r. f. murray-his poems with a memoir-第7章
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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 discord made。
Peace for mine own self I could never find；
And still my presence marred the general peace；
And when I parted； leaving them behind；
They felt； and I； release。
So will I follow now my spirit's bent；
Not scorning those who walk the beaten track；
Yet not despising mine own banishment；
Nor often looking back。
Their way is best for them； but mine for me。
And there is comfort for my lonely heart；
To think perhaps our journeys' ends may be
Not very far apart。
TO ALFRED TENNYSON1883
Familiar with thy melody；
We go debating of its power；
As churls； who hear it hour by hour；
Contemn the skylark's minstrelsy …
As shepherds on a Highland lea
Think lightly of the heather flower
Which makes the moorland's purple dower；
As far away as eye can see。
Let churl or shepherd change his sky；
And labour in the city dark；
Where there is neither air nor room …
How often will the exile sigh
To hear again the unwearied lark；
And see the heather's lavish bloom！
ICHABOD
Gone is the glory from the hills；
The autumn sunshine from the mere；
Which mourns for the declining year
In all her tributary rills。
A sense of change obscurely chills
The misty twilight atmosphere；
In which familiar things appear
Like alien ghosts； foreboding ills。
The twilight hour a month ago
Was full of pleasant warmth and ease；
The pearl of all the twenty…four。
Erelong the winter gales shall blow；
Erelong the winter frosts shall freeze …
And oh； that it were June once more！
AT A HIGH CEREMONY
Not the proudest damsel here
Looks so well as doth my dear。
All the borrowed light of dress
Outshining not her loveliness；
A loveliness not born of art；
But growing outwards from her heart；
Illuminating all her face；
And filling all her form with grace。
Said I； of dress the borrowed light
Could rival not her beauty bright？
Yet； looking round； ‘tis truth to tell；
No damsel here is dressed so well。
Only in them the dress one sees；
Because more greatly it doth please
Than any other charm that's theirs；
Than all their manners； all their airs。
But dress in her； although indeed
It perfect be； we do not heed；
Because the face； the form； the air
Are all so gentle and so rare。
THE WASTED DAY
Another day let slip！ Its hours have run；
Its golden hours； with prodigal excess；
All run to waste。 A day of life the less；
Of many wasted days； alas； but one！
Through my west window streams the setting sun。
I kneel within my chamber； and confess
My sin and sorrow； filled with vain distress；
In place of honest joy for work well done。
