Chapter II: The Marine

(_Poitevin_)

The bold Marine comes back from war, So kind: The bold Marine comes back from war, So kind: With a raggety coat and a worn-out shoe. "Now, poor Marine, say, whence come you, All so kind?"

I travel back from the war, madame, So kind: I travel back from the war, madame, So kind: For a glass of wine and a bowl of whey, 'Tis I will sing you a ballad gay, All so kind.

The bold Marine he sips his whey, So kind: He sips and he sings his ballad gay, So kind: But the dame she turns toward the wall, To wipe her tears that fall and fall, All so kind.

What aileth you at my song, madame,
So kind?
I hope that I sing no wrong, madame,
So kind?

Or grieves it you a beggar should dine On a bowl of whey and the good white wine, All so kind?

It ails me not at your ballad gay,
So kind:
It ails me not for the wine and whey,
So kind:

But it ails me sore for the voice and eyes Of a good man long in Paradise.-- Ah, so kind!

You have fair children five, madame,
So kind:
You have fair children five, madame,
So kind:

Your good man left you children three; Whence came these twain for company, All so kind?

"A letter came from the war, Marine, So kind: A letter came from the war, Marine, So kind: A while I wept for the good man dead, But another good man in a while I wed, All so kind."

The bold Marine he drained his glass, So kind: The bold Marine he drained his glass, So kind. He said not a word, though the tears they flowed, But back to his regiment took the road, All so kind.

MARY LESLIE

_Before Vittoria, June_ 20, 1813

O Mary Leslie, blithe and shrill
The bugles blew for Spain:
And you below the Castle Hill
Stood in the crowd your lane.
Then hearts were wild to watch us pass,
Yet laith to let us go!
While mine said, "Fare-ye-well, my lass!"
And yours, "God keep my Jo!"

Here by the bivouac fire, above
These fields of savage play,
I'll lift my love to meet thy love
Twa thousand miles away,

Where yonder, yonder by the stars,
Nightlong there rins a burn,
And maids with lovers at the wars
May list their wraiths' return.

More careless yet my spirit grows
Of fame, more sick of blood:
But I can think of Badajoz,
And yet that God is good.
Beyond the siege, beyond the stour,
Beyond the sack of towns,
I reach to pluck ae lily-floo'r
Where leaders press for crowns.

O Mary! lily! bow'd and wet
With mair than mornin's rain!
The bugles up the Lawnmarket
Shall sound us home again.

Then fare-ye-well, these foreign lands,
And be damn'd their bitter drouth.
With your dear face between my hands
And the cup held to my mouth,
My love,
It's clean cup to my mouth!

JENIFER'S LOVE

Small is my secret--let it pass--
Small in your life the share I had,
Who sat beside you in the class,
Awed by the bright superior lad:
Whom yet with hot and eager face
I prompted when he missed his place.

For you the call came swift and soon:
But sometimes in your holidays
You meet me trudging home at noon
To dinner through the dusty ways,
And recognized, and with a nod
Passed on, but never guessed--thank God!

Truly our ways were separate.
I bent myself to hoe and drill,

Yea, with an honest man to mate,
Fulfilling God Almighty's will;
And bore him children. But my prayers
Were yours--and, only after, theirs.

While you--still loftier, more remote,
You sprang from stair to stair of fame,
And you've a riband on your coat,
And you've a title to your name;
But have you yet a star to shine
Above your bed, as I o'er mine?

TWO DUETS

_From "Arion," an unpublished Masque_

I

_He._ Aglai-a! Aglai-a!
Sweet, awaken and be glad.
_She._ Who is this that calls Aglaia?
Is it thou, my dearest lad?
_He._ 'Tis Arion, 'tis Arion,
Who calls thee from sleep--
From slumber who bids thee
To follow and number
His kids and his sheep.
_She._ Nay, leave to entreat me!
If mother should spy on
Us twain, she would beat me.
_He._ Then come, my love, come!
And hide with Arion
Where green woods are dumb!

_She._ Ar-i-on! Ar-i-on!
Closer, list! I am afraid!

_He._ Whisper, then, thy love Arion,
From thy window, lily maid.

_She._ Yet Aglaia, yet Aglaia
Hath heard them debate
Of wooing repenting--
"Who trust to undoing,
Lament them too late."

_He._ Nay, nay, when I woo thee,
Thy mother might spy on
All harm I shall do thee.

_She._ I come, then--I come!
To follow Arion
Where green woods be dumb.

SONG

Sparrow of Love, so sharp to peck,
Arrow of Love--I bare my neck
Down to the bosom. See, no fleck

Of blood! I have never a wound; I go
Forth to the greenwood. Yet, heigh-ho!
What 'neath my girdle flutters so?

'Tis not a bird, and yet hath wings,
'Tis not an arrow, yet it stings;
While in the wound it nests and sings--
Heigh-ho!

_He._ Of Arion, of Arion
That wound thou shalt learn;
What nothings 'tis made of,
And soft pretty soothings
In shade of the fern.

_She._ When maids have a mind to,
Man's word they rely on,
Old warning are blind to--
I come, then--I come
To walk with Arion
Where green woods are dumb!

II

_He._ Dear my love, and O my love,
And O my love so lately!
Did we wander yonder grove
And sit awhile sedately?
For either you did there conclude
To do at length as I did,
Or passion's fashion's turn'd a prude,
And troth's an oath derided.

_She._ Yea, my love--and nay, my love--
And ask me not to tell, love,
While I delay'd an idle day
What 'twixt us there befell, love.
Yet either I did sit beside
And do at length as you did,
Or my delight is lightly by
An idle lie deluded!

THE STATUES AND THE TEAR

All night a fountain pleads,
Telling her beads,
Her tinkling beads monotonous 'neath the moon;
And where she springs atween,
Two statues lean--
Two Kings, their marble beards with moonlight
strewn.

Till hate had frozen speech,
Each hated each,
Hated and died, and went unto his place:
And still inveterate
They lean and hate
With glare of stone implacable, face to face.

One, who bade set them here
In stone austere,
To both was dear, and did not guess at all:
Yet with her new-wed lord
Walking the sward
Paused, and for two dead friends a tear let fall.

She turn'd and went her way.
Yet in the spray
The shining tear attempts, but cannot lie.
Night-long the fountain drips,
But even slips
Untold that one bead of her rosary:
While they, who know it would
Lie if it could,
Lean on and hate, watching it, eye to eye.

NUPTIAL NIGHT

Hush! and again the chatter of the starling
Athwart the lawn!
Lean your head close and closer. O my darling!--
It is the dawn.
Dawn in the dusk of her dream,
Dream in the hush of her bosom, unclose!
Bathed in the eye-bright beam,
Blush to her cheek, be a blossom, a rose!

Go, nuptial night! the floor of Ocean tressing
With moon and star;
With benediction go and breathe thy blessing
On coasts afar.

Hark! the theorbos thrum
O'er the arch'd wave that in white smother booms
"Mother of Mystery, come!
Fain for thee wait other brides, other grooms!"

Go, nuptial night, my breast of hers bereaving!
Yet, O, tread soft!
Grow day, blithe day, the mountain shoulder heaving
More gold aloft!
Gold, rose, bird of the dawn,
All to her balcony gather unseen--
Thrill through the curtain drawn,
Bless her, bedeck her, and bathe her, my Queen!

HESPERUS

Down in the street the last late hansoms go
Still westward, but with backward eyes of red
The harlot shuffles to her lonely bed;
The tall policeman pauses but to throw
A flash into the empty portico;
Then he too passes, and his lonely tread
Links all the long-drawn gas-lights on a thread
And ties them to one planet swinging low.

O Hesperus! O happy star! to bend
O'er Helen's bosom in the trancèd west--
To watch the hours heave by upon her breast
And at her parted lip for dreams attend:
If dawn defraud thee, how shall I be deem'd.
Who house within that bosom, and am dreamed?

CHANT ROYAL OF HIGH VIRTUE

Who lives in suit of armour pent And hides himself behind a wall, For him is not the great event, The garland nor the Capitol. And is God's guerdon less than they? Nay, moral man, I tell thee Nay: Nor shall the flaming forts be won By sneaking negatives alone, By Lenten fast or Ramazàn; But by the challenge proudly thrown-- _Virtue is that becrowns a Man!_

God, in His Palace resident
Of Bliss, beheld our sinful ball,
And charged His own Son innocent
Us to redeem from Adam's fall.

"Yet must it be that men Thee slay." "Yea, tho' it must, must I obey," Said Christ; and came, His royal Son, To die, and dying to atone For harlot, thief, and publican. Read on that rood He died upon-- _Virtue is that becrowns a Man!_

Beneath that rood where He was bent I saw the world's great captains all Pass riding home from tournament Adown the road from Roncesvalles-- Lord Charlemagne, in one array Lords Caesar, Cyrus, Attila, Lord Alisaundre of Macedon ... With flame on lance and habergeon They passed, and to the rataplan Of drums gave salutation-- _"Virtue is that becrowns a Man!"_ Had tall Achilles lounged in tent For aye, and Xanthus neigh'd in stall, The towers of Troy had ne'er been shent, Nor stay'd the dance in Priam's hall. Bend o'er thy book till thou be grey, Read, mark, perpend, digest, survey, Instruct thee deep as Solomon, One only chapter thou canst con, One lesson learn, one sentence scan, One title and one colophon-- _Virtue is that becrowns a Man!_

High Virtue's best is eloquent With spur and not with martingall: Swear not to her thou'rt continent: BE COURTEOUS, BRAVE, AND LIBERAL. God fashion'd thee of chosen clay For service, nor did ever say, "Deny thee this," "Abstain from yon," But to inure thee, thew and bone. To be confirmèd of the clan That made immortal Marathon-- _Virtue is that becrowns a Man!_

ENVOY

Young Knight, the lists are set to-day! Hereafter shall be time to pray In sepulture, with hands of stone. Ride, then! outride the bugle blown! And gaily dinging down the van, Charge with a cheer--_"Set on! Set on! Virtue is that becrowns a Man!"_

CORONATION HYMN

_Tune_--Luther's Chorale
"Ein' feste burg ist unser Gott"

I

Of old our City hath renown.
Of God are her foundations,
Wherein this day a King we crown
Elate among the nations.
Acknowledge, then, thou King--
And you, ye people, sing--
What deeds His arm hath wrought:
Yea, let their tale be taught
To endless generations.

II

So long, so far, Jehovah guides
His people's path attending,
By pastures green and water-sides
Toward His hill ascending;
Whence they beneath the stars
Shall view their ancient wars,
Their perils, far removed.
O might of mercy proved!
O love past comprehending!

III

He was that God, for man which spake
From Sinai forth in thunder;
He was that Love, for man which brake
The dreadful grave asunder.
Lord over every lord,
His consecrating word
An earthly prince awaits;
Lift then your heads, ye gates!
Your King comes riding under.

IV

Be ye lift up, ye deathless doors;
Let wave your banners o'er Him!
Exult, ye streets; be strewn, ye floors,
With palm, with bay, before Him!
With transport fetch Him in,
Ye ransom'd folk from sin--
Your Lord, return'd to bless!
O kneeling king, confess--
O subject men, adore Him!

THREE MEN OF TRURO

I

E. W. B.

_Archbishop of Canterbury: sometime the First Bishop of Truro. October_ 1896

The Church's outpost on a neck of land--
By ebb of faith the foremost left the last--
Dull, starved of hope, we watched the driven sand
Blown through the hour-glass, covering our past,
Counting no hours to our relief--no hail
Across the hills, and on the sea no sail!

Sick of monotonous days we lost account,
In fitful dreams remembering days of old
And nights--th' erect Archangel on the Mount
With sword that drank the dawn; the Vase of Gold
The moving Grail athwart the starry fields
Where all the heavenly spearmen clashed their
shields.

In dereliction by the deafening shore
We sought no more aloft, but sunk our eyes,
Probing the sea for food, the earth for ore.
Ah, yet had one good soldier of the skies
Burst through the wrack reporting news of them,
How had we run and kissed his garment's hem!

Nay, but he came! Nay, but he stood and cried,
Panting with joy and the fierce fervent race,
"Arm, arm! for Christ returns!"--and all our pride,
Our ancient pride, answered that eager face:
"Repair His battlements!--Your Christ is near!"
And, half in dream, we raised the soldiers' cheer.

Far, as we flung that challenge, fled the ghosts--
Back, as we built, the obscene foe withdrew--
High to the song of hammers sang the hosts
Of Heaven--and lo! the daystar, and a new
Dawn with its chalice and its wind as wine;
And youth was hope, and life once more divine!

* * * * *

Day, and hot noon, and now the evening glow,
And 'neath our scaffolding the city spread
Twilit, with rain-wash'd roofs, and--hark!--below,
One late bell tolling. "Dead? Our Captain dead?"
Nay, here with us he fronts the westering sun
With shaded eyes and counts the wide fields won.

Aloft with us! And while another stone
Swings to its socket, haste with trowel and hod!
Win the old smile a moment ere, alone,
Soars the great soul to bear report to God.
Night falls; but thou, dear Captain, from thy star
Look down, behold how bravely goes the war!

II

A. B. D.

_Canon Residentiary and Precentor of Truro December_ 1903

Many had builded, and, the building done,
Through our adornèd gates with din
Came Prince and Priest, with pipe and clarion
Leading the right God in.

Yet, had the perfect temple quickened then
And whispered us between our song,
_"Give God the praise. To whom of living men
Shall next our thanks belong?"_

Then had the few, the very few, that wist
His Atlantean labour, swerved
Their eyes to seek, and in the triumph missed,
The man that most deserved.

He only of us was incorporate
In all that fabric; stone by stone
Had built his life in her, had made his fate
And her perfection one;

Given all he had; and now--when all was given--
Far spent, within a private shade,
Heard the loud organ pealing praise to Heaven,
And learned why man is made.--

To break his strength, yet always to be brave;
To preach, and act, the Crucified ...
Sweep by, O Prince and Prelate, up the nave,
And fill it with your pride!

Better than ye what made th' old temples great,
Because he loved, he understood;
Indignant that his darling, less in state,
Should lack a martyr's blood.

She hath it now. O mason, strip away
Her scaffolding, the flower disclose!
Lay by the tools with his o'er-wearied clay--
But She shall bloom unto its Judgment Day,
His ever-living Rose!

III