In The Garden

Aylmers Garden, near the Lake. LAURENCE RABY and ESTELLE.

He:
Come to the bank where the boat is moord to the willow-tree low;
Bertha, the baby, wont notice, Brian, the blockhead, wont know.

She:
Bertha is not such a baby, sir, as you seem to suppose;
Brian, a blockhead he may be, more than you think for he knows.

He:
This much, at least, of your brother, from the beginning he knew
Somewhat concerning that other made such a fool of by you.

She:
Firmer those bonds were and faster, Frank was my spaniel, my slave.
You! you would fain be my master; mark you! the difference is grave.

He:
Call me your spaniel, your starling, take me and treat me as these,
I would be anything, darling! aye, whatsoever you please.
Brian and Basil are punting, leave them their dice and their wine,
Bertha is butterfly hunting, surely one hour shall be mine.
See, I have done with all duty; see, I can dare all disgrace,
Only to look at your beauty, feasting my eyes on your face.

She:
Look at me, aye, till your eyes ache! How, let me ask, will it end?
Neither for your sake, nor my sake, but for the sake of my friend?

He:
Is she your friend then? I own it, this is all wrong, and the rest,
Frustra sed anima monet, caro quod fortius est.

She:
Not quite so close, Laurence Raby, not with your arm round my waist;
Something to look at I may be, nothing to touch or to taste.

He:
Wilful as ever and wayward; why did you tempt me, Estelle?

She:
You misinterpret each stray word, you for each inch take an ell.
Lightly all laws and ties trammel me, I am warnd for all that.

He (aside):
Perhaps she will swallow her camel when she has strained at her gnat.

She:
Therefore take thought and consider, weigh well, as I do, the whole,
You for mere beauty a bidder, say, would you barter a soul?

He:
Girl! That may happen, but this is; after this welcome the worst;
Blest for one hour by your kisses, let me be evermore cursd.
Talk not of ties to me reckless, here every tie I discard,
Make me your girdle, your necklace,

She:
Laurence, you kiss me too hard.

He:
Aye, Tis the road to Avernus, nest ce pas vrai donc, ma belle?
There let them bind us or burn us, mais le jeu vaut la chandelle.
Am I your lord or your vassal? Are you my sun or my torch?
You, when I look at you, dazzle, yet when I touch you, you scorch.

She:
Yonder are Brian and Basil watching us fools from the porch.

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Adam Lindsay Gordon was an Australian poet, jockey, and politician. Born in the Azores to Scottish parents, he moved to Australia in 1853. Known for his bush ballads and lyrical poetry, Gordon's works often reflect his passions for horse racing and the Australian landscape. His notable works include "The Sick Stockrider" and "Bush Ballads and Galloping Rhymes." Unfortunately, he struggled with depression and financial troubles, leading to his untimely death at the age of 36.

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Pastor Cum

Adam Lindsay Gordon, Simple Poetry

The Roll Of The Kettledrum; or, The Lay Of The Last Charger

Adam Lindsay Gordon, Simple Poetry

Potters Clay - An Allegorical Interlude

Adam Lindsay Gordon, Simple Poetry

Fragmentary Scenes From The Road To Avernus - An Unpublished Dramatic Lyric

Adam Lindsay Gordon, Simple Poetry

English

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Fragmentary Scenes From The Road To Avernus - An Unpublished Dramatic Lyric

Scene I
Discontent

LAURENCE RABY.

Laurence:
I said to young Allan MIlveray,
Beside the swift swirls of the North,
When, in lilac shot through with a silver ray,
We hauld the strong salmon fish forth,
Said only, He gave us some trouble
To land him, and what does he weigh?
Our friend has caught one that weighs double,
The game for the candle wont pay
Us to-day,
We may tie up our rods and away.

I said to old Norman MGregor,
Three leagues to the west of Glen Dhu,
I had drawn, with a touch of the trigger,
The best bead that ever I drew,
Said merely, For birds in the stubble
I once had an eye, I could swear
Hes down, but hes not worth the trouble
Of seeking. You once shot a bear
In his l...

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Rippling Water

The maiden sat by the river side
(The rippling water murmurs by),
And sadly into the clear blue tide
The salt tear fell from her clear blue eye.
Tis fixed for better, for worse, she cried,
And to-morrow the bridegroom claims the bride.
Oh! wealth and power and rank and pride
Can surely peace and happiness buy.
I was merry, nathless, in my girlhoods hours,
Mid the waving grass when the bright sun shone,
Shall I be as merry in Marmadukes towers?
(The rippling water murmurs on).

Stephen works for his daily bread
(The rippling water murmurs low).
Through the crazy thatch that covers his head
The rain-drops fall and the wind-gusts blow.
Ill mend the old roof-tree, so he said,
And repair the cottage when we are wed.
And my pulses throbb...

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Two Exhortations

A Shooting-box in the West of Ireland. A Bedchamber.
LAURENCE RABY and MELCHIOR. Night.

Melchior:
Surely in the great beginning God made all things good, and still
That soul-sickness men call sinning entered not without His will.
Nay, our wisest have asserted that, as shade enhances light,
Evil is but good perverted, wrong is but the foil of right.
Banish sickness, then you banish joy for health to all that live;
Slay all sin, all good must vanish, good being but comparative.
Sophistry, you say, yet listen: look you skyward, there tis known
Worlds on worlds in myriads glisten, larger, lovelier than our own,
This has been, and this still shall be, here as there, in sun or star;
These things are to be and will be, those things were to be and are.
Man in mans imp...

Adam Lindsay Gordon

The Old Leaven - A Dialogue

Mark:
So, Maurice, you sail to-morrow, you say?
And you may or may not return?
Be sociable, man! for once in a way,
Unless youre too old to learn.
The shadows are cool by the water side
Where the willows grow by the pond,
And the yellow laburnums drooping pride
Sheds a golden gleam beyond.
For the blended tints of the summer flowers,
For the scents of the summer air,
For all natures charms in this world of ours,
Tis little or naught you care.
Yet I know for certain you havent stirred
Since noon from your chosen spot;
And youve hardly spoken a single word,
Are you tired, or cross, or what?
Youre fretting about those shares you bought,
They were to have gone up fast;
But I heard how they fell to nothing, in short,
They were given away ...

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Lord Walter's Wife

I

'But where do you go?' said the lady, while both sat under the yew,
And her eyes were alive in their depth, as the kraken beneath the sea-blue.

II

'Because I fear you,' he answered; 'because you are far too fair,
And able to strangle my soul in a mesh of your golfd-coloured hair.'

III

'Oh that,' she said, 'is no reason! Such knots are quickly undone,
And too much beauty, I reckon, is nothing but too much sun.'

IV

'Yet farewell so,' he answered; 'the sunstroke's fatal at times.
I value your husband, Lord Walter, whose gallop rings still from the limes.

V

'Oh that,' she said, 'is no reason. You smell a rose through a fence:
If two should smell it what matter? who grumbles, and where's the pretense?

VI

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Edwin Morris

O me, my pleasant rambles by the lake,
My sweet, wild, fresh three-quarters of a year,
My one Oasis in the dust and drouth
Of city life! I was a sketcher then:
See here, my doing: curves of mountain, bridge,
Boat, island, ruins of a castle, built
When men knew how to build, upon a rock,
With turrets lichen-gilded like a rock:
And here, new-comers in an ancient hold,
New-comers from the Mersey, millionaires,
Here lived the Hillsa Tudor-chimnied bulk
Of mellow brickwork on an isle of bowers.
O me, my pleasant rambles by the lake
With Edwin Morris and with Edward Bull
The curate; he was fatter than his cure.

But Edwin Morris, he that knew the names,
Long-learned names of agaric, moss and fern,
Who forged a thousand theories of the rocks,
Who taug...

Alfred Lord Tennyson