THE WORKS OF

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

SWANSTON EDITION

VOLUME XIV

Of this SWANSTON EDITION in Twenty-five
Volumes of the Works of ROBERT LOUIS
STEVENSON Two Thousand and Sixty Copies
have been printed, of which only Two Thousand
Copies are for sale.

This is No. ............

ALISON CUNNINGHAM, R. L. S.’S NURSE

THE WORKS OF

ROBERT LOUIS

STEVENSON

VOLUME FOURTEEN
LONDON: PUBLISHED BY CHATTO AND
WINDUS: IN ASSOCIATION WITH CASSELL
AND COMPANY LIMITED: WILLIAM
HEINEMANN: AND LONGMANS GREEN
AND COMPANY MDCCCCXII
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CONTENTS

A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES
PAGE
I.Bed in Summer
In winter I get up at night		[3]
II.A Thought
It is very nice to think		[3]
III.At the Sea-side
When I was down beside the sea		[4]
IV.Young Night Thought
All night long, and every night		[4]
V.Whole Duty of Children
A child should always say what’s true		[5]
VI.Rain
The rain is raining all around		[5]
VII.Pirate Story
Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing		[5]
VIII.Foreign Lands
Up into the cherry-tree		[6]
IX.Windy Nights
Whenever the moon and stars are set		[7]
X.Travel
I should like to rise and go		[7]
XI.Singing
Of speckled eggs the birdie sings		[9]
XII.Looking Forward
When I am grown to man’s estate		[9]
XIII.A Good Play
We built a ship upon the stairs		[9]
XIV.Where go the Boats?
Dark brown is the river		[10]
XV.Auntie’s Skirts
Whenever Auntie moves around		[11]
XVI.The Land of Counterpane
When I was sick and lay a-bed		[11]
XVII.The Land of Nod
From breakfast on all through the day		[12]
XVIII.My Shadow
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me		[12]
XIX.System
Every night my prayers I say		[13]
XX.A Good Boy
I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day		[14]
XXI.Escape at Bedtime
The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out		[14]
XXII.Marching Song
Bring the comb and play upon it		[15]
XXIII.The Cow
The friendly cow, all red and white		[16]
XXIV.Happy Thought
The world is so full of a number of things		[16]
XXV.The Wind
I saw you toss the kites on high		[16]
XXVI.Keepsake Mill
Over the borders, a sin without pardon		[17]
XXVII.Good and Bad Children
Children, you are very little		[18]
XXVIII.Foreign Children
Little Indian, Sioux or Crow		[19]
XXIX.The Sun’s Travels
The sun is not a-bed when I		[20]
XXX.The Lamplighter
My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky		[20]
XXXI.My Bed is a Boat
My bed is like a little boat		[21]
XXXII.The Moon
The moon has a face like the clock in the hall		[22]
XXXIII.The Swing
How do you like to go up in a swing		[22]
XXXIV.Time to Rise
A birdie with a yellow bill		[23]
XXXV.Looking-Glass River
Smooth it slides upon its travel		[23]
XXXVI.Fairy Bread
Come up here, O dusty feet		[24]
XXXVII.From a Railway Carriage
Faster than fairies, faster than witches		[24]
XXXVIII.Winter-Time
Late lies the wintry sun a-bed		[25]
XXXIX.The Hayloft
Through all the pleasant meadow-side		[26]
XL.Farewell to the Farm
The coach is at the door at last		[26]
XLI.North-West Passage[27]
1. Good Night
When the bright lamp is carried in		[27]
2. Shadow March
All round the house is the jet-black night		[28]
3. In Port
Last, to the chamber where I lie		[28]
THE CHILD ALONE
I.The Unseen Playmate
When children are playing alone on the green		[31]
II.My Ship and I
O it’s I that am the captain of a tidy little ship		[32]
III.My Kingdom
Down by a shining water well		[32]
IV.Picture-Books in Winter
Summer fading, winter comes		[33]
V.My Treasures
These nuts, that I keep in the back of the nest		[34]
VI.Block City
What are you able to build with your blocks		[35]
VII.The Land of Story-Books
At evening when the lamp is lit		[36]
VIII.Armies in the Fire
The lamps now glitter down the street		[37]
IX.The Little Land
When at home alone I sit		[38]
GARDEN DAYS
I.Night and Day
When the golden day is done		[43]
II.Nest Eggs
Birds all the sunny day		[44]
III.The Flowers
All the names I know from nurse		[46]
IV.Summer Sun
Great is the sun, and wide he goes		[46]
V.The Dumb Soldier
When the grass was closely mown		[47]
VI.Autumn Fires
In the other gardens		[49]
VII.The Gardener
The gardener does not love to talk		[49]
VIII.Historical Associations
Dear Uncle Jim, this garden ground		[50]
ENVOYS
I.To Willie and Henrietta
If two may read aright		[55]
II.To My Mother
You too, my mother, read my rhymes		[55]
III.To Auntie
Chief of our aunts—not only I		[56]
IV.To Minnie
The red room with the giant bed		[56]
V.To my Name-Child
Some day soon this rhyming volume, if you learn with proper speed		[58]
VI.To any Reader
As from the house your mother sees		[59]

UNDERWOODS
BOOK I: IN ENGLISH
I.Envoy
Go, little book, and wish to all		[67]
II.A Song of the Road
The gauger walked with willing foot		[67]
III.The Canoe Speaks
On the great streams the ships may go		[68]
IV.
It is the season now to go		[70]
V.The House Beautiful
A naked house, a naked moor		[71]
VI.A Visit From The Sea
Far from the loud sea beaches		[72]
VII.To a Gardener
Friend, in my mountain-side demesne		[73]
VIII.To Minnie
A picture-frame for you to fill		[74]
IX.To K. de M.
A lover of the moorland bare		[74]
X.To N. V. de G. S.
The unfathomable sea, and time, and tears		[75]
XI.To Will. H. Low
Youth now flees on feathered foot		[76]
XII.To Mrs. Will. H. Low
Even in the bluest noonday of July		[77]
XIII.To H. F. Brown
I sit and wait a pair of oars		[78]
XIV.To Andrew Lang
Dear Andrew, with the brindled hair		[79]
XV.Et tu in Arcadia vixisti (to r. a. m. s.)
In ancient tales, O friend, thy spirit dwelt		[80]
XVI.To W. E. Henley
The year runs through her phases; rain and sun		[82]
XVII.Henry James
Who comes to-night? We ope the doors in vain		[83]
XVIII.The Mirror Speaks
Where the bells peal far at sea		[84]
XIX.Katharine
We see you as we see a face		[85]
XX.To F. J. S.
I read, dear friend, in your dear face		[85]
XXI.Requiem
Under the wide and starry sky		[86]
XXII.The Celestial Surgeon
If I have faltered more or less		[86]
XXIII.Our Lady of the Snows
Out of the sun, out of the blast		[87]
XXIV.
Not yet, my soul, these friendly fields desert		[89]
XXV.
It is not yours, O mother, to complain		[90]
XXVI.The Sick Child
O mother, lay your hand on my brow		[92]
XXVII.In Memoriam F. A. S.
Yet, O stricken heart, remember, O remember		[93]
XXVIII.To my Father
Peace and her huge invasion to these shores		[93]
XXIX.In the States
With half a heart I wander here		[94]
XXX.A Portrait
I am a kind of farthing dip		[95]
XXXI.
Sing clearlier, Muse, or evermore be still		[96]
XXXII.A Camp
The bed was made, the room was fit		[96]
XXXIII.The Country of the Camisards
We travelled in the print of olden wars		[96]
XXXIV.Skerryvore
For love of lovely words, and for the sake		[97]
XXXV.Skerryvore: The Parallel
Here all is sunny, and when the truant gull		[97]
XXXVI.
My house, I say. But hark to the sunny doves		[98]
XXXVII.
My body which my dungeon is		[98]
XXXVIII.
Say not of me that weakly I declined		[99]
BOOK II: IN SCOTS
I.The Maker to Posterity
Far ’yont amang the years to be		[105]
II.Ille Terrarum
Frae nirly, nippin’, Eas’lan’ breeze		[106]
III.
When aince Aprile has fairly come		[109]
IV.A Mile an’ a Bittock
A mile an’ a bittock, a mile or twa		[110]
V.A Lowden Sabbath Morn
The clinkum-clank o’ Sabbath bells		[111]
VI.The Spaewife
O, I wad like to ken—to the beggar-wife says I		[116]
VII.The Blast—1875
It’s rainin’. Weet’s the gairden sod		[116]
VIII.The Counterblast—1886
My bonny man, the warld, it’s true		[118]
IX.The Counterblast Ironical
It’s strange that God should fash to frame		[120]
X.Their Laureate to an Academy Class Dinner Club
Dear Thamson class, whaure’er I gang		[121]
XI.Embro Hie Kirk
The Lord Himsel’ in former days		[123]
XII.The Scotsman’s Return from Abroad
In mony a foreign pairt I’ve been		[125]
XIII.
Late In the night in bed I lay		[129]
XIV.My Conscience!
Of a’ the ills that flesh can fear		[131]
XV.To Dr. John Brown
By Lyne and Tyne, by Thames and Tees		[133]
XVI.
It’s an owercome sooth for age an’ youth		[135]

BALLADS
THE SONG OF RAHÉRO
A LEGEND OF TAHITI
I.The Slaying of Támatéa[139]
II.The Venging Of Támatéa[148]
III.Rahéro[159]
THE FEAST OF FAMINE
MARQUESAN MANNERS
I.The Priest’s Vigil[169]
II.The Lovers[172]
III.The Feast[176]
IV.The Raid[182]
TICONDEROGA
A LEGEND OF THE WEST HIGHLANDS
I.The Saying of the Name[189]
II.The Seeking of the Name[194]
III.The Place of the Name[196]
HEATHER ALE
A GALLOWAY LEGEND
From the bonny bells of heather[201]
CHRISTMAS AT SEA
The sheets were frozen hard[207]
Notes to The Song of Rahéro[211]
Notes to The Feast of Famine[213]
Notes to Ticonderoga[214]
Note to Heather Ale[215]

SONGS OF TRAVEL
I.The Vagabond
Give to me the life I love		[219]
II.Youth and Love—I
Once only by the garden gate		[220]
III.Youth and Love—II
To the heart of youth the world is a highwayside		[221]
IV.
In dreams, unhappy, I behold you stand		[221]
V.
She rested by the Broken Brook		[222]
VI.
The infinite shining heavens		[222]
VII.
Plain as the glistering planets shine		[223]
VIII.
To you, let snow and roses		[224]
IX.
Let Beauty awake in the morn from beautiful dreams		[224]
X.
I know not how it is with you		[225]
XI.
I will make you brooches and toys for your delight		[225]
XII.We have loved of Yore
Berried brake and reedy island		[226]
XIII.Mater Triumphans
Son of my woman’s body, you go, to the drum and fife		[227]
XIV.
Bright is the ring of words		[227]
XV.
In the highlands, in the country places		[228]
XVI.
Home no more home to me, whither must I wander		[229]
XVII.Winter
In rigorous hours, when down the iron lane		[230]
XVIII.
The stormy evening closes now in vain		[230]
XIX.To Dr. Hake
In the beloved hour that ushers day		[231]
XX.To ——
I knew thee strong and quiet like the hills		[232]
XXI.
The morning drum-call on my eager ear		[233]
XXII.
I have trod the upward and the downward slope		[233]
XXIII.
He hears with gladdened heart the thunder		[233]
XXIV.
Farewell, fair day and fading light		[233]
XXV.If this were Faith
God, if this were enough		[234]
XXVI.My Wife
Trusty, dusky, vivid, true		[235]
XXVII.To the Muse
Resign the rhapsody, the dream		[236]
XXVIII.To an Island Princess
Since long ago, a child at home		[237]
XXIX.To Kalakaua
The Silver Ship, my King—that was her name		[238]
XXX.To Princess Kaiulani
Forth from her land to mine she goes		[239]
XXXI.To Mother Maryanne
To see the infinite pity of this place		[240]
XXXII.In Memoriam E. H.
I knew a silver head was bright beyond compare		[240]
XXXIII.To my Wife
Long must elapse ere you behold again		[241]
XXXIV.To my old Familiars
Do you remember—can we e’er forget		[242]
XXXV.
The tropics vanish, and meseems that I		[243]
XXXVI.To S. C.
I heard the pulse of the besieging sea		[244]
XXXVII.The House of Tembinoka
Let us, who part like brothers, part like bards		[245]
XXXVIII.The Woodman
In all the grove, nor stream nor bird		[249]
XXXIX.Tropic Rain
As the single pang of the blow, when the metal is mingled well		[254]
XL.An End of Travel
Let now your soul in this substantial world		[255]
XLI.
We uncommiserate pass into the night		[255]
XLII.
Sing me a song of a lad that is gone		[256]
XLIII.To S. R. Crockett
Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying		[257]
XLIV.Evensong
The embers of the day are red		[257]

ADDITIONAL POEMS
I.A Familiar Epistle
Blame me not that this epistle		[261]
II.Rondels
1. Far have you come, my lady, from the town
2. Nous n’irons plus au bois
3. Since I am sworn to live my life
4. Of his pitiable transformation		[263]
III.Epistle to Charles Baxter
Noo lyart leaves blaw ower the green		[265]
IV.The Susquehannah and the Delaware
Of where or how, I nothing know		[267]
V.Epistle to Albert Dew-Smith
Figure me to yourself, I pray		[268]
VI.Alcaics to Horatio F. Brown
Brave lads in olden musical centuries		[270]
VII.A Lytle Jape of Tusherie
The pleasant river gushes		[272]
VIII.To Virgil and Dora Williams
Here, from the forelands of the tideless sea		[273]
IX.Burlesque Sonnet
Thee, Mackintosh, artificer of light		[273]
X.The Fine Pacific Islands
The jolly English Yellowboy		[274]
XI.Auld Reekie
When chitterin’ cauld the day sall daw		[275]
XII.The Lesson of the Master
Adela, Adela, Adela Chart		[276]
XIII.The Consecration of Braille
I was a barren tree before		[276]
XIV.Song
Light foot and tight foot		[277]

A CHILD’S

GARDEN OF VERSES

TO

ALISON CUNNINGHAM

FROM HER BOY
For the long nights you lay awake And watched for my unworthy sake: For your most comfortable hand That led me through the uneven land: For all the story-books you read: For all the pains you comforted: For all you pitied, all you bore, In sad and happy days of yore:— My second Mother, my first Wife, The angel of my infant life— From the sick child, now well and old, Take, nurse, the little book you hold! And grant it, Heaven, that all who read May find as dear a nurse at need, And every child who lists my rhyme, In the bright, fireside, nursery clime, May hear it in as kind a voice As made my childish days rejoice!

R. L. S.

A CHILD’S

GARDEN OF VERSES

I

BED IN SUMMER

In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light. In summer, quite the other way,— I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and see The birds still hopping on the tree, Or hear the grown-up people’s feet Still going past me in the street. And does it not seem hard to you, When all the sky is clear and blue, And I should like so much to play, To have to go to bed by day?
II

A THOUGHT

It is very nice to think The world is full of meat and drink, With little children saying grace In every Christian kind of place.

III

AT THE SEA-SIDE

When I was down beside the sea, A wooden spade they gave to me To dig the sandy shore. My holes were empty like a cup, In every hole the sea came up, Till it could come no more.
IV

YOUNG NIGHT THOUGHT

All night long, and every night, When my mamma puts out the light, I see the people marching by, As plain as day, before my eye. Armies and emperors and kings, All carrying different kinds of things, And marching in so grand a way, You never saw the like by day. So fine a show was never seen At the great circus on the green; For every kind of beast and man Is marching in that caravan. At first they move a little slow, But still the faster on they go, And still beside them close I keep Until we reach the town of Sleep.

V

WHOLE DUTY OF CHILDREN

A child should always say what’s true, And speak when he is spoken to, And behave mannerly at table: At least as far as he is able.
VI

RAIN

The rain is raining all around, It falls on field and tree, It rains on the umbrellas here, And on the ships at sea.
VII

PIRATE STORY

Three of us afloat in the meadow by the swing, Three of us aboard in the basket on the lea. Winds are in the air, they are blowing in the spring, And waves are on the meadow like the waves there are at sea. Where shall we adventure, to-day that we’re afloat, Wary of the weather, and steering by a star? Shall it be to Africa, a-steering of the boat, To Providence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar? Hi! but here’s a squadron a-rowing on the sea— Cattle on the meadow a-charging with a roar! Quick, and we’ll escape them, they’re as mad as they can be, The wicket is the harbour and the garden is the shore.
VIII

FOREIGN LANDS

Up into the cherry-tree Who should climb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hands And looked abroad on foreign lands. I saw the next-door garden lie, Adorned with flowers, before my eye, And many pleasant places more That I had never seen before. I saw the dimpling river pass And be the sky’s blue looking-glass; The dusty roads go up and down With people tramping in to town. If I could find a higher tree, Farther and farther I should see To where the grown-up river slips Into the sea among the ships, To where the roads on either hand Lead onward into fairy-land, Where all the children dine at five, And all the playthings come alive.

IX

WINDY NIGHTS

Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet, A man goes riding by. Late in the night when the fires are out, Why does he gallop and gallop about? Whenever the trees are crying aloud, And ships are tossed at sea, By, on the highway, low and loud, By at the gallop goes he. By at the gallop he goes, and then By he comes back at the gallop again.
X

TRAVEL

I should like to rise and go Where the golden apples grow;— Where below another sky Parrot islands anchored lie, And, watched by cockatoos and goats, Lonely Crusoes building boats;— Where in sunshine reaching out Eastern cities, miles about, Are with mosque and minaret Among sandy gardens set, And the rich goods from near and far Hang for sale in the bazaar;— Where the Great Wall round China goes, And on one side the desert blows, And with bell and voice and drum, Cities on the other hum;— Where are forests, hot as fire, Wide as England, tall as a spire, Full of apes and cocoa-nuts And the negro hunters’ huts;— Where the knotty crocodile Lies and blinks in the Nile, And the red flamingo flies Hunting fish before his eyes;— Where in jungles, near and far, Man-devouring tigers are, Lying close and giving ear Lest the hunt be drawing near, Or a comer-by be seen Swinging in a palanquin;— Where among the desert sands Some deserted city stands, All its children, sweep and prince, Grown to manhood ages since, Not a foot in street or house, Nor a stir of child or mouse, And when kindly falls the night, In all the town no spark of light. There I’ll come when I’m a man With a camel caravan; Light a fire in the gloom Of some dusty dining-room; See the pictures on the walls, Heroes, fights, and festivals; And in a corner find the toys Of the old Egyptian boys.

XI

SINGING

Of speckled eggs the birdie sings And nests among the trees; The sailor sings of ropes and things In ships upon the seas. The children sing in far Japan, The children sing in Spain; The organ with the organ man Is singing in the rain.
XII

LOOKING FORWARD

When I am grown to man’s estate I shall be very proud and great, And tell the other girls and boys Not to meddle with my toys.
XIII

A GOOD PLAY

We built a ship upon the stairs All made of the back-bedroom chairs And filled it full of sofa pillows To go a-sailing on the billows. We took a saw and several nails, And water in the nursery pails; And Tom said, “Let us also take An apple and a slice of cake”;— Which was enough for Tom and me To go a-sailing on, till tea. We sailed along for days and days, And had the very best of plays; But Tom fell out and hurt his knee, So there was no one left but me.
XIV

WHERE GO THE BOATS?

Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating— Where will all come home? On goes the river, And out past the mill, Away down the valley, Away down the hill. Away down the river, A hundred miles or more, Other little children Shall bring my boats ashore.

XV

AUNTIE’S SKIRTS

Whenever Auntie moves around, Her dresses make a curious sound; They trail behind her up the floor, And trundle after through the door.
XVI

THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE

When I was sick and lay a-bed, I had two pillows at my head, And all my toys beside me lay To keep me happy all the day. And sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go, With different uniforms and drills, Among the bed-clothes, through the hills; And sometimes sent my ships in fleets All up and down among the sheets; Or brought my trees and houses out, And planted cities all about. I was the giant great and still That sits upon the pillow-hill, And sees before him, dale and plain, The pleasant land of counterpane.

XVII

THE LAND OF NOD

From breakfast on all through the day At home among my friends I stay; But every night I go abroad Afar into the land of Nod. All by myself I have to go, With none to tell me what to do— All alone beside the streams And up the mountain-sides of dreams. The strangest things are there for me, Both things to eat and things to see, And many frightening sights abroad Till morning in the land of Nod. Try as I like to find the way, I never can get back by day, Nor can remember plain and clear The curious music that I hear.
XVIII

MY SHADOW

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow— Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all. He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see; I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me! One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
XIX

SYSTEM

Every night my prayers I say, And get my dinner every day; And every day that I’ve been good, I get an orange after food. The child that is not clean and neat, With lots of toys and things to eat, He is a naughty child, I’m sure— Or else his dear papa is poor.

XX

A GOOD BOY

I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day, I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to play. And now at last the sun is going down behind the wood, And I am very happy, for I know that I’ve been good. My bed is waiting cool and fresh, with linen smooth and fair, And I must off to sleepsin-by, and not forget my prayer. I know that, till to-morrow I shall see the sun arise, No ugly dream shall fright my mind, no ugly sight my eyes, But slumber hold me tightly till I waken in the dawn, And hear the thrushes singing in the lilacs round the lawn.
XXI

ESCAPE AT BEDTIME

The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out Through the blinds and the windows and bars; And high overhead and all moving about, There were thousands of millions of stars. There ne’er were such thousands of leaves on a tree, Nor of people in church or the Park, As the crowds of the stars that looked down upon me, And that glittered and winked in the dark. The Dog, and the Plough, and the Hunter, and all, And the star of the sailor, and Mars, These shone in the sky, and the pail by the wall Would be half full of water and stars. They saw me at last, and they chased me with cries, And they soon had me packed into bed; But the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes, And the stars going round in my head.
XXII

MARCHING SONG

Bring the comb and play upon it! Marching, here we come! Willie cocks his Highland bonnet, Johnnie beats the drum. Mary Jane commands the party, Peter leads the rear; Feet in time, alert and hearty, Each a Grenadier! All in the most martial manner Marching double-quick; While the napkin like a banner Waves upon the stick! Here’s enough of fame and pillage, Great commander Jane! Now that we’ve been round the village, Let’s go home again.

XXIII

THE COW

The friendly cow, all red and white, I love with all my heart: She gives me cream with all her might, To eat with apple-tart. She wanders lowing here and there, And yet she cannot stray, All in the pleasant open air, The pleasant light of day; And blown by all the winds that pass, And wet with all the showers, She walks among the meadow grass And eats the meadow flowers.
XXIV

HAPPY THOUGHT

The world is so full of a number of things, I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.
XXV

THE WIND

I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky; And all around I heard you pass, Like ladies’ skirts across the grass— O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid. I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all— O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song! O you that are so strong and cold, O blower, are you young or old? Are you a beast of field and tree, Or just a stronger child than me? O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
XXVI

KEEPSAKE MILL

Over the borders, a sin without pardon, Breaking the branches and crawling below, Out through the breach in the wall of the garden, Down by the banks of the river, we go. Here is the mill with the humming of thunder, Here is the weir with the wonder of foam, Here is the sluice with the race running under— Marvellous places, though handy to home! Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller, Stiller the note of the birds on the hill; Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller, Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill. Years may go by, and the wheel in the river, Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day, Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever, Long after all of the boys are away. Home from the Indies, and home from the ocean, Heroes and soldiers we all shall come home; Still we shall find the old mill-wheel in motion, Turning and churning that river to foam. You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled, I with your marble of Saturday last, Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled, Here we shall meet and remember the past.
XXVII

GOOD AND BAD CHILDREN

Children, you are very little, And your bones are very brittle; If you would grow great and stately, You must try to walk sedately. You must still be bright and quiet, And content with simple diet; And remain, through all bewild’ring, Innocent and honest children. Happy hearts and happy faces, Happy play in grassy places— That was how, in ancient ages, Children grew to kings and sages. But the unkind and the unruly, And the sort who eat unduly, They must never hope for glory— Theirs is quite a different story! Cruel children, crying babies, All grow up as geese and gabies, Hated, as their age increases, By their nephews and their nieces.
XXVIII

FOREIGN CHILDREN

Little Indian, Sioux or Crow, Little frosty Eskimo, Little Turk or Japanee, O! don’t you wish that you were me? You have seen the scarlet trees And the lions over seas; You have eaten ostrich eggs, And turned the turtles off their legs. Such a life is very fine, But it’s not so nice as mine; You must often, as you trod, Have wearied not to be abroad. You have curious things to eat, I am fed on proper meat; You must dwell beyond the foam, But I am safe and live at home. Little Indian, Sioux or Crow Little frosty Eskimo, Little Turk or Japanee, O! don’t you wish that you were me?
XXIX

THE SUN’S TRAVELS

The sun is not a-bed when I At night upon my pillow lie; Still round the earth his way he takes, And morning after morning makes. While here at home, in shining day, We round the sunny garden play, Each little Indian sleepy-head Is being kissed and put to bed. And when at eve I rise from tea, Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea, And all the children in the West Are getting up and being dressed.
XXX

THE LAMPLIGHTER

My tea is nearly ready and the sun has left the sky; It’s time to take the window to see Leerie going by; For every night at tea-time and before you take your seat, With lantern and with ladder he comes posting up the street. Now Tom would be a driver and Maria go to sea, And my papa’s a banker and as rich as he can be; But I, when I am stronger, and can choose what I’m to do, O Leerie, I’ll go round at night and light the lamps with you! For we are very lucky, with a lamp before the door, And Leerie stops to light it as he lights so many more; And O! before you hurry by with ladder and with light, O Leerie, see a little child and nod to him to-night!
XXXI

MY BED IS A BOAT

My bed is like a little boat; Nurse helps me in when I embark; She girds me in my sailor’s coat And starts me in the dark. At night, I go on board and say Good-night to all my friends on shore; I shut my eyes and sail away And see and hear no more. And sometimes things to bed I take, As prudent sailors have to do: Perhaps a slice of wedding-cake, Perhaps a toy or two. All night across the dark we steer: But when the day returns at last, Safe in my room, beside the pier, I find my vessel fast.

XXXII

THE MOON

The moon has a face like the clock in the hall; She shines on thieves on the garden wall, On streets and fields and harbour quays, And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees. The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse, The howling dog by the door of the house, The bat that lies in bed at noon, All love to be out by the light of the moon. But all of the things that belong to the day Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way; And flowers and children close their eyes Till up in the morning the sun shall arise.
XXXIII

THE SWING

How do you like to go up in a swing, Up in the air so blue? Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing Ever a child can do! Up in the air and over the wall, Till I can see so wide, Rivers and trees and cattle and all Over the countryside— Till I look down on the garden green, Down on the roof so brown— Up in the air I go flying again, Up in the air and down!

XXXIV

TIME TO RISE

A birdie with a yellow bill Hopped upon the window sill, Cocked his shining eye and said: “Ain’t you ’shamed, you sleepy-head?”
XXXV

LOOKING-GLASS RIVER

Smooth it slides upon its travel, Here a wimple, there a gleam— O the clean gravel! O the smooth stream! Sailing blossoms, silver fishes, Paven pools as clear as air— How a child wishes To live down there! We can see our coloured faces Floating on the shaken pool Down in cool places, Dim and very cool; Till a wind or water wrinkle, Dipping marten, plumping trout, Spreads in a twinkle And blots all out. See the rings pursue each other; All below grows black as night, Just as if mother Had blown out the light! Patience, children, just a minute— See the spreading circles die; The stream and all in it Will clear by-and-by.
XXXVI

FAIRY BREAD

Come up here, O dusty feet! Here is fairy bread to eat. Here in my retiring room, Children, you may dine On the golden smell of broom And the shade of pine; And when you have eaten well, Fairy stories hear and tell.
XXXVII

FROM A RAILWAY CARRIAGE

Faster than fairies, faster than witches, Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches; And charging along like troops in a battle, All through the meadows the horses and cattle: All of the sights of the hill and the plain Fly as thick as driving rain; And ever again, in the wink of an eye, Painted stations whistle by. Here is a child who clambers and scrambles, All by himself and gathering brambles; Here is a tramp who stands and gazes; And there is the green for stringing the daisies! Here is a cart run away in the road Lumping along with man and load; And here is a mill, and there is a river: Each a glimpse and gone for ever!
XXXVIII

WINTER-TIME

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed, A frosty, fiery sleepy-head; Blinks but an hour or two; and then, A blood-red orange, sets again. Before the stars have left the skies, At morning in the dark I rise; And shivering in my nakedness, By the cold candle, bathe and dress. Close by the jolly fire I sit To warm my frozen bones a bit; Or with a reindeer-sled explore The colder countries round the door. When, to go out, my nurse doth wrap Me in my comforter and cap, The cold wind burns my face, and blows Its frosty pepper up my nose. Black are my steps on silver sod; Thick blows my frosty breath abroad; And tree and house, and hill and lake, Are frosted like a wedding-cake.

XXXIX

THE HAYLOFT

Through all the pleasant meadow-side The grass grew shoulder-high, Till the shining scythes went far and wide And cut it down to dry. These green and sweetly smelling crops They led in waggons home; And they piled them here in mountain tops For mountaineers to roam. Here is Mount Clear, Mount Rusty-Nail, Mount Eagle and Mount High;— The mice that in these mountains dwell No happier are than I! O what a joy to clamber there, O what a place for play, With the sweet, the dim, the dusty air, The happy hills of hay.
XL

FAREWELL TO THE FARM

The coach is at the door at last; The eager children, mounting fast And kissing hands, in chorus sing: Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! To house and garden, field and lawn, The meadow-gates we swang upon, To pump and stable, tree and swing, Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! And fare you well for evermore, O ladder at the hayloft door, O hayloft where the cobwebs cling, Good-bye, good-bye, to everything! Crack goes the whip, and off we go; The trees and houses smaller grow; Last, round the woody turn we swing: Good-bye, good-bye, to everything!
XLI

NORTH-WEST PASSAGE

I. GOOD NIGHT
When the bright lamp is carried in, The sunless hours again begin; O’er all without, in field and lane, The haunted night returns again. Now we behold the embers flee About the firelit hearth; and see Our faces painted as we pass, Like pictures, on the window-glass. Must we to bed indeed? Well then, Let us arise and go like men, And face with an undaunted tread The long black passage up to bed. Farewell, O brother, sister, sire! O pleasant party round the fire! The songs you sing, the tales you tell, Till far to-morrow, fare ye well!
2. SHADOW MARCH
All round the house is the jet-black night; It stares through the window-pane; It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light, And it moves with the moving flame. Now my little heart goes a-beating like a drum, With the breath of the Bogie in my hair; And all round the candle the crooked shadows come And go marching along up the stair. The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp, The shadow of the child that goes to bed— All the wicked shadows coming, tramp, tramp, tramp, With the black night overhead.
3. IN PORT
Last, to the chamber where I lie My fearful footsteps patter nigh, And come from out the cold and gloom Into my warm and cheerful room. There, safe arrived, we turned about To keep the coming shadows out, And close the happy door at last On all the perils that we passed. Then, when mamma goes by to bed, She shall come in with tip-toe tread, And see me lying warm and fast And in the land of Nod at last.

THE CHILD ALONE

I

THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE

When children are playing alone on the green, In comes the playmate that never was seen. When children are happy and lonely and good, The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood. Nobody heard him and nobody saw, His is a picture you never could draw, But he’s sure to be present, abroad or at home, When children are happy and playing alone. He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass, He sings when you tinkle the musical glass; Whene’er you are happy and cannot tell why, The Friend of the Children is sure to be by! He loves to be little, he hates to be big, ’Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig; ’Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin That sides with the Frenchmen and never can win. ’Tis he, when at night you go off to your bed, Bids you go to your sleep and not trouble your head; For wherever they’re lying, in cupboard or shelf, ’Tis he will take care of your playthings himself!

II

MY SHIP AND I

O it’s I that am the captain of a tidy little ship, Of a ship that goes a-sailing on the pond; And my ship it keeps a-turning all around and all about; But when I’m a little older, I shall find the secret out How to send my vessel sailing on beyond. For I mean to grow as little as the dolly at the helm, And the dolly I intend to come alive; And with him beside to help me, it’s a-sailing I shall go, It’s a-sailing on the water, when the jolly breezes blow And the vessel goes a divie-divie-dive. O it’s then you’ll see me sailing through the rushes and the reeds, And you’ll hear the water singing at the prow; For beside the dolly sailor, I’m to voyage and explore, To land upon the island where no dolly was before, And to fire the penny cannon in the bow.
III

MY KINGDOM

Down by a shining water well I found a very little dell, No higher than my head. The heather and the gorse about In summer bloom were coming out, Some yellow and some red. I called the little pool a sea; The little hills were big to me; For I am very small. I made a boat, I made a town, I searched the caverns up and down, And named them one and all. And all about was mine, I said, The little sparrows overhead, The little minnows too. This was the world, and I was king; For me the bees came by to sing, For me the swallows flew. I played there were no deeper seas, Nor any wider plains than these, Nor other kings than me. At last I heard my mother call Out from the house at even-fall, To call me home to tea. And I must rise and leave my dell, And leave my dimpled water well, And leave my heather blooms. Alas! and as my home I neared, How very big my nurse appeared, How great and cool the rooms!
IV

PICTURE-BOOKS IN WINTER

Summer fading, winter comes— Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story-books. Water now is turned to stone Nurse and I can walk upon; Still we find the flowing brooks In the picture story-books. All the pretty things put by Wait upon the children’s eye, Sheep and shepherds, trees and crooks, In the picture story-books. We may see how all things are, Seas and cities, near and far, And the flying fairies’ looks, In the picture story-books. How am I to sing your praise, Happy chimney-corner days, Sitting safe in nursery nooks, Reading picture story-books?
V

MY TREASURES

These nuts, that I keep in the back of the nest Where all my lead soldiers are lying at rest, Were gathered in autumn by nursie and me In a wood with a well by the side of the sea. This whistle we made (and how clearly it sounds!) By the side of a field at the end of the grounds. Of a branch of a plane, with a knife of my own, It was nursie who made it, and nursie alone! The stone, with the white and the yellow and grey, We discovered I cannot tell how far away; And I carried it back, although weary and cold, For, though father denies it, I’m sure it is gold. But of all of my treasures the last is the king, For there’s very few children possess such a thing; And that is a chisel, both handle and blade, Which a man who was really a carpenter made.
VI

BLOCK CITY

What are you able to build with your blocks? Castles and palaces, temples and docks. Rain may keep raining, and others go roam, But I can be happy and building at home. Let the sofa be mountains, the carpet be sea, There I’ll establish a city for me: A kirk and a mill and a palace beside, And a harbour as well where my vessels may ride. Great is the palace with pillar and wall, A sort of a tower on the top of it all, And steps coming down in an orderly way To where my toy vessels lie safe in the bay. This one is sailing and that one is moored: Hark to the song of the sailors on board! And see, on the steps of my palace, the kings Coming and going with presents and things! Now I have done with it, down let it go! All in a moment the town is laid low. Block upon block lying scattered and free, What is there left of my town by the sea? Yet, as I saw it, I see it again, The kirk and the palace, the ships and the men, And as long as I live, and where’er I may be, I’ll always remember my town by the sea.
VII

THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS

At evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter’s camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed. These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink. I see the others far away As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like to an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about So, when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear land of Story-books.
VIII

ARMIES IN THE FIRE

The lamps now glitter down the street; Faintly sound the falling feet; And the blue even slowly falls About the garden trees and walls. Now in the falling of the gloom The red fire paints the empty room: And warmly on the roof it looks, And flickers on the backs of books. Armies march by tower and spire Of cities blazing, in the fire;— Till as I gaze with staring eyes, The armies fade, the lustre dies. Then once again the glow returns; Again the phantom city burns; And down the red-hot valley, lo! The phantom armies marching go! Blinking embers, tell me true Where are those armies marching to, And what the burning city is That crumbles in your furnaces!
IX

THE LITTLE LAND

When at home alone I sit And am very tired of it, I have just to shut my eyes To go sailing through the skies— To go sailing far away To the pleasant Land of Play; To the fairy land afar Where the Little People are; Where the clover-tops are trees, And the rain-pools are the seas, And the leaves like little ships Sail about on tiny trips; And above the daisy tree Through the grasses, High o’erhead the Bumble Bee Hums and passes. In that forest to and fro I can wander, I can go; See the spider and the fly, And the ants go marching by Carrying parcels with their feet Down the green and grassy street. I can in the sorrel sit Where the ladybird alit. I can climb the jointed grass; And on high See the greater swallows pass In the sky, And the round sun rolling by Heeding no such things as I. Through that forest I can pass Till, as in a looking-glass, Humming fly and daisy tree And my tiny self I see Painted very clear and neat On the rain-pool at my feet. Should a leaflet come to land Drifting near to where I stand, Straight I’ll board that tiny boat Round the rain-pool sea to float. Little thoughtful creatures sit On the grassy coasts of it; Little things with lovely eyes See me sailing with surprise. Some are clad in armour green— (These have sure to battle been!)— Some are pied with ev’ry hue, Black and crimson, gold and blue; Some have wings and swift are gone;— But they all look kindly on. When my eyes I once again Open and see all things plain; High bare walls, great bare floor; Great big knobs on drawer and door; Great big people perched on chairs, Stitching tucks and mending tears, Each a hill that I could climb, And talking nonsense all the time— O dear me, That I could be A sailor on the rain-pool sea, A climber in the clover-tree, And just come back, a sleepy-head, Late at night to go to bed.

GARDEN DAYS

I

NIGHT AND DAY

When the golden day is done, Through the closing portal, Child and garden, flower and sun, Vanish all things mortal. As the blinding shadows fall, As the rays diminish, Under evening’s cloak, they all Roll away and vanish. Garden darkened, daisy shut, Child in bed, they slumber— Glow-worm in the highway rut, Mice among the lumber. In the darkness houses shine, Parents move with candles; Till on all the night divine Turns the bedroom handles. Till at last the day begins In the east a-breaking, In the hedges and the whins Sleeping birds a-waking. In the darkness shapes of things, Houses, trees, and hedges, Clearer grow; and sparrows’ wings Beat on window ledges. These shall wake the yawning maid; She the door shall open— Finding dew on garden glade And the morning broken. There my garden grows again Green and rosy painted, As at eve behind the pane From my eyes it fainted. Just as it was shut away, Toy-like, in the even, Here I see it glow with day Under glowing heaven. Every path and every plot, Every bush of roses, Every blue forget-me-not Where the dew reposes, “Up!” they cry, “the day is come On the smiling valleys: We have beat the morning drum; Playmate, join your allies!”
II

NEST EGGS

Birds all the sunny day Flutter and quarrel, Here in the arbour-like Tent of the laurel. Here in the fork The brown nest is seated; Four little blue eggs The mother keeps heated. While we stand watching her, Staring like gabies, Safe in each egg are the Bird’s little babies. Soon the frail eggs they shall Chip, and upspringing Make all the April woods Merry with singing. Younger than we are, O children, and frailer, Soon in blue air they’ll be, Singer and sailor. We, so much older, Taller and stronger, We shall look down on the Birdies no longer. They shall go flying With musical speeches High overhead in the Tops of the beeches. In spite of our wisdom And sensible talking, We on our feet must go Plodding and walking.

III

THE FLOWERS

All the names I know from nurse: Gardener’s garters, Shepherd’s purse, Bachelor’s buttons, Lady’s smock, And the Lady Hollyhock. Fairy places, fairy things, Fairy woods where the wild bee wings, Tiny trees for tiny dames— These must all be fairy names! Tiny woods below whose boughs Shady fairies weave a house; Tiny tree-tops, rose or thyme, Where the braver fairies climb! Fair are grown-up people’s trees, But the fairest woods are these; Where if I were not so tall, I should live for good and all.
IV

SUMMER SUN

Great is the sun, and wide he goes Through empty heaven without repose; And in the blue and glowing days More thick than rain he showers his rays. Though closer still the blinds we pull To keep the shady parlour cool, Yet he will find a chink or two To slip his golden fingers through. The dusty attic, spider-clad, He, through the keyhole, maketh glad; And through the broken edge of tiles Into the laddered hayloft smiles. Meantime his golden face around He bares to all the garden ground, And sheds a warm and glittering look Among the ivy’s inmost nook. Above the hills, along the blue, Round the bright air with footing true, To please the child, to paint the rose, The gardener of the World, he goes.
V

THE DUMB SOLDIER

When the grass was closely mown, Walking on the lawn alone, In the turf a hole I found And hid a soldier underground. Spring and daisies came apace; Grasses hide my hiding-place; Grasses run like a green sea O’er the lawn up to my knee. Under grass alone he lies, Looking up with leaden eyes, Scarlet coat and pointed gun, To the stars and to the sun. When the grass is ripe like grain, When the scythe is stoned again, When the lawn is shaven clear, Then my hole shall reappear. I shall find him, never fear, I shall find my grenadier; But, for all that’s gone and come, I shall find my soldier dumb. He has lived, a little thing, In the grassy woods of spring; Done, if he could tell me true, Just as I should like to do. He has seen the starry hours And the springing of the flowers; And the fairy things that pass In the forests of the grass. In the silence he has heard Talking bee and ladybird, And the butterfly has flown O’er him as he lay alone. Not a word will he disclose, Not a word of all he knows. I must lay him on the shelf, And make up the tale myself.

VI

AUTUMN FIRES

In the other gardens And all up the vale, From the autumn bonfires See the smoke trail! Pleasant summer over, And all the summer flowers, The red fire blazes, The grey smoke towers. Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all! Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall!
VII

THE GARDENER

The gardener does not love to talk, He makes me keep the gravel walk; And when he puts his tools away, He locks the door and takes the key. Away behind the currant row Where no one else but cook may go, Far in the plots, I see him dig, Old and serious, brown and big. He digs the flowers, green, red, and blue, Nor wishes to be spoken to. He digs the flowers and cuts the hay, And never seems to want to play. Silly gardener! summer goes, And winter comes with pinching toes, When in the garden bare and brown You must lay your barrow down. Well now, and while the summer stays, To profit by these garden days, O how much wiser you would be To play at Indian wars with me!
VIII

HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS

Dear Uncle Jim, this garden ground, That now you smoke your pipe around, Has seen immortal actions done And valiant battles lost and won. Here we had best on tip-toe tread, While I for safety march ahead, For this is that enchanted ground Where all who loiter slumber sound. Here is the sea, here is the sand, Here is simple Shepherd’s Land, Here are the fairy hollyhocks, And there are Ali Baba’s rocks. But yonder, see! apart and high, Frozen Siberia lies; where I, With Robert Bruce and William Tell, Was bound by an enchanter’s spell. There, then, a while in chains we lay, In wintry dungeons, far from day; But ris’n at length, with might and main, Our iron fetters burst in twain. Then all the horns were blown in town; And, to the ramparts clanging down, All the giants leaped to horse And charged behind us through the gorse. On we rode, the others and I, Over the mountains blue, and by The Silver River, the sounding sea, And the robber woods of Tartary. A thousand miles we galloped fast, And down the witches’ lane we passed, And rode amain, with brandished sword, Up to the middle, through the ford. Last we drew rein—a weary three— Upon the lawn, in time for tea, And from our steeds alighted down Before the gates of Babylon.

ENVOYS

I

TO WILLIE AND HENRIETTA

If two may read aright These rhymes of old delight And house and garden play, You two, my cousins, and you only, may. You in a garden green With me were king and queen, Were hunter, soldier, tar, And all the thousand things that children are. Now in the elders’ seat We rest with quiet feet, And from the window-bay We watch the children, our successors, play. “Time was,” the golden head Irrevocably said; But time which none can bind, While flowing fast away, leaves love behind.
II

TO MY MOTHER

You too, my mother, read my rhymes For love of unforgotten times, And you may chance to hear once more The little feet along the floor.

III

TO AUNTIE

Chief of our aunts—not only I, But all your dozen of nurslings cry— What did the other children do? And what were childhood, wanting you?
IV

TO MINNIE

The red room with the giant bed Where none but elders lay their head; The little room where you and I Did for a while together lie, And, simple suitor, I your hand In decent marriage did demand; The great day-nursery, best of all, With pictures pasted on the wall And leaves upon the blind— A pleasant room wherein to wake And hear the leafy garden shake And rustle in the wind— And pleasant there to lie in bed And see the pictures overhead— The wars about Sebastopol, The grinning guns along the wall, The daring escalade, The plunging ships, the bleating sheep, The happy children ankle-deep, And laughing as they wade: All these are vanished clean away, And the old manse is changed to-day; It wears an altered face And shields a stranger race. The river, on from mill to mill, Flows past our childhood’s garden still; But ah! we children never more Shall watch it from the water-door! Below the yew—it still is there— Our phantom voices haunt the air As we were still at play, And I can hear them call and say: “How far is it to Babylon?” Ah, far enough, my dear, Far, far enough from here— Yet you have farther gone! “Can I get there by candlelight?” So goes the old refrain. I do not know—perchance you might— But only, children, hear it right, Ah, never to return again! The eternal dawn, beyond a doubt, Shall break on hill and plain, And put all stars and candles out, Ere we be young again. To you in distant India, these I send across the seas, Nor count it far across. For which of us forgets The Indian cabinets, The bones of antelope, the wings of albatross, The pied and painted birds and beans, The junks and bangles, beads and screens, The gods and sacred bells, And the loud-humming, twisted shells? The level of the parlour floor Was honest, homely, Scottish shore; But when we climbed upon a chair, Behold the gorgeous East was there! Be this a fable; and behold Me in the parlour as of old, And Minnie just above me set In the quaint Indian cabinet! Smiling and kind, you grace a shelf Too high for me to reach myself. Reach down a hand, my dear, and take These rhymes for old acquaintance’ sake.
V

TO MY NAME-CHILD

1
Some day soon this rhyming volume, if you learn with proper speed, Little Louis Sanchez, will be given you to read. Then shall you discover that your name was printed down By the English printers, long before, in London town. In the great and busy city where the East and West are met, All the little letters did the English printer set; While you thought of nothing, and were still too young to play, Foreign people thought of you in places far away. Ay, and while you slept, a baby, over all the English lands Other little children took the volume in their hands; Other children questioned, in their homes across the seas: Who was little Louis, won’t you tell us, mother, please? 2 Now that you have spelt your lesson, lay it down and go and play, Seeking shells and seaweed on the sands of Monterey, Watching all the mighty whalebones, lying buried by the breeze, Tiny sandy-pipers, and the huge Pacific seas. And remember in your playing, as the sea-fog rolls to you, Long ere you could read it, how I told you what to do; And that while you thought of no one, nearly half the world away Some one thought of Louis on the beach of Monterey!
VI

TO ANY READER

As from the house your mother sees You playing round the garden trees, So you may see, if you will look Through the windows of this book, Another child, far, far away, And in another garden, play. But do not think you can at all, By knocking on the window, call That child to hear you. He intent Is all on his play-business bent. He does not hear; he will not look, Not yet be lured out of this book. For, long ago, the truth to say, He has grown up and gone away, And it is but a child of air That lingers in the garden there.

UNDERWOODS

Of all my verse, like not a single line; But like my title, for it is not mine. That title from a better man I stole; Ah, how much better, had I stol’n the whole!

DEDICATION

There are men and classes of men that stand above the common herd: the soldier, the sailor, and the shepherd not unfrequently; the artist rarely; rarelier still, the clergyman; the physician almost as a rule. He is the flower (such as it is) of our civilisation; and when that stage of man is done with, and only remembered to be marvelled at in history, he will be thought to have shared as little as any in the defects of the period, and most notably exhibited the virtues of the race. Generosity he has, such as is possible to those who practise an art, never to those who drive a trade; discretion, tested by a hundred secrets; tact, tried in a thousand embarrassments; and, what are more important, Heraclean cheerfulness and courage. So it is that he brings air and cheer into the sickroom, and often enough, though not so often as he wishes, brings healing.

Gratitude is but a lame sentiment; thanks, when they are expressed, are often more embarrassing than welcome; and yet I must set forth mine to a few out of many doctors who have brought me comfort and help: to Dr. Willey of San Francisco, whose kindness to a stranger it must be as grateful to him, as it is touching to me, to remember; to Dr. Karl Ruedi of Davos, the good genius of the English in his frosty mountains; to Dr. Herbert of Paris, whom I knew only for a week, and to Dr. Caissot of Montpellier, whom I knew only for ten days, and who have yet written their names deeply in my memory; to Dr. Brandt of Royat; to Dr. Wakefield of Nice; to Dr. Chepmell, whose visits make it a pleasure to be ill; to Dr. Horace Dobell, so wise in counsel; to Sir Andrew Clark, so unwearied in kindness; and to that wise youth, my uncle, Dr. Balfour.

I forget as many as I remember; and I ask both to pardon me, these for silence, those for inadequate speech. But one name I have kept on purpose to the last, because it is a household word with me, and because if I had not received favours from so many hands and in so many quarters of the world, it should have stood upon this page alone: that of my friend Thomas Bodley Scott of Bournemouth. Will he accept this, although shared among so many, for a dedication to himself? and when next my ill-fortune (which has thus its pleasant side) brings him hurrying to me when he would fain sit down to meat or lie down to rest, will he care to remember that he takes this trouble for one who is not fool enough to be ungrateful?

R. L. S.

Skerryvore,

Bournemouth.

BOOK I

IN ENGLISH

UNDERWOODS

I

ENVOY

Go, little book, and wish to all Flowers in the garden, meat in the hall, A bin of wine, a spice of wit, A house with lawns enclosing it, A living river by the door, A nightingale in the sycamore!
II

A SONG OF THE ROAD

The gauger walked with willing foot, And aye the gauger played the flute; And what should Master Gauger play But Over the hills and far away? Whene’er I buckle on my pack And foot it gaily in the track, O pleasant gauger, long since dead, I hear you fluting on ahead. You go with me the selfsame way— The selfsame air for me you play; For I do think and so do you It is the tune to travel to. For who would gravely set his face To go to this or t’other place? There’s nothing under heav’n so blue That’s fairly worth the travelling to. On every hand the roads begin, And people walk with zeal therein; But wheresoe’er the highways tend, Be sure there’s nothing at the end. Then follow you, wherever hie The travelling mountains of the sky. Or let the streams in civil mode Direct your choice upon a road; For one and all, or high or low, Will lead you where you wish to go; And one and all go night and day Over the hills and far away! Forest of Montargis, 1878.
III

THE CANOE SPEAKS

On the great streams the ships may go About men’s business to and fro. But I, the egg-shell pinnace, sleep On crystal waters ankle-deep: I, whose diminutive design, Of sweeter cedar, pithier pine, Is fashioned on so frail a mould, A hand may launch, a hand withhold: I, rather, with the leaping trout Wind, among lilies, in and out; I, the unnamed, inviolate, Green, rustic rivers navigate; My dipping paddle scarcely shakes The berry in the bramble-brakes; Still forth on my green way I wend Beside the cottage garden-end; And by the nested angler fare, And take the lovers unaware. By willow wood and water-wheel Speedily fleets my touching keel; By all retired and shady spots Where prosper dim forget-me-nots; By meadows where at afternoon The growing maidens troop in June To loose their girdles on the grass. Ah! speedier than before the glass The backward toilet goes; and swift As swallows quiver, robe and shift And the rough country stockings lie Around each young divinity. When, following the recondite brook, Sudden upon this scene I look, And light with unfamiliar face On chaste Diana’s bathing-place, Loud ring the hills about and all The shallows are abandoned....

IV
It is the season now to go About the country high and low, Among the lilacs hand in hand, And two by two in fairyland. The brooding boy, the sighing maid, Wholly fain and half afraid, Now meet along the hazel’d brook To pass and linger, pause and look. A year ago, and blithely paired, Their rough-and-tumble play they shared; They kissed and quarrelled, laughed and cried, A year ago at Eastertide. With bursting heart, with fiery face, She strove against him in the race; He unabashed her garter saw, That now would touch her skirts with awe. Now by the stile ablaze she stops, And his demurer eyes he drops; Now they exchange averted sighs Or stand and marry silent eyes. And he to her a hero is And sweeter she than primroses; Their common silence dearer far Than nightingale and mavis are. Now when they sever wedded hands, Joy trembles in their bosom-strands And lovely laughter leaps and falls Upon their lips in madrigals.

V