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grass of parnassus-第2章

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MIDNIGHT; JANUARY 25; 1886。







To…morrow is a year since Gordon died!

A year ago to…night; the Desert still

Crouched on the spring; and panted for its fill

Of lust and blood。  Their old art statesmen plied;

And paltered; and evaded; and denied;

Guiltless as yet; except for feeble will;

And craven heart; and calculated skill

In long delays; of their great homicide。



A year ago to…night 'twas not too late。

The thought comes through our mirth; again; again;

Methinks I hear the halting foot of Fate

Approaching and approaching us; and then

Comes cackle of the House; and the Debate!

Enough; he is forgotten amongst men。







ADVANCE; AUSTRALIA。







On the offer of help from the Australians after the fall of

Khartoum。





Sons of the giant Ocean isle

In sport our friendly foes for long;

Well England loves you; and we smile

When you outmatch us many a while;

So fleet you are; so keen and strong。



You; like that fairy people set

Of old in their enchanted sea

Far off from men; might well forget

An elder nation's toil and fret;

Might heed not aught but game and glee。



But what your fathers were you are

In lands the fathers never knew;

'Neath skies of alien sign and star

You rally to the English war;

Your hearts are English; kind and true。



And now; when first on England falls

The shadow of a darkening fate;

You hear the Mother ere she calls;

You leave your ocean…girdled walls;

And face her foemen in the gate。







COLONEL BURNABY。







'Greek text which cannot be reproduced'





Thou that on every field of earth and sky

Didst hunt for Death; who seemed to flee and fear;

How great and greatly fallen dost thou lie

Slain in the Desert by some wandering spear:

'Not here; alas!' may England say; 'not here

Nor in this quarrel was it meet to die;

But in that dreadful battle drawing nigh

To thunder through the Afghan passes sheer:



Like Aias by the ships shouldst thou have stood;

And in some glen have stayed the stream of flight;

The bulwark of thy people and their shield;

When Indus or when Helmund ran with blood;

Till back into the Northland and the Night

The smitten Eagles scattered from the field。'







MELVILLE AND COGHILL。







(The place of the little hand。)





Dead; with their eyes to the foe;

Dead; with the foe at their feet;

Under the sky laid low

Truly their slumber is sweet;

Though the wind from the Camp of the Slain Men blow;

And the rain on the wilderness beat。



Dead; for they chose to die

When that wild race was run;

Dead; for they would not fly;

Deeming their work undone;

Nor cared to look on the face of the sky;

Nor loved the light of the sun。



Honour we give them and tears;

And the flag they died to save;

Rent from the rain of the spears;

Wet from the war and the wave;

Shall waft men's thoughts through the dust of the years;

Back to their lonely grave!









RHODOCLEIA









TO RHODOCLEIA … ON HER MELANCHOLY SINGING。







(Rhodocleia was beloved by Rufinus; one of the late poets of the

Greek Anthology。)





Still; Rhodocleia; brooding on the dead;

Still singing of the meads of asphodel;

Lands desolate of delight?

Say; hast thou dreamed of; or remembered;

The shores where shadows dwell;

Nor know the sun; nor see the stars of night?



There; 'midst thy music; doth thy spirit gaze

As a girl pines for home;

Looking along the way that she hath come;

Sick to return; and counts the weary days!

So wouldst thou flee

Back to the multitude whose days are done;

Wouldst taste the fruit that lured Persephone;

The sacrament of death; and die; and be

No more in the wind and sun!



Thou hast not dreamed it; but remembered

I know thou hast been there;

Hast seen the stately dwellings of the dead

Rise in the twilight air;

And crossed the shadowy bridge the spirits tread;

And climbed the golden stair!



Nay; by thy cloudy hair

And lips that were so fair;

Sad lips now mindful of some ancient smart;

And melancholy eyes; the haunt of Care;

I know thee who thou art!

That Rhodocleia; Glory of the Rose;

Of Hellas; ere her close;

That Rhodocleia who; when all was done

The golden time of Greece; and fallen her sun;

Swayed her last poet's heart。



With roses did he woo thee; and with song;

With thine own rose; and with the lily sweet;

The dark…eyed violet;

Garlands of wind…flowers wet;

And fragrant love…lamps that the whole night long

Burned till the dawn was burning in the skies;

Praising THY GOLDEN EYES;

AND FEET MORE SILVERY THAN THETIS' FEET!



But thou didst die and flit

Among the tribes outworn;

The unavailing myriads of the past:

Oft he beheld thy face in dreams of morn;

And; waking; wept for it;

Till his own time came at last;

And then he sought thee in the dusky land!

Wide are the populous places of the dead

Where souls on earth once wed

May never meet; nor each take other's hand;

Each far from the other fled!



So all in vain he sought for thee; but thou

Didst never taste of the Lethaean stream;

Nor that forgetful fruit;

The mystic pom'granate;

But from the Mighty Warden fledst; and now;

The fugitive of Fate;

Thou farest in our life as in a dream;

Still wandering with thy lute;

Like that sweet paynim lady of old song;

Who sang and wandered long;

For love of her Aucassin; seeking him!

So with thy minstrelsy

Thou roamest; dreaming of the country dim;

Below the veiled sky!



There doth thy lover dwell;

Singing; and seeking still to find thy face

In that forgetful place:

Thou shalt not meet him here;

Not till thy singing clear

Through all the murmur of the streams of hell

Wins to the Maiden's ear!

May she; perchance; have pity on thee and call

Thine eager spirit to sit beside her feet;

Passing throughout the long unechoing hall

Up to the shadowy throne;

Where the lost lovers of the ages meet;

Till then thou art alone!









AVE。









'Our Faith and Troth

All time and space controules

Above the highest sphere we meet

Unseen; unknowne; and greet as Angels greet'



Col; Richard Lovelace。  1649







CLEVEDON CHURCH。







'In memoriam H。 B。'





Westward I watch the low green hills of Wales;

The low sky silver grey;

The turbid Channel with the wandering sails

Moans through the winter day。

There is no colour but one ashen light

On tower and lonely tree;

The little church upon the windy height

Is grey as sky or sea。

But there hath he that woke the sleepless Love

Slept through these fifty years;

There is the grave that has been wept above

With more than mortal tears。

And far below I hear the Channel sweep

And all his waves complain;

As Hallam's dirge through all the years must keep

Its monotone of pain。



* * * * *



Grey sky; brown waters; as a bird that flies;

My heart flits forth from these

Back to the winter rose of northern skies;

Back to the northern seas。

And lo; the long waves of the ocean beat

Below the minster grey;

Caverns and chapels worn of saintly feet;

And knees of them that pray。

And I remember me how twain were one

Beside that ocean dim;

I count the years passed over since the sun

That lights me looked on him;

And dreaming of the voice that; save in sleep;

Shall greet me not again;

Far; far below I hear the Channel sweep

And all his waves complain。







TWILIGHT ON TWEED。







Three crests against the saffron sky;

Beyond the purple plain;

The kind remembered melody

Of Tweed once more again。



Wan water from the border hills;

Dear voice from the old years;

Thy distant music lulls and stills;

And moves to quiet tears。



Like a loved ghost thy fabled flood

Fleets through the dusky land;

Where Scott; come home to die; has stood;

My feet returning stand。



A mist of memory broods and floats;

The Border waters flow;

The air is full of ballad notes;

Borne out of long ago。



Old songs that sung themselves to me;

Sweet through a boy's day dream;

While trout below the blossom'd tree

Plashed in the golden steam。



* * * * *



Twilight; and Tweed; and Eildon Hill;

Fair and too fair you be;

You tell me that the voice is still

That should have welcomed me。



1870。







METEMPSYCHOSIS。







I shall not see thee; nay; but I shall know

Perchance; the grey eyes in another's eyes;

Shall guess thy curls in gracious locks that flow

On purest brows; yea; and the swift surmise

Shall follow and track; and find thee in disguise

Of all sad things; and fair; where sunsets glow;

When through the scent of heather; faint and low;

The weak wind whispers to the day that dies。



From all sweet art; and out of all old rhyme;

Thine eyes and lips are light and song to me;

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