 | Lapsus calami |  |
73
NOVI LAPSUS
APRIL–JUNE, 1891.
75
DE LAPSIBUS PRIORIBUS.
77
TWO ROUNDELS.
1. The Poet's Prayer.
To buy my book—if you will be so kind—
Is all I ask of you; and not to look
What fruit lies hid beneath the azure rind:
To buy my book.
Is all I ask of you; and not to look
What fruit lies hid beneath the azure rind:
To buy my book.
This for her hymn-book Rosalind mistook,
When worshipping with yokel, maid, and hind;
Neaera read it in a flowery nook,
And gave her loose curls to the wanton wind.
For this her grammar Sylvia once forsook,
Of you I only ask—you will not mind?—
To buy my book.
When worshipping with yokel, maid, and hind;
Neaera read it in a flowery nook,
And gave her loose curls to the wanton wind.
For this her grammar Sylvia once forsook,
Of you I only ask—you will not mind?—
To buy my book.
Cambridge Review, June, 1891.
78
2. To an Indiscreet Critic.
As J. K. S. I made my bid for fame
And money, which is sweeter than success,
Though Mr --- is possibly the same
as J. K. S.
And money, which is sweeter than success,
Though Mr --- is possibly the same
as J. K. S.
Was it perhaps an error of the press?
Is some malign compositor to blame?
Or was it just the reader's carelessness?
Or your astute reviewer's little game,—
His lapsus calami as I should guess?
In any case I wish to sign my name
as J. K. S.
Is some malign compositor to blame?
Or was it just the reader's carelessness?
Or your astute reviewer's little game,—
His lapsus calami as I should guess?
In any case I wish to sign my name
as J. K. S.
Globe, April, 1891.
79
FROM THREE FLY LEAVES.
1. To P. L., aged 4½.
Ah Phyllis! did I only dare
To hope that, as the years go by,
And you, a maid divinely fair,
The cynosure of every eye,
Have fixed the wandering minds of men,
And found a fare for scores of hearses,
You still will open, now and then,
My little book of verses;
To hope that, as the years go by,
And you, a maid divinely fair,
The cynosure of every eye,
Have fixed the wandering minds of men,
And found a fare for scores of hearses,
You still will open, now and then,
My little book of verses;
Or did I, bolder yet, aspire
To hope that any phrase of mine,
Aglow with memory's cheering fire
Will burn within that heart of thine;
Although my brow be bare of bays,
My coffers not replete with gain,
I shall not—what's the foolish phrase?—
Have written quite in vain.
To hope that any phrase of mine,
Aglow with memory's cheering fire
Will burn within that heart of thine;
Although my brow be bare of bays,
My coffers not replete with gain,
I shall not—what's the foolish phrase?—
Have written quite in vain.
May, 1891.
81
THE RETORT COURTEOUS.
83
I. ENGLAND AND AMERICA.
1. On a Rhine Steamer.
Republic of the West,
Englightened, free, sublime,
Unquestionably best
Production of our time.
Englightened, free, sublime,
Unquestionably best
Production of our time.
The telephone is thine,
And thine the Pullman Car,
The caucus, the divine
Intense electric star.
And thine the Pullman Car,
The caucus, the divine
Intense electric star.
To thee we likewise owe
The venerable names
Of Edgar Allan Poe,
And Mr Henry James.
The venerable names
Of Edgar Allan Poe,
And Mr Henry James.
In short it's due to thee,
Thou kind of Western star,
That we have come to be
Precisely what we are.
Thou kind of Western star,
That we have come to be
Precisely what we are.
84
But every now and then,
It cannot be denied,
You breed a kind of men
Who are not dignified,
It cannot be denied,
You breed a kind of men
Who are not dignified,
Or courteous or refined,
Benevolent or wise,
Or gifted with a mind
Beyond the common size,
Benevolent or wise,
Or gifted with a mind
Beyond the common size,
Or notable for tact,
Agreeable to me,
Or anything, in fact,
That people ought to be.
Agreeable to me,
Or anything, in fact,
That people ought to be.
85
2. On a Parisian Boulevard.
Britannia rules the waves,
As I have heard her say;
She frees whatever slaves
She meets upon her way.
As I have heard her say;
She frees whatever slaves
She meets upon her way.
A teeming mother she
Of Parliaments and Laws;
Majestic, mighty, free:
Devoid of common flaws.
Of Parliaments and Laws;
Majestic, mighty, free:
Devoid of common flaws.
For her did Shakspere write
His admirable plays:
For her did Nelson fight
And Wolseley win his bays.
His admirable plays:
For her did Nelson fight
And Wolseley win his bays.
Her sturdy common sense
Is based on solid grounds:
By saving numerous pence
She spends effective pounds.
Is based on solid grounds:
By saving numerous pence
She spends effective pounds.
The Saxon and the Celt
She equitably rules;
Her iron rod is felt
By countless knaves and fools.
She equitably rules;
Her iron rod is felt
By countless knaves and fools.
86
In fact, mankind at large,
Black, yellow, white and red,
Is given to her in charge,
And owns her as a head.
Black, yellow, white and red,
Is given to her in charge,
And owns her as a head.
But every here and there—
Deny it if you can—
She breeds a vacant stare
Unworthy of a man:
Deny it if you can—
She breeds a vacant stare
Unworthy of a man:
A look of dull surprise;
A nerveless idle hand:
An eye which never tries
To threaten or command:
A nerveless idle hand:
An eye which never tries
To threaten or command:
In short, a kind of man,
If man indeed he be,
As worthy of our ban
As any that we see:
If man indeed he be,
As worthy of our ban
As any that we see:
Unspeakably obtuse,
Abominably vain,
Of very little use,
And execrably plain.
Abominably vain,
Of very little use,
And execrably plain.
87
II. MEN AND WOMEN.
1. In the Backs.
As I was strolling lonely in the Backs,I met a woman whom I did not like.
I did not like the way the woman walked:
Loose-hipped, big-boned, disjointed, angular.
If her anatomy comprised a waist,
I did not notice it: she had a face
With eyes and lips adjusted thereunto,
But round her mouth no pleasing shadows stirred,
Nor did her eyes invite a second glance.
Her dress was absolutely colourless,
Devoid of taste or shape or character;
Her boots were rather old, and rather large,
And rather shabby, not precisely matched.
Her hair was very far from beautiful
And not abundant: she had such a hat
As neither merits nor expects remark.
She was not clever, I am very sure,
88
She may have been, and kind, perhaps, of heart;
But gossip was writ plain upon her face.
And so she stalked her dull unthinking way;
Or, if she thought of anything, it was
That such a one had got a second class,
Or Mrs So-and-So a second child.
I do not want to see that girl again:
I did not like her: and I should not mind
If she were done away with, killed, or ploughed.
She did not seem to serve a useful end:
And certainly she was not beautiful.
Cambridge Review, February, 1891.
89
2 On the King's Parade.
As I was waiting for the tardy tram,
I met what purported to be a man.
What seemed to pass for its material frame,
The semblance of a suit of clothes had on,
Fit emblem of the grand sartorial art
And worthy of a more sublime abode.
Its coat and waistcoat were of weird design
Adapted to the fashion's latest whim.
I think it wore an Athenæum tie.
White flannels draped its too ethereal limbs
And in its vacant eye there glared a glass.
I met what purported to be a man.
What seemed to pass for its material frame,
The semblance of a suit of clothes had on,
Fit emblem of the grand sartorial art
And worthy of a more sublime abode.
Its coat and waistcoat were of weird design
Adapted to the fashion's latest whim.
I think it wore an Athenæum tie.
White flannels draped its too ethereal limbs
And in its vacant eye there glared a glass.
In vain for this poor derelict of flesh,
Void of the spirit it was built to house,
Have classic poets tuned their deathless lyre,
Astute historians fingered mouldering sheets
And reared a palace of sententious truth.
In vain has y been added unto x,
In vain the mighty decimal unrolled,
Which strives indefinitely to be π.
In vain the palpitating frog has groaned
Beneath the licensed knife: in vain for this
The surreptitious corpse been disinterred
And forced, amid the disinfectant fumes,
To yield its secrets to philosophy.
In vain the stress and storm of politics
Beat round this empty head: in vain the priest
Pronounces loud anathemas: the fool
In vain remarks upon the fact that God
Is missing in the world of his belief.
Vain are the problems whether space, or time,
Or force, or matter can be said to be:
Vain are the mysteries of Melchisedec,
And vain Methuselah's unusual years.
Void of the spirit it was built to house,
Have classic poets tuned their deathless lyre,
Astute historians fingered mouldering sheets
And reared a palace of sententious truth.
In vain has y been added unto x,
90
Which strives indefinitely to be π.
In vain the palpitating frog has groaned
Beneath the licensed knife: in vain for this
The surreptitious corpse been disinterred
And forced, amid the disinfectant fumes,
To yield its secrets to philosophy.
In vain the stress and storm of politics
Beat round this empty head: in vain the priest
Pronounces loud anathemas: the fool
In vain remarks upon the fact that God
Is missing in the world of his belief.
Vain are the problems whether space, or time,
Or force, or matter can be said to be:
Vain are the mysteries of Melchisedec,
And vain Methuselah's unusual years.
It had a landlady I make no doubt;
A friend or two as vacant as itself;
A kitchen-bill; a thousand cigarettes;
A dog which knew it for the fool it was.
Perhaps it was a member of the Union,
Who votes as often as he does not speak,
And “recommends” as wildly as he spells.
Its income was as much beyond its merits
As less than its inane expenditure.
Its conversation stood to common sense
As stands the Sporting Times (its favourite print)
To wit or humour. It was seldom drunk,
But seldom sober when it went to bed.
A friend or two as vacant as itself;
A kitchen-bill; a thousand cigarettes;
A dog which knew it for the fool it was.
Perhaps it was a member of the Union,
Who votes as often as he does not speak,
And “recommends” as wildly as he spells.
Its income was as much beyond its merits
As less than its inane expenditure.
Its conversation stood to common sense
As stands the Sporting Times (its favourite print)
To wit or humour. It was seldom drunk,
But seldom sober when it went to bed.
91
The mean contents of these superior clothes
Were they but duly trained by careful hands,
And castigated with remorseless zeal,
Endowed with purpose, gifted with a mind,
And taught to work, or play, or talk, or laugh,
Might possibly aspire—I do not know—
To pass, in time, for what they dare to scorn,
An ordinary undergraduate.
Were they but duly trained by careful hands,
And castigated with remorseless zeal,
Endowed with purpose, gifted with a mind,
And taught to work, or play, or talk, or laugh,
Might possibly aspire—I do not know—
To pass, in time, for what they dare to scorn,
An ordinary undergraduate.
What did this thing crawling 'twixt heaven and earth,
Amid the network of our grimy streets?
What end was it intended to subserve,
What lowly mission fashioned to neglect?
It did not seem to wish for a degree,
And what its object was I do not know,
Unless it was to catch the tardy tram.
Amid the network of our grimy streets?
What end was it intended to subserve,
What lowly mission fashioned to neglect?
It did not seem to wish for a degree,
And what its object was I do not know,
Unless it was to catch the tardy tram.
Granta, June, 1891.
93
RESCUED FROM THE WASTE PAPER BASKET.
95
Parker's Piece, May 19, 1891.
To see good Tennis! what diviner joy
Can fill our leisure, or our minds employ?
Not Sylvia's self is more supremely fair,
Than balls that hurtle through the conscious air.
Not Stella's form instinct with truer grace
Than Lambert's racket poised to win the chase.
Not Chloe's harp more native to the ear,
Than the tense strings which smite the flying sphere.
Can fill our leisure, or our minds employ?
Not Sylvia's self is more supremely fair,
Than balls that hurtle through the conscious air.
Not Stella's form instinct with truer grace
Than Lambert's racket poised to win the chase.
Not Chloe's harp more native to the ear,
Than the tense strings which smite the flying sphere.
When Lambert boasts the superhuman force,
Or splits the echoing grille without remorse:
When Harradine, as graceful as of yore,
Wins better than a yard, upon the floor;
When Alfred's ringing cheer proclaims success,
Or Saunders volleys in resistlessness;
When Heathcote's service makes the dedans ring
With just applause, and own its honoured king;
When Pettitt's prowess all our zeal awoke
Till high Olympus shuddered at the stroke;
Or, when, receiving thirty and the floor,
The novice serves a dozen faults or more;
Or some plump don, perspiring and profane,
Assails the roof and breaks the exalted pane;
When vantage, five games all, the door is called,
And Europe pauses, breathless and appalled,
Till lo! the ball by cunning hand caressed
Finds in the winning gallery a nest;
These are the moments, this the bliss supreme,
Which makes the artist's joy, the poet's dream.
Or splits the echoing grille without remorse:
When Harradine, as graceful as of yore,
Wins better than a yard, upon the floor;
When Alfred's ringing cheer proclaims success,
Or Saunders volleys in resistlessness;
When Heathcote's service makes the dedans ring
With just applause, and own its honoured king;
When Pettitt's prowess all our zeal awoke
Till high Olympus shuddered at the stroke;
Or, when, receiving thirty and the floor,
The novice serves a dozen faults or more;
96
Assails the roof and breaks the exalted pane;
When vantage, five games all, the door is called,
And Europe pauses, breathless and appalled,
Till lo! the ball by cunning hand caressed
Finds in the winning gallery a nest;
These are the moments, this the bliss supreme,
Which makes the artist's joy, the poet's dream.
Let cricketers await the tardy sun,
Break one another's shins and call it fun;
Let Scotia's golfers through the affrighted land
With crooked knee and glaring eye-ball stand;
Let football rowdies show their straining thews,
And tell their triumphs to a mud-stained Muse;
Let india-rubber pellets dance on grass
Where female arts the ruder sex surpass;
Let other people play at other things;
The king of games is still the game of kings.
Break one another's shins and call it fun;
Let Scotia's golfers through the affrighted land
With crooked knee and glaring eye-ball stand;
Let football rowdies show their straining thews,
And tell their triumphs to a mud-stained Muse;
Let india-rubber pellets dance on grass
Where female arts the ruder sex surpass;
Let other people play at other things;
The king of games is still the game of kings.
Cambridge Review, May, 1891.
97
The Street Organs Bill, 1891.
Grinder, who serenely grindest,
As thou groundest ages back,
Till thou ultimately findest
Legislators on thy track:
As thou groundest ages back,
Till thou ultimately findest
Legislators on thy track:
Grinder, there is one Jacoby,
There is Lubbock, prince of Barts,
Sternest of Professors: oh be-
Ware of his infernal arts.
There is Lubbock, prince of Barts,
Sternest of Professors: oh be-
Ware of his infernal arts.
Guyer Hunter backed it bravely,
Backed the Bart's oppressive bill:
So did he whose name is Staveley,
And whose other name is Hill.
Backed the Bart's oppressive bill:
So did he whose name is Staveley,
And whose other name is Hill.
If they pass their cruel measure,
If the House is true to them,
You must never give us pleasure,
Grinder, after 8 p.m.
If the House is true to them,
You must never give us pleasure,
Grinder, after 8 p.m.
98
When the dawn with rosy finger,
Dissipates the eastern gloom,
You and your machine must linger
Silent in your silent room.
Dissipates the eastern gloom,
You and your machine must linger
Silent in your silent room.
Grinder, if you are not willing,
When invited, to desist,
You must pay your fortieth shilling,
Wretched instrumentalist!
When invited, to desist,
You must pay your fortieth shilling,
Wretched instrumentalist!
Failing that,—a fate unkinder—
You must languish in a gaol
One laborious fortnight: grinder,
Pray, oh pray that they may fail.
You must languish in a gaol
One laborious fortnight: grinder,
Pray, oh pray that they may fail.
Pall Mall Gazette, April, 1891.
99
Ode on the 450th Anniversary Celebration at Eton.
Think of a number: double it
(If that does not surpass thy wit);
Subtract a dozen: add a score:
Divide by twenty: multiply
By twice the cube of x & y,
And half again as many more:
Then take the twenty-seventh root
And logarithmic sine to boot,
And if the answer does not show
Just nine times fifty, make it so.
(If that does not surpass thy wit);
Subtract a dozen: add a score:
Divide by twenty: multiply
By twice the cube of x & y,
And half again as many more:
Then take the twenty-seventh root
And logarithmic sine to boot,
And if the answer does not show
Just nine times fifty, make it so.
There's something more than half divine
In fifty multiplied by nine:
And never integer has been
So grand as thirty times fifteen:
The total I could doubtless praise
In many other striking ways:
But this at least is very plain,—
The same will never come again.
Then make an exhibition please
And summon guests from far and wide:
And marry mystic melodies
To odes instinct with proper pride.
Invoke the Founder's mighty name,
And boast of Gray's and Shelley's fame:
For this is very sure: that we
Who missed the latest jubilee
Shall not improbably be vexed
By missing equally the next.
In fifty multiplied by nine:
And never integer has been
So grand as thirty times fifteen:
The total I could doubtless praise
In many other striking ways:
But this at least is very plain,—
The same will never come again.
100
And summon guests from far and wide:
And marry mystic melodies
To odes instinct with proper pride.
Invoke the Founder's mighty name,
And boast of Gray's and Shelley's fame:
For this is very sure: that we
Who missed the latest jubilee
Shall not improbably be vexed
By missing equally the next.
Then let us resolutely strive
This mighty fact to keep alive
That 5 times 9 is 45;
And furthermore the truth to fix
(In their behoof whose course will run
In June of 1981)
That 54 is 9 times 6.
This mighty fact to keep alive
That 5 times 9 is 45;
And furthermore the truth to fix
(In their behoof whose course will run
In June of 1981)
That 54 is 9 times 6.
Granta, June, 1891.
101
Steam-Launches on the Thames.
Henley, June 7, 1891.
Shall we, to whom the stream by right belongs,Who travel silent, save, perchance, for songs;
Whose track's a ripple,—leaves the Thames a lake,
Nor frights the swan—scarce makes the rushes shake;
Who harmonize, exemplify, complete
And vivify a scene already sweet:
Who travel careless on, from lock to lock,
Oblivious that the world contains a clock,
With pace commensurate to our desires,
Propelled by other force than Stygian fire's;
Shall we be driven hence to leave a place
For these, who bring upon our stream disgrace:
The rush, the roar, the stench, the smoke, the steam,
The nightmare striking through our heavenly dream;
The scream as shrill and hateful to the ear
As when a peacock vents his rage and fear;
Which churn to fury all a glassy reach,
And heave rude breakers on a pebbly beach:
Which half o'erwhelm with waves our frailer craft,
While graceless shop-boys chuckle fore and aft:
Foul water-toadstools, noisome filth-stained shapes,
Fit only to be manned by dogs and apes:
Blots upon nature: scars that mar her smile:
Obscene, obtrusive, execrable, vile?
Pall Mall Gazette, June, 1891.
102
To B. H. H.
(On his travels).
And will thy travels never end?
And wilt thou not return, my friend?
Shall Piccadilly never more,
Amid the busses' daily roar,
Where prowls the Baron's stately goat,
Thy philosophic footfall note?
Nor ever will the Savile's board
The dainties of the hour afford
To one grave form amid the Babel
Which girds that lofty-minded table?
And wilt thou not return, my friend?
Shall Piccadilly never more,
Amid the busses' daily roar,
Where prowls the Baron's stately goat,
Thy philosophic footfall note?
Nor ever will the Savile's board
The dainties of the hour afford
To one grave form amid the Babel
Which girds that lofty-minded table?
Come: for we miss thee. That slow smile
Has failed us now too long a while:
That network of ingenious phrase
Suggesting more than what it says:
The literary epigram
Which gracefully unmasks a sham,
Or else awards judicious praise
To one who earns but wears not bays,
Are lacking in our midst, and we
Drift, rudderless, about a sea
Of conversation unadorned
By him whose absence long we've mourned.
Has failed us now too long a while:
That network of ingenious phrase
Suggesting more than what it says:
The literary epigram
Which gracefully unmasks a sham,
Or else awards judicious praise
To one who earns but wears not bays,
Are lacking in our midst, and we
Drift, rudderless, about a sea
Of conversation unadorned
By him whose absence long we've mourned.
103
Come: for I need you: more or less
Because I love to play at chess;
Partly because I want to know
Your views about a book or so,
Which I have published, or intend
To publish: most of all, my friend,
Because I found thy converse sweet,
Thy fellowship a joy complete,
And life is short and art is long,
And still the absent suffer wrong.
Because I love to play at chess;
Partly because I want to know
Your views about a book or so,
Which I have published, or intend
To publish: most of all, my friend,
Because I found thy converse sweet,
Thy fellowship a joy complete,
And life is short and art is long,
And still the absent suffer wrong.
I know not where thy footsteps stray,
Nor what the ordering of thy day:
If now thy graceful shallop slips
Amid the gorgeous Eastern ships,
Where some vast river makes a lane
Across the forest-hidden plain:
If, stretched upon a soft divan,
You lounge, as orientals can,
And trace the rings of fragrant smoke
One graceful moment soar unbroke;
While, lo, the wordless Kitmagar
Presents the welcome waterjar,
And swart Chuprassis stand at ease,
Beneath umbrageous banyan trees:
If now perchance the crescent moon
Hangs high, at night's reposeful noon,
Against a gloomy purple sky,
Star-studded in its majesty,
While slow you walk alone, and deep
In thoughts that bring more rest than sleep.
Nor what the ordering of thy day:
If now thy graceful shallop slips
Amid the gorgeous Eastern ships,
Where some vast river makes a lane
Across the forest-hidden plain:
If, stretched upon a soft divan,
You lounge, as orientals can,
And trace the rings of fragrant smoke
One graceful moment soar unbroke;
While, lo, the wordless Kitmagar
Presents the welcome waterjar,
And swart Chuprassis stand at ease,
Beneath umbrageous banyan trees:
If now perchance the crescent moon
Hangs high, at night's reposeful noon,
Against a gloomy purple sky,
Star-studded in its majesty,
While slow you walk alone, and deep
In thoughts that bring more rest than sleep.
104
Come, anyhow: if not to find
An occupation to thy mind,
Nor yet a Fortunatus' purse,
Nor any cure for any curse:
Come, talk, live, marry, work, write, sing;
Be eloquent on anything:
Be active in whatever line:
And if a sun less splendid shine,
And vegetation less profuse,
And persons worthier of abuse,
Are found with us than now with you;
Still, though our merits may be few,
We are at least thy friends of youth,
Thy fellow-seekers after truth,
Thy fellow-talkers, fellow-bards,
Thy fellows still in all regards;
So turn again towards the West,
And grasp their hands who love you best.
An occupation to thy mind,
Nor yet a Fortunatus' purse,
Nor any cure for any curse:
Come, talk, live, marry, work, write, sing;
Be eloquent on anything:
Be active in whatever line:
And if a sun less splendid shine,
And vegetation less profuse,
And persons worthier of abuse,
Are found with us than now with you;
Still, though our merits may be few,
We are at least thy friends of youth,
Thy fellow-seekers after truth,
Thy fellow-talkers, fellow-bards,
Thy fellows still in all regards;
So turn again towards the West,
And grasp their hands who love you best.
Trident, June, 1891.
105
A Parodist's Apology.
If I've dared to laugh at you, Robert Browning,
'Tis with eyes that with you have often wept:
You have oftener left me smiling or frowning,
Than any beside, one bard except.
'Tis with eyes that with you have often wept:
You have oftener left me smiling or frowning,
Than any beside, one bard except.
But once you spoke to me, storm-tongued poet,
A trivial word in an idle hour;
But thrice I looked on your face and the glow it
Bore from the flame of the inward power.
A trivial word in an idle hour;
But thrice I looked on your face and the glow it
Bore from the flame of the inward power.
But you'd many a friend you never knew of,
Your words lie hid in a hundred hearts,
And thousands of hands that you've grasped but few of
Would be raised to shield you from slander's darts.
Your words lie hid in a hundred hearts,
And thousands of hands that you've grasped but few of
Would be raised to shield you from slander's darts.
For you lived in the sight of the land that owned you,
You faced the trial, and stood the test:
They have piled you a cairn that would fain have stoned you:
You have spoken your message and earned your rest.
You faced the trial, and stood the test:
They have piled you a cairn that would fain have stoned you:
You have spoken your message and earned your rest.
Pall Mall Gazette, June, 1891.
106
A Sonnet.
Two voices are there: one is of the deep;It learns the storm-cloud's thunderous melody,
Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea,
Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep:
And one is of an old half-witted sheep
Which bleats articulate monotony,
And indicates that two and one are three,
That grass is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep:
And, Wordsworth, both are thine: at certain times
Forth from the heart of thy melodious rhymes,
The form and pressure of high thoughts will burst:
At other times—good Lord! I'd rather be
Quite unacquainted with the A. B. C.
Than write such hopeless rubbish as thy worst.
Granta, June, 1891.
107
To a Lady.
A pipe's a merry madrigal,
A stately sonnet a cigar,
The homely clay at close of day
A stanza to the evening star,
The cigarette a canzonette
Both amorous and musical.
A stately sonnet a cigar,
The homely clay at close of day
A stanza to the evening star,
The cigarette a canzonette
Both amorous and musical.
But as the song requires an air,
A madrigal must aptly rhyme,
A sonnet shines in measured lines,
Each foot must walk in proper time,
And music's aid is best displayed
When duly matched with verses fair:
A madrigal must aptly rhyme,
A sonnet shines in measured lines,
Each foot must walk in proper time,
And music's aid is best displayed
When duly matched with verses fair:
So sweetest meerschaum needs a case,
Cigars are clipped with dainty blade,
The seasoned briar will still aspire
To lights in silvern casket laid,
The cigarette is duly set
In holder rich with every grace.
Cigars are clipped with dainty blade,
The seasoned briar will still aspire
To lights in silvern casket laid,
The cigarette is duly set
In holder rich with every grace.
And every cigarette consumed
Is fragrant homage offered thee;
The mellow streak, from week to week,
Embrowns thy gift bestowed on me:—
So every hour proclaims the power
Of her whose gift the smoke perfumed.
Is fragrant homage offered thee;
The mellow streak, from week to week,
Embrowns thy gift bestowed on me:—
So every hour proclaims the power
Of her whose gift the smoke perfumed.
June 27, 1891.
108
Regrets.
A Roundel.
You would not hear me speak; you never knew,
Will never know, the eloquence unique
It was my purpose to bestow on you;
You would not hear me speak.
Will never know, the eloquence unique
It was my purpose to bestow on you;
You would not hear me speak.
Dear! it was no caprice, or idle freak:
Perhaps I did not even mean to woo:
My meaning was not very far to seek:
I might have gained the end I had in view;
I might have failed, since words are often weak;
It never can be settled now: adieu!
You would not hear me speak.
Perhaps I did not even mean to woo:
My meaning was not very far to seek:
I might have gained the end I had in view;
I might have failed, since words are often weak;
It never can be settled now: adieu!
You would not hear me speak.
Granta, June, 1891.
109
June 19, 1891.
All in a peaceful garden fair,
One night in leafy June,
There sat a wondrous lovely pair,
And waited for the Moon,
One night in leafy June,
There sat a wondrous lovely pair,
And waited for the Moon,
In silence, save where rustled by
A little creeping breeze,
Which swept the cobwebs from the sky,
And scarcely stirred the trees.
A little creeping breeze,
Which swept the cobwebs from the sky,
And scarcely stirred the trees.
The one displayed in form and face
To all and sundry comers
The sweet accumulated grace
Of twenty happy summers.
To all and sundry comers
The sweet accumulated grace
Of twenty happy summers.
The other, matronly and calm,
Was most divinely fair,
And each was stately as a palm,
And each had pale gold hair.
Was most divinely fair,
And each was stately as a palm,
And each had pale gold hair.
Between them, where a trailing bough
Obscured the moonlight pale,
Lounged a vast form with classic brow,
Unquestionably male.
Obscured the moonlight pale,
Lounged a vast form with classic brow,
Unquestionably male.
There rose a mighty yellow Moon,
Across the tree-tops peering
Along the fleecy sky of June,
Through which she'll soon be steering.
Across the tree-tops peering
Along the fleecy sky of June,
Through which she'll soon be steering.
110
And when she saw each lovely maid
She clapped her silver hands;
“Such wondrous charms are rare” she said
“In all sublunar lands.
She clapped her silver hands;
“Such wondrous charms are rare” she said
“In all sublunar lands.
“But which is fairest?” long and loud
She shouted to the stars,
Which glittered in a golden crowd,
Like newly lit cigars.
She shouted to the stars,
Which glittered in a golden crowd,
Like newly lit cigars.
Then from the zenith Vega slid,
And red Aldebaran
Rushed up the sky, as he was bid,
To meet the stately Swan;
And red Aldebaran
Rushed up the sky, as he was bid,
To meet the stately Swan;
And many dozen more appeared,
Till all the sky was bare,
And round the Satellite careered,
And vowed the scene was fair.
Till all the sky was bare,
And round the Satellite careered,
And vowed the scene was fair.
Then spake the Moon: “I'm sore distressed:
“Two beauteous forms I see:
“I can't say which I like the best:
“Decide the point for me.
“Two beauteous forms I see:
“I can't say which I like the best:
“Decide the point for me.
“Such foolish puzzles, I declare,
“I hold in much abhorrence:
“Say if the lovelier of the pair
“Be A--- or F---.”
“I hold in much abhorrence:
“Say if the lovelier of the pair
“Be A--- or F---.”
Then peeping o'er each other's head,
The striking scene to scan,
The Stars unanimously said:—
“We much prefer the Man.”
The striking scene to scan,
The Stars unanimously said:—
“We much prefer the Man.”
111
To A. H. C.
(In recollection of certain debates on the futility of Metaphysics.)
You taunt me as a shallow man:
You mock my prosy middle age:
Would demonstrate me, if you can,
Devoid of youth's exalted rage
Bound on a dusty pilgrimage.
You mock my prosy middle age:
Would demonstrate me, if you can,
Devoid of youth's exalted rage
Bound on a dusty pilgrimage.
Because I do not much peruse
The words that Schopenhauer penned;
Locke's, Kant's and Hegel's lofty views
I don't aspire to comprehend;
Because, in short, my worthy friend,
The words that Schopenhauer penned;
Locke's, Kant's and Hegel's lofty views
I don't aspire to comprehend;
Because, in short, my worthy friend,
I'm, like yourself, a man of prose:
A man of commonplace belief,
Who doubts, and disbelieves, and knows,
And aims at joy, and flies from grief,
And has a taste for beer and beef.
A man of commonplace belief,
Who doubts, and disbelieves, and knows,
And aims at joy, and flies from grief,
And has a taste for beer and beef.
You do us wrong: for you and I
Are just as good as other men:
A hand to write, a seeing eye,
An ear which catches, now and then,
The sounds that haunt a poet's pen:
Are just as good as other men:
A hand to write, a seeing eye,
An ear which catches, now and then,
The sounds that haunt a poet's pen:
112
I offer (you withhold them) thanks
For these, and other common things:
And not in vain on Cam's green banks
We lived at Trinity and King's,
And loved to try our sprouting wings.
For these, and other common things:
And not in vain on Cam's green banks
We lived at Trinity and King's,
And loved to try our sprouting wings.
A many-windowed house is life,
And out of every window we,
In intervals of daily strife,
Look forth upon infinity:
And that's the good of you and me.
And out of every window we,
In intervals of daily strife,
Look forth upon infinity:
And that's the good of you and me.
The joys of metaphysic trance,
The midnight bliss of keen debate,
The insight of a mystic's glance,
Which charm the undergraduate,
Are matched in our maturer state.
The midnight bliss of keen debate,
The insight of a mystic's glance,
Which charm the undergraduate,
Are matched in our maturer state.
The deeds and passions of our prime,
Our studies of acknowledged truth,
Our business—though it's not sublime,—
Are just as excellent in sooth,
As all the fervour lost with youth.
Our studies of acknowledged truth,
Our business—though it's not sublime,—
Are just as excellent in sooth,
As all the fervour lost with youth.
The ruddy warmth of arduous toil,
The spasm of triumphant strife,
A friend to serve, a foe to foil,
A cause with noble purpose rife,
The love of her that gave thee life:
The spasm of triumphant strife,
A friend to serve, a foe to foil,
A cause with noble purpose rife,
The love of her that gave thee life:
The smile that shines through misty tears,
The soft “delight of low replies,”
The after-glow of vanished fears,
And all the excellent surprise
That trembles in a woman's eyes:
The soft “delight of low replies,”
113
And all the excellent surprise
That trembles in a woman's eyes:
Men, women, children: speech and song:
The artist's touch, the poet's thought:
The pulses of a busy throng,
The rest of spirits over-wrought:
Are these—is all beside them, naught?
The artist's touch, the poet's thought:
The pulses of a busy throng,
The rest of spirits over-wrought:
Are these—is all beside them, naught?
Here, everywhere, and every day,
The seeker finds right human stuff:
To laugh, to weep, to work, to play;
Are joy and sorrow not enough?
And cannot these content thee, Clough?
The seeker finds right human stuff:
To laugh, to weep, to work, to play;
Are joy and sorrow not enough?
And cannot these content thee, Clough?
June, 1891.
114
To My Readers.
I do not boast a poet's bays,
Nor claim to wield a poet's pen,
Nor do I hope for many days
To buzz about the mouths of men.
Nor claim to wield a poet's pen,
Nor do I hope for many days
To buzz about the mouths of men.
I claim to be the sort of man
Who studies metrical effect:
Whose verses generally scan:
Whose rhymes are commonly correct;
Who studies metrical effect:
Whose verses generally scan:
Whose rhymes are commonly correct;
And when I chance upon a thought
Which seems to shape itself in rhyme,
I like to treat it as I ought,
Unless the theme be too sublime.
Which seems to shape itself in rhyme,
I like to treat it as I ought,
Unless the theme be too sublime.
It may be pleasure to rehearse,
When twilight deepens out of day,
The tinkle of a tiny verse
Which wiled the noon-tide hours away.
When twilight deepens out of day,
The tinkle of a tiny verse
Which wiled the noon-tide hours away.
It may be pleasure to recall
The friends of yesterday to-morrow
But that's a pleasure—if at all—
Which borders very near on sorrow.
The friends of yesterday to-morrow
But that's a pleasure—if at all—
Which borders very near on sorrow.
115
So, if I try to make you laugh,
Or if I chance to make you weep,
Your comrade when you crunch and quaff,
Your solace when you cannot sleep;
Or if I chance to make you weep,
Your comrade when you crunch and quaff,
Your solace when you cannot sleep;
It's merely as a common man
Who says what other people say,
And hopes to end as he began,
A treader of the beaten way.
Who says what other people say,
And hopes to end as he began,
A treader of the beaten way.
June, 1891.
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