Thomas Runciman
Low mourned the Oread round the Arcadian hills; The Naiad murmured and the Dryad moaned; The meadow-maiden left her daffodils
How good some years of life may be! Ah, once it was not guessed by me, Past years would shine, like some bright sea,
"And there shall be no night there and they need no candle, and neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them Light."
"What traveller soever wander here In quest of peace and what is best of pleasure, Let not his hope be overcast and drear
Dry light reverberates, colour withdrawing Into a sky so white, sight cannot follow it. While in the shadows cast, rich hues, intenser
Dirge the sorrows by time made dim: Seas are sullen in rain and mist. Regret the woes that behind us swim:
Long is it since they ceased to look on light, To thrill with hope in our fond human way. Why grudge them rest in their sweet ancient night,
My love's unchanged - though time, alas! Turns silver-gilt the golden mass Of flowing hair, and pales, I wis,
Life with the sun in it - Shaded by gloom! Life with the fun in it -
A gurly breeze swept from the pool The Autumn peace so blue and cool, Which all day long had dreamed thereon
When Grief comes this way by With her wan lip and drooping eye, Bid her welcome, woo her boldly;
Despairless! Hopeless! Quietly I wait On these unpeopled tracks the happy close Of Day, whose advent rang with noise elate,
By mead and marsh and sandhill clad with bent, Soothed by the wistful musings of the wind That in scarce listening ears are mildly dinned,
The Love that speaks in word and kiss, That dyes the cheek and fires the eye, Through surface signs of shallow bliss
What though my voice cease like a moan o' the wind? Not the less shall I Cast on this life a kindly eye,
Critic John cam here to view Ha, ha, the viewin' o't! Lindsay's picture shop bran new,
