near him, and in sweet, soft voice
Bade Harold welcome, and rejoice.
“At last,” she said, “my love, thou'rt come:
Thou hast been long away from home.”
He look'd at her, but could not tell
What maid it was that lov'd him well,
And said, “Who are you, sweet?” but she—
“Wilt thou renew thy cruelty,
Erst cruel Phaon? know'st thou not
Thy bride, thy Sappho? From my grot
Beneath the ocean oft have I
Gazed upward at the shore and sky
To see thee once again; and now
Thou'rt come. I pray thee, dear heart, vow
That thou wilt ne'er forsake me more
For idle dalliance on the shore,
But seek in love's unfailing arms
A shelter from the world's alarms,
And pillow'd on a white warm breast
Lull thine o'er-labour'd head to rest.”
Built airy palaces of love,
And, leaning over, strove to peer
Beneath the starlit waters clear,
When suddenly arose a maid
Out of the depth, and, unafraid,
Swam near him, and in sweet, soft voice
Bade Harold welcome, and rejoice.
“At last,” she said, “my love, thou'rt come:
Thou hast been long away from home.”
He look'd at her, but could not tell
What maid it was that lov'd him well,
And said, “Who are you, sweet?” but she—
“Wilt thou renew thy cruelty,
Erst cruel Phaon? know'st thou not
Thy bride, thy Sappho? From my grot
Beneath the ocean oft have I
Gazed upward at the shore and sky
To see thee once again; and now
Thou'rt come. I pray thee, dear heart, vow
That thou wilt ne'er forsake me more
For idle dalliance on the shore,
But seek in love's unfailing arms
A shelter from the world's alarms,
196
Lull thine o'er-labour'd head to rest.”
He edg'd a step toward the cove,
Irresolute 'twixt life and love;
She swam a stroke toward the shore,
Pleading and beckoning the more,
And said, “I loved those wilful curls
As none among the Lesbian girls:
No maid in Mitylene'd prize
Gems, as I prized those glad brown eyes—
I, who the love of man defied,
Offered my beauty to your pride,
And you despised it; then I wail'd
And all my joy in living fail'd,
And oft I sought a lonely rock
That quiver'd with the billows' shock,
And bore my burthen to the breeze,
And sang my sorrows to the seas;
And last I plung'd, in hope to be
Reprieved by death from misery.
Irresolute 'twixt life and love;
She swam a stroke toward the shore,
Pleading and beckoning the more,
And said, “I loved those wilful curls
As none among the Lesbian girls:
No maid in Mitylene'd prize
Gems, as I prized those glad brown eyes—
I, who the love of man defied,
Offered my beauty to your pride,
And you despised it; then I wail'd
And all my joy in living fail'd,
And oft I sought a lonely rock
That quiver'd with the billows' shock,
And bore my burthen to the breeze,
And sang my sorrows to the seas;
And last I plung'd, in hope to be
Reprieved by death from misery.
“But the mermen pined for the love of me,
As I sang to the sea and sky;
And those who are loved by kings of the sea
May be drown'd, but cannot die.
As I sang to the sea and sky;
And those who are loved by kings of the sea
May be drown'd, but cannot die.
“Their kisses I loath'd, and I loath'd their love,
The more as they prov'd more true;
And all the day long I would rove and rove,
Watching and waiting for you.
The more as they prov'd more true;
197
Watching and waiting for you.
“Then lay down your weary head in my arms,
And you shall a merman be,
And reign as a king in the careless calms
Of the fathomless sapphire sea.”
Harold.
And you shall a merman be,
And reign as a king in the careless calms
Of the fathomless sapphire sea.”
“But I have joys I cannot leave:
The glow of morning and of eve,
The glory of the noon;
The golden sun that shines on high,
The stars embroider'd on the sky,
The silver of the moon.”
Sappho.
“But the sun shines through the breast of the blue,
And moon-finger'd waves are fair,
And the stars we view reflected anew
On the gold of mermaid hair.”
Harold.
“But I have other joys than these:
The cliffs and mountains, and the breeze
That freshens round their tops;
The valleys with their kirtles green,
The uplands with their shoulders sheen
And coronal of copse.”
198
“There are hills and valleys below the deep
Far fairer than any of earth;
And the winds of your mountains wake and sleep,
In the ocean that gives them birth.”
Harold.
“But I have fairy flow'rs that rise
Fresh from their winter obsequies
To decorate the spring;
And others of a later day
To grace the summer, and delay
The autumn's taking wing.”
Sappho.
“The sea-flowers are more glorious far,
And they never sleep or die;
Our anemones wear the shape of a star,
And hue of a sunset sky.”
Harold.
“And I have groves whose living shade
Is canopy and colonnade
Beneath an August sun;
Choice garden trees with fruitage fine,
199
When August days are done.”
Sappho.
“And under the sea there are gardens sweet,
And coral groves red and white;
We know not the changes of cold and heat.
But love the sun for his light.”
Harold.
“The birds I love so fleet and fair
That glitter through the sunny air,
And warble in the dawn;
The insect-radiance of May,
Whose dotage closes with the day
That saw their brightness born.”
Sappho.
“We have beautiful shapes and tuneful shells
In our wondrous world below;
But the glories of ocean no one tells,
And none but the mermen know.”
Harold.
“But most of all I love to stand
On each grey castle of our land,
200
Telling with scatter'd walls and scars
A rugged tale of great old wars
And warriors long asleep:
To muse on moss-hid arch and aisle
Of desecrate Cistercian pile
And fane of long ago;
To wander through a village street
Trod by a great man's childish feet
While yet his lot was low;
To gaze across a moor whereon
A famous victory was won
Or some stout hero fell;
And often have I fondly roved
Where two wild lovers met and lov'd,
Not wisely, but too well.”
Sappho.
“We have no castles in ruin revered,
No abbeys of long ago,
No villages where great men were rear'd
While yet their lot was low.
But we have some rare old battle-grounds
Where heroes were kill'd at bay,
And buried chiefs without burial mounds,
And trystings of lovers gay.
Then lay down your wearied head in my arms,
And you shall a merman be,
201
Of the fathomless sapphire sea.”
Harold.
“But under the sea, love, under the sea,
What do you do for the clear blue sky?”
Sappho.
“O! the clear blue sea is a sky to me,
And our heaven is not too high.”
Then in he plung'd: she drew him down,
As sirens in the legend drown
The victims of their melody.
The waters gurgled in his ears,
He deem'd that he must die;
But Sappho sooth'd away his fears
With kisses wooingly.
Down, down they sank until they reach'd
A sapphire-vaulted cavern beach'd
With jet and shells of pearl; the walls
Were cataracts and waterfalls.
Here they abode full lovingly,
And smoothly the quick days sped by.
Sometimes he sits upon the rocks,
Upgathering her elfin locks;
Sometimes she sits upon his knee,
And sings him anthems of the sea;
Sometimes upon the sand he lies,
Gazing at sea-blue steadfast eyes
That concentrate on him;
And sometimes for an hour's space
He dallies with a fair, fond face
And body rounded slim.
She tells him legends of the deep,
And shows him where the mermen keep
Their fleet of founder'd ships,
And where their milliard army lies
Of skeletons with hollow eyes
And grinning jaws for lips.
But most of all she's used to tell
Of those old hours she lov'd so well,
The hours of Lesbian song;
To call back some sad roundelay,
That wiled away an elderday
Whereon he linger'd long;
To call back how it sooth'd to rove,
And tell the breezes of her love
And waters of her woes;
To whisper consummated bliss,
And seal her whisper with a kiss,
And sink in sweet repose.
As sirens in the legend drown
The victims of their melody.
The waters gurgled in his ears,
He deem'd that he must die;
But Sappho sooth'd away his fears
With kisses wooingly.
Down, down they sank until they reach'd
A sapphire-vaulted cavern beach'd
With jet and shells of pearl; the walls
Were cataracts and waterfalls.
Here they abode full lovingly,
And smoothly the quick days sped by.
Sometimes he sits upon the rocks,
Upgathering her elfin locks;
Sometimes she sits upon his knee,
And sings him anthems of the sea;
202
Gazing at sea-blue steadfast eyes
That concentrate on him;
And sometimes for an hour's space
He dallies with a fair, fond face
And body rounded slim.
She tells him legends of the deep,
And shows him where the mermen keep
Their fleet of founder'd ships,
And where their milliard army lies
Of skeletons with hollow eyes
And grinning jaws for lips.
But most of all she's used to tell
Of those old hours she lov'd so well,
The hours of Lesbian song;
To call back some sad roundelay,
That wiled away an elderday
Whereon he linger'd long;
To call back how it sooth'd to rove,
And tell the breezes of her love
And waters of her woes;
To whisper consummated bliss,
And seal her whisper with a kiss,
And sink in sweet repose.
Thus sped they many a joyous day
In amorous and peaceful play,
Glad of a respite from the fears
Of eager and ambitious years.
But last it fell that Sappho's cheek
Grew hollow and her body weak:
He saw and griev'd until she broke
The silence, and the dull truth spoke:
“We have no souls, dear love,
For had we souls we could not live
Without the elements that give
The life they live above—
The daily drink, the daily fare,
The sweet and all-sustaining air.”
In amorous and peaceful play,
Glad of a respite from the fears
203
But last it fell that Sappho's cheek
Grew hollow and her body weak:
He saw and griev'd until she broke
The silence, and the dull truth spoke:
“We have no souls, dear love,
For had we souls we could not live
Without the elements that give
The life they live above—
The daily drink, the daily fare,
The sweet and all-sustaining air.”
“What matter,” he cried, “though we have no soul
We shall live as long as the earth,
Without the millstone of care and control
Which hangs round the neck from birth.
We shall live as long as the earth,
Without the millstone of care and control
Which hangs round the neck from birth.
“We have all the wonders of deep and bay,
And the heaven is ours above,
As much as the mortals who toil all day
And have only the night for love.
And the heaven is ours above,
As much as the mortals who toil all day
And have only the night for love.
“And if no future in heaven be ours
When the earth is ended, we've this—
We can make a heaven of earthly hours,
And sweeten our end with a kiss.”
Sappho.
When the earth is ended, we've this—
We can make a heaven of earthly hours,
And sweeten our end with a kiss.”
“Though love is good and gracious ease,
Life is for nobler ends than these:
To build impregnably a name
And force unwilling grants from fame;
To gain great victories, and give
A wise example how to live;
To give your country liberty,
Or teach her patriots how to die;
To chronicle your finest thought
For generations to be taught;
With practice and with preaching win
A sinful people from their sin,
To point your tale and wing your song
As arrows against wrath and wrong.”
204
To build impregnably a name
And force unwilling grants from fame;
To gain great victories, and give
A wise example how to live;
To give your country liberty,
Or teach her patriots how to die;
To chronicle your finest thought
For generations to be taught;
With practice and with preaching win
A sinful people from their sin,
To point your tale and wing your song
As arrows against wrath and wrong.”
Though he for love and ease was fain,
His nobler nature woke again:
“Teach me, my love,” he said, “once more
To win the souls we had before,
What toils attain, what pains restore.”
His nobler nature woke again:
“Teach me, my love,” he said, “once more
To win the souls we had before,
What toils attain, what pains restore.”
“It is writ in the Book of the Sea,” she saith,
“That a merman a soul may gain
Who snatches the life of a man from death
Or a maiden's love can attain.”
Then to the landlock'd cove they swam,
And when they to the inlet came
He saw a drowning maiden sink
In the clear depth beside the brink.
He seem'd to clasp her, as before,
And bear her breathing to the shore,
And, lo! the maid in his embrace
Wore Sappho's form and Sappho's face.
“That a merman a soul may gain
Who snatches the life of a man from death
Or a maiden's love can attain.”
Then to the landlock'd cove they swam,
And when they to the inlet came
He saw a drowning maiden sink
In the clear depth beside the brink.
He seem'd to clasp her, as before,
205
And, lo! the maid in his embrace
Wore Sappho's form and Sappho's face.
The End of the Dream.
He woke: beside his pillow stoodMore perfect in her womanhood
The lady of his vision,
Her lips half parted for a smile
In sweetest indecision,
Whether to fly or bide the while
He ask'd of his position.
She stay'd: it needs no Chaldee seer
Or Arabic astrologer
To guess their conversation;
The meaning of the mystery
Needs no interpretation;
We leave the after-history
To your imagination.
The first time that they were alone
After this tale of his was done,
Lil questioned him if he were not
Himself the hero of the plot.
To which he answered, “No indeed
I am no hero, but I read
The kind of books I make him choose,
And like the same things as he does.”
After this tale of his was done,
Lil questioned him if he were not
Himself the hero of the plot.
To which he answered, “No indeed
I am no hero, but I read
The kind of books I make him choose,
206
That evening they had a dance,
Due chiefly to the circumstance
That Phil was so in love that he
Had come and listened patiently
Right through the tale to be with Kit,
And had, when Cobham finished it,
Suggested dancing in the hope
That she might be induced to stop
As a spectator, purposing
When he had “done the proper thing”
By waltzing a few rounds, to watch
His opportunity to catch
Her at some moment, when so placed
That she could hardly with good taste
Leave him, and then to make best use
Of what the parley might produce.
Kit saw the danger, yet scarce knew
What there remained for her to do,
The clicking of a billiard-ball
Told her that Lachlan Smith and Hall
Were playing billiards, so that she
Could not go thither decently.
She felt that Phil would follow her
And hang about her everywhere,
So, when she saw him pause, she went
Dnd much to Will's astonishment
Asked him if he would care to dance,
Believing this her only chance.
Due chiefly to the circumstance
That Phil was so in love that he
Had come and listened patiently
Right through the tale to be with Kit,
And had, when Cobham finished it,
Suggested dancing in the hope
That she might be induced to stop
As a spectator, purposing
When he had “done the proper thing”
By waltzing a few rounds, to watch
His opportunity to catch
Her at some moment, when so placed
That she could hardly with good taste
Leave him, and then to make best use
Of what the parley might produce.
Kit saw the danger, yet scarce knew
What there remained for her to do,
The clicking of a billiard-ball
Told her that Lachlan Smith and Hall
Were playing billiards, so that she
Could not go thither decently.
She felt that Phil would follow her
And hang about her everywhere,
So, when she saw him pause, she went
Dnd much to Will's astonishment
Asked him if he would care to dance,
Believing this her only chance.
She knew that if she danced with Will
She might be forced to dance with Phil,
But then one need not hear a word
Excepting of one's own accord
When one is dancing, and she meant,
When it was over, to prevent
A confidential tête-à-tête
By asking him to take her straight
To the piano to express
Her overpowering thankfulness
To the musician—there to stay,
Chatting the interval away
Until another dance began,
As fixed as is Aldeboran.
The plan succeeded and did not,
Like many things which wise folks plot.
Phil could not have his tête-à-tête
And Kit but hurried on her fate.
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But then one need not hear a word
Excepting of one's own accord
When one is dancing, and she meant,
When it was over, to prevent
A confidential tête-à-tête
By asking him to take her straight
To the piano to express
Her overpowering thankfulness
To the musician—there to stay,
Chatting the interval away
Until another dance began,
As fixed as is Aldeboran.
The plan succeeded and did not,
Like many things which wise folks plot.
Phil could not have his tête-à-tête
And Kit but hurried on her fate.
Of course as soon as she and Will
Their dance had finished, up came Phil
With Maud upon his arm to ask
That he might have the next—a task
Which Maud by no means liked, and Kit
As little liked the granting it.
Their dance had finished, up came Phil
With Maud upon his arm to ask
That he might have the next—a task
Which Maud by no means liked, and Kit
As little liked the granting it.
Kit's dancing, as the reader knows,
Was perfect in its stately pose
And docile movement, light of tread
And true of step, with the fair head
Carried as though she were a queen
Although so gracious in its mien
Was perfect in its stately pose
And docile movement, light of tread
And true of step, with the fair head
Carried as though she were a queen
Although so gracious in its mien
Phil looked a thorough gentleman,
And danced so well as few men can,
And Kit artistic pleasure drew
From dancing with her foe, so true
And perfect was the unison
With which they moved, that everyone
(Excepting poor Maud Morrison,
Who could not to herself deny
Her own inferiority)
Paused to look on with praise unfeigned,
Lil above all, who thought her friend
The autotype of elegance,
And bade her lover ask a dance,
Saying that Kit danced best of all
The girls she'd seen at school or ball,
Which seemed to him a reason why
He should not with her wish comply.
“She will not care to dance with me,
I can't do the new step, and she
Does it so irreproachably.”
“Kit can dance all,” was Lil's reply,
“And so could Maud if she would try,
And Kit is far too highly bred
To speak as rudely as Maud did.”
And danced so well as few men can,
208
From dancing with her foe, so true
And perfect was the unison
With which they moved, that everyone
(Excepting poor Maud Morrison,
Who could not to herself deny
Her own inferiority)
Paused to look on with praise unfeigned,
Lil above all, who thought her friend
The autotype of elegance,
And bade her lover ask a dance,
Saying that Kit danced best of all
The girls she'd seen at school or ball,
Which seemed to him a reason why
He should not with her wish comply.
“She will not care to dance with me,
I can't do the new step, and she
Does it so irreproachably.”
“Kit can dance all,” was Lil's reply,
“And so could Maud if she would try,
And Kit is far too highly bred
To speak as rudely as Maud did.”
So he asked Kit, who answered “yes”
With such a frank sweet graciousness,
Adapting her own step to his
So furtively and with such ease
That he was ready to endorse
Lil's eulogy with tenfold force.
With such a frank sweet graciousness,
Adapting her own step to his
So furtively and with such ease
That he was ready to endorse
Lil's eulogy with tenfold force.
Kit was a girl who if she chose
Might have led most men ‘by the nose,’
And she her safety found to-night
In coming down from her cold height,
And being womanly to all,
Which gave her a brief interval
From present dread, but hurried on
The climax. Phil danced off and on
With her throughout the evening,
In every fibre quivering
With a new sense of fierce delight,
Interpreting the opposite
Of her intentions, and in fear
Lest he should not obtain her ear
While she was in this gentle mood.
Poor Kit! Anticipations wooed
That which she strove to guard against.
Poor Phil! who dreamed they evidenced
Surrender and not armament.
And yet both went to bed content,
She that she'd beaten off the foe,
He that he'd but to strike the blow
To find the fortress at his feet
On any terms which he thought meet.
Might have led most men ‘by the nose,’
And she her safety found to-night
209
And being womanly to all,
Which gave her a brief interval
From present dread, but hurried on
The climax. Phil danced off and on
With her throughout the evening,
In every fibre quivering
With a new sense of fierce delight,
Interpreting the opposite
Of her intentions, and in fear
Lest he should not obtain her ear
While she was in this gentle mood.
Poor Kit! Anticipations wooed
That which she strove to guard against.
Poor Phil! who dreamed they evidenced
Surrender and not armament.
And yet both went to bed content,
She that she'd beaten off the foe,
He that he'd but to strike the blow
To find the fortress at his feet
On any terms which he thought meet.
| A Summer Christmas and a Sonnet upon The S.S. "Ballaarat." | |