Poems of To-Day: an Anthology Part 21

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84. YOUTH AND LOVE

To the heart of youth the world is a highwayside.

Pa.s.sing for ever, he fares; and on either hand, Deep in the gardens golden pavilions hide, Nestle in orchard bloom, and far on the level land Call him with lighted lamp in the eventide.

Thick as the stars at night when the moon is down, Pleasures a.s.sail him. He to his n.o.bler fate Fares; and but waves a hand as he pa.s.ses on, Cries but a wayside word to her at the garden gate, Sings but a boyish stave and his face is gone.

_Robert Louis Stevenson._

95. THE PRECEPT OF SILENCE

I know you: solitary griefs, Desolate pa.s.sions, aching hours!

I know you: tremulous beliefs, Agonised hopes, and ashen flowers!

The winds are sometimes sad to me; The starry s.p.a.ces, full of fear: Mine is the sorrow on the sea, And mine the sigh of places drear.

Some players upon plaintive strings Publish their wistfulness abroad: I have not spoken of these things, Save to one man, and unto G.o.d.

_Lionel Johnson._

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96. IF THIS WERE FAITH

G.o.d, if this were enough, That I see things bare to the buff And up to the b.u.t.tocks in mire; That I ask nor hope nor hire, Nut in the husk, Nor dawn beyond the dusk, Nor life beyond death: G.o.d, if this were faith?

Having felt thy wind in my face Spit sorrow and disgrace, Having seen thine evil doom In Golgotha and Khartoum, And the brutes, the work of thine hands, Fill with injustice lands And stain with blood the sea: If still in my veins the glee Of the black night and the sun And the lost battle, run: If, an adept, The iniquitous lists I still accept With joy, and joy to endure and be withstood, And still to battle and perish for a dream of good G.o.d, if that were enough?

If to feel, in the ink of the slough, And the sink of the mire, Veins of glory and fire Run through and transpierce and transpire, And a secret purpose of glory in every part,

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And the answering glory of battle fill my heart; To thrill with the joy of girded men, To go on for ever and fail and go on again, And be mauled to the earth and arise, And contend for the shade of a word and a thing not seen with the eyes: With the half of a broken hope for a pillow at night That somehow the right is the right And the smooth shall bloom from the rough: Lord, if that were enough?

_Robert Louis Stevenson._

97. VITAI LAMPADA

There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night-- Ten to make and the match to win-- A b.u.mping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in.

And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat, Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

The sand of the desert is sodden red,-- Red with the wreck of a square that broke;-- The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead, And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.

The river of death has brimmed his banks, And England's far, and Honour a name, But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks; "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

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This is the word that year by year, While in her place the School is set, Every one of her sons must hear, And none that hears it dare forget.

This they all with a joyful mind Bear through life like a torch in flame, And falling fling to the host behind-- "Play up! play up! and play the game!"

_Henry Newbolt._

98. LAUGH AND BE MERRY

Laugh and be merry, remember, better the world with a song, Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong.

Laugh, for the time is brief, a thread the length of a span.

Laugh, and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man.

Laugh and be merry: remember, in olden time, G.o.d made Heaven and Earth for joy He took in a rhyme, Made them, and filled them full with the strong red wine of His mirth, The splendid joy of the stars: the joy of the earth.

So we must laugh and drink from the deep blue cup of the sky, Join the jubilant song of the great stars sweeping by, Laugh, and battle, and work, and drink of the wine outpoured In the dear green earth, the sign of the joy of the Lord.

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Laugh and be merry together, like brothers akin, Guesting awhile in the rooms of a beautiful inn, Glad till the dancing stops, and the lilt of the music ends.

Laugh till the game is played; and be you merry, my friends.

_John Masefield._

99. ROUNDABOUTS AND SWINGS

It was early last September nigh to Framlin'am-on-Sea, An' 'twas Fair-day come to-morrow, an' the time was after tea, An' I met a painted caravan adown a dusty lane, A Pharaoh with his waggons comin' jolt an' creak an' strain; A cheery cove an' sunburnt, bold o' eye and wrinkled up, An' beside him on the splashboard sat a brindled tarrier pup, An' a lurcher wise as Solomon an' lean as fiddle-strings Was joggin' in the dust along 'is roundabouts and swings.

"Goo'-day," said 'e; "Goo'-day," said I; "an' 'ow d'you find things go, An' what's the chance o' millions when you runs a travellin' show?"

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"I find," said 'e, "things very much as 'ow I've always found, For mostly they goes up and down or else goes round and round."

Said 'e, "The job's the very spit o' what it always were, It's bread and bacon mostly when the dog don't catch a 'are; But lookin' at it broad, an' while it ain't no merchant king's, What's lost upon the roundabouts we pulls up on the swings!"

"Goo' luck," said 'e; "Goo' luck," said I; "you've put it past a doubt; An' keep that lurcher on the road, the gamekeepers is out;"

'E thumped upon the footboard an' 'e lumbered on again To meet a gold-dust sunset down the owl-light in the lane; An' the moon she climbed the 'azels, while a nightjar seemed to spin That Pharaoh's wisdom o'er again, 'is sooth of lose-and-win; For "up an' down an' round," said 'e, "goes all appointed things, An' losses on the roundabouts means profits on the swings!"

_Patrick R. Chalmers._

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