Chapter I: NEVER cared for Life: Life cared for me,

And hence I owed it some fidelity.
It now says, “Cease; at length thou hast learnt to grind
Sufficient toll for an unwilling mind,
And I dismiss thee—not without regard
That thou didst ask no ill-advised reward,
Nor sought in me much more than thou couldst find.”

AN ANCIENT TO ANCIENTS

WHERE once we danced, where once sang,
Gentlemen,
The floors are sunken, cobwebs hang,
And cracks creep; worms have fed upon
The doors. Yea, sprightlier times were then
Than now, with harps and tabrets gone,
Gentlemen!

Where once we rowed, where once we sailed,
Gentlemen,
And damsels took the tiller, veiled
Against too strong a stare (God wot
Their fancy, then or anywhen!)
Upon that shore we are clean forgot,
Gentlemen!

We have lost somewhat, afar and near,
Gentlemen,
The thinning of our ranks each year
Affords a hint we are nigh undone,
That we shall not be ever again
The marked of many, loved of one,
Gentlemen.

In dance the polka hit our wish,
Gentlemen,
The paced quadrille, the spry schottische,
“Sir Roger.”—And in opera spheres
The “Girl” (the famed “Bohemian”),
And “Trovatore,” held the ears,
Gentlemen.

This season’s paintings do not please,
Gentlemen,
Like Etty, Mulready, Maclise;
Throbbing romance has waned and wanned;
No wizard wields the witching pen
Of Bulwer, Scott, Dumas, and Sand,
Gentlemen.

The bower we shrined to Tennyson,
Gentlemen,
Is roof-wrecked; damps there drip upon
Sagged seats, the creeper-nails are rust,
The spider is sole denizen;
Even she who read those rhymes is dust,
Gentlemen!

We who met sunrise sanguine-souled,
Gentlemen,
Are wearing weary. We are old;
These younger press; we feel our rout
Is imminent to Aïdes’ den,—
That evening’s shades are stretching out,
Gentlemen!

And yet, though ours be failing frames,
Gentlemen,
So were some others’ history names,
Who trode their track light-limbed and fast
As these youth, and not alien
From enterprise, to their long last,
Gentlemen.

Sophocles, Plato, Socrates,
Gentlemen,
Pythagoras, Thucydides,
Herodotus, and Homer,—yea,
Clement, Augustin, Origen,
Burnt brightlier towards their setting-day,
Gentlemen.

And ye, red-lipped and smooth-browed; list,
Gentlemen;
Much is there waits you we have missed;
Much lore we leave you worth the knowing,
Much, much has lain outside our ken:
Nay, rush not: time serves: we are going,
Gentlemen.

AFTER READING PSALMS XXXIX., XL., ETC.

SIMPLE was I and was young;
Kept no gallant tryst, I;
Even from good words held my tongue,
_Quoniam Tu fecisti_!

Through my youth I stirred me not,
High adventure missed I,
Left the shining shrines unsought;
Yet—_me deduxisti_!

At my start by Helicon
Love-lore little wist I,
Worldly less; but footed on;
Why? _Me suscepisti_!

When I failed at fervid rhymes,
“Shall,” I said, “persist I?”
“_Dies_” (I would add at times)
“_Meos posuisti_!”

So I have fared through many suns;
Sadly little grist I
Bring my mill, or any one’s,
_Domine_, _Tu scisti_!

And at dead of night I call:
“Though to prophets list I,
Which hath understood at all?
Yea: _Quem elegisti_?”

187–

SURVIEW “Cogitavi vias meas”

A CRY from the green-grained sticks of the fire
Made me gaze where it seemed to be:
’Twas my own voice talking therefrom to me
On how I had walked when my sun was higher—
My heart in its arrogancy.

“_You held not to whatsoever was true_,”
Said my own voice talking to me:
“_Whatsoever was just you were slack to see_;
_Kept not things lovely and pure in view_,”
Said my own voice talking to me.

“_You slighted her that endureth all_,”
Said my own voice talking to me;
“_Vaunteth not_, _trusteth hopefully_;
_That suffereth long and is kind withal_,”
Said my own voice talking to me.

“_You taught not that which you set about_,”
Said my own voice talking to me;
“_That the greatest of things is Charity_. . . ”
—And the sticks burnt low, and the fire went out,
And my voice ceased talking to me.

FOOTNOTES

{46} Quadrilles danced early in the nineteenth century.

{128} It was said her real name was Eve Trevillian or Trevelyan; and that she was the handsome mother of two or three illegitimate children, _circa_ 1784–95.