in the dusk and the wind blowing in the palms; and she will think of
her father sitting there alone. - R. L. S.]
FORTH from her land to mine she goes,
The island maid, the island rose,
Light of heart and bright of face:
The daughter of a double race.
Her islands here, in Southern sun,
Shall mourn their Kaiulani gone,
And I, in her dear banyan shade,
Look
vainly for my little maid.
But our Scots islands far away
Shall
glitter with unwonted day,
And cast for once their tempests by
To smile in Kaiulani's eye.
Honolulu.
XXXI - TO MOTHER MARYANNE
To see the
infinite pity of this place,
The mangled limb, the devastated face,
The
innocentsufferer smiling at the rod -
A fool were tempted to deny his God.
He sees, he shrinks. But if he gaze again,
Lo, beauty springing from the breast of pain!
He marks the sisters on the
mournful shores;
And even a fool is silent and adores.
Guest House, Kalawao, Molokai.
XXXII - IN MEMORIAM E. H.
I KNEW a silver head was bright beyond compare,
I knew a queen of toil with a crown of silver hair.
Garland of
valour and sorrow, of beauty and renown,
Life, that honours the brave, crowned her himself with the crown.
The beauties of youth are frail, but this was a jewel of age.
Life, that delights in the brave, gave it himself for a gage.
Fair was the crown to behold, and beauty its poorest part -
At once the scar of the wound and the order pinned on the heart.
The beauties of man are frail, and the silver lies in the dust,
And the queen that we call to mind sleeps with the brave and the just;
Sleeps with the weary at length; but, honoured and ever fair,
Shines in the eye of the mind the crown of the silver hair.
Honolulu.
XXXIII - TO MY WIFE (A Fragment)
LONG must
elapse ere you behold again
Green forest frame the entry of the lane -
The wild lane with the
bramble and the brier,
The year-old cart-tracks perfect in the mire,
The
wayside smoke,
perchance, the dwarfish huts,
And ramblers'
donkey drinking from the ruts: -
Long ere you trace how deviously it leads,
Back from man's chimneys and the bleating meads
To the
woodland shadow, to the sylvan hush,
When but the brooklet chuckles in the brush -
Back from the sun and
bustle of the vale
To where the great voice of the nightingale
Fills all the forest like a single room,
And all the banks smell of the golden broom;
So
wander on until the eve descends.
And back returning to your firelit friends,
You see the rosy sun, despoiled of light,
Hung, caught in thickets, like a schoolboy's kite.
Here from the sea the unfruitful sun shall rise,
Bathe the bare deck and blind the unshielded eyes;
The allotted hours aloft shall wheel in vain
And in the unpregnant ocean
plunge again.
Assault of squalls that mock the
watchful guard,
And pluck the bursting
canvas from the yard,
And
senseless clamour of the calm, at night
Must mar your slumbers. By the plunging light,
In beetle-haunted, most unwomanly bower
Of the wild-swerving cabin, hour by hour . . .
Schooner 'Equator.'
XXXIV - TO MY OLD FAMILIARS
DO you remember - can we e'er forget? -
How, in the coiled-perplexities of youth,
In our wild
climate, in our scowling town,
We gloomed and shivered, sorrowed, sobbed and feared?
The belching winter wind, the missile rain,
The rare and
welcome silence of the snows,
The laggard morn, the
haggard day, the night,
The grimy spell of the nocturnal town,
Do you remember? - Ah, could one forget!
As when the fevered sick that all night long
Listed the wind intone, and hear at last
The ever-
welcome voice of chanticleer
Sing in the bitter hour before the dawn, -
With sudden
ardour, these desire the day:
So sang in the gloom of youth the bird of hope;
So we, exulting, hearkened and desired.
For lo! as in the palace porch of life
We huddled with chimeras, from within -
How sweet to hear! - the music swelled and fell,
And through the
breach of the revolving doors
What dreams of splendour blinded us and fled!
I have since then contended and rejoiced;
Amid the glories of the house of life
Profoundly entered, and the
shrinebeheld:
Yet when the lamp from my expiring eyes
Shall
dwindle and
recede, the voice of love
Fall
insignificant on my closing ears,
What sound shall come but the old cry of the wind
In our
inclement city? what return
But the image of the emptiness of youth,
Filled with the sound of footsteps and that voice
Of
discontent and
rapture and despair?
So, as in darkness, from the magic lamp,
The
momentary pictures gleam and fade
And
perish, and the night resurges - these
Shall I remember, and then all forget.
Apemama.
XXXV
THE tropics
vanish, and meseems that I,
From Halkerside, from topmost Allermuir,
Or steep Caerketton, dreaming gaze again.
Far set in fields and woods, the town I see
Spring
gallant from the shallows of her smoke,
Cragged, spired, and turreted, her
virgin fort
Beflagged. About, on seaward-drooping hills,
New folds of city
glitter. Last, the Forth
Wheels ample waters set with
sacred isles,
And
populous Fife smokes with a score of towns.
There, on the sunny frontage of a hill,
Hard by the house of kings,
repose the dead,
My dead, the ready and the strong of word.
Their works, the salt-encrusted, still survive;
The sea bombards their founded towers; the night
Thrills pierced with their strong lamps. The artificers,
One after one, here in this grated cell,
Where the rain erases, and the rust consumes,
Fell upon
lasting silence. Continents
And
continental oceans intervene;
A sea uncharted, on a lampless isle,
Environs and confines their
wandering child
In vain. The voice of generations dead
Summons me, sitting distant, to arise,
My numerous footsteps nimbly to retrace,
And, all mutation over, stretch me down
In that denoted city of the dead.
Apemama.
XXXVI - TO S. C.
I HEARD the pulse of the besieging sea
Throb far away all night. I heard the wind
Fly crying and convulse tumultuous palms.
I rose and strolled. The isle was all bright sand,
And flailing fans and shadows of the palm;
The heaven all moon and wind and the blind vault;
The keenest
planet slain, for Venus slept.
The king, my neighbour, with his host of wives,
Slept in the
precinct of the palisade;
Where single, in the wind, under the moon,
Among the slumbering cabins, blazed a fire,
Sole street-lamp and the only sentinel.
To other lands and nights my fancy turned -
To London first, and
chiefly to your house,
The many-pillared and the well-beloved.
There yearning fancy lighted; there again
In the upper room I lay, and heard far off
The unsleeping city murmur like a shell;
The muffled tramp of the Museum guard
Once more went by me; I
beheld again
Lamps
vainlybrighten the dispeopled street;
Again I longed for the returning morn,
The awaking
traffic, the bestirring birds,
The consentaneous trill of tiny song
That weaves round
monumental cornices
A passing charm of beauty. Most of all,
For your light foot I wearied, and your knock
That was the glad reveille of my day.
Lo, now, when to your task in the great house
At morning through the portico you pass,
One moment glance, where by the pillared wall
Far-voyaging island gods, begrimed with smoke,
Sit now unworshipped, the rude monument
Of faiths forgot and races undivined:
Sit now disconsolate, remembering well
The
priest, the
victim, and the songful crowd,
The blaze of the blue noon, and that huge voice,
Incessant, of the breakers on the shore.
As far as these from their
ancestralshrine,
So far, so foreign, your divided friends
Wander, estranged in body, not in mind.
Apemama.
XXXVII - THE HOUSE OF TEMBINOKA
[At my
departure from the island of Apemama, for which you will
look in vain in most atlases, the King and I agreed, since we both
set up to be in the
poetical way, that we should
celebrate our
separation in verse. Whether or not his Majesty has been true to his
bargain, the laggard posts of the Pacific may perhaps inform me in
six months, perhaps not before a year. The following lines represent
my part of the contract, and it is hoped, by their pictures of
strange manners, they may
entertain a civilised
audience. Nothing
throughout has been invented or exaggerated; the lady
herein referred
to as the author's muse has confined herself to stringing into rhyme
facts or legends that I saw or heard during two months' residence
upon the island. - R. L. S.]
ENVOI
Let us, who part like brothers, part like bards;
And you in your tongue and
measure, I in mine,
Our now division duly solemnise.
Unlike the strains, and yet the theme is one:
The strains
unlike, and how
unlike their fate!
You to the blinding palace-yard shall call
The prefect of the singers, and to him,
Listening
devout, your valedictory verse