Poems — Volume 1

Part 1

Transcribed from the 1912 Times Book Club “Surrey Edition” by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org

POEMS VOL. I

BY GEORGE MEREDITH

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SURREY EDITION

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LONDON THE TIMES BOOK CLUB 376–384 OXFORD STREET, W. 1912

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Edinburgh: T. and A. Constable, Printers to his Majesty

CONTENTS

PAGE CHILLIANWALLAH, 1

Chillianwallah, Chillianwallah! THE DOE: A FRAGMENT, 3

And—‘Yonder look! yoho! yoho! BEAUTY ROHTRAUT, 9

What is the name of King Ringang’s daughter? THE OLIVE BRANCH, 11

A dove flew with an Olive Branch; SONG, 16

Love within the lover’s breast THE WILD ROSE AND THE SNOWDROP, 17

The Snowdrop is the prophet of the flowers; THE DEATH OF WINTER, 19

When April with her wild blue eye SONG, 21

The moon is alone in the sky JOHN LACKLAND, 21

A wicked man is bad enough on earth; THE SLEEPING CITY, 22

A Princess in the eastern tale THE POETRY OF CHAUCER, 27

Grey with all honours of age! but fresh-featured and ruddy THE POETRY OF SPENSER, 27

Lakes where the sunsheen is mystic with splendour and softness; THE POETRY OF SHAKESPEARE, 28

Picture some Isle smiling green ’mid the white-foaming ocean;— THE POETRY OF MILTON, 28

Like to some deep-chested organ whose grand inspiration, THE POETRY OF SOUTHEY, 29

Keen as an eagle whose flight towards the dim empyréan THE POETRY OF COLERIDGE, 29

A brook glancing under green leaves, self-delighting, exulting, THE POETRY OF SHELLEY, 30

See’st thou a Skylark whose glistening winglets ascending THE POETRY OF WORDSWORTH, 30

Part 2

A breath of the mountains, fresh born in the regions majestic, THE POETRY OF KEATS, 31

The song of a nightingale sent thro’ a slumbrous valley, VIOLETS, 31

Violets, shy violets! ANGELIC LOVE, 32

Angelic love that stoops with heavenly lips TWILIGHT MUSIC, 34

Know you the low pervading breeze REQUIEM, 36

Where faces are hueless, where eyelids are dewless, THE FLOWER OF THE RUINS, 37

Take thy lute and sing THE RAPE OF AURORA, 40

Never, O never, SOUTH-WEST WIND IN THE WOODLAND, 42

The silence of preluded song— WILL O’ THE WISP, 46

Follow me, follow me, SONG, 49

Fair and false! No dawn will greet SONG, 50

Two wedded lovers watched the rising moon, SONG, 51

I cannot lose thee for a day, DAPHNE, 52

Musing on the fate of Daphne, LONDON BY LAMPLIGHT, 68

There stands a singer in the street, SONG, 73

Under boughs of breathing May, PASTORALS, 74

How sweet on sunny afternoons, TO A SKYLARK, 74

O skylark! I see thee and call thee joy! SONG—SPRING, 85

When buds of palm do burst and spread SONG—AUTUMN, 85

When nuts behind the hazel-leaf SORROWS AND JOYS, 86

Bury thy sorrows, and they shall rise SONG, 88

The Flower unfolds its dawning cup, SONG, 89

Thou to me art such a spring ANTIGONE, 90

The buried voice bespake Antigone. ‘SWATHED ROUND IN MIST AND CROWN’D WITH CLOUD,’ 92 SONG, 93

No, no, the falling blossom is no sign THE TWO BLACKBIRDS, 94

A Blackbird in a wicker cage, JULY, 96

Blue July, bright July, SONG, 98

I would I were the drop of rain SONG, 99

Part 3

Come to me in any shape! THE SHIPWRECK OF IDOMENEUS, 100

Swept from his fleet upon that fatal night THE LONGEST DAY, 112

On yonder hills soft twilight dwells TO ROBIN REDBREAST, 114

Merrily ’mid the faded leaves, SONG, 115

The daisy now is out upon the green; SUNRISE, 117

The clouds are withdrawn PICTURES OF THE RHINE, 120

The spirit of Romance dies not to those TO A NIGHTINGALE, 123

O nightingale! how hast thou learnt INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY, 124

Now ’tis Spring on wood and wold, THE SWEET O’ THE YEAR, 126

Now the frog, all lean and weak, AUTUMN EVEN-SONG, 128

The long cloud edged with streaming grey THE SONG OF COURTESY, 129

When Sir Gawain was led to his bridal-bed, THE THREE MAIDENS, 131

There were three maidens met on the highway; OVER THE HILLS, 132

The old hound wags his shaggy tail, JUGGLING JERRY, 134

Pitch here the tent, while the old horse grazes: THE CROWN OF LOVE, 139

O might I load my arms with thee, THE HEAD OF BRAN THE BLEST, 141

When the Head of Bran THE MEETING, 145

The old coach-road through a common of furze, THE BEGGAR’S SOLILOQUY, 146

Now, this, to my notion, is pleasant cheer, BY THE ROSANNA TO F. M., 151

The old grey Alp has caught the cloud, PHANTASY, 152

Within a Temple of the Toes, THE OLD CHARTIST, 158

Whate’er I be, old England is my dam! SONG, 163

Should thy love die; TO ALEX. SMITH, THE ‘GLASGOW POET,’ 164

Not vainly doth the earnest voice of man GRANDFATHER BRIDGEMAN, 165

‘Heigh, boys!’ cried Grandfather Bridgeman, ‘it’s time before dinner to-day.’ THE PROMISE IN DISTURBANCE, 180

How low when angels fall their black descent, MODERN LOVE, 181 I. By this he knew she wept with waking eyes: II. It ended, and the morrow brought the task. III. This was the woman; what now of the man? IV. All other joys of life he strove to warm, V. A message from her set his brain aflame. VI. It chanced his lips did meet her forehead cool. VII. She issues radiant from her dressing-room, VIII. Yet it was plain she struggled, and that salt IX. He felt the wild beast in him betweenwhiles X. But where began the change; and what’s my crime? XI. Out in the yellow meadows, where the bee XII. Not solely that the Future she destroys, XIII. ‘I play for Seasons; not Eternities!’ XIV. What soul would bargain for a cure that brings XV. I think she sleeps: it must be sleep, when low XVI. In our old shipwrecked days there was an hour, XVII. At dinner, she is hostess, I am host. XVIII. Here Jack and Tom are paired with Moll and Meg. XIX. No state is enviable. To the luck alone XX. I am not of those miserable males XXI. We three are on the cedar-shadowed lawn; XXII. What may the woman labour to confess? XXIII. ’Tis Christmas weather, and a country house XXIV. The misery is greater, as I live! XXV. You like not that French novel? Tell me why. XXVI. Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in high skies, XXVII. Distraction is the panacea, Sir! XXVIII. I must be flattered. The imperious XXIX. Am I failing? For no longer can I cast XXX. What are we first? First, animals; and next XXXI. This golden head has wit in it. I live XXXII. Full faith I have she holds that rarest gift XXXIII. ‘In Paris, at the Louvre, there have I seen XXXIV. Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes: XXXV. It is no vulgar nature I have wived. XXXVI. My Lady unto Madam makes her bow. XXXVII. Along the garden terrace, under which XXXVIII. Give to imagination some pure light XXXIX. She yields: my Lady in her noblest mood XL. I bade my Lady think what she might mean. XLI. How many a thing which we cast to the ground, XLII. I am to follow her. There is much grace XLIII. Mark where the pressing wind shoots javelin-like XLIV. They say, that Pity in Love’s service dwells, XLV. It is the season of the sweet wild rose, XLVI. At last we parley: we so strangely dumb XLVII. We saw the swallows gathering in the sky, XLVIII. Their sense is with their senses all mixed in, XLIX. He found her by the ocean’s moaning verge, L. Thus piteously Love closed what he begat: THE PATRIOT ENGINEER, 231

‘Sirs! may I shake your hands? CASSANDRA, 236

Captive on a foreign shore, THE YOUNG USURPER, 240

Part 4

On my darling’s bosom MARGARET’S BRIDAL EVE, 241

The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee: MARIAN, 248

She can be as wise as we, BY MORNING TWILIGHT, 249

Night, like a dying mother, UNKNOWN FAIR FACES, 249

Though I am faithful to my loves lived through, SHEMSELNIHAR, 250

O my lover! the night like a broad smooth wave A ROAR THROUGH THE TALL TWIN ELM-TREES, 252

A roar thro’ the tall twin elm-trees WHEN I WOULD IMAGE, 252

When I would image her features, THE SPIRIT OF SHAKESPEARE, 253

Thy greatest knew thee, Mother Earth; unsoured CONTINUED, 253

How smiles he at a generation ranked ODE TO THE SPIRIT OF EARTH IN AUTUMN, 254

Fair Mother Earth lay on her back last night, MARTIN’S PUZZLE, 261

There she goes up the street with her book in her hand,

CHILLIANWALLAH {1}

CHILLANWALLAH, Chillanwallah! Where our brothers fought and bled, O thy name is natural music And a dirge above the dead! Though we have not been defeated, Though we can’t be overcome, Still, whene’er thou art repeated, I would fain that grief were dumb.

Chillianwallah, Chillianwallah! ’Tis a name so sad and strange, Like a breeze through midnight harpstrings Ringing many a mournful change; But the wildness and the sorrow Have a meaning of their own— Oh, whereof no glad to-morrow Can relieve the dismal tone!

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