Modern British Poetry Part 11

Through abysses unproven And gulfs beyond thought, Our portion is woven, Our burden is brought.

Yet They that prepare it, Whose Nature we share, Make us who must bear is Well able to bear.

Though terrors o'ertake us We'll not be afraid.

No power can unmake us Save that which has made.

Nor yet beyond reason Or hope shall we fall-- All things have their season, And Mercy crowns all!

Then, doubt not, ye fearful-- The Eternal is King-- Up, heart, and be cheerful, And l.u.s.tily sing:-- _What chariots, what horses Against us shall bide While the Stars in their courses Do fight on our side?_

FOOTNOTES:

[5] The _bhisti_, or water-carrier, attached to regiments in India, is often one of the most devoted of the Queen's servants. He is also appreciated by the men.

[6] Bring water swiftly.

[7] Tommy Atkins' equivalent for "O Brother!"

[8] Speed.

[9] Hit you.

[10] Water-skin.

[11] From _The Five Nations_ by Rudyard Kipling. Copyright by Doubleday, Page & Co. and A. P. Watt & Son.

[12] From _Rewards and Fairies_ by Rudyard Kipling. Copyright by Doubleday, Page and Co. and A. P. Watt & Son.

_Richard Le Gallienne_

Richard Le Gallienne, who, in spite of his long residence in the United States, must be considered an English poet, was born at Liverpool in 1866. He entered on a business career soon after leaving Liverpool College, but gave up commercial life to become a man of letters after five or six years.

His early work was strongly influenced by the artificialities of the aesthetic movement (see Preface); the indebtedness to Oscar Wilde is especially evident. A little later Keats was the dominant influence, and _English Poems_ (1892) betray how deep were Le Gallienne's admirations. His more recent poems in _The Lonely Dancer_ (1913) show a keener individuality and a finer lyrical pa.s.sion. His prose fancies are well known--particularly _The Book Bills of Narcissus_ and the charming and high-spirited fantasia, _The Quest of the Golden Girl_.

Le Gallienne came to America about 1905 and has lived ever since in Rowayton, Conn., and New York City.

A BALLAD OF LONDON

Ah, London! London! our delight, Great flower that opens but at night, Great City of the midnight sun, Whose day begins when day is done.

Lamp after lamp against the sky Opens a sudden beaming eye, Leaping alight on either hand, The iron lilies of the Strand.

Like dragonflies, the hansoms hover, With jeweled eyes, to catch the lover; The streets are full of lights and loves, Soft gowns, and flutter of soiled doves.

The human moths about the light Dash and cling close in dazed delight, And burn and laugh, the world and wife, For this is London, this is life!

Upon thy petals b.u.t.terflies, But at thy root, some say, there lies, A world of weeping trodden things, Poor worms that have not eyes or wings.

From out corruption of their woe Springs this bright flower that charms us so, Men die and rot deep out of sight To keep this jungle-flower bright.

Paris and London, World-Flowers twain Wherewith the World-Tree blooms again, Since Time hath gathered Babylon, And withered Rome still withers on.

Sidon and Tyre were such as ye, How bright they shone upon the tree!

But Time hath gathered, both are gone, And no man sails to Babylon.

REGRET

One asked of regret, And I made reply: To have held the bird, And let it fly; To have seen the star For a moment nigh, And lost it Through a slothful eye; To have plucked the flower And cast it by; To have one only hope-- To die.

_Lionel Johnson_

Born in 1867, Lionel Johnson received a cla.s.sical education at Oxford, and his poetry is a faithful reflection of his studies in Greek and Latin literatures. Though he allied himself with the modern Irish poets, his Celtic origin is a literary myth; Johnson, having been converted to Catholicism in 1891, became imbued with Catholic and, later, with Irish traditions. His verse, while sometimes strained and over-decorated, is chastely designed, rich and, like that of the Cavalier poets of the seventeenth century, mystically devotional.

_Poems_ (1895) contains his best work. Johnson died in 1902.

MYSTIC AND CAVALIER

Go from me: I am one of those who fall.

What! hath no cold wind swept your heart at all, In my sad company? Before the end, Go from me, dear my friend!

Yours are the victories of light: your feet Rest from good toil, where rest is brave and sweet: But after warfare in a mourning gloom, I rest in clouds of doom.

Have you not read so, looking in these eyes?

Is it the common light of the pure skies, Lights up their shadowy depths? The end is set: Though the end be not yet.

When gracious music stirs, and all is bright, And beauty triumphs through a courtly night; When I too joy, a man like other men: Yet, am I like them, then?

And in the battle, when the hors.e.m.e.n sweep Against a thousand deaths, and fall on sleep: Who ever sought that sudden calm, if I Sought not? yet could not die!

Seek with thine eyes to pierce this crystal sphere: Canst read a fate there, prosperous and clear?

Only the mists, only the weeping clouds, Dimness and airy shrouds.

Beneath, what angels are at work? What powers Prepare the secret of the fatal hours?

See! the mists tremble, and the clouds are stirred: When comes the calling word?

The clouds are breaking from the crystal ball, Breaking and clearing: and I look to fall.

When the cold winds and airs of portent sweep, My spirit may have sleep.

O rich and sounding voices of the air!

Interpreters and prophets of despair: Priests of a fearful sacrament! I come, To make with you mine home.