’Twas the body of Judas IscariotLay in the Field of Blood;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotBeside the body stood.Black was the earth by night,And black was the sky;Black, black were the broken clouds,Tho’ the red Moon went by....’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,So grim, and gaunt, and gray,Raised the body of Judas Iscariot,And carried it away....For days and nights he wandered onUpon an open plain,And the days went by like blinding mist,And the nights like rushing rain.He wandered east, he wandered west,And heard no human sound;For months and years, in grief and tears,He wandered round and round.......’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,Strange, and sad, and tall,Stood all alone at dead of nightBefore a lighted hall.And the wold was white with snow,And his foot-marks black and damp,And the ghost of the silvern Moon arose,Holding her yellow lamp.And the icicles were on the eaves,And the walls were deep with white,And the shadows of the guests withinPass’d on the window light.The shadows of the wedding guestsDid strangely come and go,And the body of Judas IscariotLay stretch’d along the snow.The body of Judas IscariotLay stretched along the snow;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotRan swiftly to and fro.To and fro, and up and down,He ran so swiftly there,As round and round the frozen PoleGlideth the lean white bear.’Twas the Bridegroom sat at the table-head,And the lights burnt bright and clear—“Oh, who is that,” the Bridegroom said,“Whose weary feet I hear?”’Twas one look’d from the lighted hall,And answered soft and slow,“It is a wolf runs up and downWith a black track in the snow.”The Bridegroom in his robe of whiteSat at the table-head—“Oh, who is that who moans without?”The blessed Bridegroom said.’Twas one looked from the lighted hall,And answered fierce and low“’Tis the soul of Judas IscariotGliding to and fro.”’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotDid hush itself and stand.And saw the Bridegroom at the doorWith a light in his hand.The Bridegroom stood in the open door,And he was clad in white,And far within the Lord’s SupperWas spread so broad and bright.The Bridegroom shaded his eyes and look’d,And his face was bright to see—“What dost thou here at the Lord’s SupperWith thy body’s sins?” said he.’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotStood black, and sad, and bare—“I have wandered many nights and days;There is no light elsewhere.”’Twas the wedding guests cried out within,And their eyes were fierce and bright—“Scourge the soul of Judas IscariotAway into the night!”The Bridegroom stood in the open door,And he waved hands still and slow,And the third time that he waved his handsThe air was thick with snow.And of every flake of falling snow,Before it touched the ground,There came a dove, and a thousand dovesMade sweet sound.’Twas the body of Judas IscariotFloated away full fleet,And the wings of the doves that bare it offWere like its winding-sheet.’Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open door,And beckon’d, smiling sweet;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotStole in, and fell at his feet.“The Holy Supper is spread within,And the many candles shine,And I have waited long for theeBefore I poured the wine!”The supper wine is poured at last,The lights burn bright and fair,Iscariot washes the Bridegroom’s feet,And dries them with his hair.Robert Buchanan.
’Twas the body of Judas IscariotLay in the Field of Blood;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotBeside the body stood.Black was the earth by night,And black was the sky;Black, black were the broken clouds,Tho’ the red Moon went by....’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,So grim, and gaunt, and gray,Raised the body of Judas Iscariot,And carried it away....For days and nights he wandered onUpon an open plain,And the days went by like blinding mist,And the nights like rushing rain.He wandered east, he wandered west,And heard no human sound;For months and years, in grief and tears,He wandered round and round.......’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,Strange, and sad, and tall,Stood all alone at dead of nightBefore a lighted hall.And the wold was white with snow,And his foot-marks black and damp,And the ghost of the silvern Moon arose,Holding her yellow lamp.And the icicles were on the eaves,And the walls were deep with white,And the shadows of the guests withinPass’d on the window light.The shadows of the wedding guestsDid strangely come and go,And the body of Judas IscariotLay stretch’d along the snow.The body of Judas IscariotLay stretched along the snow;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotRan swiftly to and fro.To and fro, and up and down,He ran so swiftly there,As round and round the frozen PoleGlideth the lean white bear.’Twas the Bridegroom sat at the table-head,And the lights burnt bright and clear—“Oh, who is that,” the Bridegroom said,“Whose weary feet I hear?”’Twas one look’d from the lighted hall,And answered soft and slow,“It is a wolf runs up and downWith a black track in the snow.”The Bridegroom in his robe of whiteSat at the table-head—“Oh, who is that who moans without?”The blessed Bridegroom said.’Twas one looked from the lighted hall,And answered fierce and low“’Tis the soul of Judas IscariotGliding to and fro.”’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotDid hush itself and stand.And saw the Bridegroom at the doorWith a light in his hand.The Bridegroom stood in the open door,And he was clad in white,And far within the Lord’s SupperWas spread so broad and bright.The Bridegroom shaded his eyes and look’d,And his face was bright to see—“What dost thou here at the Lord’s SupperWith thy body’s sins?” said he.’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotStood black, and sad, and bare—“I have wandered many nights and days;There is no light elsewhere.”’Twas the wedding guests cried out within,And their eyes were fierce and bright—“Scourge the soul of Judas IscariotAway into the night!”The Bridegroom stood in the open door,And he waved hands still and slow,And the third time that he waved his handsThe air was thick with snow.And of every flake of falling snow,Before it touched the ground,There came a dove, and a thousand dovesMade sweet sound.’Twas the body of Judas IscariotFloated away full fleet,And the wings of the doves that bare it offWere like its winding-sheet.’Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open door,And beckon’d, smiling sweet;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotStole in, and fell at his feet.“The Holy Supper is spread within,And the many candles shine,And I have waited long for theeBefore I poured the wine!”The supper wine is poured at last,The lights burn bright and fair,Iscariot washes the Bridegroom’s feet,And dries them with his hair.Robert Buchanan.
’Twas the body of Judas IscariotLay in the Field of Blood;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotBeside the body stood.
’Twas the body of Judas Iscariot
Lay in the Field of Blood;
’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Beside the body stood.
Black was the earth by night,And black was the sky;Black, black were the broken clouds,Tho’ the red Moon went by....
Black was the earth by night,
And black was the sky;
Black, black were the broken clouds,
Tho’ the red Moon went by....
’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,So grim, and gaunt, and gray,Raised the body of Judas Iscariot,And carried it away.
’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,
So grim, and gaunt, and gray,
Raised the body of Judas Iscariot,
And carried it away.
...
...
For days and nights he wandered onUpon an open plain,And the days went by like blinding mist,And the nights like rushing rain.
For days and nights he wandered on
Upon an open plain,
And the days went by like blinding mist,
And the nights like rushing rain.
He wandered east, he wandered west,And heard no human sound;For months and years, in grief and tears,He wandered round and round....
He wandered east, he wandered west,
And heard no human sound;
For months and years, in grief and tears,
He wandered round and round....
...
...
’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,Strange, and sad, and tall,Stood all alone at dead of nightBefore a lighted hall.
’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot,
Strange, and sad, and tall,
Stood all alone at dead of night
Before a lighted hall.
And the wold was white with snow,And his foot-marks black and damp,And the ghost of the silvern Moon arose,Holding her yellow lamp.
And the wold was white with snow,
And his foot-marks black and damp,
And the ghost of the silvern Moon arose,
Holding her yellow lamp.
And the icicles were on the eaves,And the walls were deep with white,And the shadows of the guests withinPass’d on the window light.
And the icicles were on the eaves,
And the walls were deep with white,
And the shadows of the guests within
Pass’d on the window light.
The shadows of the wedding guestsDid strangely come and go,And the body of Judas IscariotLay stretch’d along the snow.
The shadows of the wedding guests
Did strangely come and go,
And the body of Judas Iscariot
Lay stretch’d along the snow.
The body of Judas IscariotLay stretched along the snow;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotRan swiftly to and fro.
The body of Judas Iscariot
Lay stretched along the snow;
’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Ran swiftly to and fro.
To and fro, and up and down,He ran so swiftly there,As round and round the frozen PoleGlideth the lean white bear.
To and fro, and up and down,
He ran so swiftly there,
As round and round the frozen Pole
Glideth the lean white bear.
’Twas the Bridegroom sat at the table-head,And the lights burnt bright and clear—“Oh, who is that,” the Bridegroom said,“Whose weary feet I hear?”
’Twas the Bridegroom sat at the table-head,
And the lights burnt bright and clear—
“Oh, who is that,” the Bridegroom said,
“Whose weary feet I hear?”
’Twas one look’d from the lighted hall,And answered soft and slow,“It is a wolf runs up and downWith a black track in the snow.”
’Twas one look’d from the lighted hall,
And answered soft and slow,
“It is a wolf runs up and down
With a black track in the snow.”
The Bridegroom in his robe of whiteSat at the table-head—“Oh, who is that who moans without?”The blessed Bridegroom said.
The Bridegroom in his robe of white
Sat at the table-head—
“Oh, who is that who moans without?”
The blessed Bridegroom said.
’Twas one looked from the lighted hall,And answered fierce and low“’Tis the soul of Judas IscariotGliding to and fro.”
’Twas one looked from the lighted hall,
And answered fierce and low
“’Tis the soul of Judas Iscariot
Gliding to and fro.”
’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotDid hush itself and stand.And saw the Bridegroom at the doorWith a light in his hand.
’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Did hush itself and stand.
And saw the Bridegroom at the door
With a light in his hand.
The Bridegroom stood in the open door,And he was clad in white,And far within the Lord’s SupperWas spread so broad and bright.
The Bridegroom stood in the open door,
And he was clad in white,
And far within the Lord’s Supper
Was spread so broad and bright.
The Bridegroom shaded his eyes and look’d,And his face was bright to see—“What dost thou here at the Lord’s SupperWith thy body’s sins?” said he.
The Bridegroom shaded his eyes and look’d,
And his face was bright to see—
“What dost thou here at the Lord’s Supper
With thy body’s sins?” said he.
’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotStood black, and sad, and bare—“I have wandered many nights and days;There is no light elsewhere.”
’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Stood black, and sad, and bare—
“I have wandered many nights and days;
There is no light elsewhere.”
’Twas the wedding guests cried out within,And their eyes were fierce and bright—“Scourge the soul of Judas IscariotAway into the night!”
’Twas the wedding guests cried out within,
And their eyes were fierce and bright—
“Scourge the soul of Judas Iscariot
Away into the night!”
The Bridegroom stood in the open door,And he waved hands still and slow,And the third time that he waved his handsThe air was thick with snow.
The Bridegroom stood in the open door,
And he waved hands still and slow,
And the third time that he waved his hands
The air was thick with snow.
And of every flake of falling snow,Before it touched the ground,There came a dove, and a thousand dovesMade sweet sound.
And of every flake of falling snow,
Before it touched the ground,
There came a dove, and a thousand doves
Made sweet sound.
’Twas the body of Judas IscariotFloated away full fleet,And the wings of the doves that bare it offWere like its winding-sheet.
’Twas the body of Judas Iscariot
Floated away full fleet,
And the wings of the doves that bare it off
Were like its winding-sheet.
’Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open door,And beckon’d, smiling sweet;’Twas the soul of Judas IscariotStole in, and fell at his feet.
’Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open door,
And beckon’d, smiling sweet;
’Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot
Stole in, and fell at his feet.
“The Holy Supper is spread within,And the many candles shine,And I have waited long for theeBefore I poured the wine!”
“The Holy Supper is spread within,
And the many candles shine,
And I have waited long for thee
Before I poured the wine!”
The supper wine is poured at last,The lights burn bright and fair,Iscariot washes the Bridegroom’s feet,And dries them with his hair.
The supper wine is poured at last,
The lights burn bright and fair,
Iscariot washes the Bridegroom’s feet,
And dries them with his hair.
Robert Buchanan.
Robert Buchanan.
See reference to Buchanan in thePreface.
See reference to Buchanan in thePreface.
Now, as of old,Man by himself is priced:For thirty pieces Judas soldHimself, not Christ.Hester Cholmondeley.
Now, as of old,Man by himself is priced:For thirty pieces Judas soldHimself, not Christ.Hester Cholmondeley.
Now, as of old,Man by himself is priced:For thirty pieces Judas soldHimself, not Christ.
Now, as of old,
Man by himself is priced:
For thirty pieces Judas sold
Himself, not Christ.
Hester Cholmondeley.
Hester Cholmondeley.
I learn from theNew Statesmanreviewer of the first English Edition that these lines were by Hester, a gifted sister of Mary Cholmondeley. She died at 22.
I learn from theNew Statesmanreviewer of the first English Edition that these lines were by Hester, a gifted sister of Mary Cholmondeley. She died at 22.
The world is not so much in need of new thoughts as that when thought grows old and worn with usage it should, like current coin, be called in, and, from the mint of genius, reissued fresh and new.
Alexander Smith(On the Writing of Essays).
It is the calling of great men, not so much to preach new truths, as to rescue from oblivion those old truths which it is our wisdom to remember and our weakness to forget.
Sydney Smith.
In philosophy equally as in poetry it is the highest and most useful prerogative of genius to produce the strongest impressions of novelty, while it rescues admitted truths from the neglect caused by the very circumstances of their universal admission. Extremes meet. Truths, of all others the most awful and interesting, are too often considered as so true, that they lose all the power of truth, and lie bed-ridden in the dormitory of the soul, side by side with the most despised and exploded errors.
S. T. Coleridge(Aids to Reflection).
I have given no man of my fruit to eat,I trod the grapes, I have drunken the wine.Had you eaten and drunken and found it sweet,This wild new growth of the corn and vine,This wine and bread without lees or leaven,We had grown as gods, as the gods in heaven,Souls fair to look upon, goodly to greet,One splendid spirit, your soul and mine.In the change of years, in the coil of things,In the clamour and rumour of life to be,We, drinking love at the furthest springs,Covered with love as a covering tree,We had grown as gods, as the gods above,Filled from the heart to the lips with love,Held fast in his hands, clothed warm with his wings,O love, my love, had you loved but me!We had stood as the sure stars stand, and movedAs the moon moves, loving the world; and seenGrief collapse as a thing disproved,Death consume as a thing unclean,Twain halves of a perfect heart, made fastSoul to soul while the years fell past;Had you loved me once, as you have not loved;Had the chance been with us that has not been.Swinburne(The Triumph of Time).
I have given no man of my fruit to eat,I trod the grapes, I have drunken the wine.Had you eaten and drunken and found it sweet,This wild new growth of the corn and vine,This wine and bread without lees or leaven,We had grown as gods, as the gods in heaven,Souls fair to look upon, goodly to greet,One splendid spirit, your soul and mine.In the change of years, in the coil of things,In the clamour and rumour of life to be,We, drinking love at the furthest springs,Covered with love as a covering tree,We had grown as gods, as the gods above,Filled from the heart to the lips with love,Held fast in his hands, clothed warm with his wings,O love, my love, had you loved but me!We had stood as the sure stars stand, and movedAs the moon moves, loving the world; and seenGrief collapse as a thing disproved,Death consume as a thing unclean,Twain halves of a perfect heart, made fastSoul to soul while the years fell past;Had you loved me once, as you have not loved;Had the chance been with us that has not been.Swinburne(The Triumph of Time).
I have given no man of my fruit to eat,I trod the grapes, I have drunken the wine.Had you eaten and drunken and found it sweet,This wild new growth of the corn and vine,This wine and bread without lees or leaven,We had grown as gods, as the gods in heaven,Souls fair to look upon, goodly to greet,One splendid spirit, your soul and mine.
I have given no man of my fruit to eat,
I trod the grapes, I have drunken the wine.
Had you eaten and drunken and found it sweet,
This wild new growth of the corn and vine,
This wine and bread without lees or leaven,
We had grown as gods, as the gods in heaven,
Souls fair to look upon, goodly to greet,
One splendid spirit, your soul and mine.
In the change of years, in the coil of things,In the clamour and rumour of life to be,We, drinking love at the furthest springs,Covered with love as a covering tree,We had grown as gods, as the gods above,Filled from the heart to the lips with love,Held fast in his hands, clothed warm with his wings,O love, my love, had you loved but me!
In the change of years, in the coil of things,
In the clamour and rumour of life to be,
We, drinking love at the furthest springs,
Covered with love as a covering tree,
We had grown as gods, as the gods above,
Filled from the heart to the lips with love,
Held fast in his hands, clothed warm with his wings,
O love, my love, had you loved but me!
We had stood as the sure stars stand, and movedAs the moon moves, loving the world; and seenGrief collapse as a thing disproved,Death consume as a thing unclean,Twain halves of a perfect heart, made fastSoul to soul while the years fell past;Had you loved me once, as you have not loved;Had the chance been with us that has not been.
We had stood as the sure stars stand, and moved
As the moon moves, loving the world; and seen
Grief collapse as a thing disproved,
Death consume as a thing unclean,
Twain halves of a perfect heart, made fast
Soul to soul while the years fell past;
Had you loved me once, as you have not loved;
Had the chance been with us that has not been.
Swinburne(The Triumph of Time).
Swinburne(The Triumph of Time).
But she is far awayNow; nor the hours of night grown hoarBring yet to me, long gazing from the door,The wind-stirred robe of roseate greyAnd rose-crown of the hour that leads the dayWhen we shall meet once more.Oh sweet her bending graceThen when I kneel beside her feet;And sweet her eyes o’erhanging heaven; and sweetThe gathering folds of her embrace;And her fall’n hair at last shed round my faceWhen breaths and tears shall meet ...Ah! by a colder waveOn deathlier airs the hour must comeWhich to thy heart, my love, shall call me home.Between the lips of the low caveAgainst that night the lapping waters lave,And the dark lips are dumb.But there Love’s self doth stand,And with Life’s weary wings far-flown,And with Death’s eyes that make the water moan,Gathers the water in his hand:And they that drink know nought of sky or landBut only love alone.D. G. Rossetti(The Stream’s Secret).
But she is far awayNow; nor the hours of night grown hoarBring yet to me, long gazing from the door,The wind-stirred robe of roseate greyAnd rose-crown of the hour that leads the dayWhen we shall meet once more.Oh sweet her bending graceThen when I kneel beside her feet;And sweet her eyes o’erhanging heaven; and sweetThe gathering folds of her embrace;And her fall’n hair at last shed round my faceWhen breaths and tears shall meet ...Ah! by a colder waveOn deathlier airs the hour must comeWhich to thy heart, my love, shall call me home.Between the lips of the low caveAgainst that night the lapping waters lave,And the dark lips are dumb.But there Love’s self doth stand,And with Life’s weary wings far-flown,And with Death’s eyes that make the water moan,Gathers the water in his hand:And they that drink know nought of sky or landBut only love alone.D. G. Rossetti(The Stream’s Secret).
But she is far awayNow; nor the hours of night grown hoarBring yet to me, long gazing from the door,The wind-stirred robe of roseate greyAnd rose-crown of the hour that leads the dayWhen we shall meet once more.
But she is far away
Now; nor the hours of night grown hoar
Bring yet to me, long gazing from the door,
The wind-stirred robe of roseate grey
And rose-crown of the hour that leads the day
When we shall meet once more.
Oh sweet her bending graceThen when I kneel beside her feet;And sweet her eyes o’erhanging heaven; and sweetThe gathering folds of her embrace;And her fall’n hair at last shed round my faceWhen breaths and tears shall meet ...
Oh sweet her bending grace
Then when I kneel beside her feet;
And sweet her eyes o’erhanging heaven; and sweet
The gathering folds of her embrace;
And her fall’n hair at last shed round my face
When breaths and tears shall meet ...
Ah! by a colder waveOn deathlier airs the hour must comeWhich to thy heart, my love, shall call me home.Between the lips of the low caveAgainst that night the lapping waters lave,And the dark lips are dumb.
Ah! by a colder wave
On deathlier airs the hour must come
Which to thy heart, my love, shall call me home.
Between the lips of the low cave
Against that night the lapping waters lave,
And the dark lips are dumb.
But there Love’s self doth stand,And with Life’s weary wings far-flown,And with Death’s eyes that make the water moan,Gathers the water in his hand:And they that drink know nought of sky or landBut only love alone.
But there Love’s self doth stand,
And with Life’s weary wings far-flown,
And with Death’s eyes that make the water moan,
Gathers the water in his hand:
And they that drink know nought of sky or land
But only love alone.
D. G. Rossetti(The Stream’s Secret).
D. G. Rossetti(The Stream’s Secret).
Behold, my lord, what monsters muster here,With Angels’ faces, and harmful, hellish hearts,With smiling looks, and deep deceitful thoughts,With tender skins, and stony cruel minds....The younger sort come piping on apaceIn whistles made of fine enticing wood,Till they have caught the birds for whom they brided.The elder sort go stately stalking on,And on their backs they bear both land and fee,Castles and Towers, revénues and receipts,Lordships and manors, fines, yea farms and all.What should these be? (Speak you, my lovely lord!)They be not men: for why? they have no beards.They be no boys, which wear such side-long gowns.What be they? women, masking in men’s weeds,With dutchkin doublets and with jerkins jagged,With Spanish spangs and ruffs set out of France.They be so sure evenWotoMenindeed.High time it were for my poor muse to wink,Since all the hands, all paper, pen and ink,Which ever yet this wretched world possessed,Cannot describe this Sex in colours due.Gascoigne(The Steele Glas, 1576).
Behold, my lord, what monsters muster here,With Angels’ faces, and harmful, hellish hearts,With smiling looks, and deep deceitful thoughts,With tender skins, and stony cruel minds....The younger sort come piping on apaceIn whistles made of fine enticing wood,Till they have caught the birds for whom they brided.The elder sort go stately stalking on,And on their backs they bear both land and fee,Castles and Towers, revénues and receipts,Lordships and manors, fines, yea farms and all.What should these be? (Speak you, my lovely lord!)They be not men: for why? they have no beards.They be no boys, which wear such side-long gowns.What be they? women, masking in men’s weeds,With dutchkin doublets and with jerkins jagged,With Spanish spangs and ruffs set out of France.They be so sure evenWotoMenindeed.High time it were for my poor muse to wink,Since all the hands, all paper, pen and ink,Which ever yet this wretched world possessed,Cannot describe this Sex in colours due.Gascoigne(The Steele Glas, 1576).
Behold, my lord, what monsters muster here,With Angels’ faces, and harmful, hellish hearts,With smiling looks, and deep deceitful thoughts,With tender skins, and stony cruel minds....The younger sort come piping on apaceIn whistles made of fine enticing wood,Till they have caught the birds for whom they brided.The elder sort go stately stalking on,And on their backs they bear both land and fee,Castles and Towers, revénues and receipts,Lordships and manors, fines, yea farms and all.What should these be? (Speak you, my lovely lord!)They be not men: for why? they have no beards.They be no boys, which wear such side-long gowns.What be they? women, masking in men’s weeds,With dutchkin doublets and with jerkins jagged,With Spanish spangs and ruffs set out of France.They be so sure evenWotoMenindeed.High time it were for my poor muse to wink,Since all the hands, all paper, pen and ink,Which ever yet this wretched world possessed,Cannot describe this Sex in colours due.
Behold, my lord, what monsters muster here,
With Angels’ faces, and harmful, hellish hearts,
With smiling looks, and deep deceitful thoughts,
With tender skins, and stony cruel minds....
The younger sort come piping on apace
In whistles made of fine enticing wood,
Till they have caught the birds for whom they brided.
The elder sort go stately stalking on,
And on their backs they bear both land and fee,
Castles and Towers, revénues and receipts,
Lordships and manors, fines, yea farms and all.
What should these be? (Speak you, my lovely lord!)
They be not men: for why? they have no beards.
They be no boys, which wear such side-long gowns.
What be they? women, masking in men’s weeds,
With dutchkin doublets and with jerkins jagged,
With Spanish spangs and ruffs set out of France.
They be so sure evenWotoMenindeed.
High time it were for my poor muse to wink,
Since all the hands, all paper, pen and ink,
Which ever yet this wretched world possessed,
Cannot describe this Sex in colours due.
Gascoigne(The Steele Glas, 1576).
Gascoigne(The Steele Glas, 1576).
I’m not denying the women are foolish: God Almighty made ’em to match the men.
George Eliot(Adam Bede).
They are slaves who fear to speakFor the fallen and the weak;They are slaves who will not chooseHatred, scoffing and abuse,Rather than in silence shrinkFrom the truth they needs must think;They are slaves who dare not beIn the right with two or three.J. R. Lowell(Stanzas on Freedom).
They are slaves who fear to speakFor the fallen and the weak;They are slaves who will not chooseHatred, scoffing and abuse,Rather than in silence shrinkFrom the truth they needs must think;They are slaves who dare not beIn the right with two or three.J. R. Lowell(Stanzas on Freedom).
They are slaves who fear to speakFor the fallen and the weak;They are slaves who will not chooseHatred, scoffing and abuse,Rather than in silence shrinkFrom the truth they needs must think;They are slaves who dare not beIn the right with two or three.
They are slaves who fear to speak
For the fallen and the weak;
They are slaves who will not choose
Hatred, scoffing and abuse,
Rather than in silence shrink
From the truth they needs must think;
They are slaves who dare not be
In the right with two or three.
J. R. Lowell(Stanzas on Freedom).
J. R. Lowell(Stanzas on Freedom).
The Baptist might be in the Wilderness shouting to the poor, who were listening with all their might and faith to the preacher’s awful accents and denunciations of wrath or woe or salvation; and our friend the Sadducee would turn his sleek mule with a shrug and a smile from the crowd, and go home to the shade of his terrace, and muse, over preacher and audience, and turn to his roll of Plato, or his pleasant Greek song-book babbling of honey and Hybla, and nymphs and fountains and love. To what, we say, does this scepticism lead? It leads a man to a shameful loneliness and selfishness, so to speak—the more shameful, because it is so good-humoured and conscienceless and serene. Conscience! What is conscience? Why accept remorse? What is public or private faith? Myths alike enveloped in enormous tradition. If seeing and acknowledging the lies of the world, Arthur, as see them you can with only too fatal a clearness, you submit to them without any protest farther than a laugh: if, plunged yourself in easy sensuality, you allow the whole wretched world to pass groaning by you unmoved: if the fight for the truth is taking place, and all men of honour are on the ground armed on the one side or the other, and you alone are to lie on your balcony and smoke your pipe out of the noise and the danger, you had better have died, or never have been at all, than such a sensual coward.
W. M. Thackeray(Pendennis, XXIII).
What a monstrous spectre is this man, the disease of the agglutinated dust, lifting alternate feet or lying drugged with slumber; killing, feeding, growing, bringing forth small copies of himself; grown upon with hair like grass, fitted with eyes that move and glitter in his face; a thing to set children screaming;—and yet looked at nearlier, known as his fellows know him, how surprising are his attributes! Poor soul, here for so little, cast among so many hardships, filled with desires so incommensurate and so inconsistent, savagely surrounded, savagely descended, irremediably condemned to prey upon his fellow lives: who should have blamed him had he been of a piece with his destiny and a being merely barbarous? And we look and behold him instead filled with imperfect virtues: infinitely childish, often admirably valiant, often touchingly kind; sitting down, amidst his momentary life, to debate of right and wrong and the attributes of the deity; rising up to do battle for an egg or die for an idea; singling out his friends and his mate with cordial affection; bringing forth in pain, rearing with long-suffering solicitude, his young. To touch the heart of his mystery, we find in him one thought, strange to the point of lunacy: the thought of duty; the thought of something owing to himself, to hisneighbour, to his God; an ideal of decency, to which he would rise if it were possible; a limit of shame, below which, if it be possible, he will not stoop.
R. L. Stevenson(Pulvis et Umbra).
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wearThe Godhead’s most benignant grace;Nor know we anything so fairAs is the smile upon thy face:Flowers laugh before thee on their bedsAnd fragrance in thy footing treads;Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.Wordsworth(Ode to Duty).
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wearThe Godhead’s most benignant grace;Nor know we anything so fairAs is the smile upon thy face:Flowers laugh before thee on their bedsAnd fragrance in thy footing treads;Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.Wordsworth(Ode to Duty).
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wearThe Godhead’s most benignant grace;Nor know we anything so fairAs is the smile upon thy face:Flowers laugh before thee on their bedsAnd fragrance in thy footing treads;Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
Stern Lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead’s most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds
And fragrance in thy footing treads;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
Wordsworth(Ode to Duty).
Wordsworth(Ode to Duty).
A CHARGE.
If thou has squander’d years to grave a gemCommission’d by thy absent Lord, and while’Tis incomplete,Others would bribe thy needy skill to them—Dismiss them to the street!Should’st thou at last discover Beauty’s grove,At last be panting on the fragrant verge,But in the track,Drunk with divine possession, thou meet Love—Turn at her bidding back.When round thy ship in tempest Hell appears,And every spectre mutters up more direTo snatch controlAnd loose to madness thy deep-kennell’d Fears—Then to the helm, O Soul!Last; if upon the cold green-mantling seaThou cling, alone with Truth, to the last spar,Both castaway,And one must perish—let it not be heWhom thou art sworn to obey!Herbert Trench(Born 1865).
If thou has squander’d years to grave a gemCommission’d by thy absent Lord, and while’Tis incomplete,Others would bribe thy needy skill to them—Dismiss them to the street!Should’st thou at last discover Beauty’s grove,At last be panting on the fragrant verge,But in the track,Drunk with divine possession, thou meet Love—Turn at her bidding back.When round thy ship in tempest Hell appears,And every spectre mutters up more direTo snatch controlAnd loose to madness thy deep-kennell’d Fears—Then to the helm, O Soul!Last; if upon the cold green-mantling seaThou cling, alone with Truth, to the last spar,Both castaway,And one must perish—let it not be heWhom thou art sworn to obey!Herbert Trench(Born 1865).
If thou has squander’d years to grave a gemCommission’d by thy absent Lord, and while’Tis incomplete,Others would bribe thy needy skill to them—Dismiss them to the street!
If thou has squander’d years to grave a gem
Commission’d by thy absent Lord, and while
’Tis incomplete,
Others would bribe thy needy skill to them—
Dismiss them to the street!
Should’st thou at last discover Beauty’s grove,At last be panting on the fragrant verge,But in the track,Drunk with divine possession, thou meet Love—Turn at her bidding back.
Should’st thou at last discover Beauty’s grove,
At last be panting on the fragrant verge,
But in the track,
Drunk with divine possession, thou meet Love—
Turn at her bidding back.
When round thy ship in tempest Hell appears,And every spectre mutters up more direTo snatch controlAnd loose to madness thy deep-kennell’d Fears—Then to the helm, O Soul!
When round thy ship in tempest Hell appears,
And every spectre mutters up more dire
To snatch control
And loose to madness thy deep-kennell’d Fears—
Then to the helm, O Soul!
Last; if upon the cold green-mantling seaThou cling, alone with Truth, to the last spar,Both castaway,And one must perish—let it not be heWhom thou art sworn to obey!
Last; if upon the cold green-mantling sea
Thou cling, alone with Truth, to the last spar,
Both castaway,
And one must perish—let it not be he
Whom thou art sworn to obey!
Herbert Trench(Born 1865).
Herbert Trench(Born 1865).
Human nature, trained in the School of Christianity, throws away as false the delineation of piety in the disguise of Hebe, and declares that there is something higher than happiness—that thought which is ever full of care and truth is better far—that all true and disinterested affection, which often is called to mourn, is better still—that the devoted allegiance of conscience to duty and to God—which ever has in it more of penitence than of joy—is noblest of all.
James Martineau(Endeavours after the Christian Life, p. 42).
There is in man aHigherthan Love of Happiness; he can do without Happiness, and instead thereof find Blessedness! Was it not to preach forth this sameHigherthat sages and martyrs, the poet and the priest, in all times have spoken and suffered; bearing testimony, through life and through death, of the Godlike that is in Man, and how in the Godlike only has he Strength and Freedom? Which God-inspired Doctrine art thou also honoured to be taught; O Heavens! and broken with manifold merciful Afflictions, even till thou become contrite and learn it! O thank thy Destiny for these; thankfully bear what yet remain; thou hadst need of them; the Self in thee needed to be annihilated.... Love not Pleasure; love God. This is the EVERLASTING YEA, wherein all contradiction is solved; wherein whoso walks and works, it is well with him.... To theWorship of Sorrow, ascribe what origin and genesis thou pleasest, has not that Worship originated, and been generated? Is it nothere? Feel it in thy heart, and then say whether it is of God! This is Belief; all else is Opinion.... Do the Duty which liest nearest thee, which thou knowest to be a Duty. The Situation that has not its Duty, its Ideal, was never yet occupied by man. Yes here, in this poor, miserable, hampered, despicable Actual, wherein thou even now standest, here or nowhere is thy Ideal: work it out therefrom; and working, believe, live, be free. The Ideal is in thyself.
Thomas Carlyle(Sartor Resartus).
The belief that the sense of duty and moral aspiration arise from within ourselves, and are the cause rather than the result of sociological evolution is far more widespread to-day than in what Carlyle calls his “atheistical century.” The “Everlasting Yea” is opposed to the “Everlasting No” of nescience.
The belief that the sense of duty and moral aspiration arise from within ourselves, and are the cause rather than the result of sociological evolution is far more widespread to-day than in what Carlyle calls his “atheistical century.” The “Everlasting Yea” is opposed to the “Everlasting No” of nescience.
He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest may knowAt first sight, if the bird be flown;But what fair well or grove he sings in nowThat is to him unknown.Henry Vaughan(Friends Departed).
He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest may knowAt first sight, if the bird be flown;But what fair well or grove he sings in nowThat is to him unknown.Henry Vaughan(Friends Departed).
He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest may knowAt first sight, if the bird be flown;But what fair well or grove he sings in nowThat is to him unknown.
He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest may know
At first sight, if the bird be flown;
But what fair well or grove he sings in now
That is to him unknown.
Henry Vaughan(Friends Departed).
Henry Vaughan(Friends Departed).
For the subject of the verse see title of poem.
For the subject of the verse see title of poem.
Must it last for ever,The passionate endeavour,Ah, have ye, there in heaven, hearts to throb and still aspire?In the life you know now,Rendered white as snow now,Do fresher glory-heights arise, and beckon higher—higher?Are you dreaming, dreaming,Is your soul still roaming,Still gazing upward as we gazed, of old in the autumn gloaming?But ah, that pale moon roamingThro’ fleecy mists of gloaming,Furrowing with pearly edge the jewel-powder’d sky,And ah, the days departedWith your friendship gentle-hearted,And ah, the dream we dreamt that night, together you and I!Is it fashioned wisely,To help us or to blind us,That at each height we gain we turn, and behold a heaven behind us?R. Buchanan(To David in Heaven).
Must it last for ever,The passionate endeavour,Ah, have ye, there in heaven, hearts to throb and still aspire?In the life you know now,Rendered white as snow now,Do fresher glory-heights arise, and beckon higher—higher?Are you dreaming, dreaming,Is your soul still roaming,Still gazing upward as we gazed, of old in the autumn gloaming?But ah, that pale moon roamingThro’ fleecy mists of gloaming,Furrowing with pearly edge the jewel-powder’d sky,And ah, the days departedWith your friendship gentle-hearted,And ah, the dream we dreamt that night, together you and I!Is it fashioned wisely,To help us or to blind us,That at each height we gain we turn, and behold a heaven behind us?R. Buchanan(To David in Heaven).
Must it last for ever,The passionate endeavour,Ah, have ye, there in heaven, hearts to throb and still aspire?In the life you know now,Rendered white as snow now,Do fresher glory-heights arise, and beckon higher—higher?Are you dreaming, dreaming,Is your soul still roaming,Still gazing upward as we gazed, of old in the autumn gloaming?
Must it last for ever,
The passionate endeavour,
Ah, have ye, there in heaven, hearts to throb and still aspire?
In the life you know now,
Rendered white as snow now,
Do fresher glory-heights arise, and beckon higher—higher?
Are you dreaming, dreaming,
Is your soul still roaming,
Still gazing upward as we gazed, of old in the autumn gloaming?
But ah, that pale moon roamingThro’ fleecy mists of gloaming,Furrowing with pearly edge the jewel-powder’d sky,And ah, the days departedWith your friendship gentle-hearted,And ah, the dream we dreamt that night, together you and I!Is it fashioned wisely,To help us or to blind us,That at each height we gain we turn, and behold a heaven behind us?
But ah, that pale moon roaming
Thro’ fleecy mists of gloaming,
Furrowing with pearly edge the jewel-powder’d sky,
And ah, the days departed
With your friendship gentle-hearted,
And ah, the dream we dreamt that night, together you and I!
Is it fashioned wisely,
To help us or to blind us,
That at each height we gain we turn, and behold a heaven behind us?
R. Buchanan(To David in Heaven).
R. Buchanan(To David in Heaven).
David Gray was a young poet and a great friend of Buchanan’s. Another verse in the poem is:In some heaven star-lighted,Are you now unitedUnto the poet-spirits that you loved of English race?Is Chatterton still dreaming?And, to give it stately seeming,Has the music of his last strong song passed into Keats’s face?Is Wordsworth there? and Spenser?Beyond the grave’s black portals,Can the grand eye of Miltonseethe glory he sang to mortals?
David Gray was a young poet and a great friend of Buchanan’s. Another verse in the poem is:
In some heaven star-lighted,Are you now unitedUnto the poet-spirits that you loved of English race?Is Chatterton still dreaming?And, to give it stately seeming,Has the music of his last strong song passed into Keats’s face?Is Wordsworth there? and Spenser?Beyond the grave’s black portals,Can the grand eye of Miltonseethe glory he sang to mortals?
In some heaven star-lighted,Are you now unitedUnto the poet-spirits that you loved of English race?Is Chatterton still dreaming?And, to give it stately seeming,Has the music of his last strong song passed into Keats’s face?Is Wordsworth there? and Spenser?Beyond the grave’s black portals,Can the grand eye of Miltonseethe glory he sang to mortals?
In some heaven star-lighted,Are you now unitedUnto the poet-spirits that you loved of English race?Is Chatterton still dreaming?And, to give it stately seeming,Has the music of his last strong song passed into Keats’s face?Is Wordsworth there? and Spenser?Beyond the grave’s black portals,Can the grand eye of Miltonseethe glory he sang to mortals?
In some heaven star-lighted,
Are you now united
Unto the poet-spirits that you loved of English race?
Is Chatterton still dreaming?
And, to give it stately seeming,
Has the music of his last strong song passed into Keats’s face?
Is Wordsworth there? and Spenser?
Beyond the grave’s black portals,
Can the grand eye of Miltonseethe glory he sang to mortals?
What would one have?In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance—Four great walls in the New Jerusalem,Meted on each side by the angel’s reed,For Leonard, Rafael, Angelo and meTo cover.Robert Browning(Andrea del Sarto).
What would one have?In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance—Four great walls in the New Jerusalem,Meted on each side by the angel’s reed,For Leonard, Rafael, Angelo and meTo cover.Robert Browning(Andrea del Sarto).
What would one have?In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance—Four great walls in the New Jerusalem,Meted on each side by the angel’s reed,For Leonard, Rafael, Angelo and meTo cover.
What would one have?
In heaven, perhaps, new chances, one more chance—
Four great walls in the New Jerusalem,
Meted on each side by the angel’s reed,
For Leonard, Rafael, Angelo and me
To cover.
Robert Browning(Andrea del Sarto).
Robert Browning(Andrea del Sarto).
Andrea del Sarto says that, but for certain unfortunate circumstances, he might have reached the high eminence of Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and Michael Angelo. In heaven he may have another chance to compete with them.
Andrea del Sarto says that, but for certain unfortunate circumstances, he might have reached the high eminence of Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and Michael Angelo. In heaven he may have another chance to compete with them.
Their noon-day never knowsWhat names immortal are:’Tis night alone that showsHow star surpasseth star.J. B. Tabb(Fame).
Their noon-day never knowsWhat names immortal are:’Tis night alone that showsHow star surpasseth star.J. B. Tabb(Fame).
Their noon-day never knowsWhat names immortal are:’Tis night alone that showsHow star surpasseth star.
Their noon-day never knows
What names immortal are:
’Tis night alone that shows
How star surpasseth star.
J. B. Tabb(Fame).
J. B. Tabb(Fame).
But O, that deep romantic chasm which slantedDown the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!A savage place! as holy and enchantedAs e’er beneath a waning moon was hauntedBy woman wailing for her demon-lover!S. T. Coleridge(Kubla Khan).
But O, that deep romantic chasm which slantedDown the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!A savage place! as holy and enchantedAs e’er beneath a waning moon was hauntedBy woman wailing for her demon-lover!S. T. Coleridge(Kubla Khan).
But O, that deep romantic chasm which slantedDown the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!A savage place! as holy and enchantedAs e’er beneath a waning moon was hauntedBy woman wailing for her demon-lover!
But O, that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
S. T. Coleridge(Kubla Khan).
S. T. Coleridge(Kubla Khan).
This and the five following quotations and others through the book are from a small collection of word-pictures, that I had begun to put together. They are mostly well-known.
This and the five following quotations and others through the book are from a small collection of word-pictures, that I had begun to put together. They are mostly well-known.
Behold the Nereïds under the green sea,Their wavering limbs borne on the wind-like stream,Their white arms lifted o’er their streaming hairWith garlands pied and starry sea-flower crowns,Hastening to grace their mighty sister’s joy.Shelley(Prometheus Unbound).
Behold the Nereïds under the green sea,Their wavering limbs borne on the wind-like stream,Their white arms lifted o’er their streaming hairWith garlands pied and starry sea-flower crowns,Hastening to grace their mighty sister’s joy.Shelley(Prometheus Unbound).
Behold the Nereïds under the green sea,Their wavering limbs borne on the wind-like stream,Their white arms lifted o’er their streaming hairWith garlands pied and starry sea-flower crowns,Hastening to grace their mighty sister’s joy.
Behold the Nereïds under the green sea,
Their wavering limbs borne on the wind-like stream,
Their white arms lifted o’er their streaming hair
With garlands pied and starry sea-flower crowns,
Hastening to grace their mighty sister’s joy.
Shelley(Prometheus Unbound).
Shelley(Prometheus Unbound).
Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawnsThe earliest pipe of half-awakened birdsTo dying ears, when unto dying eyesThe casement slowly grows a glimmering square:So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.Tennyson(The Princess).
Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawnsThe earliest pipe of half-awakened birdsTo dying ears, when unto dying eyesThe casement slowly grows a glimmering square:So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.Tennyson(The Princess).
Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawnsThe earliest pipe of half-awakened birdsTo dying ears, when unto dying eyesThe casement slowly grows a glimmering square:So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.
Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square:
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.
Tennyson(The Princess).
Tennyson(The Princess).
“But show me the child thou callest mine,Is she out to-night in the ghost’s sunshine?”“In St. Peter’s Church she is playing on,At hide-and-seek, with Apostle John.When the moonbeams right through the window go,Where the twelve are standing in glorious show,She says the rest of them do not stir,But one comes down to play with her.”G. MacDonald(Phantastes).
“But show me the child thou callest mine,Is she out to-night in the ghost’s sunshine?”“In St. Peter’s Church she is playing on,At hide-and-seek, with Apostle John.When the moonbeams right through the window go,Where the twelve are standing in glorious show,She says the rest of them do not stir,But one comes down to play with her.”G. MacDonald(Phantastes).
“But show me the child thou callest mine,Is she out to-night in the ghost’s sunshine?”
“But show me the child thou callest mine,
Is she out to-night in the ghost’s sunshine?”
“In St. Peter’s Church she is playing on,At hide-and-seek, with Apostle John.
“In St. Peter’s Church she is playing on,
At hide-and-seek, with Apostle John.
When the moonbeams right through the window go,Where the twelve are standing in glorious show,
When the moonbeams right through the window go,
Where the twelve are standing in glorious show,
She says the rest of them do not stir,But one comes down to play with her.”
She says the rest of them do not stir,
But one comes down to play with her.”
G. MacDonald(Phantastes).
G. MacDonald(Phantastes).
It is a ghost-child who is playing in the great cathedral.
It is a ghost-child who is playing in the great cathedral.
Golden head by golden head,Like two pigeons in one nestFolded in each other’s wings,They lay down in their curtained bed.Christina Rossetti(Goblin Market).
Golden head by golden head,Like two pigeons in one nestFolded in each other’s wings,They lay down in their curtained bed.Christina Rossetti(Goblin Market).
Golden head by golden head,Like two pigeons in one nestFolded in each other’s wings,They lay down in their curtained bed.
Golden head by golden head,
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each other’s wings,
They lay down in their curtained bed.
Christina Rossetti(Goblin Market).
Christina Rossetti(Goblin Market).
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn;The cow’s in the meadow, the sheep in the corn;Is this the way you mind your sheep,Under the haycock fast asleep?Nursery Rhyme.
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn;The cow’s in the meadow, the sheep in the corn;Is this the way you mind your sheep,Under the haycock fast asleep?Nursery Rhyme.
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn;The cow’s in the meadow, the sheep in the corn;Is this the way you mind your sheep,Under the haycock fast asleep?
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn;
The cow’s in the meadow, the sheep in the corn;
Is this the way you mind your sheep,
Under the haycock fast asleep?
Nursery Rhyme.
Nursery Rhyme.
Edward Fitzgerald, quoting this in “Euphranor,” says the “meadow” is the grass reserved for meadowing, or mowing.
Edward Fitzgerald, quoting this in “Euphranor,” says the “meadow” is the grass reserved for meadowing, or mowing.
THE FEAST OF ADONIS.
Gorgo.Is Praxinoë at home?
Praxinoë.My dear Gorgo, at last! Yes, here I am. Euno, find a chair—get a cushion for it.
Gorgo.It will do beautifully as it is.
Praxinoë.Do sit down.
Gorgo.Oh, this gad-about spirit! I could hardly get to you, Praxinoë, through all the crowd and all the carriages. Nothing but heavy boots, nothing but men in uniform. And what a journey it is! My dear child, you really livetoofar off.
Praxinoë.It is all that insane husband of mine. He has chosen to come out here to the end of the world, and take a hole of a place—for a house it is not—on purpose that you and I might not be neighbours. He is always just the same—anything to quarrel with one! anything for spite!
Gorgo.My dear, don’t talk so of your husband before the little fellow. Just see how astonished he looks at you. (Talking to the child.) Never mind, Zopyrio my pet, she is not talking about papa. (Good heavens, the child does really understand.) Pretty papa!
Praxinoë.That “pretty papa” of his the other day (though I told him beforehand to mind what he was about), when I sent him to a shop to buy soap and rouge, brought me home salt instead; stupid, great, big, interminable animal!
Gorgo.Mine is just the fellow to him. But never mind now, get on your things and let us be off to the palace to see the Adonis. I hear the Queen’s decorations are something splendid.
Praxinoë.“In grand people’s houses everything is grand.” What things you have seen in Alexandria! What a deal you will have to tell to anybody who has never been there!
Gorgo.Come, we ought to be going.
Praxinoë.“Every day is a holiday to people who have nothing to do.” Eunoë, pick up your work; and take care, you lazy girl, how you leave it lying about again; the cats find it just the bed they like. Come, stir yourself, fetch me some water, quick! I wanted the water first, and the girl brings me the soap. Never mind; give it me. Not all that, extravagant! Now pour out the water—stupid! Why don’t you take care of my dress? That will do. I have got my hands washed as it pleased God. Where is the key of the large wardrobe? Bring it here—quick!
Gorgo.Praxinoë, you can’t think how well that dress, made full, as you have got it, suits you. Tell me, how much did it cost—the dress by itself, I mean?
Praxinoë.Don’t talk of it, Gorgo: more than eight guineas of good hard money. And about the work on it, I have almost worn my life out.
Gorgo.Well, you couldn’t have done better.
Praxinoë.Thank you. Bring me my shawl, and put my hat properly on my head—properly. No, child (to her little boy,) I am not going to take you; there’s a bogey on horsebackwho bites. Cry as much as you like; I’m not going to have you lamed for life. Now we’ll start. Nurse take the little one and amuse him; call the dog in, and shut the street door. (They go out.) Good heavens! what a crowd of people! How on earth are we ever to get through all this? They are like ants: you can’t count them. My dearest Gorgo, what will become of us? Here are the Royal Horse Guards. My good man, don’t ride over me! Look at that bay horse rearing bolt upright; what a vicious one! Eunoë, you mad girl, do take care!—that horse will certainly be the death of the man on his back. How glad I am now, that I left the child safe at home.
Gorgo.All right, Praxinoë, we are safe behind them; and they have gone on to where they are stationed.
Praxinoë.Well, yes, I begin to revive again. From the time I was a little girl I have had more horror of horses and snakes than of anything else in the world. Let us get on; here’s a great crowd coming this way upon us.
Gorgo(to an old woman). Mother, are you from the palace?
Old woman.Yes, my dears.
Gorgo.Has one a tolerable chance of getting there?
Old woman.My pretty young lady, the Greeks got to Troy by dint of trying hard; trying will do anything in this world.
Gorgo.The old creature has delivered an oracle and disappeared.
Praxinoë.Women can tell you everything about everything, even about Jupiter’s marriage with Juno!
Gorgo.Look, Praxinoë, what a squeeze at the palace gates.
Praxinoë.Tremendous! Take hold of me, Gorgo; and you, Eunoë, take hold of Eutychis!—tight hold, or you’ll be lost. Here we go in all together. Hold tight to us, Eunoë! Oh, dear! oh, dear! Gorgo, there’s my scarf torn right in two. For heaven’s sake, my good man, as you hope to be saved, take care of my dress!
Stranger.I’ll do what I can, but it doesn’t depend upon me.
Praxinoë.What heaps of people! They push like a drove of pigs.
Stranger.Don’t be frightened, ma’am, we are all right.
Praxinoë.May you be all right, my dear sir, to the last day you live, for the care you have taken of us! What a kind, considerate man! There is Eunoë jammed in a squeeze. Push, you goose, push! Capital! We are all of us the right side of the door, as the bridegroom said when he had locked himself in with the bride.
Gorgo.Praxinoë, come this way. Do but look at that work, how delicate it is!—how exquisite! Why, the gods might wear it in heaven.
Praxinoë.Goddess of Spinning, what hands were hired to do that work? Who designed those beautiful patterns? They seem to stand up and move about, as if they were real—as if they were living things, and not needlework. Well, man is a wonderful creature! And look, look, how charminghelies there on his silver couch, with just a soft down on his cheeks, that beloved Adonis—Adonis, whom one loves even though he is dead!
Another stranger.You wretched women, do stop your incessant chatter! Like turtles, you go on for ever.
Gorgo.Lord, where does the man come from? What is it to you if wearechatterboxes? Order about your own servants!
Praxinoë.Oh, honey-sweet Proserpine, let us have no more masters than the one we’ve got! We don’t the least care foryou; pray don’t trouble yourself for nothing.
Gorgo.Be quiet, Praxinoë! That first-rate singer, the Argive woman’s daughter, is going to sing theAdonishymn. She is the same who was chosen to sing the dirge last year. We are sure to have something first-rate fromher. She is going through her airs and graces ready to begin.
Theocritus(Fifteenth Idyll).
This is Matthew Arnold’s translation of apoemby Theocritus, who lived in the Third Century B.C., 2,200 years ago, (see Arnold’s Essay onPagan and Mediaeval Religious Sentiment). I have altered a few words and also omitted part because of its length.Gorgo, a lady of Alexandria, calls on her friend Praxinoë, to take her to the Festival of Adonis. Greek ladies were allowed to go out on Festival days if veiled and attended, and, therefore, Gorgo and Praxinoë take with them their respective maids, Eutychis and Eunoë, who would no doubt be slave-girls.Some curious facts may be noted. The wife is kept in seclusion and the husband does the marketing, buying among other things herrouge. Observe how perfunctory are the pretty lady’s ablutions (the soap, by the way, is in the form of paste). The little boy represents the ruling sex and will be removed at an early age from her control. She is disposed to rebel against her lord and master, but takes the utmost care of the important boy-child. While the ladies with their slaves make up their own dresses, the designs and the finest needlework are done by men. The Greek woman in Athens was practically uneducated and regarded as an inferior being; but these ladies were Dorian Greeks and would no doubt be better treated and have somewhat more freedom—especially in Alexandria, which was a colony and, therefore, probably less conservative. Although no doubt veiled, their eyes would be visible and, as seen in the East to-day, a pretty woman can always manage to show her beauty, if she chooses. It will be seen that one man is polite to the two young,pretty, richly-dressed ladies, and saves them from being crushed by the crowd, while another is a crusty, grumpy person, who treats them with some rudeness and, in the original, ridicules their Dorian pronunciation. Praxinoë is most grateful to the polite man for what would now be an ordinary act of courtesy.As regards the conversation Andrew Lang says: “Nothing can be more gay and natural than the chatter of the women, which has changed no more in two thousand years than the song of birds.”
This is Matthew Arnold’s translation of apoemby Theocritus, who lived in the Third Century B.C., 2,200 years ago, (see Arnold’s Essay onPagan and Mediaeval Religious Sentiment). I have altered a few words and also omitted part because of its length.
Gorgo, a lady of Alexandria, calls on her friend Praxinoë, to take her to the Festival of Adonis. Greek ladies were allowed to go out on Festival days if veiled and attended, and, therefore, Gorgo and Praxinoë take with them their respective maids, Eutychis and Eunoë, who would no doubt be slave-girls.
Some curious facts may be noted. The wife is kept in seclusion and the husband does the marketing, buying among other things herrouge. Observe how perfunctory are the pretty lady’s ablutions (the soap, by the way, is in the form of paste). The little boy represents the ruling sex and will be removed at an early age from her control. She is disposed to rebel against her lord and master, but takes the utmost care of the important boy-child. While the ladies with their slaves make up their own dresses, the designs and the finest needlework are done by men. The Greek woman in Athens was practically uneducated and regarded as an inferior being; but these ladies were Dorian Greeks and would no doubt be better treated and have somewhat more freedom—especially in Alexandria, which was a colony and, therefore, probably less conservative. Although no doubt veiled, their eyes would be visible and, as seen in the East to-day, a pretty woman can always manage to show her beauty, if she chooses. It will be seen that one man is polite to the two young,pretty, richly-dressed ladies, and saves them from being crushed by the crowd, while another is a crusty, grumpy person, who treats them with some rudeness and, in the original, ridicules their Dorian pronunciation. Praxinoë is most grateful to the polite man for what would now be an ordinary act of courtesy.
As regards the conversation Andrew Lang says: “Nothing can be more gay and natural than the chatter of the women, which has changed no more in two thousand years than the song of birds.”
I have seenA curious child, who dwelt upon a tractOf inland ground, applying to his earThe convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell;To which, in silence hushed, his very soulListened intensely; and his countenance soonBrightened with joy; for from within were heardMurmurings, whereby the monitor expressedMysterious union with its native sea.Even such a shell the universe itselfIs to the ear of Faith; and there are times,I doubt not, when to you it doth impartAuthentic tidings of invisible things;Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power;And central peace, subsisting at the heartOf endless agitation.Wordsworth(The Excursion).
I have seenA curious child, who dwelt upon a tractOf inland ground, applying to his earThe convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell;To which, in silence hushed, his very soulListened intensely; and his countenance soonBrightened with joy; for from within were heardMurmurings, whereby the monitor expressedMysterious union with its native sea.Even such a shell the universe itselfIs to the ear of Faith; and there are times,I doubt not, when to you it doth impartAuthentic tidings of invisible things;Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power;And central peace, subsisting at the heartOf endless agitation.Wordsworth(The Excursion).
I have seenA curious child, who dwelt upon a tractOf inland ground, applying to his earThe convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell;To which, in silence hushed, his very soulListened intensely; and his countenance soonBrightened with joy; for from within were heardMurmurings, whereby the monitor expressedMysterious union with its native sea.Even such a shell the universe itselfIs to the ear of Faith; and there are times,I doubt not, when to you it doth impartAuthentic tidings of invisible things;Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power;And central peace, subsisting at the heartOf endless agitation.
I have seen
A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract
Of inland ground, applying to his ear
The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell;
To which, in silence hushed, his very soul
Listened intensely; and his countenance soon
Brightened with joy; for from within were heard
Murmurings, whereby the monitor expressed
Mysterious union with its native sea.
Even such a shell the universe itself
Is to the ear of Faith; and there are times,
I doubt not, when to you it doth impart
Authentic tidings of invisible things;
Of ebb and flow, and ever-during power;
And central peace, subsisting at the heart
Of endless agitation.
Wordsworth(The Excursion).
Wordsworth(The Excursion).
Marriage is a desperate thing; the Frogs in Aesop were extreme wise: they had a great mind to some Water, but they would not leap into the Well, because they could not get out again.
’Tis reason a Man that will have a Wife should be at the Charge of her Trinkets, and pay all the Scores she sets on him. He that will keep a Monkey, ’tis fit he should pay for the Glasses he breaks.
Selden(Table Talk).
When you’re a married man, Samivel, you’ll understand a good many things as you don’t understand now; but vether it’s worth while goin’ through so much to learn so little, as the charity-boy said wen he got to the end of the alphabet, is a matter o’ taste.Irayther think it isn’t.
Charles Dickens(Pickwick Papers).
Matrimony is the only game of chance the clergy favour.
Author not traced.
A man, who admires a fine woman, has yet no more reason to wish himself her husband, than one, who admired the Hesperian fruit, would have had to wish himself the dragon that kept it.
Alexander Pope.