r. f. murray-his poems with a memoir-第13部分
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For thy feet to rest。
If there live in honour's sway
An all…loving breast
Whose devotion cannot stray；
Never gloom…oppressed …
If this noble breast still wake
For a worthy motive's sake；
There a pillow I will make
For thy head to rest。
If there be a dream of love；
Dream that God has blest；
Yielding daily treasure…trove
Of delightful zest；
With the scent of roses filled；
With the soul's communion thrilled；
There； oh！ there a nest I'll build
For thy heart to rest。
THE FIDDLER
There's a fiddler in the street；
And the children all are dancing：
Two dozen lightsome feet
Springing and prancing。
Pleasure he gives to you；
Dance then； and spare not！
For the poor fiddler's due；
Know not and care not。
While you are prancing；
Let the fiddler play。
When you're tired of dancing
He may go away。
THE FIRST MEETING
Last night for the first time； O Heart's Delight；
I held your hand a moment in my own；
The dearest moment which my soul has known；
Since I beheld and loved you at first sight。
I left you； and I wandered in the night；
Under the rain； beside the ocean's moan。
All was black dark； but in the north alone
There was a glimmer of the Northern Light。
My heart was singing like a happy bird；
Glad of the present； and from forethought free；
Save for one note amid its music heard：
God grant； whatever end of this may be；
That when the tale is told； the final word
May be of peace and benison to thee。
A CRITICISM OF CRITICS
How often have the critics； trained
To look upon the sky
Through telescopes securely chained；
Forgot the naked eye。
Within the compass of their glass
Each smallest star they knew；
And not a meteor could pass
But they were looking through。
When a new planet shed its rays
Beyond their field of vision；
And simple folk ran out to gaze；
They laughed in high derision。
They railed upon the senseless throng
Who cheered the brave new light。
And yet the learned men were wrong；
The simple folk were right。
MY LADY
My Lady of all ladies！ Queen by right
Of tender beauty； full of gentle moods；
With eyes that look divine beatitudes；
Large eyes illumined with her spirit's light；
Lips that are lovely both by sound and sight；
Breathing such music as the dove； which broods
Within the dark and silence of the woods；
Croons to the mate that is her heart's delight。
Where is a line； in cloud or wave or hill；
To match the curve which rounds her soft…flushed cheek？
A colour； in the sky of morn or of even；
To match that flush？ Ah； let me now be still！
If of her spirit I should strive to speak；
I should come short； as earth comes short of heaven。
PARTNERSHIP IN FAME
Love； when the present is become the past；
And dust has covered all that now is new；
When many a fame has faded out of view；
And many a later fame is fading fast …
If then these songs of mine might hope to last；
Which sing most sweetly when they sing of you；
Though queen and empress wore oblivion's hue；
Your loveliness would not be overcast。
Now； while the present stays with you and me；
In love's copartnery our hearts combine；
Life's loss and gain in equal shares to take。
Partners in fame our memories then would be：
Your name remembered for my songs； and mine
Still unforgotten for your sweetness' sake。
A CHRISTMAS FANCY
Early on Christmas Day；
Love； as awake I lay；
And heard the Christmas bells ring sweet and clearly；
My heart stole through the gloom
Into your silent room；
And whispered to your heart； ‘I love you dearly。'
There； in the dark profound；
Your heart was sleeping sound；
And dreaming some fair dream of summer weather。
At my heart's word it woke；
And； ere the morning broke；
They sang a Christmas carol both together。
Glory to God on high！
Stars of the morning sky；
Sing as ye sang upon the first creation；
When all the Sons of God
Shouted for joy abroad；
And earth was laid upon a sure foundation。
Glory to God again！
Peace and goodwill to men；
And kindly feeling all the wide world over；
Where friends with joy and mirth
Meet round the Christmas hearth；
Or dreams of home the solitary rover。
Glory to God！ True hearts；
Lo； now the dark departs；
And morning on the snow…clad hills grows grey。
Oh； may love's dawning light
Kindled from loveless night；
Shine more and more unto the perfect day！
THE BURIAL OF WILLIAMTHE CONQUEROR
Oh； who may this dead warrior be
That to his grave they bring？
‘Tis William； Duke of Normandy；
The conqueror and king。
Across the sea； with fire and sword；
The English crown he won；
The lawless Scots they owned him lord；
But now his rule is done。
A king should die from length of years；
A conqueror in the field；
A king amid his people's tears；
A conqueror on his shield。
But he； who ruled by sword and flame；
Who swore to ravage France；
Like some poor serf without a name；
Has died by mere mischance。
To Caen now he comes to sleep；
The minster bells they toll；
A solemn sound it is and deep；
May God receive his soul！
With priests that chant a wailing hymn；
He slowly comes this way；
To where the painted windows dim
The lively light of day。
He enters in。 The townsfolk stand
In reverent silence round；
To see the lord of all the land
Take house in narrow ground。
While； in the dwelling…place he seeks；
To lay him they prepare；
One Asselin FitzArthur speaks；
And bids the priests forbear。
‘The ground whereon this abbey stands
Is mine；' he cries； ‘by right。
‘Twas wrested from my father's hands
By lawlessness and might。
Duke William took the land away；
To build this minster high。
Bury the robber where ye may；
But here he shall not lie。'
The holy brethren bid him cease；
But he will not be stilled；
And soon the house of God's own peace
With noise and strife is filled。
And some cry shame on Asselin；
Such tumult to excite；
Some say； it was Duke William's sin；
And Asselin does right。
But he round whom their quarrels keep；
Lies still and takes no heed。
No strife can mar a dead man's sleep；
And this is rest indeed。
Now Asselin at length is won
The land's full price to take；
And let the burial rites go on；
And so a peace they make。
When Harold； king of Englishmen；
Was killed in Senlac fight；
Duke William would not yield him then
A Christian grave or rite。
Because he fought for keeping free
His kingdom and his throne；
No Christian rite nor grave had he
In land that was his own。
And just it is； this Duke unkind；
Now he has come to die；
In plundered land should hardly find
Sufficient space to lie。
THE DEATH OF WILLIAM RUFUS
The Red King's gone a…hunting； in the woods his father made
For the tall red deer to wander through the thicket and the glade；
The King and Walter Tyrrel； Prince Henry and the rest
Are all gone out upon the sport the Red King loves the best。
Last night； when they were feasting in the royal banquet…hall；
De Breteuil told a dream he had； that evil would befall
If the King should go to…morrow to the hunting of the deer；
And while he spoke； the fiery face grew well…nigh pale to hear。
He drank until the fire came back； and all his heart was brave；
Then bade them keep such woman's tales to tell an English slave；
For he would hunt to…morrow； though a thousand dreams foretold
All the sorrow and the mischief De Breteuil's brain could hold。
So the Red King's gone a…hunting； for all that they could do；
And an arrow in the greenwood made De Breteuil's dream come true。
They said ‘twas Walter Tyrrel； and so it may have been；
But there's many walk the forest when the leaves are thick and
green。
There's many walk the forest； who would gladly see the sport；
When the King goes out a…hunting with the nobles of his court；
And when the nobles scatter； and the King is left alone；
There are thickets where an English slave might string his bow
unknown。
The forest laws are cruel； and the time is hard as steel
To English slaves； trod down and bruised beneath the Norman heel。
Like worms they writhe； but by…and…by the Norman heel may learn
There are worms that carry poison； and that are not slow to turn。
The lords came back； by one and two； from straying far apart；
And they found the Red King lying with an arrow in his heart。
Who should have done the deed； but him by whom it first was seen？
So they said ‘twas Walter Tyrrel； and so it may have been。
They cried upon Prince Henry； the brother of the King；
And he came up the greenwood； and rode into the ring。
He looked upon his brother's face； and then he turned away；
And galloped off to Winchester； where all the treasure lay。
‘God strike me；' cried De Breteuil； ‘but brothers' blood is thin！
And why should ours be thicker that are neither kith nor kin？'
They spurred their horses in the flank； and swiftly thence they
passed；
But Walter Tyrrel lingered and forsook his liege the last。
They say it was enchantment； that fixed him to the scene；
To look upon his traitor's work； and so it may have been。
But presently he got to horse； and took the seaward way；
And all alone within the glade； in state the Red King lay。
Then a creaking cart came slowly； which a charcoal…burner drove。
He found the dead man lying； a ghastly treasure…trove；
He raised the corpse for charity； and on his wagon laid；
And so the Red King drove in state from out the forest glade。
His hair was like a yellow flame about the bloated face；
The blood had stained his tunic from the fatal arrow…place。
Not good to look upon was he； in life； nor yet
