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Read Ebook: Rhymes a la Mode by Lang Andrew
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Ebook has 281 lines and 26111 words, and 6 pages
PAGE BALLADE DEDICATORY vii THE FORTUNATE ISLANDS 3 THE NEW MILLENIUM 13 ALMAE MATRES 23 DESIDERIUM 27 RHYMES A LA MODE 29 Ballade of Middle Age 31 The Last Cast 33 Twilight 37 Ballade of Summer 39 Ballade of Christmas Ghosts 41 Love's Easter 42 Ballade of the Girton Girl 43 Ronsard's Grave 45 San Terenzo 48 Romance 50 Ballade of his own Country 52 Villanelle 55 Triolets after Moschus 57 Ballade of Cricket 59 The Last Maying 61 Homeric Unity 65 In Tintagel 66 Pisidic? 68 From the East to the West 71 Love the Vampire 72 Ballade of the Book-man's Paradise 74 Ballade of a Friar 76 Ballade of Neglected Merit 78 Ballade of Railway Novels 80 The Cloud Chorus 82 Ballade of Literary Fame 85 ??????? ???? 87 ART 89 A very woful Ballade of the Art Critic 91 Art's Martyr 94 The Palace of Bric-?-brac 97 Rondeaux of the Galleries 100 SCIENCE 103 The Barbarous Bird-Gods 105 Man and the Ascidian 110 Ballade of the Primitive Jest 113 CAMEOS 115 Cameos 117 Helen on the walls 118 The Isles of the Blessed 119 Death 121 Nysa 122 Colonus 123 ,, 124 The Passing of OEdipous 125 The Taming of Tyro 126 To Artemis 127 Criticism of Life 128 Amaryllis 129 The Cannibal Zeus 130 Invocation of Isis 132 The Coming of Isis 133 THE SPINET 134 NOTES 135
THE FORTUNATE ISLANDS.
A DREAM IN JUNE.
IN twilight of the longest day I lingered over Lucian, Till ere the dawn a dreamy way My spirit found, untrod of man, Between the green sky and the grey.
Amid the soft dusk suddenly More light than air I seemed to sail, Afloat upon the ocean sky, While through the faint blue, clear and pale, I saw the mountain clouds go by: My barque had thought for helm and sail, And one mist wreath for canopy.
Like torches on a marble floor Reflected, so the wild stars shone, Within the abysmal hyaline, Till the day widened more and more, And sank to sunset, and was gone, And then, as burning beacons shine On summits of a mountain isle, A light to folk on sea that fare, So the sky's beacons for a while Burned in these islands of the air.
Then from a starry island set Where one swift tide of wind there flows, Came scent of lily and violet, Narcissus, hyacinth, and rose, Laurel, and myrtle buds, and vine, So delicate is the air and fine: And forests of all fragrant trees Sloped seaward from the central hill, And ever clamorous were these
With singing of glad birds; and still Such music came as in the woods Most lonely, consecrate to Pan, The Wind makes, in his many moods, Upon the pipes some shepherd Man, Hangs up, in thanks for victory! On these shall mortals play no more, But the Wind doth touch them, over and o'er, And the Wind's breath in the reeds will sigh.
Between the daylight and the dark That island lies in silver air, And suddenly my magic barque Wheeled, and ran in, and grounded there; And by me stood the sentinel Of them who in the island dwell; All smiling did he bind my hands, With rushes green and rosy bands, They have no harsher bonds than these The people of the pleasant lands Within the wash of the airy seas!
Then was I to their city led: Now all of ivory and gold The great walls were that garlanded The temples in their shining fold, And all about the town, and through, There flowed a River fed with dew, As sweet as roses, and as clear As mountain crystals pure and cold, And with his waves that water kissed The gleaming altars of amethyst That smoke with victims all the year, And sacred are to the Gods of old.
There sat three Judges by the Gate, And I was led before the Three, And they but looked on me, and straight The rosy bonds fell down from me Who, being innocent, was free; And I might wander at my will About that City on the hill, Among the happy people clad In purple weeds of woven air Hued like the webs that Twilight weaves At shut of languid summer eves So light their raiment seemed; and glad Was every face I looked on there!
There was no heavy heat, no cold, The dwellers there wax never old, Nor wither with the waning time, But each man keeps that age he had When first he won the fairy clime. The Night falls never from on high, Nor ever burns the heat of noon. But such soft light eternally Shines, as in silver dawns of June Before the Sun hath climbed the sky!
All these their mirth and pleasure made Within the plain Elysian, The fairest meadow that may be, With all green fragrant trees for shade And every scented wind to fan, And sweetest flowers to strew the lea; The soft Winds are their servants fleet To fetch them every fruit at will And water from the river chill; And every bird that singeth sweet Throstle, and merle, and nightingale Brings blossoms from the dewy vale,-- Lily, and rose, and asphodel-- With these doth each guest twine his crown And wreathe his cup, and lay him down Beside some friend he loveth well.
Then did a new soul in me wake, The dead men's bread I feared to break, Their fruit I would not taste indeed Were it but a pomegranate seed. Nay, not with these I made my choice To dwell for ever and rejoice, For otherwhere the River rolls That girds the home of Christian souls, And these my whole heart seeks are found On otherwise enchanted ground.
Even so I put the cup away, The vision wavered, dimmed, and broke, And, nowise sorrowing, I woke While, grey among the ruins grey Chill through the dwellings of the dead, The Dawn crept o'er the Northern sea, Then, in a moment, flushed to red, Flushed all the broken minster old, And turned the shattered stones to gold, And wakened half the world with me!
L'Envoi.
To E. W. G.
THE NEW MILLENIUM.
A VISION IN THE STRAND.
THE jaded light of late July Shone yellow down the dusty Strand, The anxious people bustled by, Policeman, Pressman, you and I, And thieves, and judges of the land.
So swift they strode they had not time To mark the humours of the Town, But I, that mused an idle rhyme, Looked here and there, and up and down, And many a rapid cart I spied That drew, as fast as ponies can, The Newspapers of either side, These joys of every Englishman!
'Midst these, but ah, more slow of speed, A biggish box of sanguine hue Was tugged on a velocipede, And in and out the crowd, and through, An earnest stripling urged it well Perched on a cranky tricycle!
"Ah splendid Vision, golden time, An end of hunger, cold, and crime. An end of Rent, an end of Rank, An end of balance at the Bank, An end of everything that's meant To bring Investors five per cent!"
Nay, the old Order shall endure And little change the years shall know, And still the Many shall be poor, And still the Poor shall dwell in woe; Firm in the iron Law of things The strong shall be the wealthy still, And Shall seize and hoard the fruits of skill. Leaving the weaker for their gain, Leaving the gentler for their prize Such dens and husks as beasts disdain,-- Till slowly from the wrinkled skies The fireless frozen Sun shall wane, Nor Summer come with golden grain; Till men be glad, mid frost and snow To live such equal lives of pain As now the hutted Eskimo! Then none shall plough nor garner seed, Then, on some last sad human shore, Equality shall reign indeed, The Rich shall be with us no more, Thus, and not otherwise, shall come The new, the true Millennium!
ALMAE MATRES.
St. Leonard's chapel, long ago We loitered idly where the tall Fresh budded mountain ashes blow Within thy desecrated wall: The tough roots rent the tomb below, The April birds sang clamorous, We did not dream, we could not know How hardly Fate would deal with us!
O, broken minster, looking forth Beyond the bay, above the town, O, winter of the kindly North, O, college of the scarlet gown, And shining sands beside the sea, And stretch of links beyond the sand, Once more I watch you, and to me It is as if I touched his hand!
And therefore art thou yet more dear, O, little city, grey and sere, Though shrunken from thine ancient pride And lonely by thy lonely sea, Than these fair halls on Isis' side, Where Youth an hour came back to me!
A land of waters green and clear, Of willows and of poplars tall, And, in the spring time of the year, The white may breaking over all, And Pleasure quick to come at call. And summer rides by marsh and wold, And Autumn with her crimson pall About the towers of Magdalen rolled; And strange enchantments from the past, And memories of the friends of old, And strong Tradition, binding fast The "flying terms" with bands of gold,--
DESIDERIUM.
IN MEMORIAM S. F. A.
THE call of homing rooks, the shrill Song of some bird that watches late, The cries of children break the still Sad twilight by the churchyard gate.
And o'er your far-off tomb the grey Sad twilight broods, and from the trees The rooks call on their homeward way, And are you heedless quite of these?
The clustered rowan berries red And Autumn's may, the clematis, They droop above your dreaming head, And these, and all things must you miss?
Ah, you that loved the twilight air, The dim lit hour of quiet best, At last, at last you have your share Of what life gave so seldom, rest!
Yes, rest beyond all dreaming deep, Or labour, nearer the Divine, And pure from fret, and smooth as sleep, And gentle as thy soul, is thine!
So let it be! But could I know That thou in this soft autumn eve, This hush of earth that pleased thee so, Hadst pleasure still, I might not grieve.
RHYMES A LA MODE.
BALLADE OF MIDDLE AGE.
OUR youth began with tears and sighs, With seeking what we could not find; Our verses all were threnodies, In elegiacs still we whined; Our ears were deaf, our eyes were blind, We sought and knew not what we sought. We marvel, now we look behind: Life's more amusing than we thought!
Oh, foolish youth, untimely wise! Oh, phantoms of the sickly mind! What? not content with seas and skies, With rainy clouds and southern wind, With common cares and faces kind, With pains and joys each morning brought? Ah, old, and worn, and tired we find Life's more amusing than we thought!
ENVOY.
THE LAST CAST.
THE ANGLER'S APOLOGY.
JUST one cast more! how many a year Beside how many a pool and stream, Beneath the falling leaves and sere, I've sighed, reeled up, and dreamed my dream!
Dreamed of the sport since April first Her hands fulfilled of flowers and snow, Adown the pastoral valleys burst Where Ettrick and where Teviot flow.
Dreamed of the singing showers that break, And sting the lochs, or near or far, And rouse the trout, and stir "the take" From Urigil to Lochinvar.
Dreamed of the kind propitious sky O'er Ari Innes brooding grey; The sea trout, rushing at the fly, Breaks the black wave with sudden spray!
Brief are man's days at best; perchance I waste my own, who have not seen The castled palaces of France Shine on the Loire in summer green.
And clear and fleet Eurotas still, You tell me, laves his reedy shore, And flows beneath his fabled hill Where Dian drave the chase of yore.
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