To Clare

(WITH A VOLUME OF STORIES FROM FROISSART)

    My Clare,--
    These tales were told, you know,
    In French, five hundred years ago,
    By old Sir John, whose heart's delight
    Was lady sweet and valiant knight.
    A hundred years went by, and then
    A great lord told the tales again,
    When bluff King Hal desired his folk
    To read them in the tongue they spoke.
    Last, I myself among them took
    What I loved best and made this book.
    Great, lesser, less--these writers three
    Worked for the days they could not see,
    And certes, in their work they knew
    Nothing at all, dear child, of you.
    Yet is this book your own in truth,
    Because 'tis made for noble youth,
    And every word that's living there
    Must die when Clares are no more Clare.

Henry John Newbolt

Sir Henry John Newbolt was an English poet and author, famous for his ballads such as 'Vitaï Lampada'. He graduated from Oxford and was called to the bar, but he is better remembered for his literary contributions than his legal career. Newbolt served as a government advisor on military and naval literature during World War I. He was knighted in 1915 for his services to literature. Newbolt's work often reflected themes of patriotism and duty.

Henry John Newbolt

In July

Henry John Newbolt, Simple Poetry

Devon

Henry John Newbolt, Simple Poetry

Gold

Henry John Newbolt, Simple Poetry

England

Henry John Newbolt, Simple Poetry

English

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A Chapter Of Froissart.

(Grandpapa Loquitur.)


You don't know Froissart now, young folks.
This age, I think, prefers recitals
Of high-spiced crime, with "slang" for jokes,
And startling titles;

But, in my time, when still some few
Loved "old Montaigne," and praised Pope's Homer
(Nay, thought to style him "poet" too,
Were scarce misnomer),

Sir John was less ignored. Indeed,
I can re-call how Some-one present
(Who spoils her grandson, Frank!) would read
And find him pleasant;

For,--by this copy,--hangs a Tale.
Long since, in an old house in Surrey,
Where men knew more of "morning ale"
Than "Lindley Murray,"

In a dim-lighted, whip-hung hall,
'Neath Hogarth's "Midnight Conversation,"
It stood; and oft 'twixt spring and fall,
With fon...

Henry Austin Dobson

Lady Clare

It was the time when lilies blow,
And clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.

I trow they did not part in scorn-
Lovers long-betroth'd were they:
They too will wed the morrow morn:
God's blessing on the day !

'He does not love me for my birth,
Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well,' said Lady Clare.

In there came old Alice the nurse,
Said, 'Who was this that went from thee?'
'It was my cousin,' said Lady Clare,
'To-morrow he weds vith me.'

'O God be thank'd!' said Alice the nurse,
' That all comes round so just and fair:
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you are not the Lady Clare.'

'Are ye out ...

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Companions.

A Tale Of A Grandfather.
By The Author Of "Dewy Memories," &C.



I know not of what we ponder'd
Or made pretty pretence to talk,
As, her hand within mine, we wander'd
Tow'rd the pool by the limetree walk,
While the dew fell in showers from the passion flowers
And the blush-rose bent on her stalk.

I cannot recall her figure:
Was it regal as Juno's own?
Or only a trifle bigger
Than the elves who surround the throne
Of the Faery Queen, and are seen, I ween,
By mortals in dreams alone?

What her eyes were like, I know not:
Perhaps they were blurr'd with tears;
And perhaps in your skies there glow not
(On the contrary) clearer spheres.
No! as to her eyes I am just as wise
As you or the cat, my dears.

Her teet...

Charles Stuart Calverley

Fare Thee Well

[Clare's note:--"Scraps from my father and mother, completed."]

    Here's a sad good bye for thee, my love,
    To friends and foes a smile:
    I leave but one regret behind,
    That's left with thee the while,
    But hopes that fortune is our friend
    Already pays the toil.

    Force bids me go, your friends to please.
    Would they were not so high!
    But be my lot on land or seas,
    It matters not where by,
    For I shall keep a thought for thee,
    In my heart's core to lie.

    Winter shall lose its frost and snow,
    The spring its blossomed thorn,
    The summer all its bloom forego,
    The autumn hound and horn
    Ere I will lose that thought of thee,
    Or ever prove forsworn.

    The dove shall ...

John Clare

Maude Clare

Out of the church she followed them
    With a lofty step and mien:
His bride was like a village maid,
    Maude Clare was like a queen.

'Son Thomas,' his lady mother said,
    With smiles, almost with tears:
'May Nell and you but live as true
    As we have done for years;

'Your father thirty years ago
    Had just your tale to tell;
But he was not so pale as you,
    Nor I so pale as Nell.'

My lord was pale with inward strife,
    And Nell was pale with pride;
My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare
    Or ever he kissed the bride.

'Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord,
    Have brought my gift,' she said:
'To bless the hearth, to bless the board,
    To bless the marriage-bed.

'Here's my half of the golden cha...

Christina Georgina Rossetti

An Old Tale Re-told

From the terrace here, where the hills indent,
You can see the uttermost battlement
Of the castle there; the Cliffords' home;
Where the seasons go and the seasons come
And never a footstep else doth fall
Save the prowling fox's; the ancient hall
Echoes no voice save the owlet's call:
Its turret chambers are homes for the bat;
And its courts are tangled and wild to see;
And where in the cellar was once the rat,
The viper and toad move stealthily.
Long years have passed since the place was burned,
And he sailed to the wars in France and earned
The name that he bears of the bold and true
On his tomb. Long years, since my lord, Sir Hugh,
Lived; and I was his favorite page,
And the thing then happened; and he of an age
When a man will love and be loved again,<...

Madison Julius Cawein