Autumn Idyll, An
L AWRENCE .Frank .J ACK .
L AWRENCE .
Here , where the beech-nuts drop among the grasses,
Push the boat in, and throw the rope ashore.
Jack, hand me out the claret and the glasses;
Here let us sit. We landed here before.
Frank .
Jack's undecided. Say, formose puer ,
Bent in a dream above the " water wan,"
Shall we row higher, for the reeds are fewer,
There by the pollards, where you see the swan?
J ACK .
Hist! That's a pike. Look — nose against the river
Gaunt as a wolf, — the sly old privateer!
Enter a gudgeon. Snap, — a gulp, a shiver; —
Exit the gudgeon. Let us anchor here.
Frank ( in the grass ).
Jove, what a day! Black Care upon the crupper
Nods at his post, and slumbers in the sun;
Half of Theocritus, with a touch of Tupper,
Churns in my head. The frenzy has begun!
L AWRENCE .
Sing to us then. Damaetas in a choker,
Much out of tune, will edify the rooks.
Frank .
Sing you again. So musical a croaker
Surely will draw the fish upon the hooks.
J ACK .
Sing while you may. The beard of manhood still is
Faint on your cheeks, but I, alas! am old.
Doubtless you yet believe in Amaryllis; —
Sing me of Her, whose name may not be told.
Frank .
Listen, O Thames! His budding beard is riper,
Say — by a week. Well, Lawrence, shall we sing?
L AWRENCE .
Yes, if you will. But ere I play the piper,
Let him declare the prize he has to bring.
J ACK .
Hear then, my Shepherds. Lo, to him accounted
First in the song, a Pipe I will impart; —
This, my Beloved, marvellously mounted,
Amber and foam, — a miracle of art.
L AWRENCE .
Lordly the gift. O Muse of many numbers,
Grant me a soft alliterative song!
Frank .
Me too, O Muse! And when the Umpire slumbers,
Sting him with gnats a summer evening long.
L AWRENCE .
Not in a cot, begarlanded of spiders,
Not where the brook traditionally " purls," —
No, in the Row, supreme among the riders,
Seek I the gem, — the paragon of girls.
Frank .
Not in the waste of column and of coping,
Not in the sham and stucco of a square, —
No, on a June-lawn, to the water sloping,
Stands she I honour, beautifully fair.
L AWRENCE .
Dark-haired is mine, with splendid tresses plaited
Back from the brows, imperially curled;
Calm as a grand, far-looking Caryatid,
Holding the roof that covers in a world.
Frank .
Dark-haired is mine, with breezy ripples swinging
Loose as a vine-branch blowing in the morn;
Eyes like the morning, mouth for ever singing,
Blithe as a bird new risen from the corn.
L AWRENCE .
Best is the song with the music interwoven:
Mine's a musician, — musical at heart, —
Throbs to the gathered grieving of Beethoven,
Sways to the light coquetting of Mozart.
Frank .
Best? You should hear mine trilling out a ballad,
Queen at a picnic, leader of the glees,
Not too divine to toss you up a salad,
Great in Sir Roger danced among the trees.
L AWRENCE .
Ah, when the thick night flares with dropping torches,
Ah, when the crush-room empties of the swarm,
Pleasant the hand that, in the gusty porches,
Light as a snow-flake, settles on your arm.
Frank .
Better the twilight and the cheery chatting, —
Better the dim, forgotten garden-seat,
Where one may lie, and watch the fingers tatting,
Lounging with Bran or Bevis at her feet.
L AWRENCE .
All worship mine. Her purity doth hedge her
Round with so delicate divinity, that men
Stained to the soul with money-bag and ledger,
Bend to the goddess, manifest again.
Frank .
None worship mine. But some, I fancy, love her, —
Cynics to boot. I know the children run,
Seeing her come, for naught that I discover,
Save that she brings the summer and the sun.
L AWRENCE .
Mine is a Lady, beautiful and queenly,
Crowned with a sweet, continual control,
Grandly forbearing, lifting life serenely
E'en to her own nobility of soul.
Frank .
Mine is a Woman, kindly beyond measure,
Fearless in praising, faltering in blame:
Simply devoted to other people's pleasure, —
Jack's sister Florence, — now you know her name.
L AWRENCE .
" Jack's sister Florence!" Never, Francis, never.
Jack, do you hear? Why, it was she I meant.
She like the country! Ah, she's far too clever —
Frank .
There you are wrong. I know her down in Kent.
L AWRENCE .
You'll get a sunstroke, standing with your head bare.
Sorry to differ. Jack, — the word's with you.
Frank .
How is it, Umpire? Though the motto's threadbare,
" Coelum, non animum " — is, I take it, true.
J ACK .
" Souvent femme varie ," as a rule, is truer;
Flattered, I'm sure, — but both of you romance.
Happy to further suit of either wooer,
Merely observing — you haven't got a chance.
L AWRENCE
Yes. But the Pipe —
Frank .
The Pipe is what we care for, —
J ACK .
Well, in this case, I scarcely need explain,
Judgement of mine were indiscreet, and therefore, —
Peace to you both. The Pipe I shall retain.
L AWRENCE .
Here , where the beech-nuts drop among the grasses,
Push the boat in, and throw the rope ashore.
Jack, hand me out the claret and the glasses;
Here let us sit. We landed here before.
Frank .
Jack's undecided. Say, formose puer ,
Bent in a dream above the " water wan,"
Shall we row higher, for the reeds are fewer,
There by the pollards, where you see the swan?
J ACK .
Hist! That's a pike. Look — nose against the river
Gaunt as a wolf, — the sly old privateer!
Enter a gudgeon. Snap, — a gulp, a shiver; —
Exit the gudgeon. Let us anchor here.
Frank ( in the grass ).
Jove, what a day! Black Care upon the crupper
Nods at his post, and slumbers in the sun;
Half of Theocritus, with a touch of Tupper,
Churns in my head. The frenzy has begun!
L AWRENCE .
Sing to us then. Damaetas in a choker,
Much out of tune, will edify the rooks.
Frank .
Sing you again. So musical a croaker
Surely will draw the fish upon the hooks.
J ACK .
Sing while you may. The beard of manhood still is
Faint on your cheeks, but I, alas! am old.
Doubtless you yet believe in Amaryllis; —
Sing me of Her, whose name may not be told.
Frank .
Listen, O Thames! His budding beard is riper,
Say — by a week. Well, Lawrence, shall we sing?
L AWRENCE .
Yes, if you will. But ere I play the piper,
Let him declare the prize he has to bring.
J ACK .
Hear then, my Shepherds. Lo, to him accounted
First in the song, a Pipe I will impart; —
This, my Beloved, marvellously mounted,
Amber and foam, — a miracle of art.
L AWRENCE .
Lordly the gift. O Muse of many numbers,
Grant me a soft alliterative song!
Frank .
Me too, O Muse! And when the Umpire slumbers,
Sting him with gnats a summer evening long.
L AWRENCE .
Not in a cot, begarlanded of spiders,
Not where the brook traditionally " purls," —
No, in the Row, supreme among the riders,
Seek I the gem, — the paragon of girls.
Frank .
Not in the waste of column and of coping,
Not in the sham and stucco of a square, —
No, on a June-lawn, to the water sloping,
Stands she I honour, beautifully fair.
L AWRENCE .
Dark-haired is mine, with splendid tresses plaited
Back from the brows, imperially curled;
Calm as a grand, far-looking Caryatid,
Holding the roof that covers in a world.
Frank .
Dark-haired is mine, with breezy ripples swinging
Loose as a vine-branch blowing in the morn;
Eyes like the morning, mouth for ever singing,
Blithe as a bird new risen from the corn.
L AWRENCE .
Best is the song with the music interwoven:
Mine's a musician, — musical at heart, —
Throbs to the gathered grieving of Beethoven,
Sways to the light coquetting of Mozart.
Frank .
Best? You should hear mine trilling out a ballad,
Queen at a picnic, leader of the glees,
Not too divine to toss you up a salad,
Great in Sir Roger danced among the trees.
L AWRENCE .
Ah, when the thick night flares with dropping torches,
Ah, when the crush-room empties of the swarm,
Pleasant the hand that, in the gusty porches,
Light as a snow-flake, settles on your arm.
Frank .
Better the twilight and the cheery chatting, —
Better the dim, forgotten garden-seat,
Where one may lie, and watch the fingers tatting,
Lounging with Bran or Bevis at her feet.
L AWRENCE .
All worship mine. Her purity doth hedge her
Round with so delicate divinity, that men
Stained to the soul with money-bag and ledger,
Bend to the goddess, manifest again.
Frank .
None worship mine. But some, I fancy, love her, —
Cynics to boot. I know the children run,
Seeing her come, for naught that I discover,
Save that she brings the summer and the sun.
L AWRENCE .
Mine is a Lady, beautiful and queenly,
Crowned with a sweet, continual control,
Grandly forbearing, lifting life serenely
E'en to her own nobility of soul.
Frank .
Mine is a Woman, kindly beyond measure,
Fearless in praising, faltering in blame:
Simply devoted to other people's pleasure, —
Jack's sister Florence, — now you know her name.
L AWRENCE .
" Jack's sister Florence!" Never, Francis, never.
Jack, do you hear? Why, it was she I meant.
She like the country! Ah, she's far too clever —
Frank .
There you are wrong. I know her down in Kent.
L AWRENCE .
You'll get a sunstroke, standing with your head bare.
Sorry to differ. Jack, — the word's with you.
Frank .
How is it, Umpire? Though the motto's threadbare,
" Coelum, non animum " — is, I take it, true.
J ACK .
" Souvent femme varie ," as a rule, is truer;
Flattered, I'm sure, — but both of you romance.
Happy to further suit of either wooer,
Merely observing — you haven't got a chance.
L AWRENCE
Yes. But the Pipe —
Frank .
The Pipe is what we care for, —
J ACK .
Well, in this case, I scarcely need explain,
Judgement of mine were indiscreet, and therefore, —
Peace to you both. The Pipe I shall retain.
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