r. f. murray-his poems with a memoir-第4部分

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Winter；　the　aged　chief；

Mighty　in　power；

Exiles　the　tender　leaf；

Exiles　the　flower。



Is　there　a　heart　to…day；

A　heart　that　grieves

For　flowers　that　fade　away；

For　fallen　leaves？



Oh；　not　in　leaves　or　flowers

Endures　the　charm

That　clothes　those　naked　towers

With　love…light　warm。



O　dear　St。　Andrews　Bay；

Winter　or　Spring

Gives　not　nor　takes　away

Memories　that　cling



All　round　thy　girdling　reefs；

That　walk　thy　shore；

Memories　of　joys　and　griefs

Ours　evermore。



‘I　have　NOT　worked　for　my　classes　this　session；'　he　writes　（1884）；

‘and　shall　not　take　any　places。'　　The　five　or　six　most　distinguished

pupils　used；　at　least　in　my　time；　to　receive　prize…books　decorated

with　the　University's　arms。　　These　prize…men；　no　doubt；　held　the

‘places'　alluded　to　by　Murray。　　If　HE　was　idle；　‘I　speak　of　him　but

brotherly；'　having　never　held　any　‘place'　but　that　of　second　to　Mr。

Wallace；　now　Professor　of　Moral　Philosophy　at　Oxford；　in　the　Greek

Class　（Mr。　Sellar's）。　　Why　was　one　so　idle；　in　Latin　（Mr。　Shairp）；

in　Morals　（Mr。　Ferrier）；　in　Logic　（Mr。　Veitch）？　but　Logic　was

unintelligible。



‘I　must　confess；'　remarks　Murray；　in　a　similar　spirit　of　pensive

regret；　‘that　I　have　not　had　any　ambition　to　distinguish　myself

either　in　Knight's　（Moral　Philosophy）　or　in　Butler's。'　｛1｝



Murray　then　speaks　with　some　acrimony　about　earnest　students；　whose

motive；　he　thinks；　is　a　small　ambition。　　But　surely　a　man　may　be

fond　of　metaphysics　for　the　sweet　sake　of　Queen　Entelechy；　and；

moreover；　these　students　looked　forward　to　days　in　which　real　work

would　bear　fruit。



‘You　must　grind　up　the　opinions　of　Plato；　Aristotle；　and　a　lot　of

other　men；　concerning　things　about　which　they　knew　nothing；　and　we

know　nothing；　taking　these　opinions　at　second　or　third　hand；　and

never　looking　into　the　works　of　these　men；　for　to　a　man　who　wants　to

take　a　place；　there　is　no　time　for　anything　of　that　sort。'



Why　not？　　The　philosophers　ought　to　be　read　in　their　own　language；

as　they　are　now　read。　　The　remarks　on　the　most　fairy　of

philosophersPlato；　on　the　greatest　of　all　minds；　that　of

Aristotle；　are　boyish。　　Again　‘I　speak　but　brotherly；'　remembering

an　old　St。　Leonard's　essay　in　which　Virgil　was　called　‘the　furtive

Mantuan；'　and　another；　devoted　to　ridicule　of　Euripides。　　But　Plato

and　Aristotle　we　never　blasphemed。



Murray　adds　that　he　thinks；　next　year；　of　taking　the　highest　Greek

Class；　and　English　Literature。　　In　the　latter；　under　Mr。　Baynes；　he

took　the　first　place；　which　he　mentions　casually　to　Mrs。　Murray

about　a　year　after　date：…





‘A　sweet　life　and　an　idle

He　lives　from　year　to　year；

Unknowing　bit　or　bridle；

There　are　no　Proctors　here。'





In　Greek；　despite　his　enthusiastic　admiration　of　the　professor；　Mr。

Campbell；　he　did　not　much　enjoy　himself：…





‘Thrice　happy　are　those

Who　ne'er　heard　of　Greek　Prose　…

Or　Greek　Poetry　either；　as　far　as　that　goes；

For　Liddell　and　Scott

Shall　cumber　them　not；

Nor　Sargent　nor　Sidgwick　shall　break　their　repose。



But　I；　late　at　night；

By　the　very　bad　light

Of　very　bad　gas；　must　painfully　write

Some　stuff　that　a　Greek

With　his　delicate　cheek

Would　smile　at　as　‘barbarous'faith；　he　well　might。



*　*　*　*　*



So　away　with　Greek　Prose；

The　source　of　my　woes！

（This　metre's　too　tough；　I　must　draw　to　a　close。）

May　Sargent　be　drowned

In　the　ocean　profound；

And　Sidgwick　be　food　for　the　carrion　crows！'





Greek　prose　is　a　stubborn　thing；　and　the　biographer　remembers　being

told　that　his　was　‘the　best；　with　the　worst　mistakes'；　also

frequently　by　Mr。　Sellar；　that　it　was　‘bald。'　　But　Greek　prose　is

splendid　practice；　and　no　less　good　practice　is　Greek　and　Latin

verse。　　These　exercises；　so　much　sneered　at；　are　the　Dwellers　on　the

Threshold　of　the　life　of　letters。　　They　are　haunting　forms　of　fear；

but　they　have　to　be　wrestled　with；　like　the　Angel　（to　change　the

figure）；　till　they　bless　you；　and　make　words　become；　in　your　hands；

like　the　clay　of　the　modeller。　　Could　we　write　Greek　like　Mr。　Jebb；

we　would　never　write　anything　else。



Murray　had　naturally；　it　seems；　certainly　not　by　dint　of　wrestling

with　Greek　prose；　the　mastery　of　language。　　His　light　verse　is

wonderfully　handled；　quaint；　fluent；　right。　　Modest　as　he　was；　he

was　ambitious；　as　we　said；　but　not　ambitious　of　any　gain；　merely

eager；　in　his　own　way；　to　excel。　　His　ideal　is　plainly　stated　in　the

following　verses：…





＇Greek　text＇



Ever　to　be　the　best。　　To　lead

In　whatsoever　things　are　true；

Not　stand　among　the　halting　crew；

The　faint　of　heart；　the　feeble…kneed；

Who　tarry　for　a　certain　sign

To　make　them　follow　with　the　rest　…

Oh；　let　not　their　reproach　be　thine！

But　ever　be　the　best。



For　want　of　this　aspiring　soul；

Great　deeds　on　earth　remain　undone；

But；　sharpened　by　the　sight　of　one；

Many　shall　press　toward　the　goal。

Thou　running　foremost　of　the　throng；

The　fire　of　striving　in　thy　breast；

Shalt　win；　although　the　race　be　long；

And　ever　be　the　best。



And　wilt　thou　question　of　the　prize？

‘Tis　not　of　silver　or　of　gold；

Nor　in　applauses　manifold；

But　hidden　in　the　heart　it　lies：

To　know　that　but　for　thee　not　one

Had　run　the　race　or　sought　the　quest；

To　know　that　thou　hast　ever　done

And　ever　been　the　best。





Murray　was　never　a　great　athlete：　　his　ambition　did　not　lead　him　to

desire　a　place　in　the　Scottish　Fifteen　at　Football。　　Probably　he　was

more　likely　to　be　found　matched　against　‘The　Man　from　Inversnaid。'





IMITATED　FROM　WORDSWORTH



He　brought　a　team　from　Inversnaid

To　play　our　Third　Fifteen；

A　man　whom　none　of　us　had　played

And　very　few　had　seen。



He　weighed　not　less　than　eighteen　stone；

And　to　a　practised　eye

He　seemed　as　little　fit　to　run

As　he　was　fit　to　fly。



He　looked　so　clumsy　and　so　slow；

And　made　so　little　fuss；

But　he　got　in　behindand　oh；

The　difference　to　us！





He　was　never　a　golfer；　one　of　his　best　light　pieces；　published　later

in　the　Saturday　Review；　dealt　in　kindly　ridicule　of　The　City　of

Golf。





‘Would　you　like　to　see　a　city　given　over；

Soul　and　body；　to　a　tyrannising　game？

If　you　would；　there's　little　need　to　be　a　rover；

For　St。　Andrews　is　the　abject　city's　name。'





He　was　fond；　too　fond；　of　long　midnight　walks；　for　in　these　he

overtasked　his　strength；　and　he　had　all　a　young　man's　contempt　for

maxims　about　not　sitting　in　wet　clothes　and　wet　boots。　　Early　in　his

letters　he　speaks　of　bad　colds；　and　it　is　matter　of　tradition　that

he　despised　flannel。　　Most　of　us　have　been　like　him；　and　have　found

pleasure　in　wading　Tweed；　for　example；　when　chill　with　snaw…bree。

In　brief；　while　reading　about　Murray's　youth　most　men　must　feel　that

they　are　reading；　with　slight　differences；　about　their　own。　　He

writes　thus　of　his　long　darkling　tramps；　in　a　rhymed　epistle　to　his

friend　C。　C。　C。





‘And　I　fear　we　never　again　shall　go；

The　cold　and　weariness　scorning；

For　a　ten　mile　walk　through　the　frozen　snow

At　one　o'clock　in　the　morning：



Out　by　Cameron；　in　by　the　Grange；

And　to　bed　as　the　moon　descended　。　。　。

To　you　and　to　me　there　has　come　a　change；

And　the　days　of　our　youth　are　ended。'





One　fancies　him　roaming　solitary；　after　midnight；　in　the　dark

deserted　streets。　　He　passes　the　deep　porch　of　the　College　Church；

and　the　spot　where　Patrick　Hamilton　was　burned。　　He　goes　down　to　the

Castle　by　the　sea；　where；　some　say；　the　murdered　Cardinal　may　now

and　again　be　seen；　in　his　red　hat。　　In　South　Street　he　hears　the

roll　and　rattle　of　the　viewless　carriage　which　sounds　in　that

thoroughfare。　　He　loiters　under　the　haunted　tower　on　Hepburn's

precinct　wall；　the　tower　where　the　lady　of　the　bright　locks　lies；

with　white　gloves　on　her　hands。　　Might　he　not　share；　in　the　desolate

Cathedral；　La　Messe　des　Morts；　when　all　the　lost　souls　of　true

lovers　are　allowed　to　meet　once　a　year。　　Here　be　they　who　were　too

fond　when　Culdees　ruled；　or　who　loved　young　monks　of　the　Priory；

here　be　ladies　of　Queen　Mary's　Court；　and　the　fair　inscrutable　Queen

herself；　with　Chastelard；　that　died　at　St。　Andrews　for　desire　of

her；　and　poor　lassies　and　lads　who　were　over　gay　for　Andrew　Melville

and　Mr。　Blair；　and　Miss　Pett；　who　tended　young　Montrose；　and　may

have　had　a　tenderness　for　his　love…locks。　　They　are　a　triste　good

company；　tender　and　true；　as　the　lovers　of　whom　M。　Anatole　France

has　written　（La　Messe　des　Morts）。　　Above　the　witches'　lake　come

shadows　of　the　women　who　suffered　under　Knox　and　the　Bastard　of

Scotland；　poor　creatures　burned　to　ashes　with　none　to　help　or　pity。

The　shades　of　Dominicans　flit　by　the　Black　Friars　wallverily　the

place　is　haunted；　and　among　Murray's　pleasures　was　this　of　pacing

alone；　by　night；　in　that　airy　press　and　throng　of　those　who　lived

and　loved　and　suffered　so　long　ago　…





‘The　mist　hangs　round　the　College　tower；

The　ghostly　street

Is　silent　at　this　midnight　hour；

Save　for　my　feet。



With　none　to　see；　with　none　to　hear；

Downward　I　go

To　where；　beside　the　rugged　pier；

The　sea　sings　low。



It　sings　a　tune　well　loved　and　known

In　days　gone　by；

When　often　here；　and　not　alone；

I　watched　the　sky。'





But　he　was　not　always；　nor　often；　lonely。　　He　was　fond　of　making　his

speech　at　the　Debating　Societies；　and　his　speeches　are　remembered　as

good。　　If　he　declined　the　whisky　and　water；　he　did　not　flee　the

weed。　　I　borrow　from　College　Echoes　…





A　TENNYSONIAN　FRAGMENT



So　in　the　village　inn　the　poet　dwelt。

His　honey…dew　was　gone；　only　the　pouch；

His　cousin's　work；　her　empty　labour；　left。

But　still　he　sniffed　it；　still　a　fragrance　clung

And　lingered　all　about　the　broidered　flowers。

Then　came　his　landlord；　saying　in　broad　Scotch；

‘Smoke　plug；　mon；'　whom　he　looked　at　doubtfully。

Then　came　the　grocer　saying；　‘Hae　some　twist

At　tippence；'　whom　he　answered　with　a　qualm