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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


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