Speak and have done thy evil; for my friend Is gone beyond all human discontent, And wisely went. Say what you will, and have your sneer and go, You see the specks, we only heed the fruit Of a great life, whose truth-men hate truth so No lukewarm age of compromise could suit. Laugh and be mute. EDWARD BOWEN. 1837-1901 FORTY YEARS ON Forty years on, when afar and asunder Parted are those who are singing to-day, When you look back, and forgetfully wonder What you were like in your work and your play; Then it may be, there will often come o'er you, Glimpses of notes like the catch of a song— Visions of boyhood shall float them before you, Echoes of dreamland shall bear them along. Follow up! Follow up! Follow up! Follow up! Till the field ring again and again, With the tramp of the twenty-two men, Follow up! Follow up! Routs and discomfitures, rushes and rallies, Bases attempted, and rescued, and won, Strife without anger, and art without malice, How will it seem to you forty years on? Then, you will say, not a feverish minute Strained the weak heart, and the wavering knee, Never the battle raged hottest, but in it, Neither the last nor the faintest were we ! Follow up! Follow up! O the great days, in the distance enchanted, Days of fresh air, in the rain and the sun, How we rejoiced as we struggled and panted Hardly believable, forty years on! How we discoursed of them, one with another, Auguring triumph, or balancing fate, Loved the ally with the heart of a brother, Hated the foe with a playing at hate! Follow up! Follow up! Forty years on, growing older and older, Shorter in wind, and in memory long, Feeble of foot and rheumatic of shoulder, What will it help you that once you were strong? God give us bases to guard or beleaguer, Games to play out, whether earnest or fun, Fights for the fearless, and goals for the eager, Twenty, and thirty, and forty years on! Follow up! Follow up! COSMO MONKHOUSE. 1840-1901 THE NIGHT EXPRESS With three great snorts of strength Like some long dragon stirring in his sleep, Into the night I pass, And plunge alone into the silence deep. Little I know or care What be the load I bear, Why thus compell'd, I seek not to divine ; At man's command I stir, I, his stern messenger! Does he his duty well as I do mine ? Straight on my silent road, No foe I parley with, no friend I greet; Scorning the current of the sluggish street. Onward from South to North, Onward from Thames to Forth, On-like a comet-on, unceasingly, Faster and faster yet. On-where far boughs of jet Stretch their wild woof against the pearly sky. Faster and faster still Dive I through rock and hill, Starting the echoes with my shrill alarms; Swiftly I curve and bend; While, like an eager friend, The distance runs to clasp me in its arms. Ne'er from my path I swerve Not vainly trusting to my trusty bars ; While, or to left or right, A city glistens like a clump of stars. On through the night I steer; Save the strong beating of my steady strokeSave when the circling owl Hoots, or the screaming fowl Rise from the marshes like a sudden smoke. Now o'er a gulf I go : Dark in the depth below Smites the slant beam the shoulder of the height Now through a lane of trees- Past sleeping villages, Their white walls whiter in the silver light, Be the night foul or fair, Little I reck or care, Bandy with storms, and with the tempests jest; Little I care or know What winds may rage or blow, But charge the whirlwind with a dauntless breast. Now, through the level plain, Stretches my endless breath in cloudy miles Now, o'er a dull lagoon, While the broad-beamed moon Lights up its sadness into sickly smiles. s; |