A GENTLEMAN OF THE OLD SCHOOL (From Old World Idylls, 1883)
He lived in that past Georgian day When men were less inclined to say That "Time is Gold," and overlay With toil their pleasure; He held some land, and dwelt thereon,- Where, I forget,-the house is gone; His Christian name, I think was John,- His surname, Leisure.
Reynolds' has painted him,-a face Filled with a fine, old-fashioned grace, Fresh-colored, frank, with ne'er a trace Of trouble shaded;
The eyes are blue, the hair is drest In plainest way, one hand is prest Deep in a flapped canary vest,
With buds brocaded.
1 A small tree, whose leaves are silvery underneath.
She whom I love is hard to catch and conquer, Hard, but O the glory of the winning were she won! ...
1 Sir Joshua Reynolds, a famous English portrait painter. Cf. p. 435, supra.
This they knew on the whole way down; Best, maybe,-at the "Oak and Crown." (For timorous cits2 on their pilgrimage Would "club" for a "Guard" to ride the stage;
And the Guard that rode on more than one Was the Host of this hostel's sister's son.)
Open we here on a March-day fine, Under the oak with the hanging sign.
There was Barber DICK with his basin by; Cobbler JOE with the patch on his eye:
Portly product of Beef and Beer, JOHN the host he was standing near.
Straining and creaking, with wheels awry, Lumbering came the "Plymouth Fly.'
Lumbering up from Bagshot Heath, Guard in the basket armed to the teeth;
Passengers heavily armed inside;
GEORGE the Guard grew red and pale, Slowly finished his quart of ale:
Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894)
A SONG OF THE ROAD
(From Underwoods, 1887)
The gauger walked with willing foot, And aye the gauger played the flute; And what would Master Gauger play But Over the hills and far away?
Whene'er I buckle on my pack And foot it gaily in the track O pleasant gauger, long since dead, I hear you fluting on ahead.
You go with me the self-same way- The self-same air for me you play; For I do think and so do you It is the tune to travel to.
For one and all, or high or low, Will lead you where you wish to go; And one and all go night and day Over the hills and far away!
THE CELESTIAL SURGEON (From the same)
If I have faltered more or less In my great task of happiness; If I have moved among my race And shown no glorious morning face; If beams from happy human eyes Have moved me not; if morning skies, Books, and my food, and summer rain Knocked on my sullen heart in vain:- Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take And stab my spirit broad awake; Or, Lord, if too obdurate I, Choose thou, before that spirit die, A piercing pain, a killing sin, And to my dead heart run them in!
THE COUNTERBLAST-1886 (From the same)
My bonny man, the warld, it's true, Was made for neither me nor you; It's just a place to warstle1 through, As Job confessed o't;
And aye the best that we'll can do Is mak the best o't.
There's rowth2 o' wrang, I'm free to say: The simmer brunt,3 the winter blae, 4 The face of earth a' fyled wi' clay An' dour wi' chuckies,"
An' life a rough an' land'art play For country buckies.
Burnt, hot.
5 Dirtied. 7 Grease or dirt. 10 Quantity.
13 Moors.
15 Lark.
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