Robert F. Murray (Author of the Scarlet Gown): His Poems; with a Memoir

DEATH AT THE WINDOW

This morning, while we sat in talk   Of spring and apple-bloom,Lo!  Death stood in the garden walk,   And peered into the room.Your back was turned, you did not see   The shadow that he made.He bent his head and looked at me;   It made my soul afraid.The words I had begun to speak   Fell broken in the air.You saw the pallor of my cheek,   And turned – but none was there.He came as sudden as a thought,   And so departed too.What made him leave his task unwrought?   It was the sight of you.Though Death but seldom turns aside   From those he means to take,He would not yet our hearts divide,   For love and pity’s sake.

MAKE-BELIEVES

When I was young and well and glad,I used to play at being sad;Now youth and health are fled away,At being glad I sometimes play.

A COINCIDENCE

Every critic in the townRuns the minor poet down;Every critic – don’t you know it?Is himself a minor poet.

ART’S DISCIPLINE

Long since I came into the school of Art,A child in works, but not a child in heart.Slowly I learn, by her instruction mild,To be in works a man, in heart a child.

THE TRUE LIBERAL

The truest Liberal is heWho sees the man in each degree,Who merit in a churl can prize,And baseness in an earl despise,Yet censures baseness in a churl,And dares find merit in an earl.

A LATE GOOD NIGHT

My lamp is out, my task is done,   And up the stair with lingering feetI climb.  The staircase clock strikes one.   Good night, my love! good night, my sweet!My solitary room I gain.   A single star makes incompleteThe blackness of the window pane.   Good night, my love! good night, my sweet!Dim and more dim its sparkle grows,   And ere my head the pillows meet,My lids are fain themselves to close.   Good night, my love! good night, my sweet!My lips no other words can say,   But still they murmur and repeatTo you, who slumber far away,   Good night, my love! good night, my sweet!

AN EXILE’S SONG

My soul is like a prisoned lark,   That sings and dreams of liberty,The nights are long, the days are dark,   Away from home, away from thee!My only joy is in my dreams,   When I thy loving face can see.How dreary the awakening seems,   Away from home, away from thee!At dawn I hasten to the shore,   To gaze across the sparkling sea —The sea is bright to me no more,   Which parts me from my home and thee.At twilight, when the air grows chill,   And cold and leaden is the sea,My tears like bitter dews distil,   Away from home, away from thee.I could not live, did I not know   That thou art ever true to me,I could not bear a doubtful woe,   Away from home, away from thee.I could not live, did I not hear   A voice that sings the day to be,When hitherward a ship shall steer,   To bear me back to home and thee.Oh, when at last that day shall break   In sunshine on the dancing sea,It will be brighter for the sake   Of my return to home and thee!

FOR SCOTLAND

Beyond the Cheviots and the Tweed,   Beyond the Firth of Forth,My memory returns at speed   To Scotland and the North.For still I keep, and ever shall,   A warm place in my heart for Scotland,Scotland, Scotland,   A warm place in my heart for Scotland.Oh, cruel off St. Andrew’s Bay   The winds are wont to blow!They either rest or gently play,   When there in dreams I go.And there I wander, young again,   With limbs that do not tire,Along the coast to Kittock’s Den,   With whinbloom all afire.I climb the Spindle Rock, and lie   And take my doubtful ease,Between the ocean and the sky,   Derided by the breeze.Where coloured mushrooms thickly grow,   Like flowers of brittle stalk,To haunted Magus Muir I go,   By Lady Catherine’s Walk.In dreams the year I linger through,   In that familiar town,Where all the youth I ever knew,   Burned up and flickered down.There’s not a rock that fronts the sea,   There’s not an inland grove,But has a tale to tell to me   Of friendship or of love.And so I keep, and ever shall,   The best place in my heart for Scotland,Scotland, Scotland,   The best place in my heart for Scotland!

THE HAUNTED CHAMBER

Life is a house where many chambers be,   And all the doors will yield to him who tries,   Save one, whereof men say, behind it liesThe haunting secret.  He who keeps the key,Keeps it securely, smiles perchance to see   The eager hands stretched out to clutch the prize,   Or looks with pity in the yearning eyes,And is half moved to let the secret free.And truly some at every hour pass through,   Pass through, and tread upon that solemn floor,      Yet come not back to tell what they have found.We will not importune, as others do,   With tears and cries, the keeper of the door,      But wait till our appointed hour comes round.

NIGHTFALL

Let me sleep.  The day is past,   And the folded shadows keepWeary mortals safe and fast.      Let me sleep.I am all too tired to weep   For the sunlight of the PastSunk within the drowning deep.Treasured vanities I cast   In an unregarded heap.Time has given rest at last.      Let me sleep.

IN TIME OF SICKNESS

Lost Youth, come back again!Laugh at weariness and pain.Come not in dreams, but come in truth,      Lost Youth.Sweetheart of long ago,Why do you haunt me so?Were you not glad to part,      Sweetheart?Still Death, that draws so near,Is it hope you bring, or fear?Is it only ease of breath,      Still Death?

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Mr. Butler lectures on Physics, or, as it is called in Scotland, Natural Philosophy.