r. f. murray-第7部分

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obite　song　（as　he　wrote　to　myself）　did　not　precisely　strike　him　as　the　kind　of　thing　that　Jacobites　used　to　sing。

They　certainly　celebrated


‘The　faith　our　fathers　fought　for；　The　kings　our　fathers　knew；'


in　a　different　tone　in　the　North。

The　perfect　health　of　mind；　in　these　letters　of　a　dying　man；　is　admirable。　　Reading　old　letters　over；　he　writes　to　Miss　…；　‘I　have　known　a　wonderful　number　of　wonderfully　kind…hearted　people。'　　That　is　his　criticism　of　a　world　which　had　given　him　but　a　scanty　welcome；　and　a　life　of　foiled　endeavour；　of　disappointed　hope。　　Even　now　there　was　a　disappointment。　　His　poems　did　not　find　a　publisher：　what　publisher　can　take　the　risk　of　adding　another　volume　of　poetry　to　the　enormous　stock　of　verse　brought　out　at　the　author's　expense？　This　did　not　sour　or　sadden　him：　　he　took　Montaigne's　advice；　‘not　to　make　too　much　marvel　of　our　own　fortunes。'　　His　biographer；　hearing　in　the　winter　of　1893　that　Murray's　illness　was　now　considered　hopeless；　though　its　rapid　close　was　not　expected；　began；　with　Professor　Meiklejohn；　to　make　arrangements　for　the　publication　of　the　poems。　　But　the　poet　did　not　live　to　have　this　poor　gratification。　　He　died　in　the　early　hours　of　1894。

Of　the　merits　of　his　more　serious　poetry　others　must　speak。　　To　the　Editor　it　seems　that　he　is　always　at　his　best　when　he　is　inspired　by　the　Northern　Sea；　and　the　long　sands　and　grey　sea　grasses。　　Then　he　is　most　himself。　　He　was　improving　in　his　art　with　every　year：　　his　development；　indeed；　was　somewhat　late。

It　is　less　of　the　writer　than　the　man　that　we　prefer　to　think。　　His　letters　display；　in　passages　which　he　would　not　have　desired　to　see　quoted；　the　depth　and　tenderness　and　thoughtfulness　of　his　affections。　　He　must　have　been　a　delightful　friend：　　illness　could　not　make　him　peevish；　and　his　correspondence　with　old　college　companions　could　never　be　taken　for　that　of　a　consciously　dying　man。　He　had　perfect　courage；　and　resolution　even　in　his　seeming　irresoluteness。　　He　was　resolved　to　be；　and　continued　to　be；　himself。　　‘He　had　kept　the　bird　in　his　bosom。'　　We；　who　regret　him；　may　wish　that　he　had　been　granted　a　longer　life；　and　a　secure　success。　　Happier　fortunes　might　have　mellowed　him；　no　fortunes　could　have　altered　for　the　worse　his　admirable　nature。　　He　lives　in　the　hearts　of　his　friends；　and　in　the　pride　and　sympathy　of　those　who；　after　him；　have　worn　and　shall　wear　the　scarlet　gown。

The　following　examples　of　his　poetry　were　selected　by　Murray's　biographer　from　a　considerable　mass；　and　have　been　seen　through　the　press　by　Professor　Meiklejohn；　who　possesses　the　original　manuscript；　beautifully　written。



MOONLIGHT　NORTH　AND　SOUTH



Love；　we　have　heard　together　The　North　Sea　sing　his　tune；　And　felt　the　wind's　wild　feather　Brush　past　our　cheeks　at　noon；　And　seen　the　cloudy　weather　Made　wondrous　with　the　moon。

Where　loveliness　is　rarest；　‘Tis　also　prized　the　most：　The　moonlight　shone　her　fairest　Along　that　level　coast　Where　sands　and　dunes　the　barest；　Of　beauty　seldom　boast；

Far　from　that　bleak　and　rude　land　An　exile　I　remain　Fixed　in　a　fair　and　good　land；　A　valley　and　a　plain　Rich　in　fat　fields　and　woodland；　And　watered　well　with　rain。

Last　night　the　full　moon's　splendour　Shone　down　on　Taunton　Dene；　And　pasture　fresh　and　tender；　And　coppice　dusky　green；　The　heavenly　light　did　render　In　one　enchanted　scene；

One　fair　unearthly　vision。　Yet　soon　mine　eyes　were　cloyed；　And　found　those　fields　Elysian　Too　rich　to　be　enjoyed。　Or　was　it　our　division　Made　all　my　pleasure　void？

Across　the　window　glasses　The　curtain　then　I　drew；　And；　as　a　sea…bird　passes；　In　sleep　my　spirit　flew　To　grey　and　windswept　grasses　And　moonlit　sandsand　you。



WINTER　AT　ST。　ANDREWS



The　city　once　again　doth　wear　Her　wonted　dress　of　winter's　bride；　Her　mantle　woven　of　misty　air；　With　saffron　sunlight　faintly　dyed。　She　sits　above　the　seething　tide；　Of　all　her　summer　robes　forlorn　…　And　dead　is　all　her　summer　pride　…　The　leaves　are　off　Queen　Mary's　Thorn。

All　round；　the　landscape　stretches　bare；　The　bleak　fields　lying　far　and　wide；　Monotonous；　with　here　and　there　A　lone　tree　on　a　lone　hillside。　No　more　the　land　is　glorified　With　golden　gleams　of　ripening　corn；　Scarce　is　a　cheerful　hue　descried　…　The　leaves　are　off　Queen　Mary's　Thorn。

For　me；　I　do　not　greatly　care　Though　leaves　be　dead；　and　mists　abide。　To　me　the　place　is　thrice　as　fair　In　winter　as　in　summer…tide：　With　kindlier　memories　allied　Of　pleasure　past　and　pain　o'erworn。　What　care　I；　though　the　earth　may　hide　The　leaves　from　off　Queen　Mary's　Thorn？

Thus　I　unto　my　friend　replied；　When；　on　a　chill　late　autumn　morn；　He　pointed　to　the　tree；　and　cried；　‘The　leaves　are　off　Queen　Mary's　Thorn！'



PATRIOTISM



There　was　a　time　when　it　was　counted　high　To　be　a　patriotwhether　by　the　zeal　Of　peaceful　labour　for　the　country's　weal；　Or　by　the　courage　in　her　cause　to　die：

FOR　KING　AND　COUNTRY　was　a　rallying　cry　That　turned　men's　hearts　to　fire；　their　nerves　to　steel；　Not　to　unheeding　ears　did　it　appeal；　A　pulpit　formula；　a　platform　lie。

Only　a　fool　will　wantonly　desire　That　war　should　come；　outpouring　blood　and　fire；　And　bringing　grief　and　hunger　in　her　train。　And　yet；　if　there　be　found　no　other　way；　God　send　us　war；　and　with　it　send　the　day　When　love　of　country　shall　be　real　again！



SLEEP　FLIES　ME



Sleep　flies　me　like　a　lover　Too　eagerly　pursued；　Or　like　a　bird　to　cover　Within　some　distant　wood；　Where　thickest　boughs　roof　over　Her　secret　solitude。

The　nets　I　spread　to　snare　her；　Although　with　cunning　wrought；　Have　only　served　to　scare　her；　And　now　she'll　not　be　caught。　To　those　who　best　could　spare　her；　She　ever　comes　unsought。

She　lights　upon　their　pillows；　She　gives　them　pleasant　dreams；　Grey…green　with　leaves　of　willows；　And　cool　with　sound　of　streams；　Or　big　with　tranquil　billows；　On　which　the　starlight　gleams。

No　vision　fair　entrances　My　weary　open　eye；　No　marvellous　romances　Make　night　go　swiftly　by；　But　only　feverish　fancies　Beset　me　where　I　lie。

The　black　midnight　is　steeping　The　hillside　and　the　lawn；　But　still　I　lie　unsleeping；　With　curtains　backward　drawn；　To　catch　the　earliest　peeping　Of　the　desired　dawn。

Perhaps；　when　day　is　breaking；　When　birds　their　song　begin；　And；　worn　with　all　night　waking；　I　call　their　music　din；　Sweet　sleep；　some　pity　taking；　At　last　may　enter　in。



LOVE'S　PHANTOM



Whene'er　I　try　to　read　a　book；　Across　the　page　your　face　will　look；　And　then　I　neither　know　nor　care　What　sense　the　printed　words　may　bear。

At　night　when　I　would　go　to　sleep；　Thinking　of　you；　awake　I　keep；　And　still　repeat　the　words　you　said；　Like　sick　men　murmuring　prayers　in　bed。

And　when；　with　weariness　oppressed；　I　sink　in　spite　of　you　to　rest；　Your　image；　like　a　lovely　sprite；　Haunts　me　in　dreams　through　half　the　night。

I　wake　upon　the　autumn　morn　To　find　the　sunrise　hardly　born；　And　in　the　sky　a　soft　pale　blue；　And　in　my　heart　your　image　true。

When　out　I　walk　to　take　the　air；　Your　image　is　for　ever　there；　Among　the　woods　that　lose　their　leaves；　Or　where　the　North　Sea　sadly　heaves。

By　what　enchantment　shall　be　laid　This　ghost；　which　does　not　make　afraid；　But　vexes　with　dim　loveliness　And　many　a　shadowy　caress？

There　is　no　other　way　I　know　But　unto　you　forthwith　to　go；　That　I　may　look　upon　the　maid　Whereof　that　other　is　the　shade。

As　the　strong　sun　puts　out　the　moon；　Whose　borrowed　rays　are　all　his　own；　So；　in　your　living　presence；　dies　The　phantom　kindled　at　your　eyes。

By　this　most　blessed　spell；　each　day　The　vexing　ghost　awhile　I　lay。　Yet　am　I　glad　to　know　that　when　I　leave　you　it　will　rise　again。



COME　BACK　TO　ST。　ANDREWS



Come　back　to　St。　Andrews！　　Before　you　went　away　You　said　you　would　be　wretched　where　you　could　not　see　the　Bay；　The　East　sands　and　the　West　sands　and　the　castle　in　the　sea　Come　back　to　St。　AndrewsSt。　Andrews　and　me。

Oh；　it's　dreary　along　South　Street　when　the　rain　is　coming　down；　And　the　east　wind　makes　the　student　draw　more　close　his　warm　red　gown；　As　I　often　saw　you　do；　when　I　watched　you　going　by　On　the　stormy　days　to　College；　from　my　window　up　on　high。

I　wander　on　the　Lade　Braes；　where　I　used　to　walk　with　you；　And　purple　are　the　woods　of　Mount　Melville；　budding　new；　But　I　cannot　bear　to　look；　for　the　tears　keep　coming　so；　And　the　Spring　has　lost　the　freshness　which　it　had　a　year　ago。

Yet　often　I　could　fancy；　where　the　pathway　takes　a　turn；　I　shall　see　you　in　a　moment；　coming　round　beside　the　burn；　Coming　round　beside　the　burn；　with　your　swinging　step　and　free；　And　your　face　lit　up　with　pleasure　at　the　sudden　sight　of　me。

Beyond　the　Rock　and　Spindle；　where　we　watched　the　water　clear　In　the　happy　April　sunshine；　with　a　happy　sound　to　hear；　There　I　sat　this　afternoon；　but　no　hand　was　holding　mine；　And　the　water　sounded　eerie；　though　the　April　sun　did　shine。

Oh；　why　should　I　complain　of　what　I　know　was　bound　to　be？　For　you　had　your　way　to　make；　and　you　must　not　think　of　me。　But　a　woman's　heart　is　weak；　and　a　woman's　joys　are　few　…　There　are　times　when　I　could　die　for　a　moment's　sight　of　you。

It　may　be　you　will　come　again；　before　my　hair　is　grey　As　the　sea　is　in　the　twilight　of　a　weary　winter's　day。　When　success　is　grown　a　burden；　and　your　heart　would　fain　be　free；　Come　back　to　St。　AndrewsSt。　Andrews　and　me。



THE　SOLITARY



I　have　been　lonely　all　my　days　on　earth；　Living　a　life　within　my　secret　soul；　With　mine　own　springs　of　sorrow　and　of　mirth；　Beyond　the　world's　control。

Though　sometimes　with　vain　longing　I　have　sought　To　walk　the　paths　where　other　mortals　tread；　To　wear　the　clothes　for　other　mortals　wrought；　And　eat　the　selfsame　bread　…

Yet　have　I　ever　found；　when　thus　I　strove　To　mould　my　life　upon　the　common　plan；　That　I　was　furthest　from　all　truth　and　love；　And　least　a　living　man。

Truth　frowned　upon　my　poor　hypocrisy；　Life　left　my　soul；　and　dwelt　but　in　my　sense；　No　man　could　love　me；　for　all　men　could　see　The　hollow　vain　pretence。

Their　clothes　sat　on　me　with　outlandish　air；　Upon　their　easy　road　I　tripped　and　fell；　And　still　I　sickened　of　the　wholesome　fare　On　which　they　nourished　well。

I　was　a　stranger　in　that　company；　A　Galilean　whom　his　speech　bewrayed；　And　when　they　lifted　up　their　songs　of　glee；　My　voice　sad　d