New Poems Part 17

There fell a battle far in the north; The evil news gaed back and forth, And back and forth by brae and bent Hider and hunter cam and went: The hunter clattered horse-shoe-airn By causey-crest and hill-top cairn; The hider, in by s.h.a.g and shench, Crept on his wame and little lench.

The eastland wind blew shrill and snell, The stars arose, the gloaming fell, The firelight shone in window and door When Mr. Frank cam here to sh.o.r.e.

He hirpled up by the links and the lane, And chappit laigh in the back-door-stane.

My faither gaed, and up wi' his han'!

. . . Is this Mr. Frank, or a beggarman?

I have mistrysted sair, he said, But let me into fire and bed; Let me in, for auld lang syne, And give me a dram of the brandy wine.

They hid him in the Bour-Tree Den, And I thought it strange to gang my lane; I thought it strange, I thought it sweet, To gang there on my naked feet.

In the mirk night, when the boats were at sea, I pa.s.sed the burn abune the knee; In the mirk night, when the folks were asleep, I had a tryst in the den to keep.

Late and air', when the folks were asleep, I had a tryst, a tryst to keep, I had a lad that lippened to me, And bour-tree blossom is fair to see!

O' the bour-tree leaves I busked his bed, The mune was siller, the dawn was red: Was nae man there but him and me- And bour-tree blossom is fair to see!

Unco weather hae we been through: The mune glowered, and the wind blew, And the rain it rained on him and me, And bour-tree blossom is fair to see!

Dwelling his lane but house or hauld, Aft he was wet and aft was cauld; I warmed him wi' my briest and knee- And bour-tree blossom is fair to see!

There was nae voice of beast ae man, But the tree soughed and the burn ran, And we heard the ae voice of the sea: Bour-tree blossom is fair to see!

SONNETS

I.

NOR judge me light, tho' light at times I seem, And lightly in the stress of fortune bear The innumerable flaws of changeful care- Nor judge me light for this, nor rashly deem (Office forbid to mortals, kept supreme And separate the prerogative of G.o.d!) That seaman idle who is borne abroad To the far haven by the favouring stream.

Not he alone that to contrarious seas Opposes, all night long, the unwearied oar, Not he alone, by high success endeared, Shall reach the Port; but, winged, with some light breeze Shall they, with upright keels, pa.s.s in before Whom easy Taste, the golden pilot, steered.

II.

So shall this book wax like unto a well, Fairy with mirrored flowers about the brim, Or like some tarn that wailing curlews skim, Gla.s.sing the sallow uplands or brown fell; And so, as men go down into a dell (Weary with noon) to find relief and shade, When on the uneasy sick-bed we are laid, We shall go down into thy book, and tell The leaves, once blank, to build again for us Old summer dead and ruined, and the time Of later autumn with the corn in stook.

So shalt thou stint the meagre winter thus Of his projected triumph, and the rime Shall melt before the suns.h.i.+ne in thy book.

III.

I have a h.o.a.rd of treasure in my breast; The grange of memory steams against the door, Full of my bygone lifetime's garnered store- Old pleasures crowned with sorrow for a zest, Old sorrow grown a joy, old penance blest, Chastened remembrance of the sins of yore That, like a new evangel, more and more Supports our halting will toward the best.

Ah! what to us the barren after years May bring of joy or sorrow, who can tell?

O, knowing not, who cares? It may be well That we shall find old pleasures and old fears, And our remembered childhood seen thro' tears, The best of Heaven and the worst of h.e.l.l.

IV.

As starts the absent dreamer when a train, Suddenly disengulphed below his feet, Roars forth into the sunlight, to its seat My soul was shaken with immediate pain Intolerable as the scanty breath Of that one word blew utterly away The fragile mist of fair deceit that lay O'er the bleak years that severed me from death.

Yes, at the sight I quailed; but, not unwise Or not, O G.o.d, without some nervous thread Of that best valour, Patience, bowed my head, And with firm bosom and most steadfast eyes, Strong in all high resolve, prepared to tread The unlovely path that leads me toward the skies.

V.

Not undelightful, friend, our rustic ease To grateful hearts; for by especial hap, Deep nested in the hill's enormous lap, With its own ring of walls and grove of trees, Sits, in deep shelter, our small cottage-nor Far-off is seen, rose carpeted and hung With clematis, the quarry whence she sprung, O mater pulchra filia pulchrior, Whither in early spring, unharnessed folk, We join the pairing swallows, glad to stay Where, loosened in the hills, remote, unseen, From its tall trees, it breathes a slender smoke To heaven, and in the noon of sultry day Stands, coolly buried, to the neck in green.

VI.

As in the hostel by the bridge I sate, Nailed with indifference fondly deemed complete, And (O strange chance, more sorrowful than sweet) The counterfeit of her that was my fate, Dressed in like vesture, graceful and sedate, Went quietly up the vacant village street, The still small sound of her most dainty feet Shook, like a trumpet blast, my soul's estate.

Instant revolt ran riot through my brain, And all night long, thereafter, hour by hour, The pageant of dead love before my eyes Went proudly; and old hopes, broke loose again From the restraint of wisely temperate power, With ineffectual ardour sought to rise.

VII.

The strong man's hand, the snow-cool head of age, The certain-footed sympathies of youth- These, and that lofty pa.s.sion after truth, Hunger unsatisfied in priest or sage Or the great men of former years, he needs That not unworthily would dare to sing (Hard task!) black care's inevitable ring Settling with years upon the heart that feeds Incessantly on glory. Year by year The narrowing toil grows closer round his feet; With disenchanting touch rude-handed time The unlovely web discloses, and strange fear Leads him at last to eld's inclement seat, The bitter north of life-a frozen clime.

VIII.

As Daniel, bird-alone, in that far land, Kneeling in fervent prayer, with heart-sick eyes Turned thro' the cas.e.m.e.nt toward the westering skies; Or as untamed Elijah, that red brand Among the starry prophets; or that band And company of Faithful sanct.i.ties Who in all times, when persecutions rise, Cherish forgotten creeds with fostering hand: Such do ye seem to me, light-hearted crew, O turned to friendly arts with all your will, That keep a little chapel sacred still, One rood of Holy-land in this bleak earth Sequestered still (our homage surely due!) To the twin G.o.ds of mirthful wine and mirth.

About my fields, in the broad sun And blaze of noon, there goeth one, Barefoot and robed in blue, to scan With the hard eye of the husbandman My harvests and my cattle. Her, When even puts the birds astir And day has set in the great woods, We seek, among her garden roods, With bells and cries in vain: the while Lamps, plate, and the decanter smile On the forgotten board. But she, Deaf, blind, and p.r.o.ne on face and knee, Forgets time, family, and feast, And digs like a demented beast.

Tall as a guardsman, pale as the east at dawn, Who strides in strange apparel on the lawn?

Rails for his breakfast? routs his va.s.sals out (Like boys escaped from school) with song and shout?

Kind and unkind, his Maker's final freak, Part we deride the child, part dread the antique!

See where his gang, like frogs, among the dew Crouch at their duty, an unquiet crew; Adjust their staring kilts; and their swift eyes Turn still to him who sits to supervise.

He in the midst, perched on a fallen tree, Eyes them at labour; and, guitar on knee, Now ministers alarm, now scatters joy, Now tw.a.n.gs a halting chord, now tweaks a boy.

Thorough in all, my resolute vizier Plays both the despot and the volunteer, Exacts with fines obedience to my laws, And for his music, too, exacts applause.

The Adorner of the uncomely-those Amidst whose tall battalions goes Her pretty person out and in All day with an endearing din, Of censure and encouragement; And when all else is tried in vain See her sit down and weep again.

She weeps to conquer; She varies on her grenadiers From satire up to girlish tears!