BALLAARAT
A VISION OF GOLD
I see a lone1 stream, rolling down
Through valleys green, by ranges brown
Of hills that bear no name,
The dawn's full blush in crimson2 flakes4
Is traced on palest blue, as breaks
The morn in Orient flame.
I see—whence comes that eager gaze?
Why rein5 the steed, in wild amaze?
The water's hue6 is gold!
Golden its wavelets foam7 and glide8,
Through tenderest green to ocean-tide
The fairy streamlet rolled.
"Forward, 'Hope!' forward! truest steed,
Of tireless hoof10 and desert speed,
Up the weird11 water bound,
Till, echoing far and sounding deep,
I hear old Ocean's hoarse12 voice sweep
O'er this enchanted14 ground?"
[Pg 238]The sea!—wild fancy! Many a mile
Of changeful Nature's frown and smile
Ere stand we on the shore.
And, yet! that murmur15, hoarse and deep,
None save the ocean-surges keep?
It is—"the cradles' roar!"
Onward16! we pass the grassy17 hill,
Around the base the waters still
Shimmer18 in golden foam;
O wanderer of the voiceless wild,
Of this far southern land the child,
How changed thy quiet home!
For, close as bees in countless19 hive,
Like emmet hosts that earnest strive,
Swarmed20, toiled21, a vast, strange crowd:
Haggard each worker's features seem,
Bright, fever-bright, each eye's wild gleam,
Nor cry, nor accent loud.
But each man dug, or rocked, or bore,
As if salvation22 with the ore
Of the mine-monarch lay.
Gold strung each arm to giant might,
Gold flashed before each aching sight,
Gold turned the night to day.
Where Eblis reigns23 o'er boundless24 gloom,
And, in his halls of endless doom25
Lost souls for ever roam,
They wander (says the Eastern tale),
Nor ever startles moan or wail26
Despair's eternal home.
[Pg 239]Less silent scarce than that pale host
These toiled, as if each moment lost
Were the red life-drop spilt;
While, heavy, rough, and darkly bright,
In every shape, rolled to the light
Man's hope, and pride, and guilt27.
All ranks, all ages! Every land
Had sent its conscripts forth28, to stand
In the gold-seekers' rank:
The stalwart bushman's sinewy29 limb,
The pale-faced son of trade—e'en him
Who knew the fetters30' clank.
* * * * *
'Tis night: her jewelled mantle31 fills
The busy valley, the dun hills,
'Tis a battle host's repose32!
A thousand watch-fires redly gleam,
While ceaseless fusillades would seem
To warn approaching foes34.
The night is older. On the sward
Stretched, I behold35 the heavens broad,
When—a Shape rises dim,
Then, clearer, fuller, I descry36,
By the swart brow, the star-bright eye,
The Gnome37-king's presence grim!
He stands upon a time-worn block;
His dark form shades the snowy rock
As cypress38 marble tomb:
Nor fierce yet wild and sad his mien39,
His cloud-black tresses wave and stream,
His deep tones break the gloom.
[Pg 240]"Son of a tribe accursed, of those
Whose greed has broken our repose
Of the long ages dead,
Think ye, for nought40 our ancient race
Leaves olden haunts, the sacred place
Of toils41 for ever fled?
"List while I tell of days to come,
When men shall wish the hammers dumb
That ring so ceaseless now;
That every arm were palsy-tied,
Nor ever wet on grey hillside
Was the gold-seeker's brow.
"I see the old world's human tide
Set southward on the ocean wide.
I see a wood of masts,
While crime or want, disease or death,
With each sigh of the north-wind's breath,
He on this fair shore casts.
"I see the murderer's barrel gleam,
I hear the victim's hopeless scream
Ring through these crimeless wastes;
While each base son of elder lands
Each witless dastard42, in vast bands
To the gold-city hastes.
"Disease shall claim her ready toll43,
Flushed vice44 and brutal45 crime the dole46
Of life shall ne'er deny;
Danger and death shall stalk your streets,
While staggering idiocy47 greets
The horror-stricken eye!
[Pg 241]"All men shall roll in the gold mire—
The height, the depth of man's desire—
Till come the famine years;
Then all the land shall curse the day
When first they rifled the dull clay,
With deep remorseful48 tears.
"Fell want shall wake to fearful life
The fettered50 demons51. Civil strife53
Rears high a gory54 hand!
I see a blood-splashed barricade55,
While dimly lights the twilight56 glade57
The soldier's flashing brand.
"But thou, son of the forest free!
Thou art not, wert not foe33 to me,
Frank tamer of the wild!
Thou hast not sought the sunless home
Where darkly delves58 the toiling59 Gnome,
The mid60-earth's swarthy child.
"Then, be thou ever, as of yore,
A dweller61 in the woods, and o'er
Fresh plains thy herds62 shall roam.
Join not the vain and reckless crowd
Who swell63 the city's pageant64 proud,
But prize thy forest home."
He said: and, with an eldritch scream,
The Gnome-king vanished—and my dream:
Dawn's waking hour returned;
Yet still the wild tones echoed clear,
For many a day in reason's ear,
And my heart inly burned.
[Pg 242]
THE DEATH OF WELFORD[1]
[1] A young Englishman, "killed by blacks on the Barcoo."
Out by the far west-waters,
On the sea-land of the South,
Untombed the bones of a white man lay,
Slowly crumbling65 to kindred clay—
Sad prayer from Death's mute mouth!
Alone, far from his people,
The sun of his life went down.
A cry for help? No time—not a prayer:
As red blood splashed thro' riven hair,
His soul rose to Heaven's throne.
Ah! well for those felon66 hands
Which the strong man foully67 slew68,
The cry from the Cross when our Saviour69 died
"Father, forgive"—as they pierced His side—
"For they know not what they do."
They have souls, say the teachers
Hereafter, the same as we:
If so, it is hid from human grace
By blood-writ crimes of savage70 race
So deep, that we cannot see.
[Pg 243]Fear than love is far stronger:
The cruel have seldom to rue9:
The neck is bowed 'neath the heavy heel,
Love's covenant71 with Death they seal;
"For they know not what they do."
This Dead, by the far sun-down,
This man whom they idly slew,
Was lover and friend to those who had slain72
With him all human love, like Cain;
But "they know not what they do."
'Twixt laws Divine and human
To judge, if we only knew,
When the blood is hot, to part wrong from right,
When to forgive and when to smite73
Foes who "know not what they do."
The wronger and wronged shall meet
For judgment74, to die, or live;
And the heathen shall cry, in anguish75 fell,
At sight of the Bottomless Pit of Hell—
"We knew not, O Lord! Forgive."
[Pg 244]
SUNSET IN THE SOUTH
It is Autumn, it is sunset, magic shower of tint76 and hue;
All the west is hung with banners, white with golden, crimson, blue;
Drooping77 folds! far floating, mingling78, falling on the river's face;
Upturned, placid79, silver-mirrored, gazing into endless space.
Faint the breath of eve, low-sighing for bright summer's fading charms;
Woodland cries are echoing, chiming with the sounds from distant farms;
And the stubble fires are gleaming red athwart the wood's deep shade,
While the marsh80 mist, slowly rising, shrouds81 the greenery of the glade.
Redly still the day is dying, as if o'er the desert waste,
And we pictured camels, Arabs, and the solemn outline traced
Of a pillared lonely Fane, clear against the crimson rim3,
Voiceless, but of empire telling, and the lore82 of ages dim.
[Pg 245]Low the deep voice of the ocean, whispering to the silent strand83;
Gleam the stars, in silver ripples84; stretches broad the milk-white sand;
And a long, low bark is lying underneath85 the island shore
Weird and dream-like, darksome, soundless, spell-struck now, and evermore.
Deeper, darker fall the shadows, and the charmed colours wane86,
Fading, as the fay-gold changes into earth and dross87 again,
Wildfowl stream in swaying files landward to the marshy88 plain;
Louder sound the forest voices and the deep tones of the main.
[Pg 246]
"BALACLAVA"
The word is "Charge," the meaning "Death,"
Yet, welcome falls the sound
On every ear in the listening host,
Whose pennons flutter, zephyr-tossed,
That messenger around.
Among them Nolan reins89 a steed
Frost-white with gathered foam,
And pale and stern points to the foe,
In heavy mass, receding90 slow—
"Charge, comrades, charge them home!"
There rides one with fearless brow,
By time and sorrow scarred.
For him life knows no tale untold91,
But empty names, love, hope, and gold,—
Cool player of Fate's last card!
Beside him, he whose golden youth
Is in its pride and bloom.
His thoughts are with a dear old home,
Its loved ones, and that other one,
And will she mourn his doom?
[Pg 247]Another knows of a sweet fond face
That will fade into ashy pale
As she hears the tale of that day of tears;
And a prayer rises to Him who hears
The widow and orphan's wail.
"We die," passed through each warrior's heart,
"And vainly, but the care
Rests not with us; 'tis ours to show
The world, old England, and the foe,
What Englishmen can dare."
Then bridle-reins are gathered up,
And sabres blaze on high,
And as each charger bounds away
Doubts flee like ghosts at opening day,
And each man joys to die.
St. George! it is a glorious sight
A splendid page of war,
To mark yon gorgeous, matchless troop,
Like some bright falcon92, wildly swoop93
On the sullen94 prey95 before.
Captain Martinet96 (loquitur).
"Hurrah97 for the hearts of Englishmen,
And the thoroughbred's long stride,
As the vibrating, turf-tearing hoof-thunder rolled,
'Twas worth a year of one's life, all told,
To have seen our fellows ride!"
[Pg 248]But what avails the sabre sweep?
There rolls the awful sound,
Telling through heart, and limb, and brain,
That the cannon98 mows99 its ghastly lane,
And corses strew100 the ground.
Ha! Nolan flings his arms apart,
And a death-cry rings in air;
And see, may Heaven its mercy yield!
His charger from a hopeless field
Doth a dead rider bear.
The gunners lie by their linstocks dead,
While deep on every brow,
In the bloody101 scroll102 of our island swords,
Is the tale of each horseman's dying words,
"Our memory is deathless now."
Staggering back goes a broken band,
With standards soiled and torn,
With gory saddles and reeling steeds,
And ranks that are swaying like surging reeds
On a wild autumn morn.
Despair has gazed on many a field
Won by our fearless race;
And well the night wind, sighing low,
Knows where, with breast broad to the foe,
Is the dead Briton's place.
But never living horsemen rode
So near the eternal marge,
As those who ran the tilt103 that day
With Death, and bore their lives away
From the Balaclava charge.
[Pg 249]
THE BUSHMAN'S LULLABY
Lift me down to the creek104 bank, Jack105,
It must be fresher outside;
The long hot day is well-nigh done;
It's a chance if I see another one;
I should like to look on the setting sun,
And the water, cool and wide.
We didn't think it would be like this
Last week, as we rode together;
True mates we've been in this far land
For many a year, since Devon's strand
We left for these wastes of sun-scorched sand
In the blessed English weather.
We left when the leafy lanes were green
And the trees met overhead,
The rippling106 brooks107 ran clear and gay,
The air was sweet with the scent108 of hay,
How well I remember the very day
And the words my mother said!
We have toiled and striven and fought it out
Under the hard blue sky,
[Pg 250]Where the plains glowed red in tremulous light,
Where the haunting mirage109 mocked the sight
Of desperate men from morn till night,—
And the streams had long been dry.
Where we dug for gold on the mountain-side,
Where the ice-fed river ran;
In frost and blast, through fire and snow,
Where an Englishman could live and go,
We've followed our luck through weal and woe110,
And never asked help from man.
And now it's over, it's hard to die
Ere the summer of life is o'er,
When the pulse beats high and the limbs are stark111,
Ere time has printed one warning mark,
To quit the light for the unknown dark,
And, O God! to see home no more!
No more! no more! I that always vowed112
That, whether or rich or poor,
Whatever the years might bring or change,
I would one day stand by the grey old grange,
And the children would gather, all shy and strange,
As I entered the well-known door.
You will go home to the old place, Jack;
Then tell my mother for me,
That I thought of the words she used to say,
Her looks, her tones, as I dying lay,
That I prayed to God, as I used to pray
When I knelt beside her knee.
[Pg 251]By the lonely water they made their couch,
And the southern night fast fled;
They heard the wildfowl splash and cry,
They heard the mourning reeds' low sigh,
Such was the Bushman's lullaby,—
With the dawn his soul was sped.
[Pg 252]
MORNING
Morn on the waters! the glad bird flings
The diamond spray from his glittering wings.
Old ocean lieth in dreamless sleep,
As the slumber113 of childhood calmly deep,
Light falls the stroke of the fisher's oar13,
As he leaves his cot by the shingly114 shore;
While the young wife's gaze, half sad, half bright,
Follows the frail115 bark's flashing flight.
Noon on the waters! O rustling116 breeze,
Sweet stealer 'mid old forest trees,
Wilt117 thou not thy sweet whisper keep
Nigh him who journeys the shadeless deep?
The wanderer dreams of the shadowy dell,
And the green-turfed, fairy-haunted well,
While the shafts118 of the noon-king's merciless might
Mingle119 day with sorrow, and death with light.
Night on the waters! murmuring hoarse,
The vexed120 deep threatens the bold bark's course,
The thunder-growl and the tempest moan
Sound like spirits that watch for the dying groan121.
The storm-fiend sweeps o'er the starless waste,
And the unchained blasts to the gathering122 haste;
Man alone, unshaken, his course retains,
While the elements combat and chaos123 reigns.
[Pg 253]
WANTED
A young Lady of twenty-three years of age, as a teacher in
a Ladies' School. Satisfactory references required.—
"Times" Advertisement.
Why should I be twenty-three?
What are the virtues124 they can see
Just about to bloom in me
In the magical year of twenty-three?
Does a maiden125, fair and free,
Get prudent126 just at twenty-three?
Whatever can the reason be
That they want a girl just twenty-three?
Dignified127 matron, whoever you be,
Would not twenty-two do for thee?
Would twenty-one be shown to the door,
And twenty told to come no more?
Nineteen, perhaps, would hardly be fit,
Eighteen strikes one as rather a chit.
Why must you search o'er land and sea
For the golden age of twenty-three?
Still the years glide on—for you and for me,
We're nearer, or farther from, twenty-three.
[Pg 254]Oft, as I sit over my five o'clock tea,
I think, did she get her? age twenty-three!
When friends are cold and unkind to me,
I think there's a refuge when twenty-three.
On my birthday I'll write, unknown friend, to thee,
Exclaiming, "Here, take me, I'm twenty-three!"
[Pg 255]
PERDITA
She is beautiful yet, with her wondrous128 hair
And eyes that are stormy with fitful light,
The delicate hues129 of brow and cheek
Are unmarred all, rose-clear and bright;
That matchless frame yet holds at bay
The crouching130 bloodhounds, Remorse49, Decay.
There is no fear in her great dark eyes—
No hope, no love, no care,
Stately and proud she looks around
With a fierce, defiant131 stare;
Wild words deform132 her reckless speech,
Her laugh has a sadness tears never reach.
Whom should she fear on earth? Can fate
One direr torment133 lend
To her few little years of glitter and gloom
With the sad old story to end,
When the spectres of Loneliness, Want, and Pain
Shall arise one night with Death in their train?
[Pg 256]I see in a vision a woman like her
Trip down an orchard134 slope,
With rosy135 prattlers that shout a name
In tones of rapture136 and hope;
While the yeoman, gazing at children and wife,
Thanks God for the pride and joy of his life.
* * * * * *
Whose conscience is heavy with this dark guilt?
Who pays at the final day
For a wasted body, a murdered soul,
And how shall he answer, I say,
For her outlawed137 years, her early doom,
And despair—despair—beyond the tomb?
[Pg 257]
"PRIEZ POUR ELLE"
AN INCIDENT OF THE INDIAN MUTINY
In the old tower they stand at bay,
Where the Moslem138 fought of old;
True to their race, in that sad day
Their lives are dearly sold.
They are but three; a woman fair,
A boy of fearless brow,
He, whom she vowed to love is there—
God help her! then and now.
With fiercer leaguer never did
Those rugged139 stones resound140,
As the swarthy yelling masses swayed
The time-worn keep around.
Our death-doomed brothers fired fast,
Our sister loaded well;
With each rifle-crack a spirit passed;
By scores the rebels fell.
[Pg 258]Though corses choke the narrow way,
Still swarms141 the demon52 hive;
Like a tolling142 bell each heart will say
"We ne'er go forth alive!"
Undaunted still—the leaden rain
Slacks not one moment's space—
With a crashing bullet through his brain,
The boy drops on his face!
With outstretched arms, with death-clutched hands,
His mother's darling lies,
No more, till rent the grave's dark bands,
To glad her loving eyes.
Gone the last hope! faint gleam of light—
Death stalks before their eyes—
While yells and screams of wild delight
From the frenzied143 crowd arise.
O God of mercy! can it be?
It is a hideous144 dream—
No!—nearer rolls the human sea,
Arms flash, and eyeballs gleam.
He thinks of her, pale, tender, fair—
To nameless tortures given,
Gore-stained and soiled the bright brown hair—
His very soul is riven.
He lifts the weapon. Did he think
Of a happy summer time—
Of the village meadow—river brink145,
Of the merry wedding chime?
[Pg 259]Little he dreamed of this dreary146 Now,
Or that ever he should stand
With the pistol-muzzle at her brow,
The trigger in his hand!
They kissed—they clung in a last embrace,
They prayed a last deep prayer—
Then proudly she raised her tearful face,
And——a corse lay shuddering147 there!
He stooped, his love's soft eyes to close,
He smoothed the bright brown hair,
Smiled on the crowd of baffled foes,
Then, scattered148 his brains in air.
Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh.
The End
A VISION OF GOLD
I see a lone1 stream, rolling down
Through valleys green, by ranges brown
Of hills that bear no name,
The dawn's full blush in crimson2 flakes4
Is traced on palest blue, as breaks
The morn in Orient flame.
I see—whence comes that eager gaze?
Why rein5 the steed, in wild amaze?
The water's hue6 is gold!
Golden its wavelets foam7 and glide8,
Through tenderest green to ocean-tide
The fairy streamlet rolled.
"Forward, 'Hope!' forward! truest steed,
Of tireless hoof10 and desert speed,
Up the weird11 water bound,
Till, echoing far and sounding deep,
I hear old Ocean's hoarse12 voice sweep
O'er this enchanted14 ground?"
[Pg 238]The sea!—wild fancy! Many a mile
Of changeful Nature's frown and smile
Ere stand we on the shore.
And, yet! that murmur15, hoarse and deep,
None save the ocean-surges keep?
It is—"the cradles' roar!"
Onward16! we pass the grassy17 hill,
Around the base the waters still
Shimmer18 in golden foam;
O wanderer of the voiceless wild,
Of this far southern land the child,
How changed thy quiet home!
For, close as bees in countless19 hive,
Like emmet hosts that earnest strive,
Swarmed20, toiled21, a vast, strange crowd:
Haggard each worker's features seem,
Bright, fever-bright, each eye's wild gleam,
Nor cry, nor accent loud.
But each man dug, or rocked, or bore,
As if salvation22 with the ore
Of the mine-monarch lay.
Gold strung each arm to giant might,
Gold flashed before each aching sight,
Gold turned the night to day.
Where Eblis reigns23 o'er boundless24 gloom,
And, in his halls of endless doom25
Lost souls for ever roam,
They wander (says the Eastern tale),
Nor ever startles moan or wail26
Despair's eternal home.
[Pg 239]Less silent scarce than that pale host
These toiled, as if each moment lost
Were the red life-drop spilt;
While, heavy, rough, and darkly bright,
In every shape, rolled to the light
Man's hope, and pride, and guilt27.
All ranks, all ages! Every land
Had sent its conscripts forth28, to stand
In the gold-seekers' rank:
The stalwart bushman's sinewy29 limb,
The pale-faced son of trade—e'en him
Who knew the fetters30' clank.
* * * * *
'Tis night: her jewelled mantle31 fills
The busy valley, the dun hills,
'Tis a battle host's repose32!
A thousand watch-fires redly gleam,
While ceaseless fusillades would seem
To warn approaching foes34.
The night is older. On the sward
Stretched, I behold35 the heavens broad,
When—a Shape rises dim,
Then, clearer, fuller, I descry36,
By the swart brow, the star-bright eye,
The Gnome37-king's presence grim!
He stands upon a time-worn block;
His dark form shades the snowy rock
As cypress38 marble tomb:
Nor fierce yet wild and sad his mien39,
His cloud-black tresses wave and stream,
His deep tones break the gloom.
[Pg 240]"Son of a tribe accursed, of those
Whose greed has broken our repose
Of the long ages dead,
Think ye, for nought40 our ancient race
Leaves olden haunts, the sacred place
Of toils41 for ever fled?
"List while I tell of days to come,
When men shall wish the hammers dumb
That ring so ceaseless now;
That every arm were palsy-tied,
Nor ever wet on grey hillside
Was the gold-seeker's brow.
"I see the old world's human tide
Set southward on the ocean wide.
I see a wood of masts,
While crime or want, disease or death,
With each sigh of the north-wind's breath,
He on this fair shore casts.
"I see the murderer's barrel gleam,
I hear the victim's hopeless scream
Ring through these crimeless wastes;
While each base son of elder lands
Each witless dastard42, in vast bands
To the gold-city hastes.
"Disease shall claim her ready toll43,
Flushed vice44 and brutal45 crime the dole46
Of life shall ne'er deny;
Danger and death shall stalk your streets,
While staggering idiocy47 greets
The horror-stricken eye!
[Pg 241]"All men shall roll in the gold mire—
The height, the depth of man's desire—
Till come the famine years;
Then all the land shall curse the day
When first they rifled the dull clay,
With deep remorseful48 tears.
"Fell want shall wake to fearful life
The fettered50 demons51. Civil strife53
Rears high a gory54 hand!
I see a blood-splashed barricade55,
While dimly lights the twilight56 glade57
The soldier's flashing brand.
"But thou, son of the forest free!
Thou art not, wert not foe33 to me,
Frank tamer of the wild!
Thou hast not sought the sunless home
Where darkly delves58 the toiling59 Gnome,
The mid60-earth's swarthy child.
"Then, be thou ever, as of yore,
A dweller61 in the woods, and o'er
Fresh plains thy herds62 shall roam.
Join not the vain and reckless crowd
Who swell63 the city's pageant64 proud,
But prize thy forest home."
He said: and, with an eldritch scream,
The Gnome-king vanished—and my dream:
Dawn's waking hour returned;
Yet still the wild tones echoed clear,
For many a day in reason's ear,
And my heart inly burned.
[Pg 242]
THE DEATH OF WELFORD[1]
[1] A young Englishman, "killed by blacks on the Barcoo."
Out by the far west-waters,
On the sea-land of the South,
Untombed the bones of a white man lay,
Slowly crumbling65 to kindred clay—
Sad prayer from Death's mute mouth!
Alone, far from his people,
The sun of his life went down.
A cry for help? No time—not a prayer:
As red blood splashed thro' riven hair,
His soul rose to Heaven's throne.
Ah! well for those felon66 hands
Which the strong man foully67 slew68,
The cry from the Cross when our Saviour69 died
"Father, forgive"—as they pierced His side—
"For they know not what they do."
They have souls, say the teachers
Hereafter, the same as we:
If so, it is hid from human grace
By blood-writ crimes of savage70 race
So deep, that we cannot see.
[Pg 243]Fear than love is far stronger:
The cruel have seldom to rue9:
The neck is bowed 'neath the heavy heel,
Love's covenant71 with Death they seal;
"For they know not what they do."
This Dead, by the far sun-down,
This man whom they idly slew,
Was lover and friend to those who had slain72
With him all human love, like Cain;
But "they know not what they do."
'Twixt laws Divine and human
To judge, if we only knew,
When the blood is hot, to part wrong from right,
When to forgive and when to smite73
Foes who "know not what they do."
The wronger and wronged shall meet
For judgment74, to die, or live;
And the heathen shall cry, in anguish75 fell,
At sight of the Bottomless Pit of Hell—
"We knew not, O Lord! Forgive."
[Pg 244]
SUNSET IN THE SOUTH
It is Autumn, it is sunset, magic shower of tint76 and hue;
All the west is hung with banners, white with golden, crimson, blue;
Drooping77 folds! far floating, mingling78, falling on the river's face;
Upturned, placid79, silver-mirrored, gazing into endless space.
Faint the breath of eve, low-sighing for bright summer's fading charms;
Woodland cries are echoing, chiming with the sounds from distant farms;
And the stubble fires are gleaming red athwart the wood's deep shade,
While the marsh80 mist, slowly rising, shrouds81 the greenery of the glade.
Redly still the day is dying, as if o'er the desert waste,
And we pictured camels, Arabs, and the solemn outline traced
Of a pillared lonely Fane, clear against the crimson rim3,
Voiceless, but of empire telling, and the lore82 of ages dim.
[Pg 245]Low the deep voice of the ocean, whispering to the silent strand83;
Gleam the stars, in silver ripples84; stretches broad the milk-white sand;
And a long, low bark is lying underneath85 the island shore
Weird and dream-like, darksome, soundless, spell-struck now, and evermore.
Deeper, darker fall the shadows, and the charmed colours wane86,
Fading, as the fay-gold changes into earth and dross87 again,
Wildfowl stream in swaying files landward to the marshy88 plain;
Louder sound the forest voices and the deep tones of the main.
[Pg 246]
"BALACLAVA"
The word is "Charge," the meaning "Death,"
Yet, welcome falls the sound
On every ear in the listening host,
Whose pennons flutter, zephyr-tossed,
That messenger around.
Among them Nolan reins89 a steed
Frost-white with gathered foam,
And pale and stern points to the foe,
In heavy mass, receding90 slow—
"Charge, comrades, charge them home!"
There rides one with fearless brow,
By time and sorrow scarred.
For him life knows no tale untold91,
But empty names, love, hope, and gold,—
Cool player of Fate's last card!
Beside him, he whose golden youth
Is in its pride and bloom.
His thoughts are with a dear old home,
Its loved ones, and that other one,
And will she mourn his doom?
[Pg 247]Another knows of a sweet fond face
That will fade into ashy pale
As she hears the tale of that day of tears;
And a prayer rises to Him who hears
The widow and orphan's wail.
"We die," passed through each warrior's heart,
"And vainly, but the care
Rests not with us; 'tis ours to show
The world, old England, and the foe,
What Englishmen can dare."
Then bridle-reins are gathered up,
And sabres blaze on high,
And as each charger bounds away
Doubts flee like ghosts at opening day,
And each man joys to die.
St. George! it is a glorious sight
A splendid page of war,
To mark yon gorgeous, matchless troop,
Like some bright falcon92, wildly swoop93
On the sullen94 prey95 before.
Captain Martinet96 (loquitur).
"Hurrah97 for the hearts of Englishmen,
And the thoroughbred's long stride,
As the vibrating, turf-tearing hoof-thunder rolled,
'Twas worth a year of one's life, all told,
To have seen our fellows ride!"
[Pg 248]But what avails the sabre sweep?
There rolls the awful sound,
Telling through heart, and limb, and brain,
That the cannon98 mows99 its ghastly lane,
And corses strew100 the ground.
Ha! Nolan flings his arms apart,
And a death-cry rings in air;
And see, may Heaven its mercy yield!
His charger from a hopeless field
Doth a dead rider bear.
The gunners lie by their linstocks dead,
While deep on every brow,
In the bloody101 scroll102 of our island swords,
Is the tale of each horseman's dying words,
"Our memory is deathless now."
Staggering back goes a broken band,
With standards soiled and torn,
With gory saddles and reeling steeds,
And ranks that are swaying like surging reeds
On a wild autumn morn.
Despair has gazed on many a field
Won by our fearless race;
And well the night wind, sighing low,
Knows where, with breast broad to the foe,
Is the dead Briton's place.
But never living horsemen rode
So near the eternal marge,
As those who ran the tilt103 that day
With Death, and bore their lives away
From the Balaclava charge.
[Pg 249]
THE BUSHMAN'S LULLABY
Lift me down to the creek104 bank, Jack105,
It must be fresher outside;
The long hot day is well-nigh done;
It's a chance if I see another one;
I should like to look on the setting sun,
And the water, cool and wide.
We didn't think it would be like this
Last week, as we rode together;
True mates we've been in this far land
For many a year, since Devon's strand
We left for these wastes of sun-scorched sand
In the blessed English weather.
We left when the leafy lanes were green
And the trees met overhead,
The rippling106 brooks107 ran clear and gay,
The air was sweet with the scent108 of hay,
How well I remember the very day
And the words my mother said!
We have toiled and striven and fought it out
Under the hard blue sky,
[Pg 250]Where the plains glowed red in tremulous light,
Where the haunting mirage109 mocked the sight
Of desperate men from morn till night,—
And the streams had long been dry.
Where we dug for gold on the mountain-side,
Where the ice-fed river ran;
In frost and blast, through fire and snow,
Where an Englishman could live and go,
We've followed our luck through weal and woe110,
And never asked help from man.
And now it's over, it's hard to die
Ere the summer of life is o'er,
When the pulse beats high and the limbs are stark111,
Ere time has printed one warning mark,
To quit the light for the unknown dark,
And, O God! to see home no more!
No more! no more! I that always vowed112
That, whether or rich or poor,
Whatever the years might bring or change,
I would one day stand by the grey old grange,
And the children would gather, all shy and strange,
As I entered the well-known door.
You will go home to the old place, Jack;
Then tell my mother for me,
That I thought of the words she used to say,
Her looks, her tones, as I dying lay,
That I prayed to God, as I used to pray
When I knelt beside her knee.
[Pg 251]By the lonely water they made their couch,
And the southern night fast fled;
They heard the wildfowl splash and cry,
They heard the mourning reeds' low sigh,
Such was the Bushman's lullaby,—
With the dawn his soul was sped.
[Pg 252]
MORNING
Morn on the waters! the glad bird flings
The diamond spray from his glittering wings.
Old ocean lieth in dreamless sleep,
As the slumber113 of childhood calmly deep,
Light falls the stroke of the fisher's oar13,
As he leaves his cot by the shingly114 shore;
While the young wife's gaze, half sad, half bright,
Follows the frail115 bark's flashing flight.
Noon on the waters! O rustling116 breeze,
Sweet stealer 'mid old forest trees,
Wilt117 thou not thy sweet whisper keep
Nigh him who journeys the shadeless deep?
The wanderer dreams of the shadowy dell,
And the green-turfed, fairy-haunted well,
While the shafts118 of the noon-king's merciless might
Mingle119 day with sorrow, and death with light.
Night on the waters! murmuring hoarse,
The vexed120 deep threatens the bold bark's course,
The thunder-growl and the tempest moan
Sound like spirits that watch for the dying groan121.
The storm-fiend sweeps o'er the starless waste,
And the unchained blasts to the gathering122 haste;
Man alone, unshaken, his course retains,
While the elements combat and chaos123 reigns.
[Pg 253]
WANTED
A young Lady of twenty-three years of age, as a teacher in
a Ladies' School. Satisfactory references required.—
"Times" Advertisement.
Why should I be twenty-three?
What are the virtues124 they can see
Just about to bloom in me
In the magical year of twenty-three?
Does a maiden125, fair and free,
Get prudent126 just at twenty-three?
Whatever can the reason be
That they want a girl just twenty-three?
Dignified127 matron, whoever you be,
Would not twenty-two do for thee?
Would twenty-one be shown to the door,
And twenty told to come no more?
Nineteen, perhaps, would hardly be fit,
Eighteen strikes one as rather a chit.
Why must you search o'er land and sea
For the golden age of twenty-three?
Still the years glide on—for you and for me,
We're nearer, or farther from, twenty-three.
[Pg 254]Oft, as I sit over my five o'clock tea,
I think, did she get her? age twenty-three!
When friends are cold and unkind to me,
I think there's a refuge when twenty-three.
On my birthday I'll write, unknown friend, to thee,
Exclaiming, "Here, take me, I'm twenty-three!"
[Pg 255]
PERDITA
She is beautiful yet, with her wondrous128 hair
And eyes that are stormy with fitful light,
The delicate hues129 of brow and cheek
Are unmarred all, rose-clear and bright;
That matchless frame yet holds at bay
The crouching130 bloodhounds, Remorse49, Decay.
There is no fear in her great dark eyes—
No hope, no love, no care,
Stately and proud she looks around
With a fierce, defiant131 stare;
Wild words deform132 her reckless speech,
Her laugh has a sadness tears never reach.
Whom should she fear on earth? Can fate
One direr torment133 lend
To her few little years of glitter and gloom
With the sad old story to end,
When the spectres of Loneliness, Want, and Pain
Shall arise one night with Death in their train?
[Pg 256]I see in a vision a woman like her
Trip down an orchard134 slope,
With rosy135 prattlers that shout a name
In tones of rapture136 and hope;
While the yeoman, gazing at children and wife,
Thanks God for the pride and joy of his life.
* * * * * *
Whose conscience is heavy with this dark guilt?
Who pays at the final day
For a wasted body, a murdered soul,
And how shall he answer, I say,
For her outlawed137 years, her early doom,
And despair—despair—beyond the tomb?
[Pg 257]
"PRIEZ POUR ELLE"
AN INCIDENT OF THE INDIAN MUTINY
In the old tower they stand at bay,
Where the Moslem138 fought of old;
True to their race, in that sad day
Their lives are dearly sold.
They are but three; a woman fair,
A boy of fearless brow,
He, whom she vowed to love is there—
God help her! then and now.
With fiercer leaguer never did
Those rugged139 stones resound140,
As the swarthy yelling masses swayed
The time-worn keep around.
Our death-doomed brothers fired fast,
Our sister loaded well;
With each rifle-crack a spirit passed;
By scores the rebels fell.
[Pg 258]Though corses choke the narrow way,
Still swarms141 the demon52 hive;
Like a tolling142 bell each heart will say
"We ne'er go forth alive!"
Undaunted still—the leaden rain
Slacks not one moment's space—
With a crashing bullet through his brain,
The boy drops on his face!
With outstretched arms, with death-clutched hands,
His mother's darling lies,
No more, till rent the grave's dark bands,
To glad her loving eyes.
Gone the last hope! faint gleam of light—
Death stalks before their eyes—
While yells and screams of wild delight
From the frenzied143 crowd arise.
O God of mercy! can it be?
It is a hideous144 dream—
No!—nearer rolls the human sea,
Arms flash, and eyeballs gleam.
He thinks of her, pale, tender, fair—
To nameless tortures given,
Gore-stained and soiled the bright brown hair—
His very soul is riven.
He lifts the weapon. Did he think
Of a happy summer time—
Of the village meadow—river brink145,
Of the merry wedding chime?
[Pg 259]Little he dreamed of this dreary146 Now,
Or that ever he should stand
With the pistol-muzzle at her brow,
The trigger in his hand!
They kissed—they clung in a last embrace,
They prayed a last deep prayer—
Then proudly she raised her tearful face,
And——a corse lay shuddering147 there!
He stooped, his love's soft eyes to close,
He smoothed the bright brown hair,
Smiled on the crowd of baffled foes,
Then, scattered148 his brains in air.
Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh.
The End
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收听单词发音
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1
lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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4
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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8
glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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10
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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11
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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12
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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13
oar
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| n.桨，橹，划手；v.划行 | |
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14
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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15
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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16
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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17
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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18
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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19
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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20
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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21
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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22
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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23
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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24
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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25
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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26
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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27
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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28
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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29
sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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30
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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31
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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32
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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33
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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34
foes
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| 敌人，仇敌( foe的名词复数 ) | |
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35
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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36
descry
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| v.远远看到；发现；责备 | |
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37
gnome
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| n.土地神；侏儒，地精 | |
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38
cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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39
mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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40
nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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41
toils
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| 网 | |
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42
dastard
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| n.卑怯之人，懦夫；adj.怯懦的，畏缩的 | |
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toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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44
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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45
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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46
dole
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| n.救济，（失业）救济金；vt.（out）发放，发给 | |
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idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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48
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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50
fettered
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| v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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53
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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gory
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| adj.流血的；残酷的 | |
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55
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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56
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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57
glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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58
delves
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的第三人称单数 ) | |
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59
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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60
mid
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| adj.中央的，中间的 | |
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dweller
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| n.居住者，住客 | |
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62
herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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64
pageant
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| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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66
felon
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| n.重罪犯；adj.残忍的 | |
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67
foully
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| ad.卑鄙地 | |
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slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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70
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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smite
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| v.重击；彻底击败；n.打；尝试；一点儿 | |
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74
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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75
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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76
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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77
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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80
marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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81
shrouds
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| n.裹尸布( shroud的名词复数 )；寿衣；遮蔽物；覆盖物v.隐瞒( shroud的第三人称单数 )；保密 | |
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82
lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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83
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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84
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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85
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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86
wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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87
dross
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| n.渣滓；无用之物 | |
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88
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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89
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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90
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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91
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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92
falcon
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| n.隼，猎鹰 | |
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93
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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94
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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95
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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96
martinet
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| n.要求严格服从纪律的人 | |
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97
hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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98
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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99
mows
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| v.刈，割( mow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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100
strew
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| vt.撒；使散落；撒在…上，散布于 | |
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101
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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102
scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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103
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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104
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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105
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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106
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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107
brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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108
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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109
mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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110
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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111
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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112
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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113
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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114
shingly
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| adj.小石子多的 | |
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115
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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116
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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117
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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118
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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119
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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120
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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121
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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122
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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123
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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124
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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125
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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126
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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127
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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128
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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129
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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130
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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131
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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132
deform
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| vt.损坏…的形状；使变形，使变丑；vi.变形 | |
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133
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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134
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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135
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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136
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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137
outlawed
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| 宣布…为不合法（outlaw的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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138
Moslem
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| n.回教徒，穆罕默德信徒；adj.回教徒的，回教的 | |
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139
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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140
resound
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| v.回响 | |
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141
swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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142
tolling
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| [财]来料加工 | |
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143
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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144
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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145
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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146
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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147
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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148
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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