TERMS STARTING WITH
Lispkit Lisp ::: Purely functional version of LISP. Functional Programming, Application and Implementation, P. Henderson, P-H 1980.
Lispkit Lisp Purely functional version of LISP. "Functional Programming, Application and Implementation", P. Henderson, P-H 1980.
Lispkit "language" A {functional programming} language designed by Peter Henderson with Lisp syntax. Designed for portability. The Lispkit implementation is an extension to Landin's SECD machine that supports lazy evaluation. See also Stack environment control dump machine.
Lispkit ::: (language) A functional programming language designed by Peter Henderson with Lisp syntax. Designed for portability. The Lispkit implementation is an extension to Landin's SECD machine that supports lazy evaluation. See also Stack environment control dump machine.
Lisp ::: (language) LISt Processing language.(Or mythically Lots of Irritating Superfluous Parentheses). Artificial Intelligence's mother tongue, a symbolic, functional, recursive language based on the ideas of lambda-calculus, variable-length lists and trees as fundamental data types and the interpretation of code as data and vice-versa.Data objects in Lisp are lists and atoms. Lists may contain lists and atoms. Atoms are either numbers or symbols. Programs in Lisp are themselves lists of functions with side-effects but there is a core of Lisp which is purely functional.All Lisp functions and programs are expressions that return values; this, together with the high memory use of Lisp, gave rise to Alan Perlis's famous quip (itself a take on an Oscar Wilde quote) that Lisp programmers know the value of everything and the cost of nothing.The original version was LISP 1, invented by John McCarthy at MIT in the late 1950s. Lisp is actually variants are quite different in detail. The dominant HLL among hackers until the early 1980s, Lisp now shares the throne with C. See languages of choice.One significant application for Lisp has been as a proof by example that most newer languages, such as COBOL and Ada, are full of unnecessary crocks. When the Right Thing has already been done once, there is no justification for bogosity in newer languages.See also Association of Lisp Users, Common Lisp, Franz Lisp, MacLisp, Portable Standard Lisp, Interlisp, Scheme, ELisp, Kamin's interpreters.[Jargon File] (1995-04-16)
Lisp "language" LISt Processing language. (Or mythically "Lots of Irritating Superfluous Parentheses"). {Artificial Intelligence}'s mother tongue, a symbolic, {functional}, {recursive} language based on the ideas of {lambda-calculus}, variable-length lists and trees as fundamental data types and the interpretation of code as data and vice-versa. Data objects in Lisp are lists and {atoms}. Lists may contain lists and atoms. Atoms are either numbers or symbols. Programs in Lisp are themselves lists of symbols which can be treated as data. Most implementations of Lisp allow functions with {side-effects} but there is a core of Lisp which is {purely functional}. All Lisp functions and programs are expressions that return values; this, together with the high memory use of Lisp, gave rise to {Alan Perlis}'s famous quip (itself a take on an Oscar Wilde quote) that "Lisp programmers know the value of everything and the cost of nothing". The original version was {LISP 1}, invented by {John McCarthy} "jmc@sail.stanford.edu" at {MIT} in the late 1950s. Lisp is actually older than any other {high level language} still in use except {Fortran}. Accordingly, it has undergone considerable change over the years. Modern variants are quite different in detail. The dominant {HLL} among hackers until the early 1980s, Lisp now shares the throne with {C}. See {languages of choice}. One significant application for Lisp has been as a proof by example that most newer languages, such as {COBOL} and {Ada}, are full of unnecessary {crocks}. When the {Right Thing} has already been done once, there is no justification for {bogosity} in newer languages. See also {Association of Lisp Users}, {Common Lisp}, {Franz Lisp}, {MacLisp}, {Portable Standard Lisp}, {Interlisp}, {Scheme}, {ELisp}, {Kamin's interpreters}. [{Jargon File}] (1995-04-16)
Lisp-Linda ::: P. Dourish, U Edinburgh 1988.
Lisp-Linda P. Dourish, U Edinburgh 1988.
Lisp Machine ::: 1. (architecture) Any machine (whether notional or actual) whose instruction set is Lisp.2. (hardware, operating system) A line of workstations made by Symbolics, Inc. from the mid-1970s (having grown out of the MIT AI Lab) to late 1980s. All system code for Symbolics Lisp Machines was written in Lisp Machine Lisp. Symbolics Lisp Machines were also notable for having had space-cadet keyboards.[More details and historical background?] .(2003-07-03)
Lisp Machine 1. "architecture" Any {machine} (whether notional or actual) whose instruction set is {Lisp}. 2. "hardware, operating system" A line of {workstations} made by {Symbolics, Inc.} from the mid-1970s (having grown out of the {MIT AI Lab}) to late 1980s. All system code for Symbolics Lisp Machines was written in {Lisp Machine Lisp}. Symbolics Lisp Machines were also notable for having had {space-cadet keyboards}. [More details and historical background?] {Lisp Machine Museum (http://kogs-www.informatik.uni-hamburg.de/~moeller/symbolics-info/symbolics.html)}. (2003-07-03)
Lisp Object-Oriented Programming System ::: (LOOPS) An object-oriented extension of Lisp from the Intelligent Systems Laboratory at Xerox Palo Alto Research Center. It is used in the development of knowledge-based systems.See also CommonLoops.[The LOOPS Manual, D.G. Bobrow & M. Stefik, Xerox Corp 1983].
Lisp Object-Oriented Programming System (LOOPS) An {object-oriented} extension of {Lisp} from the {Intelligent Systems Laboratory} at {Xerox} {Palo Alto Research Center}. It is used in the development of {knowledge-based systems}. See also {CommonLoops}. ["The LOOPS Manual", D.G. Bobrow & M. Stefik, Xerox Corp 1983].
Lisp (programming language) (LISP) ::: A family of programming languages with a long history and a distinctive, fully parenthesized prefix notation.[206]
Lisptalk "Concurrent Programming Language Lisptalk", C. Li, SIGPLAN Notices 23(4):71-80 (Apr 1988).
Lisptalk ::: Concurrent Programming Language Lisptalk, C. Li, SIGPLAN Notices 23(4):71-80 (Apr 1988).
LispView ::: CLOS based windowing system on OpenWindows.
LispView CLOS based windowing system on OpenWindows.
LISP 1.5 ::: The second version of Lisp, successor to LISP 1. Developed at MIT in 1959. Followed by LISP 1.75, LISP 1.9, Lisp 2 and many other versions.
LISP 1.5 The second version of {Lisp}, successor to {LISP 1}. Developed at {MIT} in 1959. Followed by LISP 1.75, LISP 1.9, {Lisp 2} and many other versions.
LISP 1 The original {Lisp}. Invented by John McCarthy et al at {MIT} in the late 50's. Followed by {LISP 1.5}.
LISP 1 ::: The original Lisp. Invented by John McCarthy et al at MIT in the late 50's. Followed by LISP 1.5.
LISP 2 ::: LISP 1.5 with an ALGOL 60-like surface syntax. Also optional type declarations, new data types including integer-indexed arrays and character strings, partial-word extraction/insertion operators and macros. A pattern-matching facility similar to COMIT was proposed. Implemented for the Q-32 computer.[The LISP 2 Programming Language and System, P.W. Abrahams et al, Proc FJCC 29:661-676, AFIPS (Fall 1966).]
LISP 2 {LISP 1.5} with an {ALGOL 60}-like surface syntax. Also optional type declarations, new data types including integer-indexed {arrays} and character strings, partial-word extraction/insertion operators and {macros}. A {pattern-matching} facility similar to {COMIT} was proposed. Implemented for the {Q-32} computer. ["The LISP 2 Programming Language and System", P.W. Abrahams et al, Proc FJCC 29:661-676, AFIPS (Fall 1966).]
LISP70 A {Lisp} dialect descended from {MLISP} and {MLISP2}. Also known as PLISP and VEL. Useful for parsing. Only the pattern-matching system was published and fully implemented. According to Alan Kay, LISP70 had an influence on {Smalltalk-72}. "The LISP70 Pattern Matching System, Larry Tesler et al, IJCAI 73.
LISP70 ::: A Lisp dialect descended from MLISP and MLISP2. Also known as PLISP and VEL. Useful for parsing. Only the pattern-matching system was published and fully implemented. According to Alan Kay, LISP70 had an influence on Smalltalk-72. The LISP70 Pattern Matching System, Larry Tesler et al, IJCAI 73.
LISP A "LISP A: A LISP-like System for Incremental Computing", E.J. Sandewall, Proc SJCC 32 (1968).
LISP A ::: LISP A: A LISP-like System for Incremental Computing, E.J. Sandewall, Proc SJCC 32 (1968).
lisped ::: imp. & p. p. --> of Lisp
lisper ::: n. --> One who lisps.
LISP Extended Algebraic Facility "language" (LEAF) ["An Algebraic Extension to LISP", P.H. Knowlton, Proc FJCC 35 1969]. (1996-06-07)
LISP Extended Algebraic Facility ::: (language) (LEAF)[An Algebraic Extension to LISP, P.H. Knowlton, Proc FJCC 35 1969]. (1996-06-07)
lispingly ::: adv. --> With a lisp; in a lisping manner.
lisping ::: p. pr. & vb. n. --> of Lisp
lisping ::: the sound produced by pronouncing s or z like, or nearly like, the th sounds of thin and this.
LISP Machine LISP "language" An extension of {Maclisp}, now called {Zetalisp}. (1998-12-13)
LISP Machine LISP ::: (language) An extension of Maclisp, now called Zetalisp. (1998-12-13)
LISP, Objects, and Symbolic Programming ::: A book with compiler included by Robert R. Kessler and Amy R. Petajan, published by Scott, Foresman and Company, Glenview, IL, USA. (1988).
LISP, Objects, and Symbolic Programming A book with compiler included by Robert R. Kessler and Amy R. Petajan, published by Scott, Foresman and Company, Glenview, IL, USA. (1988).
lisp ::: v. i. --> To pronounce the sibilant letter s imperfectly; to give s and z the sound of th; -- a defect common among children.
To speak with imperfect articulation; to mispronounce, as a child learning to talk.
To speak hesitatingly with a low voice, as if afraid. ::: v. t.
TERMS ANYWHERE
ABCL/1 "language" An Object-Based Concurrent Language. The language for the {ABCL} {MIMD} system, written by Akinori Yonezawa "matsu@is.s.u-tokyo.ac.jp" of Department of Information Science, {Tokyo University} in 1986. ABCL/1 uses {asynchronous} {message passing} to {objects}. It requires {Common Lisp}. Implementations in {KCL} and {Symbolics Lisp} are available from the author. {(ftp://camille.is.s.u-tokyo.ac.jp/)}. E-mail: "abcl@is.s.u-tokyo.ac.jp". ["ABCL: An Object-Oriented Concurrent System", A. Yonezawa ed, MIT Press 1990]. (1990-05-23). (1995-02-09)
ABCL/1 ::: (language) An Object-Based Concurrent Language.The language for the ABCL MIMD system, written by Akinori Yonezawa of Department of Information Science, Tokyo requires Common Lisp. Implementations in KCL and Symbolics Lisp are available from the author. .E-mail: .[ABCL: An Object-Oriented Concurrent System, A. Yonezawa ed, MIT Press 1990]. (1995-02-09)
ABCL/R2 ::: (language) An object-oriented, concurrent, reflective language based on Hybrid Group Architecture. ABCL/R2 was produced by , at the Tokyo Institute of Technology in 1992.As a reflective language, an ABCL/R2 program can dynamically control its own behaviour, such as scheduling policy, from within a user-program. This system has almost all functions of ABCL/1 and is written in Common Lisp. . (1993-01-28)
ABCL/R2 "language" An {object-oriented}, {concurrent}, {reflective} language based on {Hybrid Group Architecture}. ABCL/R2 was produced by "masuhara@is.s.u-tokyo.ac.jp", "matsu@is.s.u-tokyo.ac.jp", "takuo@is.s.u-tokyo.ac.jp", "yonezawa@is.s.u-tokyo.ac.jp", at the {Tokyo Institute of Technology} in 1992. As a reflective language, an ABCL/R2 program can dynamically control its own behaviour, such as {scheduling} policy, from within a user-program. This system has almost all functions of {ABCL/1} and is written in {Common Lisp}. {(ftp://camille.is.s.u-tokyo.ac.jp/pub/abclr2/)}. (1993-01-28)
Adventure Definition Language ::: (language, games) (ADL) An adventure game language interpreter designed by Ross Cunniff and Tim Brengle in 1987. ADL is semi-object-oriented with Lisp-like syntax and is a superset of DDL. It is available for Unix, MS-DOS, Amiga and Acorn Archimedes. , . (1995-03-20)
Adventure Definition Language "language, games" (ADL) An {adventure} game language {interpreter} designed by Ross Cunniff "cunniff@fc.hp.com" and Tim Brengle in 1987. ADL is semi-{object-oriented} with {Lisp}-like {syntax} and is a superset of {DDL}. It is available for {Unix}, {MS-DOS}, {Amiga} and {Acorn} {Archimedes}. {(ftp://ftp.uu.net/usenet/comp.sources.games/volume2)}, {(ftp://ftp.wustl.edu/systems/amiga/fish/fish/f0/ff091)}. (1995-03-20)
ADVSYS ::: (language, games) An adventure game language designed by David Betz in 1986. ADVSYS is object-oriented and Lisp-like. . (1995-03-20)
ADVSYS "language, games" An {adventure} game language designed by David Betz in 1986. ADVSYS is {object-oriented} and {Lisp}-like. {(ftp://ftp.uu.net/usenet/comp.sources.games/volume2)}. (1995-03-20)
AI koan ::: (humour) /A-I koh'an/ One of a series of pastiches of Zen teaching riddles created by Danny Hillis at the MIT AI Lab around various major figures of the Lab's culture.See also ha ha only serious, mu.In reading these, it is at least useful to know that Marvin Minsky, Gerald Sussman, and Drescher are AI researchers of note, that Tom Knight was one of the Lisp machine's principal designers, and that David Moon wrote much of Lisp Machine Lisp. * * * A novice was trying to fix a broken Lisp machine by turning the power off and on.Knight, seeing what the student was doing, spoke sternly: You cannot fix a machine by just power-cycling it with no understanding of what is going wrong.Knight turned the machine off and on.The machine worked. * * * better garbage collector. We must keep a reference count of the pointers to each cons.Moon patiently told the student the following story: One day a student came to Moon and said: `I understandhow to make a better garbage collector... [Pure reference-count garbage collectors have problems with circular structures that point to themselves.] * * * In the days when Sussman was a novice, Minsky once came to him as he sat hacking at the PDP-6.What are you doing?, asked Minsky.I am training a randomly wired neural net to play Tic-Tac-Toe, Sussman replied.Why is the net wired randomly?, asked Minsky.I do not want it to have any preconceptions of how to play, Sussman said.Minsky then shut his eyes.Why do you close your eyes?, Sussman asked his teacher.So that the room will be empty.At that moment, Sussman was enlightened. * * * A disciple of another sect once came to Drescher as he was eating his morning meal.I would like to give you this personality test, said the outsider, because I want you to be happy.Drescher took the paper that was offered him and put it into the toaster, saying: I wish the toaster to be happy, too. (1995-02-08)
AI koan "humour" /A-I koh'an/ One of a series of pastiches of Zen teaching riddles created by {Danny Hillis} at the {MIT AI Lab} around various major figures of the Lab's culture. See also {ha ha only serious}, {mu}. In reading these, it is at least useful to know that {Marvin Minsky}, {Gerald Sussman}, and Drescher are {AI} researchers of note, that {Tom Knight} was one of the {Lisp machine}'s principal designers, and that {David Moon} wrote much of Lisp Machine Lisp. * * * A novice was trying to fix a broken Lisp machine by turning the power off and on. Knight, seeing what the student was doing, spoke sternly: "You cannot fix a machine by just power-cycling it with no understanding of what is going wrong." Knight turned the machine off and on. The machine worked. * * * One day a student came to Moon and said: "I understand how to make a better garbage collector. We must keep a reference count of the pointers to each cons." Moon patiently told the student the following story: "One day a student came to Moon and said: `I understand how to make a better garbage collector... [Pure reference-count garbage collectors have problems with circular structures that point to themselves.] * * * In the days when Sussman was a novice, Minsky once came to him as he sat hacking at the PDP-6. "What are you doing?", asked Minsky. "I am training a randomly wired neural net to play Tic-Tac-Toe", Sussman replied. "Why is the net wired randomly?", asked Minsky. "I do not want it to have any preconceptions of how to play", Sussman said. Minsky then shut his eyes. "Why do you close your eyes?", Sussman asked his teacher. "So that the room will be empty." At that moment, Sussman was enlightened. * * * A disciple of another sect once came to Drescher as he was eating his morning meal. "I would like to give you this personality test", said the outsider, "because I want you to be happy." Drescher took the paper that was offered him and put it into the toaster, saying: "I wish the toaster to be happy, too." (1995-02-08)
AKCL {Austin Kyoto Common Lisp}
A-language "language" An early {ALGOL}-like {surface syntax} for {Lisp}. ["An Auxiliary Language for More Natural Expression--The A-language", W. Henneman in The Programming Language LISP, E.C. Berkeley et al eds, MIT Press 1964, pp.239- 248]. (1994-10-28)
A-language ::: (language) An early ALGOL-like surface syntax for Lisp.[An Auxiliary Language for More Natural Expression--The A-language, W. Henneman in The Programming Language LISP, E.C. Berkeley et al eds, MIT Press 1964, pp.239- 248]. (1994-10-28)
alisphenoid ::: a. --> Alt. of Alisphenoidal ::: n. --> The alisphenoid bone.
alisphenoidal ::: a. --> Pertaining to or forming the wing of the sphenoid; relating to a bone in the base of the skull, which in the adult is often consolidated with the sphenoid; as, alisphenoid bone; alisphenoid canal.
ALU ::: 1. (processor) Arithmetic and Logic Unit.2. (body) Association of Lisp Users.
ALU 1. "processor" {Arithmetic and Logic Unit}. 2. "body" {Association of Lisp Users}.
Aluminum Book "publication" ["Common LISP: The Language, 2nd Edition", {Guy L. Steele Jr.}, Digital Press 1990, ISBN 1-55558-041-6]. Due to a technical screwup some printings of the second edition are actually what the author calls "yucky green". {On-line version (http://cs.cmu.edu/Groups/AI/html/cltl/cltl2.html)}. See also {book titles}. [{Jargon File}] (1997-06-25)
Aluminum Book ::: (publication)[Common LISP: The Language, 2nd Edition, Guy L. Steele Jr., Digital Press 1990, ISBN 1-55558-041-6].Due to a technical screwup some printings of the second edition are actually what the author calls yucky green. .See also book titles.[Jargon File] (1997-06-25)
AM 1. "communications" {Amplitude Modulation}. 2. "artificial intelligence" A program by {Doug Lenat} to discover concepts in elementary mathematics. AM was written in 1976 in {Interlisp}. From 100 fundamental concepts and about 250 {heuristics} it discovered several important mathematical concepts including subsets, disjoint sets, sets with the same number of elements, and numbers. It worked by filling slots in {frames} maintaining an agenda of resource-limited prioritised tasks. AM's successor was {Eurisko}. {(http://homepages.enterprise.net/hibou/aicourse/lenat.txt)}. (1999-04-19)
AM ::: 1. (communications) Amplitude Modulation.2. (artificial intelligence) A program by Doug Lenat to discover concepts in elementary mathematics. AM was written in 1976 in Interlisp. From 100 number of elements, and numbers. It worked by filling slots in frames maintaining an agenda of resource-limited prioritised tasks.AM's successor was Eurisko. . (1999-04-19)
Arctic "language, music" A {real-time} {functional language}, used for music synthesis. ["Arctic: A Functional Language for Real-Time Control", R.B. Dannenberg, Conf Record 1984 ACM Symp on LISP and Functional Prog, ACM]. (1995-01-16)
Arctic ::: (language, music) A real-time functional language, used for music synthesis.[Arctic: A Functional Language for Real-Time Control, R.B. Dannenberg, Conf Record 1984 ACM Symp on LISP and Functional Prog, ACM]. (1995-01-16)
A
Association of Lisp Users ::: (body) (ALU) A user group which aims to promote Lisp, help inform and educate Lisp users in general, and help represent Lisp users as a group to the inter-vendor standards. ALU has international membership and is incorporated in the US. .Usenet newsgroups: comp.org.lisp-users comp.std.lisp.Mailing list: . (1996-12-07)
Association of Lisp Users "body" (ALU) A user group which aims to promote {Lisp}, help inform and educate Lisp users in general, and help represent Lisp users as a group to the vendors. The ALU holds an annual conference and supports the formation of inter-vendor standards. ALU has international membership and is incorporated in the US. {(http://cs.rochester.edu/u/miller/ALU/home.html)}. {Usenet} {newsgroups}: {news:comp.org.lisp-users} {news:comp.std.lisp}. Mailing list: "alu@ai.sri.com". (1996-12-07)
Austin Kyoto Common Lisp ::: (language) (AKCL) A collection of ports, bug fixes, and performance improvements to KCL by William Schelter , University of Texas.Version 1-615 includes ports to Decstation 3100, HP9000/300, i386/Sys V, IBM-PS2/AIX, IBM-RT/AIX, SGI, Sun-3/Sunos 3 or 4, Sun-4, Sequent Symmetry, IBM370/AIX, VAX/BSD VAX/Ultrix, NeXT. . (1992-04-29)
Austin Kyoto Common Lisp "language" (AKCL) A collection of ports, bug fixes, and performance improvements to {KCL} by William Schelter "wfs@cli.com", "wfs@math.utexas.edu", University of Texas. Version 1-615 includes ports to {Decstation} 3100, {HP9000}/300, {i386}/{Sys V}, {IBM-PS2}/{AIX}, {IBM-RT}/{AIX}, {SGI}, {Sun-3}/{Sunos} 3 or 4, {Sun-4}, {Sequent Symmetry}, {IBM370}/{AIX}, {VAX}/{BSD VAX}/{Ultrix}, {NeXT}. {(ftp://rascal.ics.utexas.edu/pub/akcl-1-609.tar.Z)}. (1992-04-29)
Autolisp "language" A dialect of {Lisp} used by the {Autocad} {CAD} package from {Autodesk}. (1994-11-09)
Autolisp ::: (language) A dialect of Lisp used by the Autocad CAD package from Autodesk. (1994-11-09)
Avalon/Common LISP "language" A {LISP} dialect available as a prototype only. ["Reliable Distributed Computing with Avalon/Common LISP", S.M. Clamen et al, CMU-CS-89-186 and Proc Intl Conf on Computer Languages, Mar 1990]. (2002-02-03)
Avalon/Common LISP ::: (language) A LISP dialect available as a prototype only.[Reliable Distributed Computing with Avalon/Common LISP, S.M. Clamen et al, CMU-CS-89-186 and Proc Intl Conf on Computer Languages, Mar 1990].(2002-02-03)
BABYLON ::: A development environment for expert systems. It includes frames, constraints, a prolog-like logic formalism, and a description language for diagnostic applications. It requires Common Lisp. . (1995-02-08)
BABYLON "artificial intelligence" A {development environment} for {expert systems}. BABYLON includes {frames}, {constraints}, a {prolog}-like logic formalism and a description language for diagnostic applications. It requires {Common Lisp}. Version 2.3, 1994-06-22 included ports to {MCL}, {TI CL}, {Allegro CL}, {CLisp}, {CMU CL}. Contact: Juergen Walther, AI Research Division, {GMD}. {CMU AI archive (http://www-cgi.cs.cmu.edu/afs/cs/project/ai-repository/ai/areas/expert/systems/babylon/0.html)} (2019-05-27)
BALM ::: Block And List Manipulation. Harrison, 1970. Extensible language with LISP-like features and ALGOL-like syntax, for CDC 6600. The Balm Programming Language, Malcolm Harrison, Courant Inst (May 1973).
BALM "language" (Block And List Manipulation) An extensible language, developed by Malcolm Harrison in 1970, with {LISP}-like features and {ALGOL}-like {syntax}, for {CDC 6600}. ["The Balm Programming Language", Malcolm Harrison, Courant Inst, May 1973]. (2007-03-01)
BBN Butterfly ::: (computer) A supercomputer developed at BBN Technologies, named after the butterfly multi-stage switching network around which it was built. It could GP-1000 models used up to 256 Motorola 68020s. The later TC-2000 models used up to 512 Motorola 88100s.Language developed for, or ported to, the BBN Butterfly were Butterfly Common LISP, Butterfly Scheme, Delirium, and MultiScheme. .(2003-11-10)
BBN Butterfly "computer" A {supercomputer} developed at {BBN Technologies}, named after the "butterfly" multi-stage switching network around which it was built. It could have up to 512 {CPUs} connected to allow every CPU access to every other CPU's memory, albeit with about 15 times the latency than for its own. The earlier GP-1000 models used up to 256 {Motorola 68020s}. The later TC-2000 models used up to 512 {Motorola 88100s}. Language developed for, or ported to, the BBN Butterfly were {Butterfly Common LISP}, {Butterfly Scheme}, {Delirium}, and {MultiScheme}. {(http://paralogos.com/DeadSuper/Misc/BBN.html)}. (2003-11-10)
benchmark ::: (benchmark) A standard program or set of programs which can be run on different computers to give an inaccurate measure of their performance.In the computer industry, there are three kinds of lies: lies, damn lies, and benchmarks.A benchmark may attempt to indicate the overall power of a system by including a typical mixture of programs or it may attempt to measure more specific aspects fully characterise overall system performance, the results of a variety of realistic benchmarks can give valuable insight into expected real performance.Benchmarks should be carefully interpreted, you should know exactly which benchmark was run (name, version); exactly what configuration was it run on (CPU, memory, compiler options, single user/multi-user, peripherals, network); how does the benchmark relate to your workload?Well-known benchmarks include Whetstone, Dhrystone, Rhealstone (see h), the Gabriel benchmarks for Lisp, the SPECmark suite, and LINPACK.See also machoflops, MIPS, smoke and mirrors.Usenet newsgroup: comp.benchmarks. .[Jargon File](2002-03-26)
benchmark "benchmark" A standard program or set of programs which can be run on different computers to give an inaccurate measure of their performance. "In the computer industry, there are three kinds of lies: lies, damn lies, and benchmarks." A benchmark may attempt to indicate the overall power of a system by including a "typical" mixture of programs or it may attempt to measure more specific aspects of performance, like graphics, I/O or computation (integer or {floating-point}). Others measure specific tasks like {rendering} polygons, reading and writing files or performing operations on matrices. The most useful kind of benchmark is one which is tailored to a user's own typical tasks. While no one benchmark can fully characterise overall system performance, the results of a variety of realistic benchmarks can give valuable insight into expected real performance. Benchmarks should be carefully interpreted, you should know exactly which benchmark was run (name, version); exactly what configuration was it run on (CPU, memory, compiler options, single user/multi-user, peripherals, network); how does the benchmark relate to your workload? Well-known benchmarks include {Whetstone}, {Dhrystone}, {Rhealstone} (see {h}), the {Gabriel benchmarks} for {Lisp}, the {SPECmark} suite, and {LINPACK}. See also {machoflops}, {MIPS}, {smoke and mirrors}. {Usenet} newsgroup: {news:comp.benchmarks}. {Tennessee BenchWeb (http://netlib.org/benchweb/)}. [{Jargon File}] (2002-03-26)
Big bag of pages ::: (BIBOP) Where data objects are tagged with some kind of descriptor (giving their size or type for example) memory can be saved by storing objects with the same address are used as the BIBOP page number. This is looked up in a BIBOP table to find the descriptor for all objects in that page.This idea is similar to the zones used in some Lisp systems (e.g. LeLisp).[David R. Hanson. A portable storage management system for the Icon programming language. Software - Practise and Experience, 10:489-500 1980]. (1994-11-29)
Big bag of pages (BIBOP) Where data objects are tagged with some kind of descriptor (giving their size or type for example) memory can be saved by storing objects with the same descriptor in one "page" of memory. The most significant bits of an object's address are used as the BIBOP page number. This is looked up in a BIBOP table to find the descriptor for all objects in that page. This idea is similar to the "zones" used in some {Lisp} systems (e.g. {LeLisp}). [David R. Hanson. "A portable storage management system for the Icon programming language". Software - Practise and Experience, 10:489-500 1980]. (1994-11-29)
bignum "programming" /big'nuhm/ (Originally from {MIT} {MacLISP}) A {multiple-precision} computer representation for very large integers. Most computer languages provide a type of data called "integer", but such computer integers are usually limited in size; usually they must be smaller than 2^31 (2,147,483,648) or (on a {bitty box}) 2^15 (32,768). If you want to work with numbers larger than that, you have to use {floating-point} numbers, which are usually accurate to only six or seven decimal places. Computer languages that provide bignums can perform exact calculations on very large numbers, such as 1000! (the factorial of 1000, which is 1000 times 999 times 998 times ... times 2 times 1). For example, this value for 1000! was computed by the {MacLISP} system using bignums: 40238726007709377354370243392300398571937486421071 46325437999104299385123986290205920442084869694048 00479988610197196058631666872994808558901323829669 94459099742450408707375991882362772718873251977950 59509952761208749754624970436014182780946464962910 56393887437886487337119181045825783647849977012476 63288983595573543251318532395846307555740911426241 74743493475534286465766116677973966688202912073791 43853719588249808126867838374559731746136085379534 52422158659320192809087829730843139284440328123155 86110369768013573042161687476096758713483120254785 89320767169132448426236131412508780208000261683151 02734182797770478463586817016436502415369139828126 48102130927612448963599287051149649754199093422215 66832572080821333186116811553615836546984046708975 60290095053761647584772842188967964624494516076535 34081989013854424879849599533191017233555566021394 50399736280750137837615307127761926849034352625200 01588853514733161170210396817592151090778801939317 81141945452572238655414610628921879602238389714760 88506276862967146674697562911234082439208160153780 88989396451826324367161676217916890977991190375403 12746222899880051954444142820121873617459926429565 81746628302955570299024324153181617210465832036786 90611726015878352075151628422554026517048330422614 39742869330616908979684825901254583271682264580665 26769958652682272807075781391858178889652208164348 34482599326604336766017699961283186078838615027946 59551311565520360939881806121385586003014356945272 24206344631797460594682573103790084024432438465657 24501440282188525247093519062092902313649327349756 55139587205596542287497740114133469627154228458623 77387538230483865688976461927383814900140767310446 64025989949022222176590433990188601856652648506179 97023561938970178600408118897299183110211712298459 01641921068884387121855646124960798722908519296819 37238864261483965738229112312502418664935314397013 74285319266498753372189406942814341185201580141233 44828015051399694290153483077644569099073152433278 28826986460278986432113908350621709500259738986355 42771967428222487575867657523442202075736305694988 25087968928162753848863396909959826280956121450994 87170124451646126037902930912088908694202851064018 21543994571568059418727489980942547421735824010636 77404595741785160829230135358081840096996372524230 56085590370062427124341690900415369010593398383577 79394109700277534720000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 000000000000000000. [{Jargon File}] (1996-06-27)
bignum ::: (programming) /big'nuhm/ (Originally from MIT MacLISP) A multiple-precision computer representation for very large integers.Most computer languages provide a type of data called integer, but such computer integers are usually limited in size; usually they must be smaller than 2 times 1). For example, this value for 1000! was computed by the MacLISP system using bignums:40238726007709377354370243392300398571937486421071 46325437999104299385123986290205920442084869694048 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 000000000000000000.[Jargon File] (1996-06-27)
Lispkit Lisp ::: Purely functional version of LISP. Functional Programming, Application and Implementation, P. Henderson, P-H 1980.
Lispkit Lisp Purely functional version of LISP. "Functional Programming, Application and Implementation", P. Henderson, P-H 1980.
Lispkit "language" A {functional programming} language designed by Peter Henderson with Lisp syntax. Designed for portability. The Lispkit implementation is an extension to Landin's SECD machine that supports lazy evaluation. See also Stack environment control dump machine.
Lispkit ::: (language) A functional programming language designed by Peter Henderson with Lisp syntax. Designed for portability. The Lispkit implementation is an extension to Landin's SECD machine that supports lazy evaluation. See also Stack environment control dump machine.
Lisp ::: (language) LISt Processing language.(Or mythically Lots of Irritating Superfluous Parentheses). Artificial Intelligence's mother tongue, a symbolic, functional, recursive language based on the ideas of lambda-calculus, variable-length lists and trees as fundamental data types and the interpretation of code as data and vice-versa.Data objects in Lisp are lists and atoms. Lists may contain lists and atoms. Atoms are either numbers or symbols. Programs in Lisp are themselves lists of functions with side-effects but there is a core of Lisp which is purely functional.All Lisp functions and programs are expressions that return values; this, together with the high memory use of Lisp, gave rise to Alan Perlis's famous quip (itself a take on an Oscar Wilde quote) that Lisp programmers know the value of everything and the cost of nothing.The original version was LISP 1, invented by John McCarthy at MIT in the late 1950s. Lisp is actually variants are quite different in detail. The dominant HLL among hackers until the early 1980s, Lisp now shares the throne with C. See languages of choice.One significant application for Lisp has been as a proof by example that most newer languages, such as COBOL and Ada, are full of unnecessary crocks. When the Right Thing has already been done once, there is no justification for bogosity in newer languages.See also Association of Lisp Users, Common Lisp, Franz Lisp, MacLisp, Portable Standard Lisp, Interlisp, Scheme, ELisp, Kamin's interpreters.[Jargon File] (1995-04-16)
Lisp "language" LISt Processing language. (Or mythically "Lots of Irritating Superfluous Parentheses"). {Artificial Intelligence}'s mother tongue, a symbolic, {functional}, {recursive} language based on the ideas of {lambda-calculus}, variable-length lists and trees as fundamental data types and the interpretation of code as data and vice-versa. Data objects in Lisp are lists and {atoms}. Lists may contain lists and atoms. Atoms are either numbers or symbols. Programs in Lisp are themselves lists of symbols which can be treated as data. Most implementations of Lisp allow functions with {side-effects} but there is a core of Lisp which is {purely functional}. All Lisp functions and programs are expressions that return values; this, together with the high memory use of Lisp, gave rise to {Alan Perlis}'s famous quip (itself a take on an Oscar Wilde quote) that "Lisp programmers know the value of everything and the cost of nothing". The original version was {LISP 1}, invented by {John McCarthy} "jmc@sail.stanford.edu" at {MIT} in the late 1950s. Lisp is actually older than any other {high level language} still in use except {Fortran}. Accordingly, it has undergone considerable change over the years. Modern variants are quite different in detail. The dominant {HLL} among hackers until the early 1980s, Lisp now shares the throne with {C}. See {languages of choice}. One significant application for Lisp has been as a proof by example that most newer languages, such as {COBOL} and {Ada}, are full of unnecessary {crocks}. When the {Right Thing} has already been done once, there is no justification for {bogosity} in newer languages. See also {Association of Lisp Users}, {Common Lisp}, {Franz Lisp}, {MacLisp}, {Portable Standard Lisp}, {Interlisp}, {Scheme}, {ELisp}, {Kamin's interpreters}. [{Jargon File}] (1995-04-16)
Lisp-Linda ::: P. Dourish, U Edinburgh 1988.
Lisp-Linda P. Dourish, U Edinburgh 1988.
Lisp Machine ::: 1. (architecture) Any machine (whether notional or actual) whose instruction set is Lisp.2. (hardware, operating system) A line of workstations made by Symbolics, Inc. from the mid-1970s (having grown out of the MIT AI Lab) to late 1980s. All system code for Symbolics Lisp Machines was written in Lisp Machine Lisp. Symbolics Lisp Machines were also notable for having had space-cadet keyboards.[More details and historical background?] .(2003-07-03)
Lisp Machine 1. "architecture" Any {machine} (whether notional or actual) whose instruction set is {Lisp}. 2. "hardware, operating system" A line of {workstations} made by {Symbolics, Inc.} from the mid-1970s (having grown out of the {MIT AI Lab}) to late 1980s. All system code for Symbolics Lisp Machines was written in {Lisp Machine Lisp}. Symbolics Lisp Machines were also notable for having had {space-cadet keyboards}. [More details and historical background?] {Lisp Machine Museum (http://kogs-www.informatik.uni-hamburg.de/~moeller/symbolics-info/symbolics.html)}. (2003-07-03)
Lisp Object-Oriented Programming System ::: (LOOPS) An object-oriented extension of Lisp from the Intelligent Systems Laboratory at Xerox Palo Alto Research Center. It is used in the development of knowledge-based systems.See also CommonLoops.[The LOOPS Manual, D.G. Bobrow & M. Stefik, Xerox Corp 1983].
Lisp Object-Oriented Programming System (LOOPS) An {object-oriented} extension of {Lisp} from the {Intelligent Systems Laboratory} at {Xerox} {Palo Alto Research Center}. It is used in the development of {knowledge-based systems}. See also {CommonLoops}. ["The LOOPS Manual", D.G. Bobrow & M. Stefik, Xerox Corp 1983].
Lisptalk "Concurrent Programming Language Lisptalk", C. Li, SIGPLAN Notices 23(4):71-80 (Apr 1988).
Lisptalk ::: Concurrent Programming Language Lisptalk, C. Li, SIGPLAN Notices 23(4):71-80 (Apr 1988).
LispView ::: CLOS based windowing system on OpenWindows.
LispView CLOS based windowing system on OpenWindows.
bootstrap ::: (operating system, compiler) To load and initialise the operating system on a computer. Normally abbreviated to boot. From the curious expression to before any (normal) program can run. Derived terms include reboot, cold boot, warm boot, soft boot and hard boot.The term also applies to the use of a compiler to compile itself. The usual process is to write an interpreter for a language, L, in some other existing the compiler in L. This technique is often used to verify the correctness of a compiler. It was first used in the LISP community.See also My Favourite Toy Language.[Jargon File](2005-04-12)
bootstrap "operating system, compiler" To load and initialise the {operating system} on a computer. Normally abbreviated to "{boot}". From the curious expression "to pull oneself up by one's bootstraps", one of the legendary feats of Baron von Munchhausen. The {bootstrap loader} is the program that runs on the computer before any (normal) program can run. Derived terms include {reboot}, {cold boot}, {warm boot}, {soft boot} and {hard boot}. The term also applies to the use of a {compiler} to compile itself. The usual process is to write an {interpreter} for a language, L, in some other existing language. The compiler is then written in L and the interpreter is used to run it. This produces an {executable} for compiling programs in L from the source of the compiler in L. This technique is often used to verify the correctness of a compiler. It was first used in the {LISP} community. See also {My Favourite Toy Language}. [{Jargon File}] (2005-04-12)
bucky bits ::: /buh'kee bits/ 1. Obsolete. The bits produced by the CONTROL and META shift keys on a SAIL keyboard (octal 200 and 400 respectively), resulting in a 9-bit character set; later, LISP Machines added such keys as SUPER, HYPER, and GREEK (see space-cadet keyboard).2. By extension, bits associated with extra shift keys on any keyboard, e.g. the ALT on an IBM PC or command and option keys on a Macintosh.It has long been rumored that bucky bits were named after Buckminster Fuller during a period when he was consulting at Stanford. Actually, bucky bits were and this nickname transferred to the bit. Bucky-bit commands were used in a number of editors written at Stanford, including most notably TV-EDIT and NLS.The term spread to MIT and CMU early and is now in general use. Ironically, Wirth himself remained unaware of its derivation for nearly 30 years, until GLS dug up this history in early 1993! See double bucky, quadruple bucky.(2001-06-22)
bucky bits /buh'kee bits/ 1. Obsolete. The bits produced by the CONTROL and META shift keys on a SAIL keyboard ({octal} 200 and 400 respectively), resulting in a 9-bit keyboard character set. The MIT AI TV (Knight) keyboards extended this with TOP and separate left and right CONTROL and META keys, resulting in a 12-bit character set; later, LISP Machines added such keys as SUPER, HYPER, and GREEK (see {space-cadet keyboard}). 2. By extension, bits associated with "extra" shift keys on any keyboard, e.g. the ALT on an IBM PC or command and option keys on a Macintosh. It has long been rumored that "bucky bits" were named after Buckminster Fuller during a period when he was consulting at Stanford. Actually, bucky bits were invented by Niklaus Wirth when *he* was at Stanford in 1964--65; he first suggested the idea of an EDIT key to set the 8th bit of an otherwise 7 bit ASCII character. It seems that, unknown to Wirth, certain Stanford hackers had privately nicknamed him "Bucky" after a prominent portion of his dental anatomy, and this nickname transferred to the bit. Bucky-bit commands were used in a number of editors written at Stanford, including most notably TV-EDIT and NLS. The term spread to MIT and CMU early and is now in general use. Ironically, Wirth himself remained unaware of its derivation for nearly 30 years, until {GLS} dug up this history in early 1993! See {double bucky}, {quadruple bucky}. (2001-06-22)
bum 1. To make highly efficient, either in time or space, often at the expense of clarity. "I managed to bum three more instructions out of that code." "I spent half the night bumming the interrupt code." In {elder days}, {John McCarthy} (inventor of {Lisp}) used to compare some efficiency-obsessed hackers among his students to "ski bums"; thus, optimisation became "program bumming", and eventually just "bumming". 2. To squeeze out excess; to remove something in order to improve whatever it was removed from (without changing function; this distinguishes the process from a {featurectomy}). 3. A small change to an algorithm, program, or hardware device to make it more efficient. "This hardware bum makes the jump instruction faster." Usage: now uncommon, largely superseded by v. {tune} (and {tweak}, {hack}), though none of these exactly capture sense 2. All these uses are rare in Commonwealth hackish, because in the parent dialects of English "bum" is a rude synonym for "buttocks". [{Jargon File}]
Butterfly Common LISP ::: A parallel version of Common LISP for the BBN Butterfly computer.
Butterfly Common LISP A parallel version of {Common LISP} for the {BBN Butterfly} computer.
Calc "tool, mathematics" An extensible, advanced desk calculator and mathematical tool written in {Emacs Lisp} by Dave Gillespie "daveg@synaptics.com". Calc runs as part of {GNU Emacs}. You can use Calc as only a simple four-function calculator, but it also provides additional features including choice of algebraic or {RPN} ({stack}-based) entry, logarithms, trigonometric and financial functions, {arbitrary precision}, complex numbers, vectors, matrices, dates, times, infinities, sets, algebraic simplification, differentiation, and integration. FTP calc-2.02.tar.z from your nearest {GNU archive site}. (2000-10-20)
Calc ::: (tool, mathematics) An extensible, advanced desk calculator and mathematical tool written in Emacs Lisp by Dave Gillespie vectors, matrices, dates, times, infinities, sets, algebraic simplification, differentiation, and integration.Latest version: 2.02, as of 1994-11-08.FTP calc-2.02.tar.z from your nearest GNU archive site.(2000-10-20)
call-with-current-continuation ::: (Lisp, programming) (call/cc) A Lisp control function that takes a function f as its argument and calls f, passing it the current continuation, print the value returned by call/cc then anything passed to k will also be printed.E.g, in Scheme: (define (f k)(k 1) Will display 1.(2001-04-27)
call-with-current-continuation "programming" (call/cc) A {Lisp} control {function} that implements the {continuation passing style} of programming. In continuation passing style (CPS), every function f takes an extra final argument k called the "continuation". The continuation is itself a function and represents the rest of the program. Instead of just returning a value in the normal way, f passes it as an argument to k and returns the result of that. call/cc takes a function f as its argument and calls f, passing it the current continuation k. It thus allows a CPS function to be called in a non-CPS (direct) context. For example, if the final result is to print the value returned by call/cc then anything passed to k will also be printed. E.g, in {Scheme}: (define (f k) (k 1) (k 2) 3) (display (call-with-current-continuation f)) Will display 1. [Is this correct?] (2014-09-24)
Cambridge Lisp ::: A flavour of Lisp using BCPL. Sources owned by Fitznorman partners.
Cambridge Lisp A flavour of Lisp using BCPL. Sources owned by Fitznorman partners.
Categorical Abstract Machine Language "language" (Originally "CAML" - Categorical Abstract Machine Language) A version of {ML} by G. Huet, G. Cousineau, Ascander Suarez, Pierre Weis, Michel Mauny and others of {INRIA} and {ENS}. CAML is intermediate between {LCF ML} and {SML} [in what sense?]. It has {first-class} functions, {static type inference} with {polymorphic} types, user-defined {variant types} and {product types}, and {pattern matching}. It is built on a proprietary run-time system. The CAML V3.1 implementation added {lazy} and {mutable} data structures, a "{grammar}" mechanism for interfacing with the {Yacc} {parser generator}, {pretty-printing} tools, high-performance {arbitrary-precision} arithmetic, and a complete library. CAML V3 is often nicknamed "heavy CAML", because of its heavy memory and CPU requirements compared to {Caml Light}. in 1990 Xavier Leroy and Damien Doligez designed a new implementation called {Caml Light}, freeing the previous implementation from too many experimental high-level features, and more importantly, from the old Le_Lisp back-end. Following the addition of a {native-code} compiler and a powerful {module} system in 1995 and of the {object} and {class} layer in 1996, the project's name was changed to {Objective Caml}. ["The CAML Reference Manual", P. Weis et al, TR INRIA-ENS, 1989]. (2003-04-12)
Categorical Abstract Machine Language ::: (language) (Originally CAML - Categorical Abstract Machine Language) A version of ML by G. Huet, G. Cousineau, Ascander Suarez, Pierre Weis, Michel polymorphic types, user-defined variant types and product types, and pattern matching. It is built on a proprietary run-time system.The CAML V3.1 implementation added lazy and mutable data structures, a grammar mechanism for interfacing with the Yacc parser generator, pretty-printing tools, is often nicknamed heavy CAML, because of its heavy memory and CPU requirements compared to Caml Light.in 1990 Xavier Leroy and Damien Doligez designed a new implementation called Caml Light, freeing the previous implementation from too many experimental high-level features, and more importantly, from the old Le_Lisp back-end.Following the addition of a native-code compiler and a powerful module system in 1995 and of the object and class layer in 1996, the project's name was changed to Objective Caml.[The CAML Reference Manual, P. Weis et al, TR INRIA-ENS, 1989].(2003-04-12)
cat ::: (tool) (From catenate) Unix's command which copies one or more entire files to the screen or some other output sink without pause.See also dd, BLT.Among Unix fans, cat is considered an excellent example of user-interface design, because it delivers the file contents without such verbosity as spacing because it does not require the files to consist of lines of text, but works with any sort of data.Among Unix haters, cat is considered the canonical example of *bad* user-interface design, because of its woefully unobvious name. It is far more often used to blast a file to standard output than to concatenate files. The name cat for the former operation is just as unintuitive as, say, LISP's cdr.Of such oppositions are holy wars made. (1994-11-29)
cat "tool" (From "catenate") {Unix}'s command which copies one or more entire files to the screen or some other output sink without pause. See also {dd}, {BLT}. Among {Unix} fans, cat is considered an excellent example of user-interface design, because it delivers the file contents without such verbosity as spacing or headers between the files (the {pr} command can be used to do this), and because it does not require the files to consist of lines of text, but works with any sort of data. Among Unix haters, cat is considered the {canonical} example of *bad* user-interface design, because of its woefully unobvious name. It is far more often used to {blast} a file to standard output than to concatenate files. The name "cat" for the former operation is just as unintuitive as, say, LISP's {cdr}. Of such oppositions are {holy wars} made. (1994-11-29)
CCL ::: 1. Coral Common LISP.2. Computer Control Language. English-like query language based on COLINGO, for IBM 1401 and IBM 1410.
CCL 1. Coral Common LISP. 2. Computer Control Language. English-like query language based on COLINGO, for IBM 1401 and IBM 1410.
cdr ::: /ku'dr/ or /kuh'dr/ [LISP] To skip past the first item from a list of things (generalised from the LISP operation on binary tree structures, which returns a down, to trace down a list of elements: Shall we cdr down the agenda? Usage: silly. See also loop through.Historical note: The instruction format of the IBM 7090 that hosted the original LISP implementation featured two 15 bit fields called the address and decrement parts. The term cdr was originally Contents of Decrement part of Register. Similarly, car stood for Contents of Address part of Register.The cdr and car operations have since become bases for formation of compound metaphors in non-LISP contexts. GLS recalls, for example, a programming project in which strings were represented as linked lists; the get-character and skip-character operations were of course called CHAR and CHDR.[Jargon File](2001-06-22)
CGOL ::: (language) A package providing ALGOL-like surface syntax for MACLISP, written by V.R. Pratt in 1977. .[CGOL - An Alternative Exetrnal Representation for LISP Users, V. Pratt, MIT AI Lab, Working Paper 89, 1976].(2005-01-07)
CGOL "language" A package providing {ALGOL}-like {surface syntax} for {MACLISP}, written by V.R. Pratt in 1977. {(ftp://mc.lcs.mit.edu/its/ai/lisp/cgol.fasl)}. ["CGOL - An Alternative Exetrnal Representation for LISP Users", V. Pratt, MIT AI Lab, Working Paper 89, 1976]. (2005-01-07)
CHARYBDIS "mathematics, tool" A {Lisp} program to display mathematical expressions. It is related to {MATHLAB}. [Sammet 1969, p. 522]. (1994-11-15)
CHARYBDIS ::: (mathematics, utility) A Lisp program to display mathematical expressions. It is related to MATHLAB.[Sammet 1969, p. 522]. (1994-11-15)
chine nual "documentation" /sheen'yu-*l/ (MIT) The {LISP Machine} Manual, so called because the title was wrapped around the cover so only those letters showed on the front. [{Jargon File}] (1994-12-02)
chine nual ::: (documentation) /sheen'yu-*l/ (MIT) The LISP Machine Manual, so called because the title was wrapped around the cover so only those letters showed on the front.[Jargon File] (1994-12-02)
CLAM ::: (mathematics, tool) A system for symbolic mathematics, especially General Relativity. It was first implemented in ATLAS assembly language and later Lisp.See also ALAM.[CLAM Programmer's Manual, Ray d'Inverno & Russell-Clark, King's College London, 1971]. (1994-11-08)
CLAM "mathematics, tool" A system for {symbolic mathematics}, especially General Relativity. It was first implemented in {ATLAS} {assembly language} and later {Lisp}. See also {ALAM}. ["CLAM Programmer's Manual", Ray d'Inverno & Russell-Clark, King's College London, 1971]. (1994-11-08)
C Language Integrated Production System ::: (language) (CLIPS) A language produced by Gary Riley of NASA JSC in Houston, Texas, for developing expert systems, with the inferencing and object-oriented and procedural programming. CLIPS has a Lisp-like syntax. It is available for MS-DOS and comes with source code in C.COSMIC, U Georgia, (404) 542-3265. Austin Code Works (512) 258-0785.Versions include CLIPS 5.1, CLIPS/Ada 4.3 and CLIPS6.0 (see PCLIPS). .E-mail: .Telnet: cosmic.uga.edu, user: cosline. , .[Expert Systems: Principles and Programming, Joseph Giarratano and Gary Riley, PWS Publ 1994, ISBN 0-534-93744-6]. (1994-12-16)
C Language Integrated Production System "language" (CLIPS) A language produced by Gary Riley of NASA {JSC} in Houston, Texas, for developing {expert systems}, with the inferencing and representation capabilities of {OPS5} and support for {forward chaining} rule-based, {object-oriented} and {procedural} programming. CLIPS has a {Lisp}-like {syntax}. It is available for {MS-DOS} and comes with source code in {C}. COSMIC, U Georgia, (404) 542-3265. Austin Code Works "info@acw.com" (512) 258-0785. Versions include CLIPS 5.1, CLIPS/Ada 4.3 and CLIPS6.0 (see {PCLIPS}). {(http://jsc.nasa.gov/~clips/CLIPS.html)}. E-mail: "service@cossack.cosmic.uga.edu". Telnet: cosmic.uga.edu, user: cosline. {U. Michigan (ftp://earth.rs.itd.umich.edu/mac.bin/etc/compsci/Clips/)}, {ENSMP, France (ftp://ftp.ensmp.fr/pub/clips/)}. ["Expert Systems: Principles and Programming", Joseph Giarratano and Gary Riley, PWS Publ 1994, ISBN 0-534-93744-6]. (1994-12-16)
CLiCC "language" A {Common Lisp} to {C} compiler by Heinz Knutzen "hk@informatik.uni-kiel.de", Ulrich Hoffman "uho@informatik.uni-kiel.de" and Wolfgang Goerigk "wg@informatik.uni-kiel.de". CLiCC is meant to be used as a supplement to existing {CLISP} systems for generating {portable} {applications}. Target {C} code must be linked with the CLiCC {run-time library} to produce an {executable}. Version 0.6.2 conforms to a subset of {Common Lisp} and {CLOS} called {CL_0} or {CommonLisp_0} and based on {CLtL1}. It runs with {Lucid Lisp}, {AKCL} or {CLISP}. Work on {CLtL2} and {ANSI-CL} conformance is in progress. {(ftp://ftp.informatik.uni-kiel.de/pub/kiel/apply/)}. (1994-01-04)
CLiCC ::: (language) A Common Lisp to C compiler by Heinz Knutzen , Ulrich Hoffman to existing CLISP systems for generating portable applications. Target C code must be linked with the CLiCC run-time library to produce an executable.Version 0.6.2 conforms to a subset of Common Lisp and CLOS called CL_0 or CommonLisp_0 and based on CLtL1. It runs with Lucid Lisp, AKCL or CLISP. Work on CLtL2 and ANSI-CL conformance is in progress. . (1994-01-04)
CLIP ::: 1. Compiler Language for Information Processing.2. Common LISP in Parallel.
CLIP 1. {Compiler Language for Information Processing}. 2. {Common LISP in Parallel}.
CLISP "language" 1. A {Common Lisp} implementation by {Bruno Haible (http://haible.de/bruno/)} of {Karlsruhe University} and {Michael Stoll (http://math.uni-duesseldorf.de/~stoll/)}. of {Munich University}, both in Germany. CLISP includes an {interpreter}, {bytecode compiler}, almost all of the {CLOS} {object system}, a {foreign language interface} and a {socket interface}. An {X11} interface is available through {CLX} and {Garnet}. Command line editing is provided by the {GNU} readline library. CLISP requires only 2 MB of {RAM}. The {user interface} comes in German, English, French, Spanish, Dutch, and Russian and can be changed at {run time}. CLISP is {Free Software} and distributed under the {GPL}. It runs on {microcomputers} ({OS/2}, {Microsoft Windows}, {Amiga}, {Acorn}) as well as on {Unix} workstations ({Linux}, {BSD}, {SVR4}, {Sun4}, {Alpha}, {HP-UX}, {NeXTstep}, {SGI}, {AIX}, {Sun3} and others). {Official web page (http://clisp.cons.org)}. {Mailing list (http://lists.sourceforge.net/lists/listinfo/clisp-list)}. (2003-08-04) 2. {Conversational LISP}. (2019-11-21)
CLISP ::: (language)1. Conversational LISP.2. A Common Lisp implementation by of Karlsruhe University andCLISP requires only 2 MB of RAM. The user interface comes in German, English, French, Spanish, Dutch, and Russian and can be changed at run time.CLISP is Free Software and distributed under the GPL. It runs on microcomputers (OS/2, Microsoft Windows, Amiga, Acorn) as well as on Unix workstations (Linux, BSD, SVR4, Sun4, Alpha, HP-UX, NeXTstep, SGI, AIX, Sun3, and others). .(2003-08-04)
CLOS {Common LISP Object System}
CLtL1 ::: A report on Common LISP:[Common LISP: The Language, Guy L. Steele, Digital Press 1984, ISBN 0-932376-41-X]. (1994-12-16)
CLtL1 "publication" A report on {Common LISP}: ["Common LISP: The Language", Guy L. Steele, Digital Press 1984, ISBN 0-932376-41-X]. (1994-12-16)
CLU ::: CLUster.An object-oriented programming language developed at MIT by Liskov et al in 1974-1975.CLU is an object-oriented language of the Pascal family designed to support data abstraction, similar to Alphard. It introduced the iterator: a coroutine yielding the elements of a data object, to be used as the sequence of values in a 'for' loop.A CLU program consists of separately compilable procedures, clusters and iterators, no nesting. A cluster is a module naming an abstract type and its iterators may be generic. Supplying actual constant values for the parameters instantiates the module.There are no implicit type conversions. In a cluster, the explicit type conversions 'up' and 'down' change between the abstract type and the representation. There is a universal type 'any', and a procedure force[] to check that an object is a certain type. Objects may be mutable or immutable.Exceptions are raised using 'signal' and handled with 'except'. Assignment is by sharing, similar to the sharing of data objects in Lisp. Arguments are passed by and can be changed only if they are mutable. CLU has own variables and multiple assignment.See also Kamin's interpreters, clu2c.[CLU Reference Manual, Barbara Liskov et al, LNCS 114, Springer 1981].E-mail: Paul R. Johnson . . (1994-12-16)
CLU "language" (CLUster) An {object-oriented} programming language developed at {MIT} by {Liskov} et al in 1974-1975. CLU is an {object-oriented} language of the {Pascal} family designed to support {data abstraction}, similar to {Alphard}. It introduced the {iterator}: a {coroutine} yielding the elements of a data object, to be used as the sequence of values in a {for loop}. A CLU program consists of separately compilable {procedures}, {clusters} and iterators, no nesting. A cluster is a module naming an {abstract type} and its operations, its internal representation and implementation. Clusters and iterators may be generic. Supplying actual constant values for the {parameters} instantiates the {module}. There are no {implicit type conversions}. In a cluster, the explicit type conversions 'up' and 'down' change between the abstract type and the representation. There is a universal type 'any', and a procedure force[] to check that an object is a certain type. Objects may be mutable or {immutable}. {Exceptions} are raised using 'signal' and handled with 'except'. {Assignment} is by sharing, similar to the sharing of data objects in {Lisp}. Arguments are passed by {call-by-sharing}, similar to {call-by-value}, except that the arguments are objects and can be changed only if they are mutable. CLU has {own variables} and multiple assignment. CLU was one of {Kamin's interpreters}. {clu2c} compiled CLU to {C}. {Concurrent CLU} was an extension designed to support parallel proceses. ["CLU Reference Manual", Barbara Liskov et al, LNCS 114, Springer 1981]. E-mail: Paul R. Johnson "prj@pm-prj.lcs.mit.edu". {Versions for Sun and VAX/VMS (ftp://pion.lcs.mit.edu/pub/clu/)}. {Portable version (ftp://mintaka.lcs.mit.edu/pub/dcurtis/)}. (1994-12-16)
CLX "library, graphics" The {Common Lisp} library providing a low-level interface to the {X Window System}, equivalent to {Xlib}. {Graphics toolkits} can be built on top of CLX, e.g. {McCLIM}, {Garnet}, {CLUE} and {CLIO}. Various LISP implementors have independently ported CLX to their own {platforms}, fixing {bugs} and, in some cases, adding features in the process. {CLX Wiki (http://cliki.net/CLX)}. (2004-08-27)
CLX ::: (library, graphics) The Common Lisp library providing a low-level interface to the X Window System, equivalent to Xlib. Graphics toolkits can be implementors have independently ported CLX to their own platforms, fixing bugs and, in some cases, adding features in the process. .(2004-08-27)
CMU CL {CMU Common Lisp}
CMU Common Lisp ::: (CMU CL) A public domain industrial strength Common Lisp programming environment. Many of the X3J13 changes have been incorporated into CMU CL. CLtL1 or proposed ANSI CL. Probably the new features most interesting to users are SETF functions, LOOP and the WITH-COMPILATION-UNIT macro.The new CMU CL compiler is called Python.Version 17c includes an incremental compiler, profiler, run-time support, documentation, an editor and a debugger. It runs under Mach on SPARC, MIPS and IBM PC RT and under SunOS on SPARC. .E-mail: . (1993-11-18)
CMU Common Lisp "language" (CMU CL) A {public domain} "industrial strength" {Common Lisp} programming environment. Many of the {X3J13} changes have been incorporated into CMU CL. Wherever possible, this has been done so as to transparently allow use of either {CLtL1} or proposed {ANSI CL}. Probably the new features most interesting to users are {SETF} functions, {LOOP} and the {WITH-COMPILATION-UNIT} {macro}. The new CMU CL compiler is called {Python}. Version 17c includes an {incremental compiler}, profiler, run-time support, documentation, an editor and a debugger. It runs under {Mach} on {SPARC}, {MIPS} and {IBM PC RT} and under {SunOS} on {SPARC}. {(ftp://lisp-sun1.slisp.cs.cmu.edu/pub/)}. E-mail: "slisp@cs.cmu.edu". (1993-11-18)
Common Lisp ::: (language) A dialect of Lisp defined by a consortium of companies brought together in 1981 by the Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA). Carnegie-Mellon University, Stanford University, Yale, MIT and USC Berkeley. Common Lisp is lexically scoped by default but can be dynamically scoped.Common Lisp is a large and complex language, fairly close to a superset of MacLisp. It features lexical binding, data structures using defstruct and setf, escape characters. Common LISP now includes CLOS, an extended LOOP macro, condition system, pretty printing and logical pathnames.Implementations include AKCL, CCL, CLiCC, CLISP, CLX, CMU Common Lisp, DCL, KCL, MCL and WCL.Mailing list: . .[Common LISP: The Language, Guy L. Steele, Digital Press 1984, ISBN 0-932376-41-X].[Common LISP: The Language, 2nd Edition, Guy L. Steele, Digital Press 1990, ISBN 1-55558-041-6]. (1994-09-29)
Common Lisp "language" A dialect of {Lisp} defined by a consortium of companies brought together in 1981 by the {Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency} (DARPA). Companies included {Symbolics}, {Lisp Machines, Inc.}, {Digital Equipment Corporation}, {Bell Labs}., {Xerox}, {Hewlett-Packard}, {Lawrence Livermore Labs}., {Carnegie-Mellon University}, {Stanford University}, {Yale}, {MIT} and {USC Berkeley}. Common Lisp is {lexically scoped} by default but can be {dynamically scoped}. Common Lisp is a large and complex language, fairly close to a superset of {MacLisp}. It features {lexical binding}, data structures using defstruct and setf, {closures}, multiple values, types using declare and a variety of numerical types. Function calls allow "&optional", keyword and "&rest" arguments. Generic sequence can either be a list or an {array}. It provides formatted printing using escape characters. Common LISP now includes {CLOS}, an extended LOOP {macro}, condition system, {pretty printing} and logical pathnames. Implementations include {AKCL}, {CCL}, {CLiCC}, {CLISP}, {CLX}, {CMU Common Lisp}, {DCL}, {KCL}, {MCL} and {WCL}. Mailing list: "common-lisp@ai.sri.com". {ANSI Common Lisp draft proposal (ftp://ftp.think.com/public/think/lisp:public-review.text)}. ["Common LISP: The Language", Guy L. Steele, Digital Press 1984, ISBN 0-932376-41-X]. ["Common LISP: The Language, 2nd Edition", Guy L. Steele, Digital Press 1990, ISBN 1-55558-041-6]. (1994-09-29)
Common LISP in Parallel ::: (CLIP) A version of Common LISP from Allegro for the Sequent Symmetry. (1994-12-12)
Common LISP in Parallel "language, parallel" (CLIP) A version of {Common LISP} from {Allegro} for the {Sequent Symmetry}. (1994-12-12)
Common LISP Object System ::: (CLOS) An object-oriented extension to Common LISP, based on generic functions, multiple inheritance, declarative method combination and a meta-object protocol. A descendant of CommonLoops and based on Symbolics FLAVORS and Xerox LOOPS, among others.See also PCL.[Common LISP Object System Specification X3J13 Document 88-002R, D.G. Bobrow et al, SIGPLAN Notices 23 (Sep 1988)]. (1994-11-30)
Common LISP Object System "language" (CLOS) An {object-oriented} extension to {Common LISP}, based on {generic functions}, {multiple inheritance}, {declarative method combination} and a {meta-object protocol}. A descendant of {CommonLoops} and based on {Symbolics} {FLAVORS} and {Xerox} {LOOPS}, among others. See also {PCL}. ["Common LISP Object System Specification X3J13 Document 88-002R", D.G. Bobrow et al, SIGPLAN Notices 23, Sep 1988]. (1994-11-30)
CommonLoops "language" {Xerox}'s {object-oriented} {Lisp} which led to {CLOS}. See also {Portable CommonLoops}. {(ftp://arisia.xerox.com/pub/pcl/September-16-92-PCL-c.tar.Z)}. ["CommonLoops: Merging Lisp and Object-Oriented Programming", D.G. Bobrow et al, SIGPLAN Notices 21(11):17-29, Nov 1986]. (1999-07-02)
CommonLoops ::: Xerox's object-oriented Lisp which led to CLOS.See also Portable CommonLoops. .[CommonLoops: Merging Lisp and Object-Oriented Programming, D.G. Bobrow et al, SIGPLAN Notices 21(11):17-29 (Nov 1986)]. (1999-07-02)
Common Object Request Broker Architecture "standard, programming" (CORBA) An {Object Management Group} specification which provides a standard messaging interface between distributed {objects}. The original CORBA specification (1.1) has been revised through version 2 (CORBA 2) with the latest specification being version 3 (CORBA 3). In its most basic form CORBA consists of the {Interface Definition Language} (IDL) and the Dynamic Invocation Interface (DII). The IDL definition is complied into a Stub (client) and Skeleton (server) component that communicate through an {Object Request Broker} (ORB). When an ORB determines that a request is to a remote object, it may execute the request by communicating with the remote ORB. The Corba IDL can be mapped to a number of languages including {C}, {C++}, {Java}, {COBOL}, {Smalltalk}, {Ada}, {Lisp}, {Python}, and {IDLscript}. CORBA ORBs are widely available for a number of platforms. The OMG standard for inter-ORB communication is {IIOP}, this ensures that all CORBA 2 compliant ORBS are able to interoperate. See also {COSS}, {Component Object Model}, {RMI}. {OMG CORBA specs (http://www.omg.org/technology/documents/corba_spec_catalog.htm)}. (2007-09-04)
Common Object Request Broker Architecture ::: (standard, programming) (CORBA) An Object Management Group specification which provides a standard messaging interface between distributed objects.The original CORBA specification (1.1) has been revised through version 2 (CORBA 2) with the latest specification being version 3 (CORBA 3). In its most basic form CORBA consists of the Interface Definition Language (IDL) and the Dynamic Invocation Interface (DII).The IDL definition is complied into a Stub (client) and Skeleton (server) component that communicate through an Object Request Broker (ORB). When an ORB determines that a request is to a remote object, it may execute the request by communicating with the remote ORB.The Corba IDL can be mapped to a number of languages including C, C++, Java, COBOL, Smalltalk, Ada, Lisp, Python, and IDLscript. CORBA ORBs are widely communication is IIOP, this ensures that all CORBA 2 compliant ORBS are able to interoperate.See also COSS, Component Object Model, RMI. .(2003-11-21)
Common Objects ::: An object-oriented Lisp from Hewlett-Packard.[Inheritance and the Development of Encapsulated Software Components, A. Snyder, Proc 20th Hawaii Conf on Sys Sci, pp. 227-238 (1987)]. (1995-01-18)
Common Objects "language" An {object-oriented} {Lisp} from {Hewlett-Packard}. ["Inheritance and the Development of Encapsulated Software Components", A. Snyder, Proc 20th Hawaii Conf on Sys Sci, pp. 227-238, 1987]. (1995-01-18)
Concurrent LISP ::: [A Multi-Processor System for Concurrent Lisp, S. Sugimoto et al, Proc 1983 Intl Conf parallel Proc, 1983 pp.135-143].
Concurrent LISP "language" A {concurrent} version of {Lisp}. Sugimoto et al implemented an {interpreter} on a "large scale computer" and were planning to implement it on multiple {microprocessors}. ["A Multi-Processor System for Concurrent Lisp", S. Sugimoto et al, Proc 1983 Intl Conf parallel Proc, 1983 pp.135-143]. (2013-10-18)
Concurrent Scheme ::: A parallel Lisp, for the Mayfly by M. Swanson swanson% .[Concurrent Scheme, R.R. Kessler et al, in Parallel Lisp: Languages and Systems, T. Ito et al eds, LNCS 441, Springer 1989]. (1994-11-30)
Concurrent Scheme "language" A parallel {Lisp}, for the {Mayfly} by M. Swanson "swanson%teewinot@cs.utah.edu". ["Concurrent Scheme", R.R. Kessler et al, in Parallel Lisp: Languages and Systems, T. Ito et al eds, LNCS 441, Springer 1989]. (1994-11-30)
Connection Machine LISP "language" {Lisp} with a parallel data structure, the 'xapping', an array of values assigned to an {array} of sites. [G.L. Steele et al, "Connection Machine LISP: Fine-Grained Parallel Symbolic Processing", in Proc 1986 ACM Conf on LISP and Functional Prog, Aug 1986, pp.279-297]. ["Connection Machine LISP Reference Manual", Thinking Machines Corp, Feb 1987]. (1995-02-28)
Connection Machine LISP ::: (language) Lisp with a parallel data structure, the 'xapping', an array of values assigned to an array of sites.[G.L. Steele et al, Connection Machine LISP: Fine-Grained Parallel Symbolic Processing, in Proc 1986 ACM Conf on LISP and Functional Prog, Aug 1986, pp.279-297].[Connection Machine LISP Reference Manual, Thinking Machines Corp, Feb 1987]. (1995-02-28)
cons cell "programming" /konz sel/ or /kons sel/ A {Lisp} {pair} object containing any two objects. In {Lisp}, "cons" (short for "construct") is the fundamental operation for building structures such as {lists} and other {binary trees}. The application of "cons" to objects H and T is written (cons H T) and returns a pair object known as a "cons", "cons cell" or {dotted pair}. Typically, a cons would be stored in memory as a two consecutive {pointers}. The two objects in a cons, and the functions to extract them, are called "car" and "cdr" after two 15-bit fields of the {machine code} {instruction} format of the {IBM 7090} that hosted the original LISP implementation. These fields were called the "address" and "decrement" parts so "car" stood for "Contents of Address part of Register" and "cdr" for "Contents of Decrement part of Register". In the typical case where the cons holds one node of a {list} structure, the car is the {head} of the list (first element) and the cdr is the {tail} of the list (the rest). If the list had only one element then the tail would be an empty list, represented by the cdr containing the special value "nil". To aid in working with nested structures such as lists of lists, Lisp provides functions to access the car of the car ("caar"), the car of the cdr ("cadr"), the cdr of the car ("cdar") and the cdr of the cdr ("cddr"). (2014-11-09)
cons "programming" The {Lisp} {function} that creates a {cons cell}. (2014-11-09)
ConstraintLisp "language" An {object-oriented} {constraint} language based on {CSP}. An extension of {Common Lisp} and {CLOS}. ["ConstraintLisp: An Object-Oriented Constraint Programming Language", Bing Liu (ex bing@iti.gov.sg) et al, SIGPLAN Notices 27(11):17-26, Nov 1992]. (2000-04-02)
ConstraintLisp ::: (language) An object-oriented constraint language based on CSP. An extension of Common Lisp and CLOS.[ConstraintLisp: An Object-Oriented Constraint Programming Language, Bing Liu (ex ) et al, SIGPLAN Notices 27(11):17-26, Nov 1992].(2000-04-02)
Consul "language" A {constraint}-based {declarative language} based on {axiomatic set theory} and designed for {parallel} execution on {MIMD} architectures. Consul's fundamental {data type} is the {set} and its fundamental {operators} are the {logical connectives} ("and", "or", "not") and {quantifiers} ("forall", "exists"). It is written in {Lisp}-like {syntax}, e.g., (plus x y z) which means the relation x = y+z (not an {assignment statement}). {["Design of the CONSUL Programming Language", D. Baldwin, C. A. Quiroz Gonzalez, University of Rochester. Computer Science Department, TR208, 1987 Feb (http://hdl.handle.net/1802/6372)]} {["Consul: A Parallel Constraint Language", D. Baldwin, IEEE Software 6(4):62-71, 1989 July (http://dx.doi.org/10.1109/52.31653)]} (2014-10-04)
Consul ::: (language) A constraint-based [future-based?] language with Lisp-like syntax.[Consul: A Parallel Constraint Language, D. Baldwin, IEEE Software 6(4):62-71]. (1994-11-30)
Contents of Address part of Register "programming" (car) /kar/ The left-hand element of a {Lisp} {cons cell}. (2014-11-09)
Contents of Decrement part of Register "programming" (cdr) /ku'dr/ or /kuh'dr/ The right-hand element of a {Lisp} {cons cell}. (2014-11-09)
Conversational LISP "language" ({CLISP}) A mixed English-like, {ALGOL}-like surface {syntax} for {Interlisp}. ["CLISP: Conversational LISP", W. Teitelman, in Proc Third Intl Joint Conf on AI, Stanford, Aug 1973, pp. 686-690]. (1994-11-01)
Conversational LISP ::: (language) (CLISP) A mixed English-like, ALGOL-like surface syntax for Interlisp.[CLISP: Conversational LISP, W. Teitelman, in Proc Third Intl Joint Conf on AI, Stanford, Aug 1973, pp.686-690]. (1994-11-01)
CONVERT ::: 1. String processing language, combined the pattern matching and transformation operations of COMIT with the recursive data structures of Lisp. Convert, A. Guzman et al, CACM 9(8):604-615 (Aug 1966).2. Early language to convert programs and data from one language to another. CONVERT Manual, OLI Systems Inc (Oct 1976).
CONVERT "language" 1. (Or "REC", "Regular Expression Converter") A {string processing} language that combined the {pattern matching} and transformation operations of {COMIT} with the {recursive data structures} of {Lisp}. ["Convert", A. Guzman et al, CACM 9(8):604-615, Aug 1966]. 2. An early language to convert programs and data from one language to another. ["CONVERT Manual", OLI Systems Inc, Oct 1976]. (2007-02-05)
COOL 1. {Concurrent Object-Oriented Language}. 2. CLIPS Object-Oriented Language? 3. A C++ class library developed at {Texas Instruments} that defines {containers} like {Vectors}, {List}, {Hash_Table}, etc. It uses a shallow hierarchy with no common {base class}. The functionality is close to {Common Lisp} data structures (like {libg++}). The {template} {syntax} is very close to {Cfront} 3.x and {g++} 2.x. JCOOL's main difference from COOL and GECOOL is that it uses real C++ templates instead of a similar syntax that is preprocessed by a special 'cpp' distributed with COOL and GECOOL. {(ftp://csc.ti.com/pub/COOL.tar.Z)}. GECOOL, JCOOL: {(ftp://cs.utexas.edu/pub/COOL/)}. E-mail: Van-Duc Nguyen "nguyen@crd.ge.com" (1992-08-05)
COWSEL ::: COntrolled Working SpacE Language. Burstall and Popplestone, U Edinburgh, 1964-66. LISP-like semantics with FORTH-like stack, and reverse Polish syntax. Forerunner of POP. EPU-R-12, U Edinburgh (Apr 1966).
COWSEL COntrolled Working SpacE Language. Burstall and Popplestone, U Edinburgh, 1964-66. LISP-like semantics with FORTH-like stack, and reverse Polish syntax. Forerunner of POP. EPU-R-12, U Edinburgh (Apr 1966).
CRISP ::: A Lisp-like language and compiler for the IBM 370 written by Jeff Barnett of SDC, Santa Monica, CA, USA in the early 1970s. It generalised Lisp's two-part cons nodes to n-part nodes. (1994-11-10)
CRISP A {Lisp}-like language and {compiler} for the {IBM 370} written by Jeff Barnett of SDC, Santa Monica, CA, USA in the early 1970s. It generalised {Lisp}'s two-part {cons nodes} to n-part nodes. (1994-11-10)
CRL ::: Carnegie Representation Language.Carnegie Group, Inc. Frame language derived from SRL. Written in Common LISP. Used in the product Knowledge Craft.
CRL Carnegie Representation Language. {Carnegie Group, Inc.} Frame language derived from SRL. Written in Common LISP. Used in the product Knowledge Craft.
DCL ::: 1. DIGITAL Command Language. The interactive command and scripting language for VAX/VMS.2. Delphi Common LISP. An implementation of Common LISP that has been used as a basis for CLOS.
DCL 1. DIGITAL Command Language. The interactive command and scripting language for VAX/VMS. 2. Delphi Common LISP. An implementation of Common LISP that has been used as a basis for CLOS.
dotted pair "programming" The usual {LISP} syntax for representing a {cons cell} that is not a {list}. For example, the expression (cons 'foo 42) returns a cons cell that is output as (foo . 42) which represents a cons cell whose {car} is the {symbol} "foo" and whose {cdr} is the {integer} 42. (2014-11-09)
DPB ::: /d*-pib'/ The PDP-10 instruction DePosit Byte that inserts some bits into the middle of some other bits. Hackish usage has been kept alive by the Common LISP function of the same name.[Jargon File] (1994-12-07)
DPB /d*-pib'/ The {PDP-10} instruction "DePosit Byte" that inserts some bits into the middle of some other bits. Hackish usage has been kept alive by the {Common LISP} function of the same name. [{Jargon File}] (1994-12-07)
DWIM ::: /dwim/ [acronym, Do What I Mean (not what I say)] 1. Able to guess, sometimes even correctly, the result intended when bogus input was provided.2. The BBNLISP/INTERLISP function that attempted to accomplish this feat by correcting many of the more common errors. See hairy.3. Occasionally, an interjection hurled at a balky computer, especially when one senses one might be tripping over legalisms (see legalese).Warren Teitelman originally wrote DWIM to fix his typos and spelling errors, so it was somewhat idiosyncratic to his style, and would often make hash of anyone else's typos if they were stylistically different. Some victims of DWIM thus claimed that the acronym stood for Damn Warren's Infernal Machine!'.In one notorious incident, Warren added a DWIM feature to the command interpreter used at Xerox PARC. One day another hacker there typed delete *$ managed to stop it with a Vulcan nerve pinch after only a half dozen or so files were lost.The disgruntled victim later said he had been sorely tempted to go to Warren's office, tie Warren down in his chair in front of his workstation, and then type delete *$ twice.DWIM is often suggested in jest as a desired feature for a complex program; it is also occasionally described as the single instruction the ideal computer also jokes about DWIMC (Do What I Mean, Correctly). A related term, more often seen as a verb, is DTRT (Do The Right Thing); see Right Thing.[Jargon File]
DWIM /dwim/ [acronym, "Do What I Mean" (not what I say)] 1. Able to guess, sometimes even correctly, the result intended when bogus input was provided. 2. The BBNLISP/INTERLISP function that attempted to accomplish this feat by correcting many of the more common errors. See {hairy}. 3. Occasionally, an interjection hurled at a balky computer, especially when one senses one might be tripping over legalisms (see {legalese}). Warren Teitelman originally wrote DWIM to fix his typos and spelling errors, so it was somewhat idiosyncratic to his style, and would often make hash of anyone else's typos if they were stylistically different. Some victims of DWIM thus claimed that the acronym stood for "Damn Warren's Infernal Machine!'. In one notorious incident, Warren added a DWIM feature to the command interpreter used at {Xerox PARC}. One day another hacker there typed "delete *$" to free up some disk space. (The editor there named backup files by appending "$" to the original file name, so he was trying to delete any backup files left over from old editing sessions.) It happened that there weren't any editor backup files, so DWIM helpfully reported "*$ not found, assuming you meant 'delete *'". It then started to delete all the files on the disk! The hacker managed to stop it with a {Vulcan nerve pinch} after only a half dozen or so files were lost. The disgruntled victim later said he had been sorely tempted to go to Warren's office, tie Warren down in his chair in front of his workstation, and then type "delete *$" twice. DWIM is often suggested in jest as a desired feature for a complex program; it is also occasionally described as the single instruction the ideal computer would have. Back when proofs of program correctness were in vogue, there were also jokes about "DWIMC" (Do What I Mean, Correctly). A related term, more often seen as a verb, is DTRT (Do The Right Thing); see {Right Thing}. [{Jargon File}]
DYnamic LANguage "language" (Dylan) A simple {object-oriented} {Lisp} dialect, most closely resembling {CLOS} and {Scheme}, developed by Advanced Technology Group East at {Apple Computer}. {Thomas} is a Dylan {compiler} implemented in {Scheme}. See also {Marlais}. ["Dylan(TM) an Object-Oriented Dynamic Language", {Apple Computer}, Eastern Research and Technology, April 1992]. (1995-04-19)
DYnamic LANguage ::: (language) (Dylan) A simple object-oriented Lisp dialect, most closely resembling CLOS and Scheme, developed by Advanced Technology Group East at Apple Computer.Thomas is a Dylan compiler implemented in Scheme.See also Marlais.[Dylan(TM) an Object-Oriented Dynamic Language, Apple Computer, Eastern Research and Technology, April 1992]. (1995-04-19)
dynamic scope "language" In a dynamically scoped language, e.g. most versions of {Lisp}, an {identifier} can be referred to, not only in the block where it is declared, but also in any function or procedure called from within that block, even if the called procedure is declared outside the block. This can be implemented as a simple stack of (identifier, value) pairs, accessed by searching down from the top of stack for the most recent instance of a given identifier. The opposite is {lexical scope}. A common implementation of dynamic scope is {shallow binding}. (1996-07-11)
dynamic scope ::: (language) In a dynamically scoped language, e.g. most versions of Lisp, an identifier can be referred to, not only in the block where it is declared, but also in any function or procedure called from within that block, even if the called procedure is declared outside the block.This can be implemented as a simple stack of (identifier, value) pairs, accessed by searching down from the top of stack for the most recent instance of a given identifier.The opposite is lexical scope. A common implementation of dynamic scope is shallow binding. (1996-07-11)
EDIF ::: Electronic Design Interchange Format.Not a programming language, but a format to simplify data transfer between CAD/CAE systems. LISP-like syntax. See also Berkeley EDIF200.E-mail: .[Designer's Guide to EDIF, E. Marx et al, EDN 1987.EDIF Electronic Design Interchange Format Version 200, ANSI/EIA Standard 548]. (1995-03-10)
EDIF Electronic Design Interchange Format. Not a programming language, but a format to simplify data transfer between CAD/CAE systems. LISP-like syntax. See also {Berkeley EDIF200}. E-mail: "edif-support@cs.man.ac.uk" {(ftp://edif.cs.man.ac.uk/pub/edif)}. ["Designer's Guide to EDIF", E. Marx et al, EDN 1987."EDIF Electronic Design Interchange Format Version 200", ANSI/EIA Standard 548]. (1995-03-10)
EHTS ::: Emacs HyperText System.An experimental multi-user hypertext system from the University of Aalborg. It consists of a text editor (based on Epoch and GNU Emacs and written in elisp) and a graphical browser (based on XView and written in C) running under the X Window System and OpenWindows. Both tools use HyperBase as their database. (1995-01-05)
EHTS Emacs HyperText System. An experimental multi-user {hypertext} system from the {University of Aalborg}. It consists of a text editor (based on {Epoch} and {GNU Emacs} and written in {elisp}) and a graphical {browser} (based on {XView} and written in {C}) running under the {X Window System} and {OpenWindows}. Both tools use {HyperBase} as their {database}. (1995-01-05)
EL1 Extensible Language One. An extensible language by B. Wegbreit of Harvard ca 1974. EL1 is internally somewhat {Lisp}-like, but fully typed with {records} and pointers. The external {syntax} is {ALGOL}-like and extensible, supporting user-defined {data structures}, control structures and operations. The {parser} is table-driven, with a modifiable set of productions. Used as the basis for the {ECL} {operating system}. ["Studies in Extensible Programming Languages", B. Wegbreit, Garland. Pub 1980].
EL1 ::: Extensible Language One. An extensible language by B. Wegbreit of Harvard ca 1974. EL1 is internally somewhat Lisp-like, but fully typed with records and table-driven, with a modifiable set of productions. Used as the basis for the ECL operating system.[Studies in Extensible Programming Languages, B. Wegbreit, Garland. Pub 1980].
ELI ::: 1. (language) An early system on the IBM 705 and IBM 650.[Listed in CACM 2(5):16 (May 1959)].2. Embedded Lisp Interpreter.
ELI 1. "language" An early system on the {IBM 705} and {IBM 650}. [Listed in CACM 2(5):16 (May 1959)]. 2. {Embedded Lisp Interpreter}.
ELISP ::: 1. (language) A Lisp variant originally implemented for DEC-20s by Chuck Hedrick of Rutgers.2. (language) A common abbreviation for Emacs Lisp. Use of this abbreviation is discouraged because Elisp is or was a trademark.[Still a trademark? Whose?] (1995-04-04)
ELISP 1. "language" A {Lisp} variant originally implemented for {DEC-20s} by Chuck Hedrick of Rutgers. 2. "language" A common abbreviation for {Emacs Lisp}. Use of this abbreviation is discouraged because "Elisp" is or was a trademark. [Still a trademark? Whose?] (1995-04-04)
ELLIS ::: EuLisp LInda System. An object-oriented Linda system written for EuLisp. Using Object-Oriented Mechanisms to Describe Linda, P. Broadbery et al, in Linda-Like Systems and Their Implementation, G. Wilson ed, U Edinburgh TR 91-13, 1991.
ELLIS EuLisp LInda System. An object-oriented Linda system written for EuLisp. "Using Object-Oriented Mechanisms to Describe Linda", P. Broadbery "pab@maths.bath.ac.uk" et al, in Linda-Like Systems and Their Implementation, G. Wilson ed, U Edinburgh TR 91-13, 1991.
Emacs Lisp "language" A dialect of {Lisp} used to implement the higher layers of the {Free Software Foundation}'s editor, {GNU} {Emacs}. Sometimes abbreviated to "{elisp}". An enormous number of Emacs Lisp packages have been written including modes for editing many programming languages and interfaces to many {Unix} programs.
Emacs Lisp ::: (language) A dialect of Lisp used to implement the higher layers of the Free Software Foundation's editor, GNU Emacs. Sometimes abbreviated to elisp. An enormous number of Emacs Lisp packages have been written including modes for editing many programming languages and interfaces to many Unix programs.
Emacs ::: (text, tool) /ee'maks/ (Editing MACroS, or Extensible MACro System, GNU Emacs) A popular screen editor for Unix and most other operating systems.Emacs is distributed by the Free Software Foundation and was Richard Stallman's first step in the GNU project. Emacs is extensible - it is easy to add new display. Emacs is writen in C and the higher levels are programmed in Emacs Lisp.Emacs has an entire Lisp system inside it. It was originally written in TECO under ITS at the MIT AI lab. AI Memo 554 described it as an advanced, self-documenting, customisable, extensible real-time display editor.It includes facilities to view directories, run compilation subprocesses and send and receive electronic mail and Usenet news (GNUS). W3 is a web browser, reducing start-up time and memory consumption. Many hackers (including Denis Howe) spend more than 80% of their tube time inside Emacs.GNU Emacs is available for Unix, VMS, GNU/Linux, FreeBSD, NetBSD, OpenBSD, MS Windows, MS-DOS, and other systems. Emacs has been re-implemented more than 30 times. Other variants include GOSMACS, CCA Emacs, UniPress Emacs, Montgomery Emacs, and XEmacs. Jove, epsilon, and MicroEmacs are limited look-alikes.Some Emacs versions running under window managers iconify as an overflowing kitchen sink, perhaps to suggest the one feature the editor does not (yet) Storage, and Emacs Makes A Computer Slow (see recursive acronym). See also vi.Latest version: 20.6, as of 2000-05-11. 21.1 (RSN) adds a new redisplay engine with support for proportional text, images, toolbars, tool tips, toolkit scroll bars, and a mouse-sensitive mode line.FTP from your nearest GNU archive site.E-mail: (bug reports only) .Usenet newsgroups: gnu.emacs.help, gnu.emacs.bug, alt.religion.emacs, gnu.emacs.sources, gnu.emacs.announce.[Jargon File] (1997-02-04)
Emacs "text, tool" /ee'maks/ (Editing MACroS, or Extensible MACro System, GNU Emacs) A popular {screen editor} for {Unix} and most other {operating systems}. Emacs is distributed by the {Free Software Foundation} and was {Richard Stallman}'s first step in the {GNU} project. Emacs is extensible - it is easy to add new functions; customisable - you can rebind keys, and modify the behaviour of existing functions; self-documenting - there is extensive on-line, context-sensitive help; and has a real-time "what you see is what you get" display. Emacs is writen in {C} and the higher levels are programmed in {Emacs Lisp}. Emacs has an entire {Lisp} system inside it. It was originally written in {TECO} under {ITS} at the {MIT} {AI lab}. AI Memo 554 described it as "an advanced, self-documenting, customisable, extensible real-time display editor". It includes facilities to view directories, run compilation subprocesses and send and receive {electronic mail} and {Usenet} {news} ({GNUS}). {W3} is a {web browser}, the ange-ftp package provides transparent access to files on remote {FTP} {servers}. {Calc} is a calculator and {symbolic mathematics} package. There are "modes" provided to assist in editing most well-known programming languages. Most of these extra functions are configured to load automatically on first use, reducing start-up time and memory consumption. Many hackers (including {Denis Howe}) spend more than 80% of their {tube time} inside Emacs. GNU Emacs is available for {Unix}, {VMS}, {GNU}/{Linux}, {FreeBSD}, {NetBSD}, {OpenBSD}, {MS Windows}, {MS-DOS}, and other systems. Emacs has been re-implemented more than 30 times. Other variants include {GOSMACS}, CCA Emacs, UniPress Emacs, Montgomery Emacs, and {XEmacs}. {Jove}, {epsilon}, and {MicroEmacs} are limited look-alikes. Some Emacs versions running under {window managers} iconify as an overflowing kitchen sink, perhaps to suggest the one feature the editor does not (yet) include. Indeed, some hackers find Emacs too {heavyweight} and {baroque} for their taste, and expand the name as "Escape Meta Alt Control Shift" to spoof its heavy reliance on keystrokes decorated with {bucky bits}. Other spoof expansions include "Eight Megabytes And Constantly Swapping", "Eventually "malloc()'s All Computer Storage", and "Emacs Makes A Computer Slow" (see {recursive acronym}). See also {vi}. Version 21.1 added a redisplay engine with support for {proportional text}, images, {toolbars}, {tool tips}, toolkit scroll bars and a mouse-sensitive mode line. {FTP} from your nearest {GNU archive site}. E-mail: (bug reports only) "bug-gnu-emacs@gnu.org". {Usenet} newsgroups: {news:gnu.emacs.help}, {news:gnu.emacs.bug}, {news:alt.religion.emacs}, {news:gnu.emacs.sources}, {news:gnu.emacs.announce}. [{Jargon File}] (1997-02-04)
Embedded Lisp Interpreter "language" (ELI) A small {Common Lisp}-like {interpreter} embedded in the {Andrew mail system}, written by Bob Glickstein at {CMU}. (2000-04-05)
Embedded Lisp Interpreter ::: (language) (ELI) A small Common Lisp-like interpreter embedded in the Andrew mail system, written by Bob Glickstein at CMU.(2000-04-05)
EPROS A specification/prototyping language. Implemented in {Franz Lisp}. {(ftp://utsun.s.u-tokyo.jp/lang/epros)}. ["Software Prototyping, Formal Methods and VDM", Sharam Hekmatpour et al, A-W 1988].
EPROS ::: A specification/prototyping language. Implemented in Franz Lisp. .[Software Prototyping, Formal Methods and VDM, Sharam Hekmatpour et al, A-W 1988].
EuLisp 1985-present. A {Lisp} dialect intended to be a common European {standard}, with influences from {Common LISP}, {Le LISP}, {Scheme} and {T}. {First-class functions}, {class}es and {continuations}, both {static scope} and {dynamic scope}, {modules}, support for {parallelism}. The class system ({TELOS}) incorporates ideas from {CLOS}, {ObjVLisp} and {Oaklisp}. See also {Feel}. E-mail: "eudist@maths.bath.ac.uk".
EuLisp ::: 1985-present. A Lisp dialect intended to be a common European standard, with influences from Common LISP, Le LISP, Scheme and T. First-class functions, for parallelism. The class system (TELOS) incorporates ideas from CLOS, ObjVLisp and Oaklisp.See also Feel.E-mail: .
exception handler ::: Special code which is called when an exception occurs during the execution of a program. If the programmer does not provide a handler for a given exception, a built-in system exception handler will usually be called resulting in abortion of the program run and some kind of error indication being returned to the user.Examples of exception handler mechanisms are Unix's signal calls and Lisp's catch and throw. (1994-10-31)
exception handler Special code which is called when an {exception} occurs during the execution of a program. If the programmer does not provide a handler for a given exception, a built-in system exception handler will usually be called resulting in abortion of the program run and some kind of error indication being returned to the user. Examples of exception handler mechanisms are {Unix}'s signal calls and {Lisp}'s {catch} and {throw}. (1994-10-31)
eXperimental LISP "language" (xlisp) An experimental programming language combining a subset of {Common Lisp} with an {object-oriented} extension capability (Class and Object types). It was implemented by David Micheal Betz at Apple to allow experimentation with {object-oriented programming} on small computers. The {C} {source code} has been ported to {Unix}, {Microsoft Windows}, {Macintosh}, {Amiga}, {Atari}, and {MS-DOS}. Version 2.1 of the {interpreter}, by Tom Almy is closer to Common Lisp. {(ftp://wasp.eng.ufl.edu/)}, {(ftp://cs.orst.edu/)}, {(ftp://glia.biostr.washington.edu/)}. E-mail: Tom Almy "toma@sail.labs.tek.com". {Microsoft Windows version (ftp://ftp.cica.indiana.edu/util/wxlslib.zip)}. {Macintosh version (ftp://netcom.com/pub/bskendig/)}. {Usenet} newsgroup: {news:comp.lang.lisp.x}. (2000-08-14)
eXperimental LISP ::: (language) (xlisp) An experimental programming language combining a subset of Common Lisp with an object-oriented extension capability (Class and source code has been ported to Unix, Microsoft Windows, Macintosh, Amiga, Atari, and MS-DOS.Version 2.1 of the interpreter, by Tom Almy is closer to Common Lisp.Latest version: 2.1, as of 1992-05-26. , .E-mail: Tom Almy . . .Usenet newsgroup: comp.lang.lisp.x.(2000-08-14)
expression ::: (programming) Any piece of program code in a high-level language which, when (if) its execution terminates, returns a value. In most programming Languages differ on how expressions of different types may be combined - with some combination of explicit casts and implicit coercions.The syntax of expressions generally follows conventional mathematical notation, though some languages such as Lisp or Forth have their own idiosyncratic syntax.(2001-05-14)
expression "programming" Any piece of program code in a {high-level language} which, when (if) its execution terminates, returns a value. In most programming languages, expressions consist of constants, variables, operators, functions, and {parentheses}. The operators and functions may be built-in or user defined. Languages differ on how expressions of different {types} may be combined - with some combination of explicit {casts} and implicit {coercions}. The {syntax} of expressions generally follows conventional mathematical notation, though some languages such as {Lisp} or {Forth} have their own idiosyncratic syntax. (2001-05-14)
feature ::: (jargon) 1. A good property or behaviour (as of a program). Whether it was intended or not is immaterial.2. An intended property or behaviour (as of a program). Whether it is good or not is immaterial (but if bad, it is also a misfeature).3. A surprising property or behaviour; in particular, one that is purposely inconsistent because it works better that way - such an inconsistency is therefore a feature and not a bug. This kind of feature is sometimes called a miswart.4. A property or behaviour that is gratuitous or unnecessary, though perhaps also impressive or cute. For example, one feature of Common LISP's format function is the ability to print numbers in two different Roman-numeral formats (see bells, whistles, and gongs).5. A property or behaviour that was put in to help someone else but that happens to be in your way.6. A bug that has been documented. To call something a feature sometimes means the author of the program did not consider the particular case, and that the is a common catch-phrase. Apparently there is a Volkswagen Beetle in San Francisco whose license plate reads FEATURE.See also feetch feetch, creeping featurism, wart, green lightning.The relationship among bugs, features, misfeatures, warts and miswarts might be clarified by the following hypothetical exchange between two hackers on an airliner:A: This seat doesn't recline.B: That's not a bug, that's a feature. There is an emergency exit door built around the window behind you, and the route has to be kept clear.A: Oh. Then it's a misfeature; they should have increased the spacing between rows here.B: Yes. But if they'd increased spacing in only one section it would have been a wart - they would've had to make nonstandard-length ceiling panels to fit over the displaced seats.A: A miswart, actually. If they increased spacing throughout they'd lose several rows and a chunk out of the profit margin. So unequal spacing would actually be the Right Thing.B: Indeed.Undocumented feature is a common euphemism for a bug.7. An attribute or function of a class in Eiffel.[Jargon File] (1995-10-22)
feature "jargon" 1. A good property or behaviour (as of a program). Whether it was intended or not is immaterial. 2. An intended property or behaviour (as of a program). Whether it is good or not is immaterial (but if bad, it is also a {misfeature}). 3. A surprising property or behaviour; in particular, one that is purposely inconsistent because it works better that way - such an inconsistency is therefore a {feature} and not a {bug}. This kind of feature is sometimes called a {miswart}. 4. A property or behaviour that is gratuitous or unnecessary, though perhaps also impressive or cute. For example, one feature of {Common LISP}'s "format" function is the ability to print numbers in two different Roman-numeral formats (see {bells, whistles, and gongs}). 5. A property or behaviour that was put in to help someone else but that happens to be in your way. 6. A bug that has been documented. To call something a feature sometimes means the author of the program did not consider the particular case, and that the program responded in a way that was unexpected but not strictly incorrect. A standard joke is that a bug can be turned into a {feature} simply by documenting it (then theoretically no one can complain about it because it's in the manual), or even by simply declaring it to be good. "That's not a bug, that's a feature!" is a common catch-phrase. Apparently there is a Volkswagen Beetle in San Francisco whose license plate reads "FEATURE". See also {feetch feetch}, {creeping featurism}, {wart}, {green lightning}. The relationship among bugs, features, misfeatures, warts and miswarts might be clarified by the following hypothetical exchange between two hackers on an airliner: A: "This seat doesn't recline." B: "That's not a bug, that's a feature. There is an emergency exit door built around the window behind you, and the route has to be kept clear." A: "Oh. Then it's a misfeature; they should have increased the spacing between rows here." B: "Yes. But if they'd increased spacing in only one section it would have been a wart - they would've had to make nonstandard-length ceiling panels to fit over the displaced seats." A: "A miswart, actually. If they increased spacing throughout they'd lose several rows and a chunk out of the profit margin. So unequal spacing would actually be the Right Thing." B: "Indeed." "Undocumented feature" is a common euphemism for a {bug}. 7. An attribute or function of a {class} in {Eiffel}. [{Jargon File}] (1995-10-22)
Feel ::: (Free and Eventually Eulisp) An initial implementation of an EuLisp interpreter by Pete Broadberyfutures, Linda and CSP. Portable to most Unix systems. Can use shared memory and threads if available. . (1992-09-14)
Feel (Free and Eventually Eulisp) An initial implementation of an {EuLisp} {interpreter} by Pete Broadbery "pab@maths.bath.ac.uk". Version 0.75 features an integrated {object} system, {modules}, {parallelism}, interfaces to {PVM} library, {TCP/IP} {sockets}, {futures}, {Linda} and {CSP}. Portable to most {Unix} systems. Can use {shared memory} and {threads} if available. {(ftp://ftp.bath.ac.uk/pub/eulisp/)}. (1992-09-14)
fepped out ::: (jargon) /fept owt/ The Symbolics 3600 LISP Machine has a Front-End Processor (FEP). When the main processor gets wedged, the FEP takes control of the keyboard and screen. Such a machine is said to have fepped out or dropped into the fep.[Jargon File] (1994-12-01)
fepped out "jargon" /fept owt/ The {Symbolics 3600} {LISP Machine} has a {Front-End Processor} (FEP). When the main processor gets {wedged}, the FEP takes control of the keyboard and screen. Such a machine is said to have "fepped out" or "dropped into the fep". [{Jargon File}] (1994-12-01)
FGL ::: 1. Flow Graph Lisp. A distributed dataflow language for AMPS (Applicative Multi-Processing System). A Loosely-Coupled Applicative Multi-Processing System, R. Keller et al, NCC, AFIPS June 1979, pp.613- 622.2. Function Graph Language. Related to FEL.
FGL 1. Flow Graph Lisp. A distributed dataflow language for AMPS (Applicative Multi-Processing System). "A Loosely-Coupled Applicative Multi-Processing System", R. Keller et al, NCC, AFIPS June 1979, pp.613- 622. 2. Function Graph Language. Related to FEL.
Flavors ::: Lisp with object-oriented features by D. Weinreb and D.A. Moon , 1980.[Object-Oriented Programming with Flavors, D.A. Moon, SIGPLAN Notices 21(11):1-8 (OOPSLA '86) (Nov 1986)]. (1994-12-01)
Flavors "language" A {Lisp} variant for the {LISP Machine}, with {object-oriented} features, developed by D. Weinreb and D.A. Moon "moon@cambridge.apple.com" in 1980. "{Classes}" were called Flavors in the language. Though the Flavors design was superseded (notably by the {Common LISP} {CLOS} facility), the term "flavor" persisted as a general synonym for "class". ["Object-Oriented Programming with Flavors", D.A. Moon, SIGPLAN Notices 21(11):1-8 (OOPSLA '86), Nov 1986]. (1994-12-01)
flavour ::: (jargon) (US: flavor) 1. Variety, type, kind. DDT commands come in two flavors. These lights come in two flavors, big red ones and small green ones. See vanilla.2. The attribute that causes something to be flavourful. Usually used in the phrase yields additional flavour. This convention yields additional flavor by allowing one to print text either right-side-up or upside-down. See vanilla.This usage was certainly reinforced by the terminology of quantum chromodynamics, in which quarks (the constituents of, e.g. protons) come in six flavors (up, down, strange, charm, top, bottom) and three colours (red, blue, green), however, hackish use of flavor at MIT predated QCD.3. The term for class (in the object-oriented sense) in the LISP Machine Flavors system. Though the Flavors design has been superseded (notably by the Common LISP CLOS facility), the term flavor is still used as a general synonym for class by some Lisp hackers. (1994-11-01)
FLIP ::: 1. An early assembly language on the G-15.[Listed in CACM 2(5):16 (May 1959)].2. [FLIP User's Manual, G. Kahn, TR 5, INRIA 1981].3. Formal LIst Processor.An early language for pattern-matching on Lisp structures, similar to CONVERT.[FLIP, A Format List Processor, W. Teitelman, Memo MAC-M-263, MIT 1966]. (1995-01-31)
FLIP 1. An early {assembly language} on the {G-15}. [Listed in CACM 2(5):16 (May 1959)]. 2. ["FLIP User's Manual", G. Kahn, TR 5, INRIA 1981]. 3. Formal LIst Processor. An early language for {pattern-matching} on {Lisp} structures, similar to {CONVERT}. ["FLIP, A Format List Processor", W. Teitelman, Memo MAC-M-263, MIT 1966]. (1995-01-31)
FOOL ::: Fool's Lisp. A small Scheme interpreter. . (1994-10-04)
FOOL Fool's Lisp. A small {Scheme} {interpreter}. {(ftp://scam.berkeley.edu/src/local/fools.tar.Z)}. (1994-10-04)
Fools' Lisp A small {Scheme} {interpreter} by Jonathan Lee "jonathan@scam.berkeley.edu". Version 1.3.2 is R4RS conformant. It runs on {Sun-3}, {Sun-4}, {Decstation}, {VAX} ({Ultrix}), {Sequent}, {Apollo}. {(ftp://scam.berkeley.edu/src/local/fools.tar.Z)}. (1991-10-31)
Fools' Lisp ::: A small Scheme interpreter by Jonathan Lee . Version 1.3.2 is R4RS conformant. It runs on Sun-3, Sun-4, Decstation, VAX (Ultrix), Sequent, Apollo. . (1991-10-31)
Formes ::: (language, music) An object-oriented language for music composition and synthesis, written in VLISP.[Formes: Composition and Scheduling of Processes, X. Rodet & P. Cointe, Computer Music J 8(3):32-50 (Fall 1984)]. (1996-06-24)
Formes "language, music" An {object-oriented} language for music composition and synthesis, written in {VLISP}. ["Formes: Composition and Scheduling of Processes", X. Rodet & P. Cointe, Computer Music J 8(3):32-50 (Fall 1984)]. (1996-06-24)
Franz Lisp ::: (language) A MacLisp-like dialect of Lisp, developed primarily for work in symbolic algebra by R. Fateman et al at Ucb in about 1980. It was named after the Hungarian composer Franz Liszt (1811-1886). Franz Lisp was written in C and includes a compiler called Liszt.[The FRANZ LISP Manual, J.K. Foderaro et al. UC Berkeley 1980].Version: Opus 38.22. Liszt 8.08. .(2001-12-04)
Franz Lisp "language" A {MacLisp}-like dialect of {Lisp}, developed primarily for work in {symbolic algebra} by R. Fateman et al at {Ucb} in about 1980. It was named after the Hungarian composer Franz Liszt (1811-1886). Franz Lisp was written in {C} and includes a compiler called "{Liszt}". ["The FRANZ LISP Manual", J.K. Foderaro et al. UC Berkeley 1980]. Version: Opus 38.22. Liszt 8.08. {(ftp://ted.cs.uidaho.edu/pub/hol/franz.tar.Z)}. (2001-12-04)
Frolic ::: A Prolog system in Common Lisp. . (1991-11-23)
Frolic A {Prolog} system in {Common Lisp}. {(ftp://ftp.cs.utah.edu/pub/frolic.tar.Z)}. (1991-11-23)
front-end processor ::: (FEP) 1. A small computer necessary to enable an IBM mainframe using SNA to communicate beyond the limits of the dinosaur pen.2. A small computer controlling the screen and keyboard of a Symbolics 3600 LISP Machine.
front-end processor (FEP) 1. A small computer necessary to enable an {IBM} {mainframe} using {SNA} to communicate beyond the limits of the {dinosaur pen}. 2. A small computer controlling the screen and keyboard of a {Symbolics 3600} {LISP Machine}.
Fugue "language, music" A music language implemented in {Xlisp}. ["Fugue: A Functional Language for Sound Synthesis", R.B. Dannenberg et al, Computer 24(7):36-41 (Jul 1991)]. (1994-12-01)
Fugue ::: (language, music) A music language implemented in Xlisp.[Fugue: A Functional Language for Sound Synthesis, R.B. Dannenberg et al, Computer 24(7):36-41 (Jul 1991)]. (1994-12-01)
functional programming "programming" (FP) A program in a functional language consists of a set of (possibly {recursive}) {function} definitions and an expression whose value is output as the program's result. Functional languages are one kind of {declarative language}. They are mostly based on the {typed lambda-calculus} with constants. There are no {side-effects} to expression evaluation so an expression, e.g. a function applied to certain arguments, will always evaluate to the same value (if its evaluation terminates). Furthermore, an expression can always be replaced by its value without changing the overall result ({referential transparency}). The order of evaluation of subexpressions is determined by the language's {evaluation strategy}. In a {strict} ({call-by-value}) language this will specify that arguments are evaluated before applying a function whereas in a non-strict ({call-by-name}) language arguments are passed unevaluated. Programs written in a functional language are generally compact and elegant, but have tended, until recently, to run slowly and require a lot of memory. Examples of purely functional languages are {Clean}, {FP}, {Haskell}, {Hope}, {Joy}, {LML}, {Miranda}, and {SML}. Many other languages such as {Lisp} have a subset which is purely functional but also contain non-functional constructs. See also {lazy evaluation}, {reduction}. {Lecture notes (ftp://ftp.cs.olemiss.edu/pub/tech-reports/umcis-1995-01.ps)}. or the same {in dvi-format (ftp://ftp.cs.olemiss.edu/pub/tech-reports/umcis-1995-01.dvi)}. {FAQ (http://cs.nott.ac.uk/Department/Staff/gmh/faq.html)}. {SEL-HPC Article Archive (http://lpac.ac.uk/SEL-HPC/Articles/)}. (2003-03-25)
functional programming ::: (programming) (FP) A program in a functional language consists of a set of (possibly recursive) function definitions and an expression whose value is replaced by its value without changing the overall result (referential transparency).The order of evaluation of subexpressions is determined by the language's evaluation strategy. In a strict (call-by-value) language this will specify that arguments are evaluated before applying a function whereas in a non-strict (call-by-name) language arguments are passed unevaluated.Programs written in a functional language are generally compact and elegant, but have tended, until recently, to run slowly and require a lot of memory.Examples of purely functional languages are Clean, FP, Haskell, Hope, Joy, LML, Miranda, and SML. Many other languages such as Lisp have a subset which is purely functional but also contain non-functional constructs.See also lazy evaluation, reduction. . . .(2003-03-25)
function application ::: A function applied to (some of) its arguments. If it is not applied to all its argument then it is a partial application. Application is usually written in functional languages use juxtaposition: f x. Lisp places the parentheses around the whole application: (f x).
function application A {function} applied to (some of) its {arguments}. If it is not applied to all its argument then it is a "{partial application}". Application is usually written in the form f(x) but some languages such as command-line interpreters and many {functional languages} use {juxtaposition}: f x. {Lisp} places the parentheses around the whole application: (f x).
Gambit "language" A variant of {Scheme} R3.99 supporting the {future} construct of {Multilisp} by Marc Feeley "feeley@iro.umontreal.ca". Implementation includes optimising compilers for {Macintosh} (with Toolbox and built-in editor) and {Motorola} {680x0} {Unix} systems and {HP300}, {BBN} {GP100} and {NeXT}. Version 2.0 conforms to the {IEEE} {Scheme} standard. Gambit used {PVM} as its intermediate language. {(ftp://acorn.cs.brandeis.edu/dist)}, {(ftp://ftp.cso.uiuc.edu/pub/amiga/fish/f7/ff764/Gambit_Terp)}. {(ftp://ftp.iro.umontreal.ca/pub/parallele/gambit/)}. Mailing list: gambit@trex.umontreal.ca. (1998-02-10)
Gambit ::: (language) A variant of Scheme R3.99 supporting the future construct of Multilisp by Marc Feeleyfor Macintosh (with Toolbox and built-in editor) and Motorola 680x0 Unix systems and HP300, BBN GP100 and NeXT. Version 2.0 conforms to the IEEE Scheme standard.Gambit used PVM as its intermediate language. , . .Mailing list: (1998-02-10)
garbage collection "programming" (GC) The process by which dynamically allocated storage is reclaimed during the execution of a program. The term usually refers to automatic periodic storage reclamation by the garbage collector (part of the {run-time system}), as opposed to explicit code to free specific blocks of memory. Automatic garbage collection is usually triggered during memory allocation when the amount free memory falls below some threshold or after a certain number of allocations. Normal execution is suspended and the garbage collector is run. There are many variations on this basic scheme. Languages like {Lisp} represent expressions as {graphs} built from {cells} which contain pointers and data. These languages use automatic {dynamic storage allocation} to build expressions. During the evaluation of an expression it is necessary to reclaim space which is used by subexpressions but which is no longer pointed to by anything. This reclaimed memory is returned to the free memory pool for subsequent reallocation. Without garbage collection the program's memory requirements would increase monotonically throughout execution, possibly exceeding system limits on {virtual memory} size. The three main methods are {mark-sweep garbage collection}, {reference counting} and {copying garbage collection}. See also the {AI koan} about garbage collection. (1997-08-25)
garbage collection ::: (programming) (GC) The process by which dynamically allocated storage is reclaimed during the execution of a program. The term usually refers to automatic periodic storage reclamation by the garbage collector (part of the run-time system), as opposed to explicit code to free specific blocks of memory.Automatic garbage collection is usually triggered during memory allocation when the amount free memory falls below some threshold or after a certain number of allocations. Normal execution is suspended and the garbage collector is run. There are many variations on this basic scheme.Languages like Lisp represent expressions as graphs built from cells which contain pointers and data. These languages use automatic dynamic storage longer pointed to by anything. This reclaimed memory is returned to the free memory pool for subsequent reallocation.Without garbage collection the program's memory requirements would increase monotonically throughout execution, possibly exceeding system limits on virtual memory size.The three main methods are mark-sweep garbage collection, reference counting and copying garbage collection.See also the AI koan about garbage collection. (1997-08-25)
Garnet ::: 1. A graphical object editor and Macintosh environment.2. A user interface development environment for Common Lisp and X11 from The Garnet project team. It helps you create graphical, interactive user interfaces.Version 2.2 includes the following: a custom object-oriented programming system which uses a prototype-instance model. automatic constraint maintenance allowing or graphs. Automatic generation of PostScript for printing. Support for large-scale applications and data visualisation.Also supplied are: two complete widget sets, one with a Motif look and feel implemented in Lisp and one with a custom look and feel. Interactive design widgets and for drawing application-specific objects. C32 spreadsheet system for specifying complex constraints.Not yet available: Jade automatic dialog box creation system. Marquise interactive tool for specifying behaviours. . (1999-07-02)
Garnet 1. A graphical object editor and {Macintosh} environment. 2. A user interface development environment for {Common Lisp} and {X11} from The Garnet project team. It helps you create graphical, interactive user interfaces. Version 2.2 includes the following: a custom {object-oriented programming} system which uses a {prototype-instance model}. automatic {constraint} maintenance allowing properties of objects to depend on properties of other objects and be automatically re-evaluated when the other objects change. The constraints can be arbitrary Lisp expressions. Built-in, high-level input event handling. Support for {gesture recognition}. {Widgets} for multi-font, multi-line, mouse-driven text editing. Optional automatic layout of application data into lists, tables, trees or graphs. Automatic generation of {PostScript} for printing. Support for large-scale applications and data {visualisation}. Also supplied are: two complete widget sets, one with a {Motif} {look and feel} implemented in {Lisp} and one with a custom {look and feel}. Interactive design tools for creating parts of the interface without writing code: Gilt interface builder for creating {dialog box}es. Lapidary interactive tool for creating new {widgets} and for drawing application-specific objects. C32 {spreadsheet} system for specifying complex {constraints}. Not yet available: Jade automatic dialog box creation system. Marquise interactive tool for specifying behaviours. {(ftp://a.gp.cs.cmu.edu/usr/garnet/garnet)}. (1999-07-02)
Generic Expert System Tool ::: (artificial intelligence) (GEST) An expert system shell for Symbolics Lisp machine, with frames, forward chaining, backward chaining and fuzzy logic; written by John Gilmore(?) at GA Tech.Current version: 4.0, as of 1995-04-16. . (1995-04-16)
Generic Expert System Tool "artificial intelligence" (GEST) An {expert system shell} for {Symbolics} {Lisp machine}, with {frames}, {forward chaining}, {backward chaining} and {fuzzy logic}; written by {John Gilmore}(?) at GA Tech. {(ftp://ftp.gatech.edu/pub/ai/gest.tar.Z)}. (1995-04-16)
gensym "library" /jen'sim/ (From the {MacLISP} for "generated symbol") To invent a new name for something temporary, in such a way that the name is almost certainly not in conflict with one already in use. The canonical form of a gensym is "Gnnnn" where nnnn represents a number; any {LISP} {hacker} would recognise G0093 (for example) as a gensym. Gensymmed names are useful for storing or uniquely identifying crufties. [{Jargon File}] (1999-10-31)
gensym ::: (library) /jen'sim/ (From the MacLISP for generated symbol) To invent a new name for something temporary, in such a way that the name is almost certainly not in conflict with one already in use.The canonical form of a gensym is Gnnnn where nnnn represents a number; any LISP hacker would recognise G0093 (for example) as a gensym. Gensymmed names are useful for storing or uniquely identifying crufties.[Jargon File] (1999-10-31)
GINA Generic Interactive Application. An {application framework} based on {Common Lisp} and {OSF}/{Motif}, designed to simplify the construction of graphical interactive applications. GINA consists of {CLM} - a language binding for {OSF}/{Motif} in {Common Lisp}; the GINA application framework - a {class library} in {CLOS}; the GINA interface builder - an interactive tool implemented with GINA to design {Motif} windows. Version 2.2 requires {OSF}/{Motif} 1.1 or better, {Common Lisp} with {CLX}, {CLOS}, {PCL} and processes. It runs with {Franz Allegro}, {Lucid}, {CMU CL} and {Symbolics} {Genera}. {Germany (ftp://ftp.gmd.de/gmd/gina)}. {N. America (ftp://export.lcs.mit.edu/contrib/)}. Mailing list: gina-users-request@gmdzi.gmd.de. (1994-11-02)
GINA ::: Generic Interactive Application. An application framework based on Common Lisp and OSF/Motif, designed to simplify the construction of graphical interactive applications.GINA consists of CLM - a language binding for OSF/Motif in Common Lisp; the GINA application framework - a class library in CLOS; the GINA interface builder - an interactive tool implemented with GINA to design Motif windows.Version 2.2 requires OSF/Motif 1.1 or better, Common Lisp with CLX, CLOS, PCL and processes. It runs with Franz Allegro, Lucid, CMU CL and Symbolics Genera. . Mailing list: (1994-11-02)
Glisp Generalized LISP. D.C. Smith, Aug 1990. A coordinated set of high-level syntaxes for Common LISP. Contains Mlisp, Plisp and ordinary LISP, with an extensible framework for adding others. Written in Plisp. {(ftp://bric-a-brac.apple.com/dts/mac/lisp)}.
Glisp ::: Generalized LISP. D.C. Smith, Aug 1990. A coordinated set of high-level syntaxes for Common LISP. Contains Mlisp, Plisp and ordinary LISP, with an extensible framework for adding others. Written in Plisp. .
Grim File Reaper "storage, operating system" (GFR) An {ITS} and {LISP Machine} utility to remove files according to some program-automated or semi-automatic manual procedure, especially one designed to reclaim mass storage space or reduce name-space clutter (the original GFR actually moved files to tape). See also {prowler}, {reaper}. Compare {GC}, which discards only provably worthless stuff. (1996-06-20)
Grim File Reaper ::: (storage, operating system) (GFR) An ITS and LISP Machine utility to remove files according to some program-automated or semi-automatic manual procedure, especially one designed to reclaim mass storage space or reduce name-space clutter (the original GFR actually moved files to tape).See also prowler, reaper. Compare GC, which discards only provably worthless stuff. (1996-06-20)
grind ::: 1. (MIT and Berkeley) To prettify hardcopy of code, especially LISP code, by reindenting lines, printing keywords and comments in distinct fonts (if available), etc. This usage was associated with the MacLISP community and is now rare; prettyprint was and is the generic term for such operations.2. (Unix) To generate the formatted version of a document from the nroff, troff, TeX, or Scribe source.3. To run seemingly interminably, especially (but not necessarily) if performing some tedious and inherently useless task. Similar to crunch or grovel. Grinding has a connotation of using a lot of CPU time, but it is possible to grind a disk, network, etc.See also hog.4. To make the whole system slow. Troff really grinds a PDP-11.5. grind grind excl. Roughly, Isn't the machine slow today![Jargon File] (1994-12-16)
grind 1. (MIT and Berkeley) To prettify hardcopy of code, especially LISP code, by reindenting lines, printing keywords and comments in distinct fonts (if available), etc. This usage was associated with the MacLISP community and is now rare; {prettyprint} was and is the generic term for such operations. 2. (Unix) To generate the formatted version of a document from the {nroff}, {troff}, {TeX}, or Scribe source. 3. To run seemingly interminably, especially (but not necessarily) if performing some tedious and inherently useless task. Similar to {crunch} or {grovel}. Grinding has a connotation of using a lot of CPU time, but it is possible to grind a disk, network, etc. See also {hog}. 4. To make the whole system slow. "Troff really grinds a PDP-11." 5. "grind grind" excl. Roughly, "Isn't the machine slow today!" [{Jargon File}] (1994-12-16)
Guy Lewis Steele, Jr. ::: (person) (GLS) A software engineer whose most notable contributions to the art of computing include the design of Scheme (in cooperation with Gerald (from WAITS to ITS). He wrote the book Common Lisp, which virtually defines the language.He was working at Sun Microsystems, Inc. from 1996 to the present (June 2001).(2001-06-14)
Guy Lewis Steele, Jr. "person" (GLS) A software engineer whose most notable contributions to the art of computing include the design of {Scheme} (in cooperation with {Gerald Sussman}) and the design of the original command set of {Emacs}. He is also known for his contribution to the {Jargon File} and for being the first to port {TeX} (from {WAITS} to {ITS}). He wrote the book "Common Lisp", which virtually defines the language. He was working at {Sun Microsystems, Inc.} from 1996 to the present (June 2001). (2001-06-14)
hack value Often adduced as the reason or motivation for expending effort toward a seemingly useless goal, the point being that the accomplished goal is a hack. For example, MacLISP had features for reading and printing Roman numerals, which were installed purely for hack value. See {display hack} for one method of computing hack value, but this cannot really be explained, only experienced. As Louis Armstrong once said when asked to explain jazz: "Man, if you gotta ask you'll never know." (Feminists please note Fats Waller's explanation of rhythm: "Lady, if you got to ask you ain't got it.")
hair [back-formation from {hairy}] The complications that make something hairy. "Decoding {TECO} commands requires a certain amount of hair." Often seen in the phrase "infinite hair", which connotes extreme complexity. Also in "hairiferous" (tending to promote hair growth): "GNUMACS elisp encourages {lusers} to write complex editing modes." "Yeah, it's pretty hairiferous all right." (Or just: "Hair squared!")
Haskell "language" (Named after the logician {Haskell Curry}) A {lazy} {purely functional} language largely derived from {Miranda} but with several extensions. Haskell was designed by a committee from the {functional programming} community in April 1990. It features static {polymorphic} typing, {higher-order functions}, user-defined {algebraic data types}, and {pattern-matching} {list comprehensions}. Innovations include a {class} system, systematic operator {overloading}, a {functional I/O} system, functional {arrays}, and {separate compilation}. Haskell 1.3 added many new features, including {monadic I/O}, standard libraries, {constructor classes}, {labeled fields} in datatypes, {strictness} {annotations}, an improved {module} system, and many changes to the Prelude. {Gofer} is a cut-down version of Haskell with some extra features. {Filename extension}: .hs, .lhs ({literate programming}). {(http://haskell.org/)}. ["Report on the Programming Language Haskell Version 1.1", Paul Hudak & P. Wadler eds, CS Depts, U Glasgow and Yale U., Aug 1991]. [Version 1.2: SIGPLAN Notices 27(5), Apr 1992]. {Haskell 1.3 Report (http://haskell.cs.yale.edu/haskell-report/haskell-report.html)}. Mailing list: "haskell-request@cs.yale.edu". Yale Haskell - Version 2.0.6, Haskell 1.2 built on {Common Lisp}. {(ftp://nebula.cs.yale.edu/pub/haskell/yale/)}. Glasgow Haskell (GHC) - Version 2.04 for {DEC Alpha}/{OSF}2; {HPPA1.1}/{HPUX}9,10; {SPARC}/{SunOs} 4, {Solaris} 2; {MIPS}/{Irix} 5,6; {Intel 80386}/{Linux},{Solaris} 2,{FreeBSD},{CygWin} 32; {PowerPC}/{AIX}. GHC generates {C} or {native code}. {(ftp://ftp.dcs.glasgow.ac.uk/pub/haskell/glasgow/)}. E-mail: "glasgow-haskell-request@dcs.glasgow.ac.uk". Haskell-B - Haskell 1.2 implemented in {LML}, generates {native code}. {(ftp://ftp.cs.chalmers.se/pub/haskell/chalmers/)}. E-mail: "hbc@cs.chalmers.se". (1997-06-06)
Haskell ::: (language) (Named after the logician Haskell Curry) A lazy purely functional language largely derived from Miranda but with several extensions. Innovations include a class system, systematic operator overloading, a functional I/O system, functional arrays, and separate compilation.Haskell 1.3 added many new features, including monadic I/O, standard libraries, constructor classes, labeled fields in datatypes, strictness annotations, an improved module system, and many changes to the Prelude.Gofer is a cut-down version of Haskell with some extra features.Filename extension: .hs, .lhs (literate programming). .[Report on the Programming Language Haskell Version 1.1, Paul Hudak & P. Wadler eds, CS Depts, U Glasgow and Yale U., Aug 1991].[Version 1.2: SIGPLAN Notices 27(5), Apr 1992]. .Mailing list: .Yale Haskell - Version 2.0.6, Haskell 1.2 built on Common Lisp. .Glasgow Haskell (GHC) - Version 2.04 for DEC Alpha/OSF2; HPPA1.1/HPUX9,10; SPARC/SunOs 4, Solaris 2; MIPS/Irix 5,6; Intel 80386/Linux,Solaris 2,FreeBSD,CygWin 32; PowerPC/AIX. GHC generates C or native code. .E-mail: .Haskell-B - Haskell 1.2 implemented in LML, generates native code. .E-mail: . (1997-06-06)
helispheric ::: a. --> Alt. of Helispherical
helispherical ::: a. --> Spiral.
HELP 1. "language, robotics" {DEA}. A Language for industrial robots. 2. (Help Est un Lisp Paresseux - Help Is a Lazy Lisp). A {lazy} version of {Scheme} with strictness {annotations}, by Thomas Schiex "schiex@europe.cert.fr".
HELP ::: 1. (language, robotics) DEA. A Language for industrial robots.2. (Help Est un Lisp Paresseux - Help Is a Lazy Lisp). A lazy version of Scheme with strictness annotations, by Thomas Schiex .
HLISP "Monocopy and Associative Algorithms in an Extended Lisp", E. Goto, U Tokyo May 1974.
HLISP ::: Monocopy and Associative Algorithms in an Extended Lisp, E. Goto, U Tokyo May 1974.
Hope "language" A {functional programming} language designed by R.M. Burstall, D.B. MacQueen and D.T. Sanella at {University of Edinburgh} in 1978. It is a large language supporting user-defined {prefix}, {infix} or {distfix} operators. Hope has {polymorphic} typing and allows {overloading} of operators which requires explicit type declarations. Hope has {lazy lists} and was the first language to use {call-by-pattern}. It has been ported to {Unix}, {Macintosh}, and {IBM PC}. See also {Hope+}, {Hope+C}, {Massey Hope}, {Concurrent Massey Hope}. {(ftp://brolga.cc.uq.oz.au/pub/hope)}. [R.M.Burstall, D.B.MacQueen, D.T.Sanella, "HOPE: An experimental applicative language", Proc. 1980 Lisp conf., Stanford, CA, p.136-143, Aug 1980]. ["A HOPE Tutorial", R. Bailey, BYTE Aug 1985, pp.235-258]. ["Functional Programming with Hope", R. Bailey, Ellis Horwood 1990]. (1992-11-27)
Hope ::: (language) A functional programming language designed by R.M. Burstall, D.B. MacQueen and D.T. Sanella at University of Edinburgh in 1978. It is a large type declarations. Hope has lazy lists and was the first language to use call-by-pattern.It has been ported to Unix, Macintosh, and IBM PC.See also Hope+, Hope+C, Massey Hope, Concurrent Massey Hope. .[R.M.Burstall, D.B.MacQueen, D.T.Sanella, HOPE: An experimental applicative language, Proc. 1980 Lisp conf., Stanford, CA, p.136-143, Aug 1980].[A HOPE Tutorial, R. Bailey, BYTE Aug 1985, pp.235-258].[Functional Programming with Hope, R. Bailey, Ellis Horwood 1990]. (1992-11-27)
ILISP ::: A somewhat LISP Machine-like interface to lisp listeners from Emacs.Version 5.0 Emacs interface by ? Ivan Vazquez . (128.197.54.25). E-mail: , (1993-06-28)
ILISP A somewhat {LISP Machine}-like interface to {lisp listeners} from {Emacs}. Version 5.0 Emacs interface by ? Ivan Vazquez "ivan@haldane.bu.edu". {(ftp://haldane.bu.edu/)} (128.197.54.25). E-mail: "ilisp-bug@darwin.bu.edu", "ilisp-bugs@darwin.bu.edu", "ilisp-request@darwin.bu.edu" (discussion). (1993-06-28)
InnovAda ::: An object-oriented extension to Ada, said to be Lisp-like. Implemented as an Ada preprocessor. (1994-11-03)[Where? Who? When?]
InnovAda An {object-oriented} extension to {Ada}, said to be {Lisp}-like. Implemented as an {Ada} {preprocessor}. (1994-11-03) [Where? Who? When?]
Interactive Data analysis Language "language" (IDL) A language from {Xerox}, built on {Interlisp-D}. (2004-05-07)
Interactive Data analysis Language ::: (language) (IDL) A language from Xerox, built on Interlisp-D.(2004-05-07)
Interlisp-10 An {Interlisp} with {shallow binding}.
Interlisp-10 ::: An Interlisp with shallow binding.
Interlisp-D ::: Xerox's Interlisp with deep binding.
Interlisp-D {Xerox}'s {Interlisp} with {deep binding}.
Interlisp "language" A dialect of {Lisp} developed in 1967 by {Bolt, Beranek and Newman} (Cambridge, MA) as a descendant of {BBN-Lisp}. It emphasises user interfaces. It is currently[?] supported by {Xerox PARC}. Interlisp was one of two main branches of LISP (the other being {MACLISP}). In 1981 {Common LISP} was begun in an effort to combine the best features of both. Interlisp includes a Lisp programming environment. It is {dynamically scoped}. LAMBDA functions evaluate their arguments, NLAMBDA functions do not. Any function could be called with optional arguments. See also {AM}, {CLISP}, {Interlisp-10}, {Interlisp-D}. ["Interlisp Programming Manual", W. Teitelman, TR, Xerox Rec Ctr 1975]. (2004-05-07)
Interlisp ::: (language) A dialect of Lisp developed in 1967 by Bolt, Beranek and Newman (Cambridge, MA) as a descendant of BBN-Lisp. It emphasises user interfaces. It is currently[?] supported by Xerox PARC.Interlisp was one of two main branches of LISP (the other being MACLISP). In 1981 Common LISP was begun in an effort to combine the best features of both. LAMBDA functions evaluate their arguments, NLAMBDA functions do not. Any function could be called with optional arguments.See also AM, CLISP, Interlisp-10, Interlisp-D.[Interlisp Programming Manual, W. Teitelman, TR, Xerox Rec Ctr 1975].(2004-05-07)
interpreter "programming" A program which executes other programs. This is in contrast to a {compiler} which does not execute its input program (the "{source code}") but translates it into executable "{machine code}" (also called "{object code}") which is output to a file for later execution. It may be possible to execute the same source code either directly by an interpreter or by compiling it and then executing the {machine code} produced. It takes longer to run a program under an interpreter than to run the compiled code but it can take less time to interpret it than the total required to compile and run it. This is especially important when prototyping and testing code when an edit-interpret-debug cycle can often be much shorter than an edit-compile-run-debug cycle. Interpreting code is slower than running the compiled code because the interpreter must analyse each statement in the program each time it is executed and then perform the desired action whereas the compiled code just performs the action. This run-time analysis is known as "interpretive overhead". Access to variables is also slower in an interpreter because the mapping of identifiers to storage locations must be done repeatedly at run time rather than at compile time. There are various compromises between the development speed when using an interpreter and the execution speed when using a compiler. Some systems (e.g. some {Lisps}) allow interpreted and compiled code to call each other and to share variables. This means that once a routine has been tested and debugged under the interpreter it can be compiled and thus benefit from faster execution while other routines are being developed. Many interpreters do not execute the source code as it stands but convert it into some more compact internal form. For example, some {BASIC} interpreters replace {keywords} with single byte tokens which can be used to {index} into a {jump table}. An interpreter might well use the same {lexical analyser} and {parser} as the compiler and then interpret the resulting {abstract syntax tree}. There is thus a spectrum of possibilities between interpreting and compiling, depending on the amount of analysis performed before the program is executed. For example {Emacs Lisp} is compiled to "{byte-code}" which is a highly compressed and optimised representation of the Lisp source but is not machine code (and therefore not tied to any particular hardware). This "compiled" code is then executed (interpreted) by a {byte code interpreter} (itself written in {C}). The compiled code in this case is {machine code} for a {virtual machine} which is implemented not in hardware but in the byte-code interpreter. See also {partial evaluation}. (1995-01-30)
introspection "programming, philosophy" A feature of some {programming languages} that allows a running {program} to obtain information about its own implementation. For example, the {Lisp} function, "symbol-function" takes a Lisp symbol and returns the function definition associated with that symbol. Lisp is particularly suited to introspection because its {source code} uses the same underlying representation as its data. Another example is {Perl}'s "can" {method} which returns true if a given {object}'s {class} provides a given method. (2010-01-19)
ISLisp ::: International Standard Lisp.An object-oriented Lisp intended as an international replacement for Common Lisp, EuLisp, Le-Lisp and Scheme. The standard's goals are object orientation, extensibility, efficiency, and suitability for non-academic use.The standard is defined in ISO WG 16, draft Dec 1992. . (1995-02-14)
ISLisp International Standard Lisp. An {object-oriented} Lisp intended as an international replacement for {Common Lisp}, {EuLisp}, {Le-Lisp} and {Scheme}. The standard's goals are object orientation, extensibility, efficiency, and suitability for non-academic use. The standard is defined in {ISO} WG 16, draft Dec 1992. {(ftp://ma2s2.mathematik.uni-karlsruhe.de/pub/lisp/islisp/)}. (1995-02-14)
IVY A language with a more pleasant syntax than {Perl}, {tcl} or {Lisp}. It has nice features like low punctuation count, blocks indicated by indentation, and similarity to normal procedural languages. This language started out as an idea for an extension language for the editor {JOE}. An experimental {interpreter} by Joseph H Allen "jhallen@world.std.com" was posted to {alt.sources} on 28 Sep 1993.
IVY ::: A language with a more pleasant syntax than Perl, tcl or Lisp. It has nice features like low punctuation count, blocks indicated by indentation, and similarity to normal procedural languages. This language started out as an idea for an extension language for the editor JOE.An experimental interpreter by Joseph H Allen was posted to alt.sources on 28 Sep 1993.
John McCarthy ::: (person, artificial intelligence) A pioneer of artificial intelligence (he coined ther term). He invented Lisp at MIT in the late 1950s and later worked at SAIL. .E-mail: .(2003-08-06)
John McCarthy "person, artificial intelligence" A pioneer of {artificial intelligence} (he coined ther term). He invented {Lisp} at {MIT} in the late 1950s and later worked at {SAIL}. {(ftp://www-formal.stanford.edu/jmc)}. E-mail: "jmc@cs.stanford.edu". (2003-08-06)
Kamin's interpreters "language, tool" A set of {interpreters} for {Pascal}, {Lisp}, {APL}, {Scheme}, {SASL}, {CLU}, {Smalltalk}, and {Prolog}. Tim Budd "budd@cs.orst.edu" implemented them as {subclasses} in {C++} sometime before 1991-09-12. {(ftp://cs.orst.edu/pub/budd/kamin/)}. ["Programming Languages, An Interpreter-Based Approach", Samuel Kamin]. (2002-03-14)
Kamin's interpreters ::: (language, tool) A set of interpreters for Pascal, Lisp, APL, Scheme, SASL, CLU, Smalltalk, and Prolog. Tim Budd implemented them as subclasses in C++ sometime before 1991-09-12. .[Programming Languages, An Interpreter-Based Approach, Samuel Kamin].(2002-03-14)
KCL {Kyoto Common Lisp}
KEE Knowledge Engineering Environment. Frame-based expert system. Supports dynamic inheritance, {multiple inheritance}, polymorphism. Classes, meta-classes and objects are all treated alike. A class is an instance of a meta-class. Can control rules for merging of each field when multiple inheritance takes place. Methods are written in LISP. Actions may be triggered when fields are accessed or modified. Extensive GUI integrates with objects. Can easily make object updates to be reflected on display or display selections to update fields. This can in turn trigger other methods or inference rules which may then update other parts of the display. Intellicorp, for TI Explorer. "The Role of Frame-Based Representation in Reasoning", R. Fikes et al, CACM 28(9):904- 920 (Sept 1985).
Knights of the Lambda-Calculus ::: A semi-mythical organisation of wizardly LISP and Scheme hackers. The name refers to a mathematical formalism invented by Alonzo Church, with which LISP is are unclear, but one well-known LISPer has been known to give out buttons and, in general, the *members* know who they are.[Jargon File]
Knights of the Lambda-Calculus A semi-mythical organisation of wizardly LISP and Scheme hackers. The name refers to a mathematical formalism invented by Alonzo Church, with which LISP is intimately connected. There is no enrollment list and the criteria for induction are unclear, but one well-known LISPer has been known to give out buttons and, in general, the *members* know who they are. [{Jargon File}]
KRS ::: Frame-based language built on Common LISP.
KRS "language" A {frame-based language} built on {Common LISP}. (2011-12-05)
Kyoto Common Lisp ::: (language) (KCL) An implementation of Common Lisp by T. Yuasa and M. Hagiya operating systems. KCL is compiled to ANSI C. It conforms to Common Lisp as described in Guy Steele's book and is available under a licence agreement. .E-mail: (bug reports).Mailing list: , [Design and Implementation of Kyoto Common Lisp, T. Yuasa , J Info Proc 13(3):284-295 (1990)].[Kyoto Common Lisp Report, T. Yuasa & M. Hagiya]. (1987-06-01)
Kyoto Common Lisp "language" (KCL) An implementation of {Common Lisp} by T. Yuasa "yuasa@tutics.tut.ac.jp" and M. Hagiya "hagiya@is.s.u-tokyo.ac.jp", written in {C} to run under {Unix}-like {operating systems}. KCL is compiled to {ANSI C}. It conforms to {Common Lisp} as described in {Guy Steele}'s book and is available under a licence agreement. {(ftp://rascal.ics.utexas.edu/pub/kcl.tar.Z)}. E-mail: "kcl@cli.com" (bug reports). Mailing list: kcl-request@cli.com, kcl@rascal.ics.utexas.edu. ["Design and Implementation of Kyoto Common Lisp", T. Yuasa "yuasa@tutics.tut.ac.jp", J Info Proc 13(3):284-295 (1990)]. ["Kyoto Common Lisp Report", T. Yuasa & M. Hagiya]. (1987-06-01)
lambda abstraction ::: A term in lambda-calculus denoting a function. A lambda abstraction begins with a lower-case lambda (represented as \ in this document), followed by a body). The body is taken to extend as far to the right as possible so, for example an expression, \ x . \ y . x+y is read as \ x . (\ y . x+y). A nested abstraction such as this is often abbreviated to: \ x y . x + y v replaced by the actual argument. Application is represented by juxtaposition so (\ x . x) 42 represents the identity function applied to the constant 42.A lambda abstraction in Lisp is written as the symbol lambda, a list of zero or more variable names and a list of zero or more terms, e.g. (lambda (x y) (plus x y)) patterns (e.g. variable names), -> and an expression, e.g. \ x -> x. (1995-01-24)
lambda abstraction A term in {lambda-calculus} denoting a function. A lambda abstraction begins with a lower-case lambda (represented as "\" in this document), followed by a variable name (the "bound variable"), a full stop and a {lambda expression} (the body). The body is taken to extend as far to the right as possible so, for example an expression, \ x . \ y . x+y is read as \ x . (\ y . x+y). A nested abstraction such as this is often abbreviated to: \ x y . x + y The lambda expression (\ v . E) denotes a function which takes an argument and returns the term E with all {free} occurrences of v replaced by the {actual argument}. Application is represented by {juxtaposition} so (\ x . x) 42 represents the identity function applied to the constant 42. A {lambda abstraction} in {Lisp} is written as the symbol lambda, a list of zero or more variable names and a list of zero or more terms, e.g. (lambda (x y) (plus x y)) Lambda expressions in {Haskell} are written as a backslash, "\", one or more patterns (e.g. variable names), "-"" and an expression, e.g. \ x -" x. (1995-01-24)
lambda-calculus ::: (mathematics) (Normally written with a Greek letter lambda). A branch of mathematical logic developed by Alonzo Church in the late 1930s and early 1940s, can be represented as the function which applies its first argument to its second N times (Church integer N).Church invented lambda-calculus in order to set up a foundational project restricting mathematics to quantities with effective procedures. nasty way; Church couldn't see any way to get rid of it, and gave the project up.Most functional programming languages are equivalent to lambda-calculus extended with constants and types. Lisp uses a variant of lambda notation for defining functions but only its purely functional subset is really equivalent to lambda-calculus.See reduction. (1995-04-13)
lambda-calculus "mathematics" (Normally written with a Greek letter lambda). A branch of mathematical logic developed by {Alonzo Church} in the late 1930s and early 1940s, dealing with the application of {functions} to their arguments. The {pure lambda-calculus} contains no constants - neither numbers nor mathematical functions such as plus - and is untyped. It consists only of {lambda abstractions} (functions), variables and applications of one function to another. All entities must therefore be represented as functions. For example, the natural number N can be represented as the function which applies its first argument to its second N times ({Church integer} N). Church invented lambda-calculus in order to set up a foundational project restricting mathematics to quantities with "{effective procedures}". Unfortunately, the resulting system admits {Russell's paradox} in a particularly nasty way; Church couldn't see any way to get rid of it, and gave the project up. Most {functional programming} languages are equivalent to lambda-calculus extended with constants and types. {Lisp} uses a variant of lambda notation for defining functions but only its {purely functional} subset is really equivalent to lambda-calculus. See {reduction}. (1995-04-13)
languages of choice ::: C and Lisp. Nearly every hacker knows one of these, and most good ones are fluent in both. Smalltalk and Prolog are also popular in small but influential communities.There is also a rapidly dwindling category of older hackers with Fortran, or even assembler, as their language of choice. They often prefer to be known as hardware-specific uses in systems programs. Fortran occupies a shrinking niche in scientific programming.Most hackers tend to frown on languages like Pascal and Ada, which don't give them the near-total freedom considered necessary for hacking (see connected with COBOL or other traditional card walloper languages as a total and unmitigated loss.[Jargon File]
languages of choice {C} and {Lisp}. Nearly every hacker knows one of these, and most good ones are fluent in both. Smalltalk and Prolog are also popular in small but influential communities. There is also a rapidly dwindling category of older hackers with Fortran, or even assembler, as their language of choice. They often prefer to be known as {Real Programmers}, and other hackers consider them a bit odd (see "{The Story of Mel}"). Assembler is generally no longer considered interesting or appropriate for anything but {HLL} implementation, {glue}, and a few time-critical and hardware-specific uses in systems programs. Fortran occupies a shrinking niche in scientific programming. Most hackers tend to frown on languages like {Pascal} and {Ada}, which don't give them the near-total freedom considered necessary for hacking (see {bondage-and-discipline language}), and to regard everything even remotely connected with {COBOL} or other traditional {card walloper} languages as a total and unmitigated {loss}. [{Jargon File}]
LAP ::: LISP Assembly Program. The assembly language embedded into early Lisp. LAP was also used by the Liar compiler for MIT Scheme and MACLISP.[Sammet 1969, p. 597]. (1994-11-01)
LAP LISP Assembly Program. The {assembly language} embedded into early {Lisp}. LAP was also used by the {Liar} compiler for {MIT Scheme} and {MACLISP}. [Sammet 1969, p. 597]. (1994-11-01)
LDB /l*'d*b/ [PDP-10 instruction] To extract from the middle. "LDB me a slice of cake, please." This usage has been kept alive by Common LISP's function of the same name. Considered silly. See also {DPB}. [{Jargon File}]
LDB ::: /l*'d*b/ [PDP-10 instruction] To extract from the middle. LDB me a slice of cake, please. This usage has been kept alive by Common LISP's function of the same name. Considered silly. See also DPB.[Jargon File]
LEAF "language" 1. {LISP Extended Algebraic Facility}. 2. "LEAF: A Language which Integrates Logic, Equations and Functions", R. Barbuti et al in Logic Programming, Functions Relations and Equations, D. DeGroot et al eds, P-H 1986, pp.201-238.
LEAF ::: (language) 1. LISP Extended Algebraic Facility.2. LEAF: A Language which Integrates Logic, Equations and Functions, R. Barbuti et al in Logic Programming, Functions Relations and Equations, D. DeGroot et al eds, P-H 1986, pp.201-238.
Le-Lisp ::: Jerome Chailloux and Emmanuel St James, INRIA, France. A LISP dialect close to Common Lisp, lexically scoped, with a CLOS-like object system. Uses both Chailloux et al, Proc 1984 ACM Symp on Lisp and Functional Programming, ACM. Version v.16, available from ILOG, France.
Le-Lisp Jerome Chailloux and Emmanuel St James, INRIA, France. A LISP dialect close to Common Lisp, lexically scoped, with a CLOS-like object system. Uses both packages and modules. "le-lisp: A Portable and Efficient Lisp System", J. Chailloux et al, Proc 1984 ACM Symp on Lisp and Functional Programming, ACM. Version v.16, available from ILOG, France.
Liana "language" A {C}-like, interpretive, {object-oriented programming} language, {class} library, and integrated development environment designed specifically for development of {application programs} for {Microsoft Windows} and {Windows NT}. Designed by Jack Krupansky "Jack@BaseTechnology.com" of {Base Technology}, Liana was first released as a commercial product in August 1991. The language is designed to be as easy to use as {BASIC}, as concise as {C}, and as flexible as {Smalltalk}. The {OOP} {syntax} of {C++} was chosen over the less familiar syntax of {Smalltalk} and {Objective-C} to appeal to {C} programmers and in recognition of C++ being the leading OOP language. The syntax is a simplified subset of {C/C++}. The {semantics} are also a simplified subset of C/C++, but extended to achieve the flexibility of Smalltalk. Liana is a typeless language (like {Lisp}, {Snobol} and {Smalltalk}), which means that the datatypes of variables, function parameters, and function return values are not needed since values carry the type information. Hence, variables are simply containers for values and function parameters are simply pipes through which any type of value can flow. {Single inheritance}, but not {multiple inheritance}, is supported. {Memory management} is automatic using {reference counting}. The library includes over 150 {classes}, for {dynamic arrays}, {associative lookup} tables, windows, menus, dialogs, controls, bitmaps, cursors, icons, mouse movement, keyboard input, fonts, text and graphics display, {DDE}, and {MDI}. Liana provides flexible OOP support for Windows programming. For example, a {list box} automatically fills itself from an associated {object}. That object is not some sort of special object, but is merely any object that "behaves like" an array (i.e., has a "size" member function that returns the number of elements, a "get" function that returns the ith element, and the text for each element is returned by calling the "text" member function for the element). A related product, C-odeScript, is an embeddable application scripting language. It is an implementation of Liana which can be called from C/C++ applications to dynamically evaluate expressions and statement sequences. This can be used to offer the end-user a macro/scripting capability or to allow the C/C++ application to be customized without changing the C/C++ source code. Here's a complete Liana program which illustrates the flexibility of the language semantics and the power of the class library: main { // Prompt user for a string. // No declaration needed for "x" (becomes a global variable.) x = ask ("Enter a String"); // Use "+" operator to concatenate strings. Memory // management for string temporaries is automatic. The // "message" function displays a Windows message box. message ("You entered: " + x); // Now x will take on a different type. The "ask_number" // function will return a "real" if the user's input // contains a decimal point or an "int" if no decimal // point. x = ask_number ("Enter a Number"); // The "+" operator with a string operand will // automatically convert the other operand to a string. message ("You entered: " + x); // Prompt user for a Liana expression. Store it in a // local variable (the type, string, is merely for // documentation.) string expr = ask ("Enter an Expression"); // Evaluate the expression. The return value of "eval" // could be any type. The "source_format" member function // converts any value to its source format (e.g., add // quotes for a string.) The "class_name" member function // return the name of the class of an object/value. // Empty parens can be left off for member function calls. x = eval (expr); message ("The value of " + expr + " is " + x.source_format + " its type is " + x.class_name); } The author explained that the "Li" of Liana stands for "Language interpreter" and liana are vines that grow up trees in tropical forests, which seemed quite appropriate for a tool to deal with the complexity of MS Windows! It is also a woman's name. ["Liana for Windows", Aitken, P., PC TECHNIQUES, Dec/Jan 1993]. ["Liana: A Language For Writing Windows Programs", Burk, R., Tech Specialist (R&D Publications), Sep 1991]. ["Liana v. 1.0." Hildebrand, J.D., Computer Language, Dec 1992]. ["Liana: A Windows Programming Language Based on C and C++", Krupansky, J., The C Users Journal, Jul 1992]. ["Writing a Multimedia App in Liana", Krupansky, J., Dr. Dobb's Journal, Winter Multimedia Sourcebook 1994]. ["The Liana Programming Language", R. Valdes, Dr Dobbs J Oct 1993, pp.50-52]. (1999-06-29)
Liana ::: (language) A C-like, interpretive, object-oriented programming language, class library, and integrated development environment designed specifically for language is designed to be as easy to use as BASIC, as concise as C, and as flexible as Smalltalk.The OOP syntax of C++ was chosen over the less familiar syntax of Smalltalk and Objective-C to appeal to C programmers and in recognition of C++ being the are also a simplified subset of C/C++, but extended to achieve the flexibility of Smalltalk.Liana is a typeless language (like Lisp, Snobol and Smalltalk), which means that the datatypes of variables, function parameters, and function return values are type of value can flow. Single inheritance, but not multiple inheritance, is supported. Memory management is automatic using reference counting.The library includes over 150 classes, for dynamic arrays, associative lookup tables, windows, menus, dialogs, controls, bitmaps, cursors, icons, mouse movement, keyboard input, fonts, text and graphics display, DDE, and MDI.Liana provides flexible OOP support for Windows programming. For example, a list box automatically fills itself from an associated object. That object is not get function that returns the ith element, and the text for each element is returned by calling the text member function for the element).A related product, C-odeScript, is an embeddable application scripting language. It is an implementation of Liana which can be called from C/C++ applications to offer the end-user a macro/scripting capability or to allow the C/C++ application to be customized without changing the C/C++ source code.Here's a complete Liana program which illustrates the flexibility of the language semantics and the power of the class library: main{ for a tool to deal with the complexity of MS Windows! It is also a woman's name.[Liana for Windows, Aitken, P., PC TECHNIQUES, Dec/Jan 1993].[Liana: A Language For Writing Windows Programs, Burk, R., Tech Specialist (R&D Publications), Sep 1991].[Liana v. 1.0. Hildebrand, J.D., Computer Language, Dec 1992].[Liana: A Windows Programming Language Based on C and C++, Krupansky, J., The C Users Journal, Jul 1992].[Writing a Multimedia App in Liana, Krupansky, J., Dr. Dobb's Journal, Winter Multimedia Sourcebook 1994].[The Liana Programming Language, R. Valdes, Dr Dobbs J Oct 1993, pp.50-52]. (1999-06-29)
Lily (LIsp LibrarY) A {C++} {class} library by Roger Sheldon "sheldon@kong.gsfc.nasa.gov" which gives C++ programmers the capability to write {Lisp}-style code. Lily's {garbage collection} mechanism is not sufficient for commercial use however and the documentation is incomplete. It is distributed under the {GNU} Library {General Public License}. Version: 0.1. {(ftp://sunsite.unc.edu/uploads/lily-0.1.tar.gz)}. (1993-11-08)
Lily ::: (LIsp LibrarY) A C++ class library by Roger Sheldon which gives C++ programmers the capability for commercial use however and the documentation is incomplete. It is distributed under the GNU Library General Public License.Version: 0.1. . (1993-11-08)
Linda ::: (language) A coordination language from Yale, providing a model for concurrency with communication via a shared tuple space. Linda is usually Fortran-Linda, LindaLISP and Prolog-Linda. It is available from Scientific Computing Associates, Inc. [What is?] .There is a Multi-BinProlog Linda implementation available by .[Generative Communication in Linda, D. Gelernter , ACM TOPLAS 7(1):80-112 (1985)].[Linda in Context, N. Carreiro et al, Yale U., CACM 32(4):444-458, Apr 1989].See also Ease, Lucinda, Melinda.(2000-07-07)
Linda "language" A "coordination language" from {Yale}, providing a model for {concurrency} with communication via a shared {tuple} space. Linda is usually implemented as a subroutine library for a specific base language, as in {C-Linda}, {Fortran-Linda}, {LindaLISP} and {Prolog-Linda}. It is available from {Scientific Computing Associates, Inc.} [What is?] {(http://cs.yale.edu/HTML/YALE/CS/Linda/linda.html)}. There is a {Multi-BinProlog} Linda implementation available by {(ftp://clement.info.umoncton.ca/)}. ["Generative Communication in Linda", D. Gelernter "gelernter@cs.yale.edu", ACM TOPLAS 7(1):80-112 (1985)]. ["Linda in Context", N. Carreiro et al, Yale U., CACM 32(4):444-458, Apr 1989]. See also {Ease}, {Lucinda}, {Melinda}. (2000-07-07)
LindaLISP ::: Linda for Lisp.
LindaLISP {Linda} for {Lisp}.
lipse ::: v. i. --> To lisp.
LISP 1.5 ::: The second version of Lisp, successor to LISP 1. Developed at MIT in 1959. Followed by LISP 1.75, LISP 1.9, Lisp 2 and many other versions.
LISP 1.5 The second version of {Lisp}, successor to {LISP 1}. Developed at {MIT} in 1959. Followed by LISP 1.75, LISP 1.9, {Lisp 2} and many other versions.
LISP 1 The original {Lisp}. Invented by John McCarthy et al at {MIT} in the late 50's. Followed by {LISP 1.5}.
LISP 1 ::: The original Lisp. Invented by John McCarthy et al at MIT in the late 50's. Followed by LISP 1.5.
LISP 2 ::: LISP 1.5 with an ALGOL 60-like surface syntax. Also optional type declarations, new data types including integer-indexed arrays and character strings, partial-word extraction/insertion operators and macros. A pattern-matching facility similar to COMIT was proposed. Implemented for the Q-32 computer.[The LISP 2 Programming Language and System, P.W. Abrahams et al, Proc FJCC 29:661-676, AFIPS (Fall 1966).]
LISP 2 {LISP 1.5} with an {ALGOL 60}-like surface syntax. Also optional type declarations, new data types including integer-indexed {arrays} and character strings, partial-word extraction/insertion operators and {macros}. A {pattern-matching} facility similar to {COMIT} was proposed. Implemented for the {Q-32} computer. ["The LISP 2 Programming Language and System", P.W. Abrahams et al, Proc FJCC 29:661-676, AFIPS (Fall 1966).]
LISP70 A {Lisp} dialect descended from {MLISP} and {MLISP2}. Also known as PLISP and VEL. Useful for parsing. Only the pattern-matching system was published and fully implemented. According to Alan Kay, LISP70 had an influence on {Smalltalk-72}. "The LISP70 Pattern Matching System, Larry Tesler et al, IJCAI 73.
LISP70 ::: A Lisp dialect descended from MLISP and MLISP2. Also known as PLISP and VEL. Useful for parsing. Only the pattern-matching system was published and fully implemented. According to Alan Kay, LISP70 had an influence on Smalltalk-72. The LISP70 Pattern Matching System, Larry Tesler et al, IJCAI 73.
LISP A "LISP A: A LISP-like System for Incremental Computing", E.J. Sandewall, Proc SJCC 32 (1968).
LISP A ::: LISP A: A LISP-like System for Incremental Computing, E.J. Sandewall, Proc SJCC 32 (1968).
lisped ::: imp. & p. p. --> of Lisp
lisper ::: n. --> One who lisps.
LISP Extended Algebraic Facility "language" (LEAF) ["An Algebraic Extension to LISP", P.H. Knowlton, Proc FJCC 35 1969]. (1996-06-07)
LISP Extended Algebraic Facility ::: (language) (LEAF)[An Algebraic Extension to LISP, P.H. Knowlton, Proc FJCC 35 1969]. (1996-06-07)
lispingly ::: adv. --> With a lisp; in a lisping manner.
lisping ::: p. pr. & vb. n. --> of Lisp
lisping ::: the sound produced by pronouncing s or z like, or nearly like, the th sounds of thin and this.
LISP Machine LISP "language" An extension of {Maclisp}, now called {Zetalisp}. (1998-12-13)
LISP Machine LISP ::: (language) An extension of Maclisp, now called Zetalisp. (1998-12-13)
LISP, Objects, and Symbolic Programming ::: A book with compiler included by Robert R. Kessler and Amy R. Petajan, published by Scott, Foresman and Company, Glenview, IL, USA. (1988).
LISP, Objects, and Symbolic Programming A book with compiler included by Robert R. Kessler and Amy R. Petajan, published by Scott, Foresman and Company, Glenview, IL, USA. (1988).
*LISP ::: (StarLISP) A data-parallel extension of Common LISP for the Connection Machine, uses pvars. .E-mail: , .[Cliff Lasser, Jeff Mincy, J.P. Massar, Thinking Machines Corporation The Essential *LISP Manual, TM Corp 1986].[Jargon File]
lisp ::: v. i. --> To pronounce the sibilant letter s imperfectly; to give s and z the sound of th; -- a defect common among children.
To speak with imperfect articulation; to mispronounce, as a child learning to talk.
To speak hesitatingly with a low voice, as if afraid. ::: v. t.
Liszt A {Franz Lisp} compiler in {C} which emits {C}, by Jeff W. Dalton "jeff@festival.ed.ac.uk". Mailing list: franz-friends-request@berkeley.edu. (1994-10-20)
Liszt ::: A Franz Lisp compiler in C which emits C, by Jeff W. Dalton .Mailing list: (1994-10-20)
LLM3 /el el em trwa/ The {assembly language} for a {virtual machine} used as the implementation language for {Le-Lisp}. Developed by J. Chailloux of {INRIA}.
LLM3 ::: /el el em trwa/ The assembly language for a virtual machine used as the implementation language for Le-Lisp. Developed by J. Chailloux of INRIA.
LM-Prolog Lisp Machine Prolog. A {Prolog} {interpreter} in {Zetalisp} for the {Lisp Machine} developed by Ken Kahn and Mats Carlsson in 1983. {(ftp://sics.se/archive/lm-prolog.tar.Z)}. ["LM-Prolog User Manual", M. Carlsson et al, Uppsala Dec 1983]. (1994-12-14)
LM-Prolog ::: Lisp Machine Prolog.A Prolog interpreter in Zetalisp for the Lisp Machine developed by Ken Kahn and Mats Carlsson in 1983. .[LM-Prolog User Manual, M. Carlsson et al, Uppsala Dec 1983]. (1994-12-14)
LOGLISP ::: A version of Prolog implemented by Robinson in Lisp which allows Prolog programs to call Lisp and vice versa.[LOGLISP: An Alternative to Prolog, J. Alan Robinson et al in Machine Intelligence 10, D. Michie ed, Ellis Horwood 1982].
LOGLISP A version of {Prolog} implemented by Robinson in {Lisp} which allows Prolog programs to call Lisp and vice versa. ["LOGLISP: An Alternative to Prolog", J. Alan Robinson et al in Machine Intelligence 10, D. Michie ed, Ellis Horwood 1982].
LOGO "language, education" A {Lisp}-like language for teaching programming, noted for its "turtle graphics" used to draw geometric shapes. LOGO was developed in 1966-1968 by a group at Bolt, Beranek & Newman (now "{BBN Technologies}") headed by Wally Fuerzeig "fuerzeig@bbn.com" (who still works there in 2003) and including Seymour Papert "seymour@media.mit.edu". There are Logo {interpreters} for {Macintosh}, {Unix}, {IBM PC}, {X Window System}, and many PCs. Implmentations include {Berkeley Logo}, {MswLogo}. (2000-03-28)
LOGO ::: (language, education) A Lisp-like language for teaching programming, noted for its turtle graphics used to draw geometric shapes. LOGO was Technologies) headed by Wally Fuerzeig .There are Logo interpreters for Macintosh, Unix, IBM PC, X Window System, and many PCs. Implmentations include Berkeley Logo, MswLogo.(2000-03-28)
LOOPS {Lisp Object-oriented Programming System}
LPL ::: List Programming Language. LISP-like language with ALGOL-like syntax, for IBM 360. LPL - LISP Programming Language, F.W. Blair et al, RC 3062, IBM TJWRC, Sep 1970.
LPL List Programming Language. LISP-like language with ALGOL-like syntax, for IBM 360. "LPL - LISP Programming Language", F.W. Blair et al, RC 3062, IBM TJWRC, Sep 1970.
MacLisp "language" A dialect of {Lisp} developed at {MIT} AI Lab in 1966, known for its efficiency and programming facilities. MacLisp was later used by {Project MAC}, {Mathlab} and {Macsyma}. It ran on the {PDP-10}. It introduced the {LEXPR} (a function with variable {arity}), {macros}, {arrays}, and {CATCH/THROW}. MacLisp was one of two main branches of LISP (the other being {Interlisp}). In 1981 {Common LISP} was begun in an effort to combine the best features of both. ["MACLISP Reference Manual", D.A. Moon "moon@cambridge.apple.com", TR Project MAC, MIT 1974]. (2004-05-07)
MacLisp ::: (language) A dialect of Lisp developed at MIT AI Lab in 1966, known for its efficiency and programming facilities. MacLisp was later used by Project MAC, Mathlab and Macsyma. It ran on the PDP-10. It introduced the LEXPR (a function with variable arity), macros, arrays, and CATCH/THROW.MacLisp was one of two main branches of LISP (the other being Interlisp). In 1981 Common LISP was begun in an effort to combine the best features of both.[MACLISP Reference Manual, D.A. Moon , TR Project MAC, MIT 1974].(2004-05-07)
Macintosh Common Lisp "language" (MCL) {Common Lisp} for the {Apple Macintosh}. Guillaume Cartier, of the Mathematics Department at UQAM, Canada, has written some libraries. {(ftp://cambridge.apple.com/pub/mcl2/contrib/)}. (1992-11-30)
Macintosh Common Lisp ::: (language) (MCL) Common Lisp for the Apple Macintosh.Guillaume Cartier, of the Mathematics Department at UQAM, Canada, has written some libraries.Latest version: 1.2. . (1992-11-30)
macro A name (possibly followed by a {formal argument} list) that is equated to a text or symbolic expression to which it is to be expanded (possibly with the substitution of {actual arguments}) by a macro expander. The term "macro" originated in early {assemblers}, which encouraged the use of macros as a structuring and information-hiding device. During the early 1970s, macro assemblers became ubiquitous, and sometimes quite as powerful and expensive as {HLLs}, only to fall from favour as improving {compiler} technology marginalised {assembly language} programming (see {languages of choice}). Nowadays the term is most often used in connection with the {C preprocessor}, {Lisp}, or one of several special-purpose languages built around a macro-expansion facility (such as {TeX} or {Unix}'s {troff} suite). Indeed, the meaning has drifted enough that the collective "macros" is now sometimes used for code in any special-purpose application control language (whether or not the language is actually translated by text expansion), and for macro-like entities such as the "keyboard macros" supported in some text editors (and {PC} {TSRs} or {Macintosh} INIT/CDEV keyboard enhancers). (1994-12-06)
macrology /mak-rol'*-jee/ 1. Set of usually complex or {crufty} {macros}, e.g. as part of a large system written in {Lisp}, {TECO}, or (less commonly) {assembler}. 2. The art and science involved in comprehending a macrology. Sometimes studying the macrology of a system is not unlike archaeology, ecology, or {theology}, hence the sound-alike construction. See also {boxology}. (2003-09-02)
macrology ::: /mak-rol'*-jee/ 1. Set of usually complex or crufty macros, e.g. as part of a large system written in Lisp, TECO, or (less commonly) assembler.2. The art and science involved in comprehending a macrology. Sometimes studying the macrology of a system is not unlike archaeology, ecology, or theology, hence the sound-alike construction. See also boxology.(2003-09-02)
MACSYMA {Project MAC}'s SYmbolic MAnipulator. The first comprehensive {symbolic mathematics} system, written in {Lisp} by Joel Moses "moses@larch.lcs.mit.edu" of {MIT} in 1969, later {Symbolics}, Inc. Versions include {Symbolics Macsyma}, {DOE Maxima} (ANL, in Common LISP) and {Vaxima}. {(ftp://rascal.ics.utexas.edu/pub/maxima-4-155.tar.Z)}. E-mail: "macsyma-service@symbolics.com". ["MACSYMA - The Fifth Year", J. Moses, SIGSAM Bulletin 8(3) (Aug 1974)]. (1994-11-01)
MACSYMA ::: Project MAC's SYmbolic MAnipulator. The first comprehensive symbolic mathematics system, written in Lisp by Joel Moses of MIT in 1969, later Symbolics, Inc.Versions include Symbolics Macsyma, DOE Maxima (ANL, in Common LISP) and Vaxima. .[MACSYMA - The Fifth Year, J. Moses, SIGSAM Bulletin 8(3) (Aug 1974)]. (1994-11-01)
Magma2 "language" A language that allows programmability of the control environment, e.g. {recursion}, {backtracking}, {coroutines}, {nondeterminism}, etc. Magma2 was the successor to {MagmaLISP}. ["Magma2: A Language Oriented Toward Experiments in Control", Franco Turini, ACM TOPLAS 6(4):468-486 (Oct 1984)]. (1995-07-30)
Magma2 ::: (language) A language that allows programmability of the control environment, e.g. recursion, backtracking, coroutines, nondeterminism, etc. Magma2 was the successor to MagmaLISP.[Magma2: A Language Oriented Toward Experiments in Control, Franco Turini, ACM TOPLAS 6(4):468-486 (Oct 1984)]. (1995-07-30)
MagmaLISP "language" The predecessor of {Magma2}. ["MagmaLISP: A Machine Language for Artificial Intelligence", C. Mantagero et al, Proc 4th Intl Joint Conf Artif Intell, 1975, pp. 556-561]. (1995-07-30)
MagmaLISP ::: (language) The predecessor of Magma2.[MagmaLISP: A Machine Language for Artificial Intelligence, C. Mantagero et al, Proc 4th Intl Joint Conf Artif Intell, 1975, pp. 556-561]. (1995-07-30)
MCL {Macintosh Common LISP}
M-Code ::: (language) 1. Intermediate language produced by some Modula-2 compilers.[Which compilers?]2. The intermediate language for an SECD-like machine, used by the Concert implementation of MultiLISP. (1996-01-22)
M-Code "language" 1. {Intermediate language} produced by some {Modula-2} compilers. [Which compilers?] 2. The {intermediate language} for an {SECD}-like machine, used by the {Concert} implementation of {MultiLISP}. (1996-01-22)
MCS ::: Meta Class System.A portable object-oriented extension of Common Lisp from GMD. It integrates the functionality of CLOS and TELOS. . (1994-10-21)
MDL (Originally "Muddle"). C. Reeve, {Carl Hewitt} and {Gerald Sussman}, Dynamic Modeling Group, MIT ca. 1971. Intended as a successor to Lisp, and a possible base for Planner-70. Basically LISP 1.5 with data types and arrays. Many of its features were advanced at the time (I/O, interrupt handling and coroutining), and were incorporated into later LISP dialects ("optional", "rest" and "aux" markers). In the mid 80's there was an effort to use bytecoding to make the language portable. CLU was first implemented in MDL. Infocom wrote Zork in MDL, and used it as the basis for the ZIL interpreter. Implementations exist for ITS, {TOPS-20}, BSD 4.3, Apollo Domain, SunOS and A/UX. ["The MDL Programming Language", S.W. Galley et al, Doc SYS.11.01, Project MAC, MIT (Nov 1975)].
Mei "library" A set of {class libraries} by Atsushi Aoki "aoki@sra.co.jp" and others for {Objectworks Smalltalk} Release 4.1. Mei includes: Grapher Library for drawing diagrams; Meta Grapher Library (grapher to develop grapher); Drawing tools and painting tools (structured diagram editors and drawing editors); {GUI builder}; {Lisp} {interpreter}; {Prolog} interpreter; Pluggable gauges; Extended browser; (package, history, recover, etc.) Mei is available under {General Public License} and requires Objectworks Smalltalk Release 4.1. {Home (http://sra.co.jp/people/aoki/htmls/FreeSoftwareForSmalltalk.html)}. E-mail: Watanabe Katsuhiro "katsu@sran14.sra.co.jp" (1999-12-08)
memo function "programming" (Or "memoised function") A {function} that remembers which {arguments} it has been called with and the result returned and, if called with the same arguments again, returns the result from its memory rather than recalculating it. Memo functions were invented by Professor {Donald Michie} of {Edinburgh University}. The idea was further developed by {Robin Popplestone} in his {Pop2} language long before it was ever worked into LISP. This same principle is found at the hardware level in computer architectures which use a {cache} to store recently accessed memory locations. A {Common Lisp} package by Marty Hall "hall@aplcenmp.apl.jhu.edu" {(ftp://archive.cs.umbc.edu/pub/Memoization)}. ["'Memo' functions: and machine learning", Donald Michie, Nature, 218, 19-22, 1968]. (2002-07-02)
Meta Class System "language" (MCS) A portable {object-oriented} extension of {Common Lisp} from {GMD}. It integrates the functionality of {CLOS} and {TELOS}. {(ftp://gmdzi.gmd.de/pub/lisp/mcs)}. (1994-10-21)
Meta-Vlisp "language" An innovative {Lisp} dialect by E. St.James of IBP, France. (2000-12-19)
METEOR A version of COMIT with Lisp-like syntax, written in MIT Lisp 1.5 for the IBM 7090. "METEOR - A List Interpreter for String Transformation", D.G. Bobrow in The Programming Language LISP and its Interpretation, E.D. and D.G. Bobrow eds, 1964.
me too A {functional language} for executable specifications developed by Peter Henderson in 1984. It is like {LispKit Lisp}, but with sets, maps and sequences to describe the specification. ["Functional Programming, Formal Specification and Rapid Prototyping", IEEE Trans Soft Eng, SE-12(2):241-250 (Feb 1986)]. (1994-10-21)
M-expression LISP (MLISP) The original "{meta-language}" {syntax} of {Lisp}, designed by {John McCarthy} in 1962. MLISP was intended for external use in place of the parenthesised {S-expression} {syntax}. ["LISP 1.5 Programmer's Manual", J. McCarthy et al, MIT Press 1962]. (1994-11-22)
microPLANNER A subset of {PLANNER}, implemented in {Lisp} by {Gerald Sussman} et al at {MIT}. Its important features were goal-oriented, pattern-directed procedure invocation, an embedded knowledge base, and automatic {backtracking}. microPLANNER was superseded by {Conniver}. ["microPLANNER Reference Manual", G.J. Sussman et al, AI Memo 203, MIT AI Lab, 1970]. (1995-01-10)
Mini-ML ["A Simple Applicative Language: Mini-ML", D. Clement et al, Proc 1986 ACM Conf on LISP and Functional Prog, (Aug 1986)].
Missing definition "introduction" First, this is an (English language) __computing__ dictionary. It includes lots of terms from related fields such as mathematics and electronics, but if you're looking for (or want to submit) words from other subjects or general English words or other languages, try {(http://wikipedia.org/)}, {(http://onelook.com/)}, {(http://yourdictionary.com/)}, {(http://www.dictionarist.com/)} or {(http://reference.allrefer.com/)}. If you've already searched the dictionary for a computing term and it's not here then please __don't tell me__. There are, and always will be, a great many missing terms, no dictionary is ever complete. I use my limited time to process the corrections and definitions people have submitted and to add the {most frequently requested missing terms (missing.html)}. Try one of the sources mentioned above or {(http://techweb.com/encyclopedia/)}, {(http://whatis.techtarget.com/)} or {(http://google.com/)}. See {the Help page (help.html)} for more about missing definitions and bad cross-references. (2014-09-20)! {exclamation mark}!!!Batch "language, humour" A daft way of obfuscating text strings by encoding each character as a different number of {exclamation marks} surrounded by {question marks}, e.g. "d" is encoded as "?!!!!?". The language is named after the {MSDOS} {batch file} in which the first converter was written. {esoteric programming languages} {wiki entry (http://esolangs.org/wiki/!!!Batch)}. (2014-10-25)" {double quote}
MIT Lisp Machine {Lisp Machine}
ML 1. "robotics" Manipulator Language. IBM language for handling robots. 2. Meta Language. R. Milner "rm@lfcs.edinburgh.ac.uk" et al, 1973. A {strict} {higher-order} {functional language}. It was the first language to include {polymorphic} typing which was statically-checked. It also had {garbage collection} and a formal {semantics}. It began as the {metalanguage} for the Edinburgh {LCF} proof assistant. (LCF="Logic for Computable Functions") People soon noticed that ML could be a useful general programming language and stand-alone versions were implemented. {Standard ML} (SML) is a descendant of these (and related languages such as {Hope}). The "metalanguage" aspect has long since disappeared from the language itself (although there are some systems that still use it that way). The historical name is now so inappropriate that asking what ML stands for is like asking what {C} or {Unix} stands for. It doesn't stand for anything; it just is. LCF ML was implemented in {Stanford LISP}. Cardelli (1981) implemented ML in {Pascal} using the {Functional Abstract Machine} (FAM). It has been significantly redesigned to produce {Standard ML} and {Lazy ML}. ["A Metalanguage for Interactive Proof in LCF", M.J.C. Gordon et al, 5th POPL, ACM 1978]. (2006-07-21)
MLISP 1. {M-expression LISP}. 2. Meta-LISP. D.C. Smith & H. Enea. LISP variant with ALGOL-like syntax. Not just a surface syntax, a full language. "MLISP", D.C. Smith, TR CS-179, CS Dept, Stanford (Oct 1970). Version: MLISP2. 3. A hybrid of M-expression LISP and Scheme. "M-LISP: Its Natural Semantics and Equational Logic", R. Muller, SIGPLAN Notices 26(9):234-242 (Sept 1991) (PEPM '91).
Mock Lisp The {Lisp} used by the {Gosling Emacs} editor.
MRS Modifiable Representation System. An integration of {logic programming} into {Lisp}. ["A Modifiable Representation System", M. Genesereth et al, HPP 80-22, CS Dept Stanford U 1980]. (1994-11-08)
Mul-T An implementation of {Multilisp} built on {T}, for the {Encore Multimax}. ["Mul-T: A High-Performance Parallel Lisp", SIGPLAN Notices 24(7):81-90 (Jul 1989)]. (1995-02-21)
MultiLisp "language" A {parallel} extension of {Scheme} with explicit {concurrency}. The form (future X) immediately returns a "{future}", and creates a {task} to evaluate X. When the evaluation is complete, the future is resolved to be the value. ["MultiLisp: A Language for Concurrent Symbolic Computation", R. Halstead, TOPLAS pp.501-538 (Oct 1985)]. [Did MultiLisp use {PVM} as its intermediate language?] (1998-02-10)
MultiScheme An implementation of {Multilisp} built on MIT's {C-Scheme}, for the {BBN Butterfly}. ["MultiScheme: A Paralled Processing System Based on MIT Scheme", J. Miller, TR-402, MIT LCS, Sept 1987]. (1995-04-04)
mumble 1. Said when the correct response is too complicated to enunciate, or the speaker has not thought it out. Often prefaces a longer answer, or indicates a general reluctance to get into a long discussion. "Don't you think that we could improve LISP performance by using a hybrid reference-count transaction garbage collector, if the cache is big enough and there are some extra cache bits for the {microcode} to use?" "Well, mumble ... I'll have to think about it." 2. Yet another {metasyntactic variable}, like {foo}. 3. Sometimes used in "public" contexts on-line as a placefiller for things one is barred from giving details about. For example, a poster with pre-released hardware in his machine might say "Yup, my machine now has an extra 16M of memory, thanks to the card I'm testing for Mumbleco." 4. A conversational wild card used to designate something one doesn't want to bother spelling out, but which can be {glark}ed from context. Compare {blurgle}. 5. [XEROX PARC] A colloquialism used to suggest that further discussion would be fruitless. (1997-03-27)
munching squares A {display hack} dating back to the {PDP-1} (ca. 1962, reportedly discovered by Jackson Wright), which employs a trivial computation (repeatedly plotting the graph Y = X XOR T for successive values of T - see {HAKMEM} items 146--148) to produce an impressive display of moving and growing squares that devour the screen. The initial value of T is treated as a parameter, which, when well-chosen, can produce amazing effects. Some of these, later (re)discovered on the {LISP Machine}, have been christened "munching triangles" (try AND for XOR and toggling points instead of plotting them), "munching w's", and "munching mazes". More generally, suppose a graphics program produces an impressive and ever-changing display of some basic form, foo, on a display terminal, and does it using a relatively simple program; then the program (or the resulting display) is likely to be referred to as "munching foos". [This is a good example of the use of the word {foo} as a {metasyntactic variable}.]
MuSimp "language" A {Lisp} variant used as the programming language for the {IBM PC} {symbolic mathematics} package {MuMath}. (1995-04-12)
New Flavors An {object-oriented} {Lisp} from {Symbolics}, the successor to {Flavors}, it led to {CLOS}. ["Reference Guide to Symbolics-Lisp", Symbolics, March 1985]. (1994-10-10)
newline "character, jargon" /n[y]oo'li:n/ {Line feed} or other character sequence used to terminate a line of text. {Unix} uses {line feed} as its text line terminator - a {Bell-Labs}-ism rather than a {Berkeley}ism. Interestingly (and unusually for Unix jargon), it is said to have originally been an {IBM} usage. Though the term "newline" appears in {ASCII} {standards}, it never caught on in the general computing world before {Unix}. The encoding of line feed as "\n" in {C} and {Unix} strings comes from this name. The term has been used more generally for any {end of line} character, character sequence (e.g. {crlf}), or operation (like {Pascal}'s writeln procedure or {Lisp 1.5}'s {terpri}) required to terminate a text record or separate lines. [{Jargon File}] (1997-07-14)
NIL /nil/ 1. New Implementation of Lisp. A language intended to be the successor of {MacLisp}. A large {Lisp}, implemented mostly in {VAX} {assembly language}. A forerunner of {Common LISP}. ["NIL: A Perspective", Jon L. White, MACSYMA Users' Conf Proc, 1979]. 2. Network Implementation Language. Strom & Yemini, TJWRC, IBM. Implementation of complex networking protocols in a modular fashion. ["NIL: An Integrated Language and System for Distributed Programming", R. Strom et al, SIGPLAN Notices 18(6):73-82 (June 1983)]. 3. Empty list or False. In {Lisp}, the empty list (or "nil list") is used to represent the {Boolean} value False. This is possible because {Lisp} is not typed. True is represented by the special {atom} "t". 4. Spoken in reply to a question, particularly one asked using the "-P" convention it means "No". Most hackers assume this derives simply from LISP, but NIL meaning "no" was well-established among radio hams decades before LISP existed. The historical connection between early hackerdom and the ham radio world was strong enough that this may have been an influence. [{Jargon File}]
Nqthm The language used in the {Boyer-Moore} {theorem prover}. ["Proving Theorems About LISP Functions", R.S. Boyer et al JACM 22(1):129-144 (Jan 1975)].
Nuprl /nyu p*rl/ Nearly Ultimate PRL. A system for interactive creation of formal mathematics, including definitions and proofs. It has an extremely rich type system, including dependent functions, products, sets, quotients and universes. Types are first-class citizens. It is built on {Franz Lisp} and {Edinburgh ML}. ["Implementing Mathematics in the Nuprl Proof Development System", R.L. Constable et al, P-H 1986]. (1994-12-13)
Oaklisp "language" A portable {object-oriented} {Scheme} by K. Lang and Barak Perlmutter of {Yale}. Oaklisp uses a superset of Scheme {syntax}. It is based on generic operations rather than functions, and features {anonymous classes}, {multiple inheritance}, a strong error system, {setters} and {locators} for operations and a facility for {dynamic binding}. Version 1.2 includes an interface, {bytecode compiler}, {run-time system} and documentation. {(ftp://f.gp.cs.cmu.edu/usr/bap/oak/ftpable/)}, {for Amiga (ftp://ftp.cso.uiuc.edu/pub/amiga/fish/ff519)}. ["Oaklisp: An Object-Oriented Scheme with First-Class Types", K. Lang et al, SIGPLAN Notices 21(11):30-37 (Nov 1986) (OOPSLA '86)]. (1992-05-01)
Object Lisp "language" An {object-oriented} {Lisp} developed by {Lisp Machines Inc.} (LMI) in about 1987. Object Lisp was based on nested {closures} and {operator shadowing}. Several competing object-oriented extensions to Lisp were around at the time, such as {Flavors}, in use by {Symbolics}; {Common Objects}, developed by {Hewlett-Packard}; and {CommonLoops} in use by {Xerox}. LMI submitted the specification as a candidate for an object-oriented standard for {Common Lisp}, but it was defeated in favour of {CLOS}. ["ObjectLISP User Manual", G. Dreschere, LMI 1987]. (2008-03-19)
Objective CAML "language" (Originally "CAML" - Categorical Abstract Machine Language) A version of {ML} by G. Huet, G. Cousineau, Ascander Suarez, Pierre Weis, Michel Mauny and others of {INRIA}. CAML is intermediate between {LCF ML} and {SML} [in what sense?]. It has {first-class} functions, {static type inference} with {polymorphic} types, user-defined {variant types} and {product types}, and {pattern matching}. It is built on a proprietary run-time system. The CAML V3.1 implementation added {lazy} and {mutable} data structures, a "{grammar}" mechanism for interfacing with the {Yacc} {parser generator}, {pretty-printing} tools, high-performance {arbitrary-precision} arithmetic, and a complete library. in 1990 Xavier Leroy and Damien Doligez designed a new implementation called {CAML Light}, freeing the previous implementation from too many experimental high-level features, and more importantly, from the old Le_Lisp back-end. Following the addition of a {native-code} compiler and a powerful {module} system in 1995 and of the {object} and {class} layer in 1996, the project's name was changed to Objective CAML. In 2000, Jacques Garrigue added labeled and optional arguments and anonymous variants. {Objective CAML Home (http://ocaml.org/)}. {Usenet} newsgroup: {news:comp.lang.ml}. ["The CAML Reference Manual", P. Weis et al, TR INRIA-ENS, 1989]. (2002-05-21)
ObjVlisp 1984. An {object-oriented} extension of {Vlisp}. {Reflective} architecture. ["Metaclasses are First Class: The ObjVlisp Model", P. Cointe, SIGPLAN Notices 22(121):156-167 (Dec 1987) (OOPSLA '87)].
ObjVProlog {Logic programming} and {object-orientation}, an adaptation of the {ObjVlisp} model to {Prolog}. ["ObjVProlog: Metaclasses in Logic", J. Malenfant, ECOOP '89, Cambridge U Press 1989, pp.257-269].
Official Production System "language" (OPS) The first {production system} (i.e. rule based) programming language, developed at {CMU} in 1970 and used for building {expert systems}. OPS was originally written in {Franz Lisp} and later ported to other {LISP} dialects. (2003-04-05)
Ontic "language" {Object-oriented} language for an {inference system} with a {Lisp}-like appearance, but based on set theory. ["Ontic: A Knowledge Representation System for Mathematics", D.A. McAllester, MIT Press 1989]. (1996-06-24)
open 1. "programming" To prepare to read or write a {file}. This usually involves checking whether the file already exists and that the user has the necessary {authorisation} to read or write it. The result of a successful open is usually some kind of {capability} (e.g. a {Unix} {file descriptor}) - a token that the user passes back to the system in order to access the file without further checks and finally to close the file. 2. "character" Abbreviation for "open (or left) parenthesis" - used when necessary to eliminate oral ambiguity. To read aloud the LISP form (DEFUN FOO (X) (PLUS X 1)) one might say: "Open defun foo, open eks close, open, plus eks one, close close." "software" 3. Non-proprietary. An open {standard} is one which can be used without payment. 4. "mathematics" {open interval}.
OPS5 "language" A programming language for rule-based {production systems}. A rule consists of pre-condition(s) and a resulting action. The system checks its {working memory} to see if there are rules whose pre-conditions are satisfied, if so, the action in one selected satisfied rule is executed. There is a {public domain} implementation of an OPS5 {interpreter} written by Charles L. Forgy "forgy@cs.cmu.edu" in 1977. It was first implemented in {Lisp} and later in {BLISS}. It was also ported to {Common Lisp} by George Wood and Jim Kowalski. {CLIPS} is a language for writing {expert systems}, with some of the capabilities of OPS5. See also {C5}, {OPS83}, {OPS4}, {OPS5+}, {OPS83}. Inference Engine Tech, Cambridge MA. {An OPS5 interpreter in Common LISP (ftp://ftp.wustl.edu/mirrors/Unix-c/languages/ops5)}. {A version by Mark Kantrowitz (ftp://ftp.cs.cmu.edu/afs/cs.cmu.edu/user/mkant/Public/Lisp/)}. "mkant+@cs.cmu.edu". ["Programming Expert Systems in OPS5", L. Brownston et al, A-W 1985]. ["An OPS5 Primer", Sherman et al, comes with OPS5 for DOS]. ["Rule-Based Programming in the Unix System", G.T. Vesonder, AT&T Tech J 67(1), 1988]. (1995-08-18)
Ousterhout's dichotomy "language" {John Ousterhout}'s division of {high-level languages} into "system programming languages" and "scripting languages". This distinction underlies the design of his language {Tcl}. System programming languages (or "applications languages") are {strongly typed}, allow arbitrarily complex {data structures}, and programs in them are {compiled}, and are meant to operate largely independently of other programs. Prototypical system programming languages are {C} and {Modula-2}. By contrast, scripting languages (or "glue languages") are weakly typed or untyped, have little or no provision for complex data structures, and programs in them ("{scripts}") are {interpreted}. Scripts need to interact either with other programs (often as {glue}) or with a set of functions provided by the interpreter, as with the {file system} functions provided in a {UNIX shell} and with {Tcl}'s {GUI} functions. Prototypical scripting languages are {AppleScript}, {C Shell}, {MS-DOS} {batch files} and {Tcl}. Many believe that this is a highly arbitrary dichotomy, and refer to it as "Ousterhout's fallacy" or "Ousterhout's false dichotomy". While strong-versus-weak typing, data structure complexity, and independent versus stand-alone might be said to be unrelated features, the usual critique of Ousterhout's dichotomy is of its distinction of compilation versus interpretation, since neither {semantics} nor {syntax} depend significantly on whether code is compiled into {machine-language}, interpreted, {tokenized}, or {byte-compiled} at the start of each run, or any mixture of these. Many languages fall between being interpreted or compiled (e.g. {Lisp}, {Forth}, {UCSD Pascal}, {Perl}, and {Java}). This makes compilation versus interpretation a dubious parameter in a taxonomy of programming languages. (2002-05-28)
PaiLisp "language" A {parallel} {Lisp} built on {Scheme} in 1986. ["A Parallel Lisp Language PaiLisp and its Kernel Specification", T. Ito et al, in Parallel Lisp: Languages and Systems, T. Ito et al eds, LNCS 441, Springer 1989]. (1995-01-30)
Paradigms of AI Programming A book by Peter Norvig with {Scheme} and {Prolog} {interpreters} and {compilers} in {Common Lisp}. {(ftp://Unix.sri.com/pub/norvig/)}. ["Paradigms of AI Programming", Peter Norvig].
Paralation LISP Embeds the paralation model in Common LISP. Available from MIT Press, (800)356-0343.
Parallel Virtual Machine "parallel, networking, tool" (PVM) 1. A {software} system designed to allow a network of {heterogeneous} machines to be used as a single {distributed} {parallel processor}. PVM was developed by the {University of Tennessee}, The {Oak Ridge National Laboratory} and the {Emory University}. {(http://epm.ornl.gov/pvm/)}. {Usenet} newsgroup: {news:comp.parallel.pvm}. 2. The {intermediate language} used by the {Gambit} compiler for {Scheme}. [And Multilisp?] (1995-01-30)
PLisp 1. PostScript Lisp? A {Common Lisp} translator and programming environment in {PostScript} by John Peterson "peterson-john@cs.yale.edu". 2. Pattern LISP. 1990. A {pattern-matching} rewrite-rule language, optimised for describing syntax translation rules. (See {LISP70}).
PECOS A {constraint}-based language, built on the {object-oriented} module of {Le-Lisp}. ["Pecos Reference Manual", ILOG, 1990. ILOG, 12 av Raspail, BP 7, F94251 Gentilly, France]. (1995-01-26)
Perl "language, tool" A {high-level} programming language, started by {Larry Wall} in 1987 and developed as an {open source} project. It has an eclectic heritage, deriving from the ubiquitous {C} programming language and to a lesser extent from {sed}, {awk}, various {Unix} {shell} languages, {Lisp}, and at least a dozen other tools and languages. Originally developed for {Unix}, it is now available for many {platforms}. Perl's elaborate support for {regular expression} matching and substitution has made it the {language of choice} for tasks involving {string manipulation}, whether for text or binary data. It is particularly popular for writing {CGI scripts}. The language's highly flexible syntax and concise regular expression operators, make densely written Perl code indecipherable to the uninitiated. The syntax is, however, really quite simple and powerful and, once the basics have been mastered, a joy to write. Perl's only {primitive} data type is the "scalar", which can hold a number, a string, the undefined value, or a typed reference. Perl's {aggregate} data types are {arrays}, which are ordered lists of {scalars} indexed by {natural numbers}, and hashes (or "{associative arrays}") which are unordered lists of scalars indexed by strings. A reference can point to a scalar, array, hash, {function}, or {filehandle}. {Objects} are implemented as references "{blessed}" with a {class} name. Strings in Perl are {eight-bit clean}, including {nulls}, and so can contain {binary data}. Unlike C but like most Lisp dialects, Perl internally and dynamically handles all memory allocation, {garbage collection}, and type {coercion}. Perl supports {closures}, {recursive functions}, {symbols} with either {lexical scope} or {dynamic scope}, nested {data structures} of arbitrary content and complexity (as lists or hashes of references), and packages (which can serve as classes, optionally inheriting {methods} from one or more other classes). There is ongoing work on {threads}, {Unicode}, {exceptions}, and {backtracking}. Perl program files can contain embedded documentation in {POD} (Plain Old Documentation), a simple markup language. The normal Perl distribution contains documentation for the language, as well as over a hundred modules (program libraries). Hundreds more are available from The {Comprehensive Perl Archive Network}. Modules are themselves generally written in Perl, but can be implemented as interfaces to code in other languages, typically compiled C. The free availability of modules for almost any conceivable task, as well as the fact that Perl offers direct access to almost all {system calls} and places no arbitrary limits on data structure size or complexity, has led some to describe Perl, in a parody of a famous remark about {lex}, as the "Swiss Army chainsaw" of programming. The use of Perl has grown significantly since its adoption as the language of choice of many {web} developers. {CGI} interfaces and libraries for Perl exist for several {platforms} and Perl's speed and flexibility make it well suited for form processing and on-the-fly {web page} creation. Perl programs are generally stored as {text} {source} files, which are compiled into {virtual machine} code at run time; this, in combination with its rich variety of data types and its common use as a glue language, makes Perl somewhat hard to classify as either a "{scripting language}" or an "{applications language}" -- see {Ousterhout's dichotomy}. Perl programs are usually called "Perl scripts", if only for historical reasons. Version 5 was a major rewrite and enhancement of version 4, released sometime before November 1993. It added real {data structures} by way of "references", un-adorned {subroutine} calls, and {method} {inheritance}. The spelling "Perl" is preferred over the older "PERL" (even though some explain the language's name as originating in the acronym for "Practical Extraction and Report Language"). The program that interprets/compiles Perl code is called "perl", typically "/usr/local/bin/perl" or "/usr/bin/perl". {(http://perl.com/)}. {Usenet} newsgroups: {news:comp.lang.perl.announce}, {news:comp.lang.perl.misc}. ["Programming Perl", Larry Wall and Randal L. Schwartz, O'Reilly & Associates, Inc. Sebastopol, CA. ISBN 0-93715-64-1]. ["Learning Perl" by Randal L. Schwartz, O'Reilly & Associates, Inc., Sebastopol, CA]. [{Jargon File}] (1999-12-04)
phase of the moon Used humorously as a random parameter on which something is said to depend. Sometimes implies unreliability of whatever is dependent, or that reliability seems to be dependent on conditions nobody has been able to determine. "This feature depends on having the channel open in mumble mode, having the foo switch set, and on the phase of the moon." See also {heisenbug}. True story: Once upon a time there was a {bug} that really did depend on the phase of the moon. There was a little subroutine that had traditionally been used in various programs at {MIT} to calculate an approximation to the moon's true phase. {GLS} incorporated this routine into a {Lisp} program that, when it wrote out a file, would print a timestamp line almost 80 characters long. Very occasionally the first line of the message would be too long and would overflow onto the next line, and when the file was later read back in the program would {barf}. The length of the first line depended on both the precise date and time and the length of the phase specification when the timestamp was printed, and so the bug literally depended on the phase of the moon! The first paper edition of the {Jargon File} (Steele-1983) included an example of one of the timestamp lines that exhibited this bug, but the typesetter "corrected" it. This has since been described as the phase-of-the-moon-bug bug. [{Jargon File}] (1995-02-22)
PLANNER A language for writing {theorem provers} by {Carl Hewitt} "hewitt@ai.mit.edu" {MIT} 1967. Never fully implemented. {CONNIVER} was an outgrowth of {PLANNER} and {microPLANNER} a subset. {PLASMA} is a PLANNER-like system modelled on {Actors}. See also {POPLER}, {QLISP}, {Scheme}. ["PLANNER: A Language for Proving Theorems in Robots", Carl Hewitt, Proc IJCAI-69, Wash DC, May 1969].
PLASMA PLAnner-like System Modelled on Actors. {Carl Hewitt}, 1975. The first {actor} language. Originally called Planner-73, and implemented in MacLisp. Lisp-like syntax, but with several kinds of parentheses and brackets. ["A PLASMA Primer", B. Smith et al, AI Lab Working Paper 92, MIT Oct 1975]. ["Viewing Control Structures as Patterns of Passing Messages", C. Hewitt, AI Lab Memo 410, MIT 1976].
Plural EuLisp EuLisp with parallel extensions. "Collections and Garbage Collection", S.C. Merall et al, in Memory Management - IWMM92, Springer 1992, pp.473-489.
Pop-11 "language" A programming language created by Robin Popplestone in 1975, originally for the {PDP-11}. Pop-11 is {stack-oriented}, extensible, and efficient like {FORTH}. It is also {functional}, {dynamically typed}, {interactive}, with {garbage collection} like {LISP}, and the {syntax} is {block structured} like {Pascal}. ["Programming in POP-11", J. Laventhol "jcl@deshaw.com", Blackwell 1987]. AlphaPop is an implementation for the {Macintosh} from Computable Functions Inc. PopTalk and POPLOG from the University of Sussex are available for {VAX/VMS} and most {workstations}. E-mail: Robin Popplestone "pop@cs.umass.edu" (2003-03-25)
Poplar Morris, 1978. A blend of LISP with SNOBOL4 pattern matching and APL-like {postfix syntax}. Implicit iteration over lists, sorting primitive. "Experience with an Applicative String-Processing Language", J.H. Morris et al, 7th POPL, ACM 1980, pp.32-46.
POPLOG A multi-language programming environment, which includes the languages {Pop-11}, {ML}, {Common Lisp} and {Prolog}. It supports mixed-language programming and {incremental compilation} and includes a comprehensive {X Window System} interface. It is built on top of a two-stack {virtual machine}, PVM. POPLOG was developed at the University of Sussex, Brighton, UK. ["POPLOG's Two-Level Virtual Machine Support for Interactive Languages", R. Smith et al, in Research Directions in Cognitive Science, v.5 (1992)].
portability "operating system, programming" The ease with which a piece of software (or {file format}) can be "ported", i.e. made to run on a new {platform} and/or compile with a new {compiler}. The most important factor is the language in which the software is written and the most portable language is almost certainly {C} (though see {Vaxocentrism} for counterexamples). This is true in the sense that C compilers are available for most systems and are often the first compiler provided for a new system. This has led several compiler writers to compile other languages to C code in order to benefit from its portability (as well as the quality of compilers available for it). The least portable type of language is obviously {assembly code} since it is specific to one particular (family of) {processor}(s). It may be possible to translate mechanically from one assembly code (or even {machine code}) into another but this is not really portability. At the other end of the scale would come {interpreted} or {semi-compiled} languages such as {LISP} or {Java} which rely on the availability of a portable {interpreter} or {virtual machine} written in a lower level language (often C for the reasons outlined above). The act or result of porting a program is called a "port". E.g. "I've nearly finished the {Pentium} port of my big bang simulation." Portability is also an attribute of {file formats} and depends on their adherence to {standards} (e.g. {ISO 8859}) or the availability of the relevant "viewing" software for different {platforms} (e.g. {PDF}). (1997-06-18)
Portable Common Loops (PCL) A language which started out as an implementation of {CommonLoops} and turned into a portable {CLOS} implementation. Version 1992-08-28. It runs under {Lucid Common LISP} 4.0.1 and {CMU Common LISP} 16e. {(ftp://parcftp.xerox.com/pcl)}. (1992-09-02) [Was it developed by Richard Harris "rharris@ptolemy2.rdrc.rpi.edu"?]
Portable Standard Lisp "language" (PSL) A dialect of {Lisp} from {Utah University}. PSL is available as a kit for {68000} and also runs on {VAX}. It compiles {Lisp} to {C}-code {virtual machine} language. ["The Portable Standard LISP Users Manual", TR-10, CS Dept, U Utah, Jan 1982]. ["A Portable Lisp System", M.L. Griss et al, Proc 1982 ACM Symp on Lisp and Functional Prog, Aug 1982]. (2000-09-25)
precedence lossage /pre's*-dens los'*j/ A misunderstanding of {operator precedence} resulting in unintended grouping of arithmetic or logical {operators} when coding an {expression}. Used especially of mistakes in {C} code due to the nonintuitively low precedence of "&", "|", "^", """" and """". For example, the following C expression, intended to test the least significant bit of x, x & 1 == 0 is {parsed} as x & (1 == 0) which is always zero (false). Some lazy programmers ignore precedence and parenthesise everything. {Lisp} fans enjoy pointing out that this can't happen in *their* favourite language, which eschews precedence entirely, requiring one to use explicit parentheses everywhere. [{Jargon File}] (1994-12-16)
prefix notation "language" (Or "prefix syntax") One of the possible orderings of {functions} and {operands}: in prefix notation the function precedes all its operands. For example, what may normally be written as "1+2" becomes "(+ 1 2)". A few languages (e.g., {lisp}) have strictly prefix syntax, many more employ prefix notation in combination with {infix notation}. The opposite, {postfix notation}, is somewhat rarer. (2014-07-08)
Probe An {object-oriented} {logic language} based on {ObjVlisp}. ["Proposition d'une Extension Objet Minimale pour Prolog", Actes du Sem Prog en Logique, Tregastel (May 1987), pp. 483-506].
Project MAC "project" A project suggested by J C R Licklider; its founding director was {MIT} Prof. Robert M Fano. MAC stood for Multiple Access Computers on the 5th floor of Tech Square, and Man and Computer on the 9th floor. The major efforts were Corbato's {Multics} development and {Marvin Minsky}'s {Artificial Intelligence} Laboratory. In 1963 Project MAC hosted a summer study, which brought many well-known computer scientists to Cambridge to use {CTSS} and to discuss the future of computing. Funding for Project MAC was provided by the Information Processing Techniques Office of the {Advanced Research Projects Agency} (ARPA) of the US Department of Defense. See also {Early PL/I}, {MacLisp}, {MACSYMA}, {MDL}, {Multipop-68}, {OCAL}. (1997-01-29)
PseudoScheme A translator from {Scheme} to {Common Lisp} by Jonathan Rees "jar@cs.cornell.edu". Version 2.8. It conforms to all of {R3RS} except {call/cc} and requires {Common Lisp}. Runs on {Lucid}, {Symbolics CL}, {VAX Lisp}, {Explorer CL}. Mailing list: info-clscheme-request@mc.lcs.mit.edu. (1994-10-28)
PSL "language" 1. {Portable Standard Lisp}. 2. {Problem Statement Language}.
Pure Lisp A {purely functional language} derived from {Lisp} by excluding any feature which causes {side-effects}.
Python 1. "language" A simple, high-level interpreted language invented by Guido van Rossum "guido@cwi.nl" in 1991. Python combines ideas from {ABC}, {C}, {Modula-3} and {Icon}. It bridges the gap between {C} and {shell} programming, making it suitable for {rapid prototyping} or as an extension language for C applications. It is {object-oriented} and supports packages, {modules}, {classes}, user-defined exceptions, a good C interface, dynamic loading of C modules and has no arbitrary restrictions. Python is available for many {platforms}, including {Unix}, {Windows}, {DOS}, {OS/2}, {Macintosh} and {Amoeba}. {(http://python.org/)}. {Usenet} newsgroup: {news:comp.lang.python}. (2007-02-21) 2. "compiler" A {compiler} for {CMU Common LISP}. Python is more sophisticated than other {Common Lisp} compilers. It produces better code and is easier to use. The programming environment based on the {Hemlock} editor is better integrated than {GNU} {Emacs} based environments. (1997-02-27)
QA4 Question-answering language. A procedural calculus for intuitive reasoning. A LISP-based pattern-matching language for theorem proving. "QA4, A Language for Writing Problem-Solving Programs", J.F. Rulifson et al, Proc IFIP Congress 1968.
Qlambda "language" A {LISP} by {Richard Gabriel} and {John McCarthy}. ["Queue-based Multi-processing Lisp", R. Gabriel & J. McCarthy, Proc 1984 Symp Lisp and Functional Prog, pp. 25-44]. (1999-10-12)
Q "language" A very {high level language} by Per Bothner based on {lazy} generalised sequences. Q has {lexical scope}, and some support for {logic programming}[?] and {constraint} programming. The language includes small subsets of {Common Lisp} and {Scheme}. Q was a test-bed for programming language ideas. Where {APL} uses {arrays} for looping, Q uses generalised sequences which may be infinite and may be stored or calculated on demand. It has {macros}, {primitives} to run programs, and an {interactive} command language. Q is implemented in {C++}, and comes with an {interpreter}, {compiler} framework, libraries, and documentation. It runs on {Linux} and {SUN-4} and should work on any 32-bit {Unix}. {(http://kelso.bothner.com/~per/software/
QLISP 1. SRI 1973. General problem solving, influenced by PLANNER. QA4 features merged with INTERLISP. ["QLISP - A Language for the Interactive Development of Complex Systems", E. Sacerdoti et al, NCC 45:349-356, AFIPS, 1976]. 2. A parallel LISP. ["Qlisp", R. Gabriel et al in Parallel Computation and Computers for AI, J. Kowalik ed, 1988, pp.63-89]. (1999-10-12)
QLOG A version of {Prolog} implemented in {Lisp} which allows Prolog programs to call Lisp and vice versa. ["QLOG - The Programming Environment for Prolog in LISP", H.J. Komorowski in Logic Prgramming, K.L. Clark et al eds, Academic Press 1982]. (1995-01-25)
quine "programming" /kwi:n/ (After the logician Willard V. Quine, via Douglas Hofstadter) A program that generates a copy of its own source text as its complete output. Devising the shortest possible quine in some given programming language is a common hackish amusement. In most interpreted languages, any constant, e.g. 42, is a quine because it "evaluates to itself". In certain {Lisp} dialects (e.g. {Emacs Lisp}), the symbols "nil" and "t" are "self-quoting", i.e. they are both a symbol and also the value of that symbol. In some dialects, the function-forming function symbol, "lambda" is self-quoting so that, when applied to some arguments, it returns itself applied to those arguments. Here is a quine in {Lisp} using this idea: ((lambda (x) (list x x)) (lambda (x) (list x x))) Compare this to the {lambda expression}: (\ x . x x) (\ x . x x) which reproduces itself after one step of {beta reduction}. This is simply the result of applying the {combinator} {fix} to the {identity function}. In fact any quine can be considered as a {fixed point} of the language's evaluation mechanism. We can write this in {Lisp}: ((lambda (x) (funcall x x)) (lambda (x) (funcall x x))) where "funcall" applies its first argument to the rest of its arguments, but evaluation of this expression will never terminate so it cannot be called a quine. Here is a more complex version of the above Lisp quine, which will work in Scheme and other Lisps where "lambda" is not self-quoting: ((lambda (x) (list x (list (quote quote) x))) (quote (lambda (x) (list x (list (quote quote) x))))) It's relatively easy to write quines in other languages such as {PostScript} which readily handle programs as data; much harder (and thus more challenging!) in languages like {C} which do not. Here is a classic {C} quine for {ASCII} machines: char*f="char*f=%c%s%c;main() {printf(f,34,f,34,10);}%c"; main(){printf(f,34,f,34,10);} For excruciatingly exact quinishness, remove the interior line break. Some infamous {Obfuscated C Contest} entries have been quines that reproduced in exotic ways. {Ken Thompson}'s {back door} involved an interesting variant of a quine - a compiler which reproduced part of itself when compiling (a version of) itself. [{Jargon File}] (1995-04-25)
read-eval-print loop "language, LISP, programming" (REPL) A programming {structure} within {LISP} which repeatedly reads a {form} from the {user}, evaluates it, and displays the result. A read-eval-print {loop} forms the basis of the {Top-Level} {shell} that programmers of the LISP family of languages interact with. In many dialects of LISP a very simple REPL could be implemented as: (loop (print (eval (read)))). (2003-06-23)
RediLisp R.M. Keller, U Utah. Dialect of Lisp used on the Rediflow machine, a derivative of FEL.
REDUCE "language, mathematics" A {symbolic mathematics} language with {ALGOL}-like {syntax}, written in {Lisp} by Anthony Hearn in 1963. Reduce 2 is a version based on {Portable Standard LISP}. {(http://rrz.uni-koeln.de/REDUCE/)}. E-mail: "reduce@rand.org". Server: reduce-netlib@rand.org. ["REDUCE, Software for Algebraic Computation", G. Rayna, Springer 1987]. (1994-10-31)
RefLisp "language" A small {Lisp} {interpreter} written in {C++} by Bill Birch of {Bull}, UK. RefLisp has a built-in {web server}, {Wiki}, {LISP server pages}, {SQL Databases}, {XML parser}, {MD5} hashing, {regular expressions}, {reference counting} and {mark-sweep garbage collection}. RefLisp has {shallow-binding} and {dynamic scope} with optional support for {lexical scope}, {Common Lisp} compatibility and for {indefinite extent} {Scheme} programs. RefLisp is distributed under the {GPL}. {RefLisp Home (http://sourceforge.net/projects/reflisp/)}. (2005-02-08)
REPL 1. "language, LISP, programming" {read-eval-print loop}. 2. "language" {Restricted EPL}. (2003-06-23)
Richard Gabriel "person" (Dick, RPG) Dr. Richard P. Gabriel. A noted {SAIL} {LISP} {hacker} and volleyball fanatic. Consulting Professor of Computer Science at {Stanford University}. Richard Gabriel is a leader in the {Lisp} and {OOP} community, with years of contributions to {standardisation}. He founded the successful company, {Lucid Technologies, Inc.}. In 1996 he was Distinguished Computer Scientist at ParcPlace-Digitalk, Inc. (later renamed {ObjectShare, Inc.}). See also {gabriel}, {Qlambda}, {QLISP}, {saga}. (1999-10-12)
Right Thing That which is *compellingly* the correct or appropriate thing to use, do, say, etc. Always capitalised, always emphasised in speech as though capitalised. Use of this term often implies that in fact reasonable people may disagree. "What's the Right Thing for {Lisp} to do when it sees "(mod a 0)"? Should it return "a", or give a divide-by-0 error?" Opposite: {Wrong Thing}. [{Jargon File}] (1994-10-28)
rl Kent Wittenburg "kentw@bellcore.com". The RL files contain code for defining {relational grammars} and using them in a bottom-up parser to recognise and/or parse expressions in Relational Languages. The approach is a simplification of that described in Wittenburg, Weitzman, and Talley (1991), Unification-Based Grammars and Tabular Parsing for Graphical Languages, Journal of Visual Languages and Computing 2:347-370. This code is designed to support the definition and parsing of Relational Languages, which are characterised as sets of objects standing in user-defined relations. Correctness and completeness is independent of the order in which the input is given to the parser. Data to be {parsed} can be in many forms as long as an interface is supported for queries and predicates for the relations used in grammar productions. To date, this software has been used to parse recursive pen-based input such as math expressions and {flow charts}; to check for {data integrity} and design conformance in databases; to automatically generate constraints in drag-and-drop style graphical interfaces; and to generate graphical displays by parsing relational data and generating output code. requires: Common Lisp ports: Allegro Common Lisp 4.1, Macintosh Common Lisp 2.0 {(ftp://flash.bellcore.com/rl/)}. (1992-10-31)
RMAIL "messaging" A {MUA} written in {Emacs Lisp} to run within {Emacs}. (1996-03-21)
RPL Reverse Polish LISP. Language used by HP-28 and HP-48 calculators.
RUTH D.A. Harrison at Newcastle University. Real-time language based on LispKit. Uses timestamps and real-time clocks. ["RUTH: A Functional Language for Real-Time Programming", D. Harrison in PARLE: Parallel Architectures and Languages Europe, LNCS 259, Springer 1987, pp.297-314].
SAC2 "mathematics, tool" A {symbolic mathematics} system which compiles to {Fortran} or {Common Lisp}. E-mail: "jma@poly.polytechnique.fr". (1995-04-12)
Scheme84 {Scheme} from {Indiana University}. It requires {Franz Lisp} on a {VAX} under {VMS} or {BSD}. E-mail: Nancy Garrett "nlg@indiana.edu". Send a tape with return postage to Scheme84 Distribution, Nancy Garrett, c/o Dan Friedman, Department of Computer Science, Indiana University, Bloomington, Indiana. Telephone: +1 (812) 335 9770.
Scheme "programming" (Originally "Schemer", by analogy with {Planner} and {Conniver}). A small, uniform {Lisp} dialect with clean {semantics}, developed initially by {Guy Steele} and {Gerald Sussman} in 1975. Scheme uses {applicative order reduction} and {lexical scope}. It treats both {functions} and {continuations} as {first-class} objects. One of the most used implementations is {DrScheme}, others include {Bigloo}, {Elk}, {Liar}, {Orbit}, {Scheme86} (Indiana U), {SCM}, {MacScheme} (Semantic Microsystems), {PC Scheme} (TI), {MIT Scheme}, and {T}. See also {Kamin's interpreters}, {PSD}, {PseudoScheme}, {Schematik}, {Scheme Repository}, {STk}, {syntax-case}, {Tiny Clos}, {Paradigms of AI Programming}. There have been a series of revisions of the report defining Scheme, known as {RRS} (Revised Report on Scheme), {R2RS} (Revised Revised Report ..), {R3RS}, {R3.99RS}, {R4RS}. {Scheme resources (http://schemers.org/)}. Mailing list: scheme@mc.lcs.mit.edu. [IEEE P1178-1990, "IEEE Standard for the Scheme Programming Language", ISBN 1-55937-125-0]. (2003-09-14)
Screamer An extension of {Common Lisp} providing {nondeterministic} {backtracking} and {constraint} programming. {(ftp://ftp.ai.mit.edu/pub/screamer.tar.Z)}. [Isn't all backtracking nondeterministic by definition?]
Sequel 1. Precursor to SQL. ["System R: Relational Approach to Database Management", IBM Res Lab, San Jose, reprinted in Readings in Database Systems]. 2. U Leeds. Theorem prover specification language. Pattern matching notation similar to Prolog. Compiled into Lisp. [Proc ICJAI 13]. {(ftp://agora.leeds.ac.uk/scs/logic/)}.
SEUS R. Weyrauch et al. Language allowing functions to return multiple values. Implemented but never published. Mentioned in "Evolution of Lisp", G.L. Steele et al, SIGPLAN Notices 28(3):231-270 (March 1993).
SHEEP "mathematics, tool" A package for {symbolic mathematics}, especially {tensor analysis} and General Relativity, developed by Inge Frick in Stockholm in the late 1970s to early 1980s. SHEEP was implemented in {DEC-10} {assembly language}, then in several {LISPs}. The current version runs on {Sun}-3 and is based on {Portable Standard LISP}. ["Sheep, a Computer Algebra System for General Relativity", J.E.F. Skea et al in Proc First Brazilian School on Comp Alg, W. Roque et al eds, Oxford U Press 1993, v2]. {(http://riaca.win.tue.nl/archive/can/SystemsOverview/Special/Tensoranalysis/SHEEP/index.html)}. (2002-12-28)
siod "language" (Scheme In One Defun or Scheme In One Day) A small {Scheme} implementation in {C} by George Carrette "gjc@world.std.com", "gjc@mitech.com". SIOD is arranged as a set of subroutines that can be called from any main program for the purpose of introducing an interpreted extension language. It compiles to 20 kbytes of executable ({VAX}/{VMS}). {Lisp} calls {C} and C calls Lisp transparently. SIOD supports symbols, strings, {arrays}, {hash coding}, file i/o (binary, text, seek), data save/restore in binary and text, interface to commercial {databases} such {Oracle} and {Digital} {RDB}. Version 3.0 runs on {VAX}/{VMS},{Unix}, {Sun-3}, {Sun-4}, {Amiga}, {Macintosh}, {MIPS}, {Cray}, {ALPHA}/{VMS}, {Windows NT} and {OS/2}. It can be compiled by most {ANSI C} compilers and {C++} compilers, e.g. {gcc} -Wall. {(ftp://world.std.com/pub/gjc/)}, {(ftp://world.std.com/src/lisp/)}. {Usenet} newsgroup: {news:comp.lang.scheme}. (1994-02-18)
Skill A somewhat peculiar blend between {Franz-Lisp} and {C}, with a large set of various {CAD} primitives. It is owned by {Cadence Design Systems} and has been used in their CAD frameworks since 1985. It's an {extension language} to the CAD framework (in the same way that {Emacs-Lisp} extends {GNU Emacs}), enabling you to automate virtually everything that you can do manually in for example the graphic editor. Skill accepts {C}-syntax, fun(a b), as well as {Lisp} syntax, (fun a b), but most users (including Cadence themselves) use the C-style. [Jonas Jarnestrom "etxjojm@eua.ericsson.se"]. (1995-02-14)
snap 1. "programming" To remove indirection, e.g. by replacing a {pointer} to a pointer with a pointer to the final target (see {chase pointers}). The underlying metaphor may be a rubber band stretched through a number of points; if you release it from the intermediate points, it snaps to a straight line from first to last. Often a {trampoline} performs an error check once and then snaps the pointer that invoked it so subsequent calls will bypass the trampoline (and its one-shot error check). In this context one also speaks of "snapping links". For example, in a {Lisp} implementation, a function interface trampoline might check to make sure that the caller is passing the correct number of arguments; if it is, and if the caller and the callee are both compiled, then snapping the link allows that particular path to use a direct procedure-call instruction with no further overhead. [{Jargon File}] (2006-05-27) 2. "operating system" {snap dump}. (2006-05-27)
SOAR 1. State, Operator And Result. A general problem-solving {production system} architecture, intended as a model of human intelligence. Developed by A. Newell in the early 1980s. SOAR was originally implemented in {Lisp} and {OPS5} and is currently implemented in {Common Lisp}. Version: Soar6. E-mail: "soar@cs.cmu.edu". ["The SOAR Papers", P.S. Rosenbloom et al eds, MIT Press 1993]. (1994-11-04) 2. Smalltalk On A RISC. A {RISC} {microprocessor} designed by David Patterson's at Berekeley. (1994-11-04)
space-cadet keyboard "hardware, history" A now-legendary device used on {MIT} {Lisp} machines, which inspired several still-current jargon terms and influenced the design of {Emacs}. It was equipped with no fewer than *seven* shift keys: four keys for {bucky bits} ("control", "meta", "hyper", and "super") and three like regular shift keys, called "shift", "top", and "front". Many keys had three symbols on them: a letter and a symbol on the top, and a Greek letter on the front. For example, the "L" key had an "L" and a two-way arrow on the top, and the Greek letter lambda on the front. By pressing this key with the right hand while playing an appropriate "chord" with the left hand on the shift keys, you could get the following results: L lowercase l shift-L uppercase L front-L lowercase lambda front-shift-L uppercase lambda top-L two-way arrow (front and shift are ignored) And of course each of these might also be typed with any combination of the control, meta, hyper, and super keys. On this keyboard, you could type over 8000 different characters! This allowed the user to type very complicated mathematical text, and also to have thousands of single-character commands at his disposal. Many hackers were actually willing to memorise the command meanings of that many characters if it reduced typing time (this attitude obviously shaped the interface of {Emacs}). Other hackers, however, thought that many {bucky bits} was overkill, and objected that such a keyboard can require three or four hands to operate. See {cokebottle}, {double bucky}, {meta bit}, {quadruple bucky}. Note: early versions of this entry incorrectly identified the space-cadet keyboard with the "Knight keyboard". Though both were designed by Tom Knight, the latter term was properly applied only to a keyboard used for {ITS} on the {PDP-10} and modelled on the Stanford keyboard (as described under {bucky bits}). The true space-cadet keyboard evolved from the Knight keyboard. [{Jargon File}] (1994-12-05)
Spice Lisp "language" A flavour of {Lisp}, the sources of which (in Lisp) are available from {CMU}. (1998-03-14)
spiculispongiae ::: n. pl. --> A division of sponges including those which have independent siliceous spicules.
Stack Environment Control Dump machine (SECD machine) The first {abstract machine} for reducing {lambda-calculus} expressions, invented by P. J. Landin. The machine has four {registers} holding pointers to {linked lists} operated as push-down {stacks} which hold the information required for the evaluation of an expression. The registers point to (1) Stack which holds the arguments of partially evaluated expressions and results of completely evaluated ones, (2) Environment where the current expression being evaluated is stored, (3) Control which holds the machine instructions that manipulate the contents of the four registers that represent the expression being evaluated, (4) Dump on which the state of the machine is temporarily saved during the evaluation of expressions. See also {Lispkit}.
stale pointer bug "programming" (Or "aliasing bug") A class of subtle programming errors that can arise in code that does {dynamic allocation}, especially via {malloc} or equivalent. If several {pointers} address (are "aliases for") a given hunk of storage, it may happen that the storage is freed or reallocated (and thus moved) through one alias and then referenced through another, which may lead to subtle (and possibly intermittent) lossage depending on the state and the allocation history of the malloc {arena}. This bug can be avoided by never creating aliases for allocated memory, or by use of a {higher-level language}, such as {Lisp}, which employs a {garbage collector}. The term "aliasing bug" is nowadays associated with {C} programming, it was already in use in a very similar sense in the {ALGOL 60} and {Fortran} communities in the 1960s. See also {smash the stack}, {fandango on core}, {memory leak}, {memory smash}, {spam}. [{Jargon File}] (1995-05-09)
Standard Lisp A subset of {Lisp 1.5} developed by A. Hearn primarily for implementing {REDUCE}. It was replaced by {Portable Sandard LISP}. ["Standard LISP Report", J. Marti et al, SIGPLAN Notices 14(10):48-58 (Oct 1979)]. (1994-11-04)
Standard ML "language" (SML) Originally an attempt by Robin Milner "rm@lfcs.edinburgh.ac.uk" ca. 1984 to unify the dialects of {ML}, SML has evolved into a robust general-purpose language. Later versions have been maintained by D. B. MacQueen, Lal George "george@research.att.com", and J. H. Reppy "jhr@research.att.com" at AT&T, and A. W. Appel "appel@princeton.edu". SML is {functional}, with {imperative programming} features. It is environment based and {strict}. It adds to ML the {call-by-pattern} of {Hope}, {recursive data types}, {reference types}, typed {exceptions}, and {modules}. (The "core" language excludes the modules). Standard ML is {polymorphic}ally typed and its module system supports flexible yet secure large-scale programming. {Standard ML of New Jersey} is an optimising {native-code compiler} for Standard ML that is written in Standard ML. It runs on a wide range of architectures. The distribution also contains: an extensive library - The Standard ML of New Jersey Library, including detailed documentation; {Concurrent ML} (CML); {eXene} - an elegant interface to {X11} (based on {CML}); {SourceGroup} - a {separate compilation} and "{make}" facility. Implementations: {SML/NJ}, {POPLOG ML}, {Poly/ML}, {Edinburgh SML}, {ANU ML}, {Micro ML}, {lazy sml2c}. {sml2c} compiles to {C}. See also {ML Kit}. Version 0.93 runs on {68000}, {SPARC}, {MIPS}, {HPPA}, {RS/6000}, {Intel 386}, {Intel 486} and {Macintosh}. {Manual (http://dcs.napier.ac.uk/course-notes/sml/manual.html)}. {FTP from ATT (ftp://research.att.com/dist/ml/)}. {FTP from Suny SB (ftp://sbcs.sunysb.edu/)}. Mailing list: sml-request@cs.cmu.edu. ["A Proposal for Standard ML", R. Milner, ACM Symp on LISP and Functional Prog 1984, pp. 184-197]. (1995-12-24)
Stanford Artificial Intelligence Laboratory "body, education" (SAIL) /sayl/, not /S-A-I-L/ An important site in the early development of {LISP}; with the {MIT AI Lab}, {BBN}, {CMU}, {XEROX PARC}, and the {Unix} community, one of the major wellsprings of technical innovation and hacker-culture traditions (see the {WAITS} entry for details). The SAIL machines were shut down in late May 1990, scant weeks after the MIT AI Lab's ITS cluster was officially decommissioned. [{Jargon File}] (2001-06-22)
StarLISP {*LISP}
STk "language, LISP, graphics" A {Scheme} {interpreter} blended with Ousterhout's {Tk} package by Erick Gallesio "eg@unice.fr". STk expresses all of Tk as Scheme objects. STk includes a slow {CLOS}/{Dylan}-like {object-oriented} extension. STk almost conforms to {R4RS} and runs on {SunOS} 4.1.x and {Ultrix}/{MIPS}. {(ftp://kaolin.unice.fr/pub/STk-1.00.tar.gz)}. {(ftp://ftp.cs.indiana.edu/pub/scheme-repository/imp/STk-2.1.tar.Z)}. (2000-12-16)
SUPER The successor to {LOGLISP}, based on {LNF}. ["New Generation Knowledge Processing: Final Report on the SUPER System", J Alan Robinson et al, CASE Center TR 8707, Syracuse U, 1987]. (1994-11-24)
Symbolic Automatic INTegrator "mathematics, tool" (SAINT) A {symbolic mathematics} program written in {Lisp} by J. Slagle at {MIT} in 1961. [Sammet 1969, p. 410]. (1994-12-08)
Symbolics, Inc. "company" The company which produced the {Lisp Machine}. {The Symbolics Museum (http://SMBX.org/)}. [Summary?] (2003-11-24)
Symmetric LISP A parallel {Lisp} in which environments are {first-class} objects. It is implemented in {Common LISP}. ["Parallelism, Persistence and Meta-Cleanliness in the Symmetric Lisp Processor", D. Gelernter et al, SIGPLAN Notices 22(7):274-282 (July 1987)]. ["A Programming Language Supporting First-Class Parallel Environments", S. Jagannathan, MIT-LCS/TR 434, 1989]. E-mail: Suresh Jagannathan "suresh@research.nj.nec.com". (1995-03-16)
SYSLISP System language used in the implementation of Portable Standard Lisp. Mentioned in "The Evolution of Lisp", G.L. Steele et al, SIGPLAN Notices 28(3):231-270 (Mar 1993).
T 1. True. A {Lisp} compiler by Johnathan A. Rees in 1982 at {Yale University}. T has {static scope} and is a near-superset of {Scheme}. {Unix} source is available. T is written in itself and compiles to efficient native code. Used as the basis for the Yale {Haskell} system. Maintained by David Kranz "kranz@masala.lcs.mit.edu". {(ftp://ftp.ai.mit.edu/pub/systems/t3.1)}. A {multiprocessing} version of T is available {(ftp://masala.lcs.mit.edu/pub/mult)}. Runs on {Decstation}, {SPARC}, {Sun-3}, {Vax} under {Unix}, {Encore}, {HP}, {Apollo}, {Macintosh} under {A/UX}. E-mail: "t3-bugs@cs.yale.edu" (bugs). E-mail: "t-project@cs.yale.edu". (1991-11-26) ["The T Manual", Johnathan A. Rees "jar@zurich.ai.mit.edu" et al, Yale U, 1984]. 2. A {functional language}. ["T: A Simple Reduction Language Based on Combinatory Term Rewriting", Ida et al, Proc of Prog Future Generation Computers, 1988]. 3. (lower case) The {Lisp} {atom} used to represent "true", among other things. "false" is represented using the same atom as an empty list, {nil}. This {overloading} of the basic constants of the language helps to make Lisp {write-only code}. 4. In transaction-processing circles, an abbreviation for "transaction". 5. (Purdue) An alternative spelling of "{tee}".
TAO "language" 1. A {Lisp} dialect with {concurrency}, {object-orientation} and logic. ["Concurrent Programming in TAO - Practice and Experience", I. Takeuchi in Parallel Lisp: Languages and Systems, T. Ito et al eds, LNCS 441, Springer 1989, pp. 271-299]. (2006-02-06) 2. A programming language for {APE/Quadrics} {parallel} computers, largely modelled on {FORTRAN} and evolved from the even more primitive {APESE} language. TAO is particularly hard to work with, due to the lack of systematics, poor documentation and a primitive compiler. [Reference? Dates?] (2006-02-06)
T Lisp {T}
TELOS 1. The {LeLisp} Version 16 Object System. Also used in {EuLisp}. The {object-oriented} {core} of {EuLisp}. Incorporates ideas from {CLOS}, {ObjVLisp} and {OakLisp}. Total merging of {types} with {class}es and message-passing with normal function {application}. 2. A {Pascal}-based {AI} language. ["Design Rationale for TELOS, a Pascal-based AI Language", Travis et al, SIGPLAN Notices 12(8) (Aug 1977)].
terpri /ter'pree/ TERminate PRInt line. [{LISP 1.5} and later, {MacLISP}] To output a {newline}. Still used in {Common LISP}. On some early {operating systems} and hardware, no characters would be printed until a complete line was formed, so this operation terminated the line and emitted the output. [{Jargon File}] (1996-06-24)
Tiny Clos A core part of {Common Lisp Object System} (CLOS) ported to {Scheme} and rebuilt using a MOP ({Metaobject Protocol}). This should be interesting to those who want to use MOPs without using a full {Common Lisp} or {Dylan}. The first release works with {MIT Scheme} 11.74. {(ftp://parcftp.xerox.com/pub/mops/)}. E-mail: Gregor Kiczales "gregor@parc.xerox.com". Mailing list: mops (administered by "gregor@parc.xerox.com"). (1992-12-14)
Tool Command Language "language" /tik*l/ (Tcl) An interpreted string processing language for issuing commands to {interactive} programs, developed by {John Ousterhout} at {UCB}. Each {application program} can extend tcl with its own set of commands. Tcl is like a text-oriented {Lisp}, but lets you write algebraic expressions for simplicity and to avoid scaring people away. Though originally designed to be a "scripting language" rather than for serious programming, Tcl has been used successfully for programs with hundreds of thousands of lines. It has a peculiar but simple {syntax}. It may be used as an embedded {interpreter} in application programs. It has {exceptions} and {packages} (called libraries), {name-spaces} for {procedures} and {variables}, and provide/require. It supports {dynamic loading} of {object code}. It is {eight-bit clean}. It has only three variable types: strings, lists and {associative arrays} but no {structures}. Tcl and its associated {GUI} {toolkit}, {Tk} run on all flavors of {Unix}, {Microsoft Windows}, {Macintosh} and {VMS}. Tcl runs on the {Amiga} and many other {platforms}. See also {expect} (control interactive programs and pattern match on their output), {Cygnus Tcl Tools}, {[incr Tcl]} (adds classes and inheritence to Tcl), {Scriptics} (John Ousterhout's company that is the home of Tcl development and the TclPro tool suite), {Tcl Consortium} (a non-profit agency dedicated to promoting Tcl), {tclhttpd} (an embeddable Tcl-based web server), {tclx} (adds many commands to Tcl), {tcl-debug}. {comp.lang.tcl FAQ at MIT (ftp://rtfm.mit.edu/pub/usenet-by-group/comp.answers/tcl-faq/)}. or {at purl.org (http://purl.org/NET/Tcl-FAQ/)}. {Scriptics downloads (http://scriptics.com/software/download.html)}. {Kanji (ftp://srawgw.sra.co.jp/pub/lang/tcl/jp/)}. {Usenet} newsgroups: {news:comp.lang.tcl.announce}, {news:comp.lang.tcl}. ["Tcl: An Embeddable Command Language", J. Ousterhout, Proc 1990 Winter USENIX Conf]. (1998-11-27)
Toyohashi University Parallel Lisp Environment "language" (TUPLE) A parallel {Lisp} based on {KCL}. ["Memory Management and Garbage Collection of an Extended Common Lisp System for Massively Parallel SIMD Architecture", Taiichi Yuasa, in Memory Management, IWMM92, Springer 1992, 490-507]. (1994-11-08)
TREET E.C. Haines, 1964. An experimental variant of LISP1.5, implemented on the STRETCH computer. Basic structure was a trinary tree. ["The TREET {Time-Sharing} System", H.A. Bayard et al, Proc 2nd Symp Symb and Alg Manip, ACM (Mar 1971)]. [Sammet 1969, pp.457-461].
Trilogy "language" A {strongly typed} {logic programming} language with numerical {constraint}-solving over the {natural numbers}, developed by Paul Voda "voda@voda.ii.fmph.uniba.sk" at {UBC} in 1988. Trilogy is syntactically a blend of {Prolog}, {Lisp}, and {Pascal}. It contains three types of {clauses}: {predicates} ({backtracking} but no assignable variables), procedures (if-then-else but no backtracking; assignable variables), and {subroutines} (like procedures, but with input and {system calls}; callable only from top level or from other subroutines). Development of Trilogy I stopped in 1991. Trilogy II, developed by Paul Voda 1988-92, was a {declarative} general purpose programming language, used for teaching and to write {CL}. {(http://fmph.uniba.sk/~voda)}. ["The Constraint Language Trilogy: Semantics and Computations", P. Voda, Complete Logic Systems, 741 Blueridge Ave, North Vancouver BC, V7R 2J5]. (2000-04-08)
TUPLE {Toyohashi University Parallel Lisp Environment}
University of Edinburgh "body, education" A university in the centre of Scotland's capital. The University of Edinburgh has been promoting and setting standards in education for over 400 years. Granted its Royal Charter in 1582 by James VI, the son of Mary Queen of Scots, the University was founded the following year by the Town Council of Edinburgh, making it the first post-Reformation university in Scotland, and the first civic university to be established in the British Isles. Known in its early years as King James College, or the Tounis (Town's) College, the University soon established itself internationally, and by the 18th century Edinburgh was a leading centre of the European Enlightenment and one of the continent's principal universities. The University's close relationship with the city in which it is based, coupled with a forward-looking, international perspective, has kept Edinburgh at the forefront of new research and teaching developments whilst enabling it to retain a uniquely Scottish character. Edinburgh's academics are at the forefront of developments in the study and application of languages, medicine, micro-electronics, biotechnology, computer-based disciplines and many other subjects. Edinburgh's standing as a world centre for research is further enhanced by the presence on and around University precincts of many independently-funded, but closely linked, national research institutes {(http://ed.ac.uk/)}. Address: Old College, South Bridge, Edinburgh, Scotland EH8 9YL, UK. Telephone: +44 (131) 650 1000. See also {ABSET}, {ABSYS}, {Alice}, {ASL+}, {Baroque}, {C++Linda}, {Cogent Prolog}, {COWSEL}, {Echidna}, {Edinburgh Prolog}, {Edinburgh SML}, {EdML}, {ELLIS}, {ELSIE}, {ESLPDPRO}, {Extended ML}, {Hope}, {IMP}, {LCF}, {Lisp-Linda}, {Marseille Prolog}, {metalanguage}, {MIKE}, {ML}, {ML Kit}, {ML-Linda}, {Multipop-68}, {Nuprl}, {Oblog}, {paraML}, {Pascal-Linda}, {POP-1}, {POP-2}, {POPLER}, {Prolog}, {Prolog-2}, {Prolog-Linda}, {Scheme-Linda}, {Skel-ML}, {Standard ML}, {Sticks&Stones}, {supercombinators}, {SWI-Prolog}, {tail recursion modulo cons}, {WPOP}. (1995-12-29)
unwind-protect ({MIT}) A {Lisp} operator which evaluates an expression and then, even if that expression causes a {non-local exit}, evaluates zero or more other expressions. This can be used to ensure that essential "clean-up" operations are performed even in the presence of errors. [{Jargon File}] (1994-11-03)
unwind the stack During the execution of a {procedural} language, one is said to "unwind the stack" from a called {procedure} up to a caller when one discards the {stack frame} and any number of frames above it, {pop}ping back up to the level of the given caller. In {C} this is done with "{longjmp}"/"{setjmp}", in {Lisp} with "{throw}/{catch}". See also {smash the stack}. [{Jargon File}]
Uranus Hideyuki Nakashima "nakashim@el.go.jp", 1993. A logic-based knowledge representation language. An extension of Prolog written in Common Lisp, with Lisp-like syntax. Extends Prolog with a multiple world mechanism, plus term descriptions to provide functional programming. {(ftp://etlport.etl.go.jp/pub/uranus/ftp)}.
user 1. "person" Someone doing "real work" with the computer, using it as a means rather than an end. Someone who pays to use a computer. A programmer who will believe anything you tell him. One who asks silly questions without thinking for two seconds or looking in the documentation. Someone who uses a program, however skillfully, without getting into the internals of the program. One who reports {bugs} instead of just fixing them. See also {luser}, {real user}. Users are looked down on by {hackers} to some extent because they don't understand the full ramifications of the system in all its glory. The term is relative: a skilled hacker may be a user with respect to some program he himself does not hack. A LISP hacker might be one who maintains LISP or one who uses LISP (but with the skill of a hacker). A LISP user is one who uses LISP, whether skillfully or not. Thus there is some overlap between the two terms; the subtle distinctions must be resolved by context. 2. "jargon" Any person, organisation, process, device, program, {protocol}, or system which uses a service provided by others. The term "{client}" (as in "{client-server}" systems) is rather more specific, usually implying two processes communicating via some protocol. [{Jargon File}] (1996-04-28)
vannevar "jargon" /van'*-var/ A bogus technological prediction or a foredoomed engineering concept, especially one that fails by implicitly assuming that technologies develop linearly, incrementally, and in isolation from one another when in fact the learning curve tends to be highly nonlinear, revolutions are common, and competition is the rule. The prototype was Vannevar Bush's prediction of "electronic brains" the size of the Empire State Building with a Niagara-Falls-equivalent cooling system for their tubes and relays, a prediction made at a time when the semiconductor effect had already been demonstrated. Other famous vannevars have included {magnetic-bubble memory}, {LISP machines}, {videotex}, and a paper from the late 1970s that computed a purported ultimate limit on areal density for {integrated circuits} that was in fact less than the routine densities of 5 years later. [{Jargon File}] (2000-02-29)
VEL {LISP70}
Vincennes LISP "language" (VLISP) A dialect of {Lisp} resulting from development, starting in 1971, of {Lisp} {interpreters} and {compilers} at the {University of Paris VIII - Vincennes}. VLISP interpreters and compilers were designed to run on small computers. {Documentation (http://www.artinfo-musinfo.org/en/issues/vlisp/)}. {History of Lisp (http://www.softwarepreservation.org/projects/LISP/index.html
virtual machine 1. An {abstract machine} for which an {interpreter} exists. Virtual machines are often used in the implementation of portable executors for {high-level languages}. The HLL is compiled into code for the virtual machine (an {intermediate language}) which is then executed by an {interpreter} written in {assembly language} or some other portable language like {C}. Examples are {Core War}, {Java Virtual Machine}, {OCODE}, {OS/2}, {POPLOG}, {Portable Scheme Interpreter}, {Portable Standard Lisp}, {Parallel Virtual Machine}, {Sequential Parlog Machine}, {SNOBOL Implementation Language}, {SODA}, {Smalltalk}. 2. A software emulation of a physical computing environment. The term gave rise to the name of {IBM}'s {VM} {operating system} whose task is to provide one or more simultaneous execution environments in which operating systems or other programs may execute as though they were running "on the bare iron", that is, without an eveloping Control Program. A major use of VM is the running of both outdated and current versions of the same operating system on a single {CPU} complex for the purpose of system migration, thereby obviating the need for a second processor. (2002-04-15)
Vlisp "language" 1. A {Lisp} dialect developed by Patrick Greussay "pg@litp.ibp.fr" in about 1973 with a fast {interpreter} and a portable {virtual machine}. Vlisp introduced the "{chronology}", a dynamic environment for implementing {interrupts}. It led to {Le_Lisp}. See also {ObjVlisp}. ["Contribution a la Definition Interpretive et a l'Implementation des Lambda-Langages", P. Greussay, These d'Etat, U Paris VI, Nov 1977]. [Relationship to {Vincennes LISP}?] 2. {Vincennes LISP}. (2008-03-16)
VSCM "language, LISP" A highly {portable} implementation of {Scheme}, written in {ANSI C} and {Scheme}. VSCM features {exception} and {interrupt} handling, executable portable memory images, {coroutines} and {continuations} with multiple arguments. Portability is achieved by exclusive use of legal ANSI C features. Version II Nov9 by Matthias Blume "blume@cs.princeton.edu" included {run-time support} and a {bytecode compiler}. It conforms to R4RS and IEEE P1178 and runs on {Unix} and {Macintosh}. VSCM is no longer actively developed - the author recommends {StandardML}. {(http://cs.princeton.edu/~blume/vscm/)}. (2001-01-02)
WAFL WArwick Functional Language. Warwick U, England. LISP-like.
WCL A {Common Lisp} implementation in a shared library by Wade Hennessey "wade@leland.Stanford.edu". WCL is not a complete Common Lisp, but it does have the full development environment including {dynamic file loading} and debugging. A modified version of {GDB} provides mixed-language debugging. Version 2.14 includes a shared library, run-time support and source debugger. It requires {GNU} {GCC} 2.1 (not 2.2.2) and runs on {SPARC} under {SunOS}. {(ftp://sunrise.stanford.edu/pub/wcl/)}. Mailing list: "wcl-request@sunrise.stanford.edu". E-mail: "wcl@sunrise.stanford.edu". [Proceedings of the 1992 Lisp and Functional Programming Conference]. (1992-10-28)
Wizard Book "publication" {Hal Abelson}, {Gerald Sussman} and Julie Sussman's "Structure and Interpretation of Computer Programs" (MIT Press, 1984; ISBN 0-262-01077-1), an excellent computer science text used in introductory courses at MIT. So called because of the wizard on the jacket. One of the {bibles} of the LISP/Scheme world. Also, less commonly, known as the {Purple Book}. [{Jargon File}] (1995-01-10)
WOOL Window Object Oriented Language. A small {Common Lisp}-like extension language. It claims to be the fastest interpreted language in {C} with {run-time types}. Colas Nahaboo "colas@sophia.inria.fr". Version 1 is used as the kernel language of the {GWM} window manager. Version 2 has an object system. {(ftp://export.lcs.mit.edu/contrib/gwm)}.
xlisp {eXperimental LISP}
XScheme "language" {Scheme} in {C} with {object-oriented} extensions by David Betz. Version 0.28 runs on {IBM PC}, {Macintosh}, {Atari} and {Amiga}. {(ftp://labrea.stanford.edu/comp.sources.amiga/volume90)}. {(ftp://nexus.yorku.ca/pub/scheme/)}. {Usenet} newsgroup: {news:comp.lang.lisp.x}. (1992-02-02)
Yale Haskell "language" A fully integrated {Haskell} programming environment. It provides tightly coupled interactive editing, {incremental compilation} and dynamic execution of Haskell programs. Two major modes of compilation, correspond to {Lisp}'s traditional "interpreted" and "compiled" modes. Compiled and interpreted modules may be freely mixed in any combination. Yale Haskell is run using either a command-line interface or as an {inferior process} running under the {Emacs} editor. Using the Emacs interface, simple two-keystroke commands evaluate expressions, run dialogues, compile {modules}, turn specific compiler diagnostics on and off and enable and disable various {optimisers}. Commands may be queued up arbitrarily, thus allowing, for example, a compilation to be running in the background as the editing of a source file continues in Emacs in the foreground. A "scratch pad" may be automatically created for any module. Such a pad is a logical extension of the module, in which additional function and value definitions may be added, but whose evaluation does not result in recompilation of the module. A tutorial on Haskell is also provided in the Emacs environment. A {Macintosh} version of Yale Haskell includes its own integrated programming environment, complete with an Emacs-like editor and {pull-down menus}. Yale Haskell is a complete implementation of the Haskell language, but also contains a number of extensions, including: (1) Instead of stream based I/O, a {monadic I/O} system is used. Although similar to what will be part of the new {Haskell 1.3} report, the I/O system will change yet again when 1.3 becomes official. (2) Haskell programs can call both {Lisp} and {C} functions using a flexible foreign function interface. (3) Yale Haskell includes a {dynamic typing} system. Dynamic typing has been used to implement {derived instances} in a user extensible manner. (4) A number of small Haskell 1.3 changes have been added, including {polymorphic recursion} and the use of @_@ in an expression to denote {bottom}. Although the 1.3 report is not yet complete, these changes will almost certainly be part of the new report. (5) A complete Haskell level {X Window System} interface, based on {CLX}. (6) A number of {annotations} are available for controlling the optimiser, including those for specifying both function and data constructor {strict}ness properties, "{inlining}" functions, and specialising {over-loaded} functions. Many standard {prelude} functions have been specialised for better performance using these annotations. (7) {Separate compilation} (including {mutually recursive} {modules}) is supported using a notion of a UNIT file, which is a kind of localised {makefile} that tells the compiler about compiler options and logical dependencies amongst program files. (8) Yale Haskell supports both standard and "{literate}" Haskell syntax. Performance of Yale Haskell's compiled code has been improved considerably over previous releases. Although still not as good as the Glasgow ({GHC}) and Chalmers ({HBC}) compilers, the flexibility afforded by the features described earlier makes Yale Haskell a good choice for large systems development. For some idea of performance, Hartel's latest "Nuc" benchmark runs at about the same speed under both Yale Haskell and hbc. (Our experiments suggest, however, that Yale Haskell's compiled code is on average about 3 times slower than hbc.) Binaries are provided for {Sun}/{SPARC} and {Macintosh}, but it is possible to build the system on virtually any system that runs one of a number of {Common Lisp} implementations: {CMU Common Lisp}, {Lucid Common Lisp}, {Allegro Common Lisp} or {Harlequin LispWorks}. {akcl}, {gcl} and {CLisp} do not have adaquate performance for our compiler. The current version is 2.1. {Yale (ftp://nebula.cs.yale.edu/pub/haskell/yale)}. (128.36.13.1). {UK (ftp://ftp.dcs.glasgow.ac.uk/pub/haskell/yale/)}. {Sweden (ftp://ftp.cs.chalmers.se/pub/haskell/yale/)}. E-mail: "haskell-request@cs.yale.edu", "haskell-request@dcs.glasgow.ac.uk". (1993-07-14)
YLISP A variant of {Xlisp} from {Hewlett-Packard} for the HP-95LX {palmtop}. {(ftp://hpcsos.col.hp.com/mirrors/.scsi5/hp95lx/languages)}. (1994-11-23)
Yu-Shiang Whole Fish /yoo-shyang hohl fish/ An obsolete name for the Greek character gamma ({extended SAIL ASCII} code 9, Unicode glyph 0x0263) which with a loop in its tail looks like a little fish swimming down the page. The term is actually the name of a Chinese dish in which a fish is cooked whole (not {parse}d) and covered with Yu-Shiang (or Yu-Hsiang) sauce. Used primarily by people on the {MIT} {LISP Machine}, which could display this character on the screen. Tends to elicit incredulity from people who hear about it second-hand. [{Jargon File}] (1995-01-31)
ZetaLisp "language" The {Maclisp} dialect used on the {LISP Machine}. The many extensions to Maclisp include {vectors}, {closures}, {flavors}, {stack groups}, {locatives}, and {invisible pointers}. Currently supported by {Lisp Machines, Inc.} and {Symbolics}. ["LISP Machine Manual", D. Weinreb and D. Moon, MIT AI Lab, 1981]. (1997-03-18)
KEYS (10k)
2 Alan Perlis
2 ?
1 Wikipedia
1 website
1 site
1 Richard Stallman
1 Philip Greenspun
1 Paul Graham
1 Larry Wall
1 Harold Abelson
1 Guy Steele
1 G_Morgan in reddit [http://www.reddit.com/r/programming/comments/a481l/so_to_get_back_to_the_point_go_vs_algol68_tbh_i/c0fs2nk]
1 Georg C Lichtenberg
1 Eric S Raymond
NEW FULL DB (2.4M)
149 Clarice Lispector
3 Alan Perlis
2 Anonymous
1:We toast the Lisp programmer who pens his thoughts within nests of parentheses. ~ Alan Perlis, #KEYS
2:If you give someone Fortran, he has Fortran. If you give someone Lisp, he has any language he pleases ~ Guy Steele, #KEYS
3:LISP programmers know the value of everything and the cost of nothing. ~ Alan Perlis, ,(take on an Oscar Wilde quote), #KEYS
4:By policy, LISP has never really catered to mere mortals. And, of course, mere mortals have never really forgiven LISP for not catering to them. ~ Larry Wall, #KEYS
5:The nearest thing Common Lisp has to a motto is the koan-like description, the programmable programming language.
~ ?, http://www.gigamonkeys.com/book/introduction-why-lisp.html,#KEYS
6:Historically, languages designed for other people to use have been bad: Cobol, PL/I, Pascal, Ada, C++. The good languages have been those that were designed for their own creators: C, Perl, Smalltalk, Lisp. ~ Paul Graham, #KEYS
7:The most powerful programming language is Lisp. If you don't know Lisp (or its variant, Scheme), you don't appreciate what a powerful language is. Once you learn Lisp you will see what is missing in most other languages. ~ Richard Stallman, #KEYS
8:Lisp is worth learning for ... the profound enlightenment experience you will have when you finally get it. That experience will make you a better programmer for the rest of your days, even if you never actually use Lisp itself a lot. ~ Eric S Raymond, #KEYS
9:If Lisp is a 'programmable programming language,' then Scheme is an assemble-it-at-home kit for making yourself a programmable programming language. JavaScript does not have this quality AT ALL.
~ ?, http://raganwald.com/2013/07/19/javascript-is-a-lisp.html,#KEYS
10:Greenspun's tenth rule of programming is an aphorism in computer programming and especially programming language circles that states: Any sufficiently complicated C or Fortran program contains an ad-hoc, informally-specified, bug-ridden, slow implementation of half of Common Lisp. ~ Philip Greenspun, #KEYS
11:andai on Oct 28, 2017 | parent | favorite | on: Alan Kay on Lisp\nI wonder if LISP and LSD encourage similar ways of thinking.\n\ntempodox on Oct 28, 2017 [-]\nBased on my own experiences with both, I'd say: Yes. Although I'm sure you couldn't prove it mathematically (yet). ~ website, https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=15573502, #KEYS
12:Pascal is for building pyramids -- imposing, breathtaking, static structures built by armies pushing heavy blocks into place. Lisp is for building organisms -- imposing, breathtaking, dynamic structures built by squads fitting fluctuating myriads of simpler organisms into place.
~ Harold Abelson, Structure and Interpretation of Computer Programs,#KEYS
13:This is one of the reasons Lisp doesn't get anywhere. The trend to promote features so clever that you stop thinking about your problem and start thinking about the clever features. CL's loop is so powerful that people invented functional programming so that they'd never have to use it. ~ G_Morgan in reddit [http://www.reddit.com/r/programming/comments/a481l/so_to_get_back_to_the_point_go_vs_algol68_tbh_i/c0fs2nk] #KEYS
14:John McCarthy (September 4, 1927 - October 24, 2011) was an American computer scientist and cognitive scientist. McCarthy was one of the founders of the discipline of artificial intelligence.[1] He coined the term artificial intelligence (AI), developed the Lisp programming language family, significantly influenced the design of the ALGOL programming language, popularized timesharing, and was very influential in the early development of AI.
~ Wikipedia,#KEYS
15:nabla9 on July 15, 2018 [-] Common Lisp as hackish vs protective is nice way to describe it.\n\nAnother way to describe it exploratory vs implementatory.\n\nIn some ways Common Lisp is like Mathematica for programming. It's a language for a computer architect to develop and explore high level concept. It's not a accident that early Javascript prototype was done in common lisp or that metaobject protocols, aspect-oriented programming, etc. were first implemented and experimented with Common Lisp. ~ site, https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=17533341, #KEYS
16:It thunders, howls, roars, hisses, whistles, blusters, hums, growls, rumbles, squeaks, groans, sings, crackles, cracks, rattles, flickers, clicks, snarls, tumbles, whimpers, whines, rustles, murmurs, crashes, clucks, to gurgle, tinkles, blows, snores, claps, to lisp, to cough, it boils, to scream, to weep, to sob, to croak, to stutter, to lisp, to coo, to breathe, to clash, to bleat, to neigh, to grumble, to scrape, to bubble. These words, and others like them, which express sounds are more than mere symbols: they are a kind of hieroglyphics for the ear. ~ Georg C Lichtenberg, #KEYS
*** WISDOM TROVE ***
1:Whose cruel idea was it for the word “lisp” to have an “s” in it? ~ steven-wright, @wisdomtrove 2:Oh, that dog! Ever hear of a German Shepherd that bites its nails? Barks with a lisp? You say, "Attack!" And he has one. All he does is piddle. He's nothing but a fur-covered kidney that barks. ~ phyllis-diller, @wisdomtrove *** NEWFULLDB 2.4M ***
1:Common Lisp is politics, not art. ~ Scott Fahlman, #NFDB
2:There's nothing wrong with a lisp. ~ Kiernan Shipka, #NFDB
3:A lisp doesn't make you charismatic. ~ Rachel B Glaser, #NFDB
4:You Jig, you amble, and you lisp. ~ William Shakespeare, #NFDB
5:I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came. ~ Alexander Pope, #NFDB
6:Lisp isn't a language, it's a building material. ~ Alan Kay, #NFDB
7:If you want to know why Lisp doesn't win around you, find a mirror. ~ Erik Naggum, #NFDB
8:Whose cruel idea was it for the word “lisp” to have an “s” in it? ~ Steven Wright, #NFDB
9:Lisp is a programmable programming language. ~ John Foderaro, CACM, September 1991., #NFDB
10:A LISP programmer knows the value of everything, but the cost of nothing. ~ Alan Perlis, #NFDB
11:We toast the Lisp programmer who pens his thoughts within nests of parentheses. ~ Alan Perlis, #NFDB
12:We toast the Lisp programmer who pens his thoughts within nests of parentheses. ~ Alan Perlis, #NFDB
13:Lisp ... made me aware that software could be close to executable mathematics. ~ L Peter Deutsch, #NFDB
14:[Emacs] is written in Lisp, which is the only computer language that is beautiful. ~ Neal Stephenson, #NFDB
15:If you give someone Fortran, he has Fortran. If you give someone Lisp, he has any language he pleases ~ Guy Steele, #NFDB
16:If you give someone Fortran, he has Fortran. If you give someone Lisp, he has any language he pleases ~ Guy Steele, #NFDB
17:LISP programmers know the value of everything and the cost of nothing. ~ Alan Perlis, ,(take on an Oscar Wilde quote), #NFDB
18:55: LISP programmers know the value of everything and the cost of nothing. ~ Alan Perlis, Epigrams on Programming, 1982, #NFDB
19:Anyone could learn Lisp in one day, except that if they already knew Fortran, it would take three days. ~ Marvin Minsky, #NFDB
20:These are your father's parentheses. Elegant weapons, for a more... civilized age. ~ Randall Munroe, "Lisp Cycles", XKCD 297., #NFDB
21:If you can’t find ten Lisp hackers, then your company is probably based in the wrong city for developing software ~ Paul Graham, #NFDB
22:Emacs is written in Lisp, which is the only computer language that is beautiful. ~ Neal Stephenson, In the Beginning Was the Command Line., #NFDB
23:...instead of offering me a Garibaldi biscuit, she asked me with that faint lisp of hers, to 'have some squashed flies, George'. ~ H G Wells, #NFDB
24:That's why the smartest companies use Common Lisp, but lie about it so all their competitors think Lisp is slow and C++ is fast. ~ Erik Naggum, #NFDB
25:We were not out to win over the Lisp programmers; we were after the C++ programmers. We managed to drag a lot of them about halfway to Lisp. ~ Guy Steele, #NFDB
26:By policy, LISP has never really catered to mere mortals. And, of course, mere mortals have never really forgiven LISP for not catering to them. ~ Larry Wall, #NFDB
27:SQL, Lisp, and Haskell are the only programming languages that I've seen where one spends more time thinking than typing. ~ Philip Greenspun, blog, 07-03-2005., #NFDB
28:We toast the Lisp programmer who pens his thoughts within nests of parentheses. ~ Alan Perlis, Quoted in The Structure and Interpretation of Computer Programs., #NFDB
29:A Lisp programmer knows the value of everything, but the cost of nothing. ~ Alan Perlis, Epigrams on Programming, ACM SIGPLAN Notices 17 (9), September 1982, pp. 7–13., #NFDB
30:Probably the arrogance of the community that surrounds it. Knowing Lisp certainly doesn’t make one a better person, nor even necessarily a better programmer. ~ Anonymous, #NFDB
31:This language [LISP] induces humorous arguments among programmers, often being damned and praised for the same feature. ~ Alan Perlis, The Synthesis of Algorithmic Systems, 1966, #NFDB
32:Before I learned Lisp, I was afraid of it too. I recently came across a notebook from 1983 in which I'd written: I suppose I should learn Lisp, but it seems so foreign. ~ Anonymous, #NFDB
33:The nearest thing Common Lisp has to a motto is the koan-like description, the programmable programming language.
~ ?, http://www.gigamonkeys.com/book/introduction-why-lisp.html,#NFDB
34:Lisp has all the visual appeal of oatmeal with fingernail clippings mixed in. ~ Larry Wall, "Wherefore Art, Thou?", The Perl Journal 1(1); reprinted in Linux Journal, March 1, 1997., #NFDB
35:God wrote in Lisp code
When he filled the leaves with green.
The fractal flowers and recursive roots:
The most lovely hack I've seen. ~ Bob Kanefsky, "Eternal Flame" [1],#NFDB
36:The greatest single programming language ever designed. ~ Alan Kay, about LISP. Quoted in Daniel H. Steinberg, "Daddy, Are We There Yet? A Discussion with Alan Kay", openP2P, 3 April 3 2003., #NFDB
37:[Perl] combines all the worst aspects of C and Lisp: a billion different sublanguages in one monolithic executable. It combines the power of C with the readability of PostScript. ~ Jamie Zawinski, #NFDB
38:FORTRAN, BASIC, COBOL, LISP, Pascal, C, PROLOG, FORTH. You talk to the computer in one of these languages, and a piece of software called a compiler converts it into machine language. ~ Neal Stephenson, #NFDB
39:One of the most important and fascinating of all computer languages is Lisp (standing for "List Processing"), which was invented by John McCarthy around the time Algol was invented. ~ Douglas Hofstadter, #NFDB
40:Oh, that dog! Ever hear of a German Shepherd that bites its nails? Barks with a lisp? You say, "Attack!" And he has one. All he does is piddle. He's nothing but a fur-covered kidney that barks. ~ Phyllis Diller, #NFDB
41:We lisp in numbers, in the U.S. We are deluged by ample, often mysterious statistics. ... Like many in this country, I have come to regard statistics with doubt and merely as a hint of the probable shape of fact. ~ Martha Gellhorn, #NFDB
42:I lisp. My eyes disappear when I smile. My voice is funny. I don't sing like Judy Garland. I don't dance like Cyd Charisse. But women identify with me. And while men desire Cyd Charisse, they'd take me home to meet Mom. ~ June Allyson, #NFDB
43:If you want to know why Lisp doesn't win around you, find a mirror. ~ Erik Naggum, "Re: Java is really convenient. Re: Sun thinks about switching Java to S-expression syntax: Lava", Usenet article <3128520463609367@naggum.no> (1999-02-20), #NFDB
44:The most powerful programming language is Lisp. If you don't know Lisp (or its variant, Scheme), you don't appreciate what a powerful language is. Once you learn Lisp you will see what is missing in most other languages. ~ Richard Stallman, #NFDB
45:The most powerful programming language is Lisp. If you don't know Lisp (or its variant, Scheme), you don't appreciate what a powerful language is. Once you learn Lisp you will see what is missing in most other languages. ~ Richard Stallman, #NFDB
46:By policy, LISP has never really catered to mere mortals. And, of course, mere mortals have never really forgiven LISP for not catering to them. ~ Larry Wall, "Programming is Hard, Let's Go Scripting...", O'Reilly: perl.com, 6 December 2007., #NFDB
47:I finally understood that the half page of code on the bottom of page 13 of the Lisp 1.5 manual was Lisp in itself. These were "Maxwell’s Equations of Software!" ~ Alan Kay, A Conversation with Alan Kay, ACM Queue 2 (9), (Dec/Jan 2004-2005)., #NFDB
48:Some may say Ruby is a bad rip-off of Lisp or Smalltalk, and I admit that. But it is nicer to ordinary people. ~ Yukihiro Matsumoto, cited in: Pat Eyler (2009) "MWRC 2009 Mini-Interview: Philippe Hanrigou", on-ruby.blogspot.nl March 3, 2009., #NFDB
49:I am not fond of the prattle of children,' he continued; 'for, old bachelor as I am, I have no pleasant associations connected with their lisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass a whole evening tete-a-tete with a brat... ~ Charlotte Bront, #NFDB
50:My favorite programming languages are Lisp and C. However, since around 1992 I have worked mainly on free software activism, which means I am too busy to do much programming. Around 2008 I stopped doing programming projects. ~ Richard Stallman, #NFDB
51:In 30 years Lisp will likely be ahead of C++/Java (but behind something else) ~ Peter Norvig (October 11, 1999). Lisp: Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?. Retrieved on 2010-05-29. Slide 9 in presentation to Lisp Users Group., #NFDB
52:One of the most important and fascinating of all computer languages is Lisp (standing for "List Processing"), which was invented by John McCarthy around the time Algol was invented. ~ Douglas Hofstadter, Gödel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid., #NFDB
53:Lisp is worth learning for ... the profound enlightenment experience you will have when you finally get it. That experience will make you a better programmer for the rest of your days, even if you never actually use Lisp itself a lot. ~ Eric S Raymond, #NFDB
54:If Lisp is a 'programmable programming language,' then Scheme is an assemble-it-at-home kit for making yourself a programmable programming language. JavaScript does not have this quality AT ALL.
~ ?, http://raganwald.com/2013/07/19/javascript-is-a-lisp.html,#NFDB
55:One can even conjecture that Lisp owes its survival specifically to the fact that its programs are lists, which everyone, including me, has regarded as a disadvantage. ~ John McCarthy, "History of Lisp," 12 February 1979; republished at www-formal.stanford.edu., #NFDB
56:The most powerful programming language is Lisp. If you don't know Lisp (or its variant, Scheme), you don't appreciate what a powerful language is. Once you learn Lisp you will see what is missing in most other languages. ~ Richard Stallman, [How I do my computing], #NFDB
57:OOP to me means only messaging, local retention and protection and hiding of state-process, and extreme late-binding of all things. It can be done in Smalltalk and in LISP. There are possibly other systems in which this is possible, but I'm not aware of them. ~ Anonymous, #NFDB
58:Lisp is worth learning for the profound enlightenment experience you will have when you finally get it; that experience will make you a better programmer for the rest of your days, even if you never actually use Lisp itself a lot. ~ Eric S. Raymond, How to Become a Hacker., #NFDB
59:And you're right: we were not out to win over the Lisp programmers; we were after the C++ programmers. We managed to drag a lot of them about halfway to Lisp. Aren't you happy? ~ Steele, Guy (2003-08-21). Re: bindings and assignments (was: Re: continuations). LL1 Mailing List., #NFDB
60:In spite of its lack of popularity, LISP ... remains an influential language in "key algorithmic techniques such as recursion and condescension" ~ James Iry, A Brief, Incomplete, and Mostly Wrong History of Programming Languages, blog entry, May 7 2009, retrieved October 3, 2017, #NFDB
61:While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things, The fate of empires and the fall of kings; While quacks of State must each produce his plan, And even children lisp the Rights of Man; Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention, The Rights of Woman merit some attention. ~ Robert Burns, #NFDB
62:I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath made me mad. ~ William Shakespeare, #NFDB
63:The ARPAnet/PDP-10 culture, wedded to LISP and MACRO and TOPS-10 and ITS and SAIL. The Unix and C crowd with their PDP-11s and VAXen and pokey telephone connections. And an anarchic horde of early microcomputer enthusiasts bent on taking computer power to the people. ~ Eric S Raymond, #NFDB
64:What bothers me is that health professionals give fancy names to conditions or learning difficulties that will irritate the patients; like OCD not being in alphabetical order, putting an ‘S’ in ‘lisp,’ and making dyslexia a word that no one can spell. It’s just mean. ~ Suzanne Wright, #NFDB
65:Greenspun's Tenth Rule: Any sufficiently complicated C or Fortran program contains an ad hoc informally-specified bug-ridden slow implementation of half of Common Lisp. ~ Philip Greenspun, as quoted in Paul Graham, Hackers & Painters: Big Ideas from the Computer Age (O'Reilly: 2004), , #NFDB
66:Sometimes when I need to comfort myself (all the time) I think about your lisp and it creates a wombskin around my brain full of barbituratesque nectar, the side effects of which include a horny surge in my second chakra and pussy, and then severe withdrawal: a love story. ~ Melissa Broder, #NFDB
67:I had gone away from Twitter because before people had been so mean to me. Talking about my lisp and my enormous forehead and all these things. I do have a lisp, I do have a forehead I know you could land a plane on, it's no mystery to me. I just didn't have the skin for it. ~ Sarah Paulson, #NFDB
68:What bothers me is that health professionals give fancy names to conditions or learning difficulties that will irritate the patients; like OCD not being in alphabetical order, putting an ‘S’ in ‘lisp,’ and making dyslexia a word that no one can spell. It’s just mean.” Harper ~ Suzanne Wright, #NFDB
69:It’s also very easy to turn Common Lisp REPL code into unit tests, which I tend to do a lot. That is something that’s very hard to do with object-oriented code, which is why idiotic things like dependency injection and Test-Driven Development have to be invented. – Vladimir Sedach ~ Anonymous, #NFDB
70:While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things,
The fate of empires and the fall of kings;
While quacks of State must each produce his plan,
And even children lisp the Rights of Man;
Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention,
The Rights of Woman merit some attention. ~ Robert Burns,#NFDB
71:And there it was. That slight lisp. That awful accent. That funny face that made him ache. Charlie wasn't just a cheat. He was a liar as well. Because Violette Zidane wasn't just the girl he was shagging, like he told the cop. She sort of owned his heart a little. Kind of a lot. ~ Melina Marchetta, #NFDB
72:I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God
has given you one face, and you make yourselves
another: you jig, you amble, and you lisp, and
nick-name God's creatures, and make your wantonness
your ignorance. Go to, I'll no more on't; it hath
made me mad. ~ William Shakespeare,#NFDB
73:Greenspun's tenth rule of programming is an aphorism in computer programming and especially programming language circles that states: Any sufficiently complicated C or Fortran program contains an ad-hoc, informally-specified, bug-ridden, slow implementation of half of Common Lisp. ~ Philip Greenspun, #NFDB
74:LISP has jokingly been described as "the most intelligent way to misuse a computer." I think that description is a great compliment because it transmits the full flavour of liberation: it has assisted a number of our most gifted fellow humans in thinking previously impossible thoughts. ~ Edsger Dijkstra, #NFDB
75:A novice was trying to fix a broken Lisp machine by turning the power off and on. Knight, seeing what the student was doing, spoke sternly: "You cannot fix a machine by just power-cycling it with no understanding of what is going wrong." Knight turned the machine off and on. The machine worked. ~ Danny Hillis, #NFDB
76:1978 - John Allen in the chapter on Implications of LISP writes: "the power of high level languages is notational rather than computational". This insight is the most significant lesson that LISP teaches, and points to the possibility of going Beyond Programming in the "Age of Significance" ~ John Allen: Anatomy of LISP, #NFDB
77:Hey dawg, wassup?" he said, in the strange way that white talent agents from Los Angeles do in an attempt to sound like young black men from underprivileged backgrounds. A linguistic fashion as peculiar as the lisp that everybody in medieval Spain had to adopt after the king developed a speech impediment. ~ Craig Ferguson, #NFDB
78:The problem with Maigret is he hasn't got a limp, and he hasn't got a lisp, and he hasn't got a French accent, or a particular love of opera... or all those other things that people tend to attach to many fictional detectives. He's just an ordinary guy doing an extraordinary job, in a very interesting time. ~ Rowan Atkinson, #NFDB
79:andai on Oct 28, 2017 | parent | favorite | on: Alan Kay on Lisp\nI wonder if LISP and LSD encourage similar ways of thinking.\n\ntempodox on Oct 28, 2017 [-]\nBased on my own experiences with both, I'd say: Yes. Although I'm sure you couldn't prove it mathematically (yet). ~ website, https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=15573502, #NFDB
80:1958 - John McCarthy and Paul Graham invent LISP. Due to high costs caused by a post-war depletion of the strategic parentheses reserve LISP never becomes popular... Fortunately for computer science the supply of curly braces and angle brackets remains high. ~ Iry James, A Brief, Incomplete, and Mostly Wrong History of Programming Languages, #NFDB
81:You can use C++ if you want with GNOME, but we don't assume that you're going to write C++. It's to a large extent based on Scheme, which is a dialect of LISP. LISP being the most powerful and cleanest of languages, that's the language that's the GNU project always prefers. ~ Richard Stallman in: "GNU's Not Linux" Network World Fusion, 01/11/99., #NFDB
82:Pascal is for building pyramids -- imposing, breathtaking, static structures built by armies pushing heavy blocks into place. Lisp is for building organisms -- imposing, breathtaking, dynamic structures built by squads fitting fluctuating myriads of simpler organisms into place.
~ Harold Abelson, Structure and Interpretation of Computer Programs,#NFDB
83:Voices come to me but to maintain them is hard work. They go away just as easily, so I have to remember them and that takes work. With Sid, I needed to make sure you could understand what he is saying, his enunciation. Sometimes I couldn't even say my own name [his name] in his voice. It sounds like 'Shid', it sounds a bit like he has a lisp. ~ John Leguizamo, #NFDB
84:Margherita stared at the mask. It was painted bright yellow and marked with little copper-colored circles to suggest florets. White petals streaked with gold radiated out in all directions. Long golden eyelashes fringed the eye slits, and the mouth was painted as a big happy smile. 'La sua bella,' she whispered, her lisp more pronounced than ever. ~ Kate Forsyth, #NFDB
85:So, Lieutenant. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am to see you in my office today. You’ve had an exemplary career with Metro, one worth watching. I’ve been keeping my eye on you, young lady.” Her accent was odd, not foreign, but strange, like she was covering a severe lisp. She put emphasis on the wrong words, making the cadence of her voice grating. ~ J T Ellison, #NFDB
86:Common Lisp people seem to behave in a way that is akin to the Borg: they study the various new things that people do with interest and then find that it was eminently doable in Common Lisp all along and that they can use these new techniques if they think they need them. ~ Erik Naggum, "Re: Query About Lisp Use", Usenet article <3211475185647471@naggum.net> (2001-10-07), #NFDB
87:(What the world needs (I think) is not (a Lisp (with fewer parentheses)) but (an English (with more.))) - Brian Hayes, "The Semicolon Wars", American Scientist ~ While this quote itself is accurate, note that it does not make any sense semantically; it should rather be written: (with more. (an English (but (with fewer parentheses (a Lisp (I think is not (What the world needs)))))))., #NFDB
88:They went along a balcony that looked down over the dining room and the dance floor. The lisp of hot jazz came up to them from the lithe, swaying bodies of a high-yaller band. With the lisp of jazz came the smell of food and cigarette smoke and perspiration. The balcony was high and the scene down below had a patterned look, like an overhead camera shot. (Nevada Gas) ~ Raymond Chandler, #NFDB
89:Morns Like These—we Parted
27
Morns like these—we parted—
Noons like these—she rose—
Fluttering first—then firmer
To her fair repose.
Never did she lisp it—
It was not for me—
She—was mute from transport—
I—from agony—
Till—the evening nearing
One the curtains drew—
Quick! A Sharper rustling!
And this linnet flew!
~ Emily Dickinson,#NFDB
90:Some said the world should be in Perl,
Some said in Lisp.
Now, having given both a whirl,
I held with those who favored Perl.
But I fear we passed to men
A disappointing founding myth.
And should we write it all again,
I'd end it with
A close-paren. ~ Randall Munroe, "With Apologies to Robert Frost", XKCD 312, in a parody of Robert Frost,#NFDB
91:APL is like a beautiful diamond - flawless, beautifully symmetrical. But you can't add anything to it. If you try to glue on another diamond, you don't get a bigger diamond. Lisp is like a ball of mud. Add more and it's still a ball of mud - it still looks like Lisp. ~ Joel Moses, in Richard P. Gabriel and Guy L. Steele (1996). "The Evolution of Lisp". ACM History of programming languages—II: 233–330., #NFDB
92:I suspect few housing projects in the US were designed by architects who expected to live in them. You see the same thing in programming languages. C, Lisp, and Smalltalk were created for their own designers to use. Cobol, Ada, and Javawere created for other people to use. If you think you’re designing
something for idiots, odds are you’re not designing something good, even for idiots. ~ Paul Graham,#NFDB
93:Java was, as Gosling says in the first Java white paper, designed for average programmers. It's a perfectly legitimate goal to design a language for average programmers. (Or for that matter for small children, like Logo.) But it is also a legitimate, and very different, goal to design a language for good programmers. ~ Paul Graham (2001) "Arc: An Unfinished Dialect of Lisp." paulgraham.com, November 2001., #NFDB
94:My initial attempt to learn Lisp came to a crashing halt as soon as I saw some sample code. I suppose the same thought ran through my mind that ran through thousands of other minds who were ever in my shoes: "Why on Earth would anyone want to use a language with such horrific syntax?!" I couldn't be bothered to learn a language if its creators couldn't be bothered to give it a pleasant syntax. ~ Anonymous, #NFDB
95:Lisp was far more powerful and flexible than any other language of its day; in fact, it is still a better design than most languages of today, twenty-five years later. Lisp freed ITS's hackers to think in unusual and creative ways. It was a major factor in their successes, and remains one of hackerdom's favorite languages. ~ Eric S. Raymond, in Open Sources on MIT's first OS, ITS [specific citation needed], #NFDB
96:Lisp has jokingly been called "the most intelligent way to misuse a computer". I think that description is a great compliment because it transmits the full flavor of liberation: it has assisted a number of our most gifted fellow humans in thinking previously impossible thoughts. ~ Edsger W. Dijkstra, The Humble Programmer, 1972 Turing Award Lecture, Communications of the ACM 15 (10), (October 1972): pp. 859–866., #NFDB
97:avant-garde, adj.
This was after Alisa' show, the reverse-blackface rendition of Gone With the Wind, including songs from the Empire Records soundtrack and an interval of nineteenth-century German poetry, recited with a lisp.
"What does avant-garde mean, anyway?" I asked.
"I believe it translates as favor to your friends," you replied. ~ David Levithan,#NFDB
98:Pascal is for building pyramids -- imposing, breathtaking, static structures built by armies pushing heavy blocks into place. Lisp is for building organisms -- imposing, breathtaking, dynamic structures built by squads fitting fluctuating myriads of simpler organisms into place. ~ Alan Perlis, as quoted in Structure and Interpretation of Computer Programs by Harold Abelson and Gerald Jay Sussman with Julie Sussman., #NFDB
99:It wasn’t like my fellow Bradys didn’t have their own issues. I’d later learn that Bob Reed hated the show and hid his homosexuality, Eve Plumb resented me for getting too much attention and Susie Olsen despised her pigtails and the fake lisp the producers had her employ to ratchet up her cuteness factor. But as a teenager, I had no idea that few people are everything they present to the outside world. ~ Maureen McCormick, #NFDB
100:You can cross out all of the above when Remy is with Kit. At first, she seemed inclined to follow Kit around with her eyes instead of talking to her, but that changed when Kit offered to teach her how to lisp. Remy looked startled, but she agreed to take lessons and they went off to Amelia’s greenhouse together. Her lisp is hampered by her accent, but Kit doesn’t hold that against her and has generously given her extra instructions. ~ Mary Ann Shaffer, #NFDB
101:John McCarthy (September 4, 1927 - October 24, 2011) was an American computer scientist and cognitive scientist. McCarthy was one of the founders of the discipline of artificial intelligence.[1] He coined the term artificial intelligence (AI), developed the Lisp programming language family, significantly influenced the design of the ALGOL programming language, popularized timesharing, and was very influential in the early development of AI.
~ Wikipedia,#NFDB
102:Christa's barely able to stand," I argued. "And she doesn't have any battle training, so get out of here already."
Christabel propped herself up on Conner's shoulder. "I'm fine," she said thickly, too sleepy to enunciate. "Give me a stake."
"You're lisping," I pointed out.
"So maybe I have a lisp," she insisted. "It's rude of you to make fun of me."
I exchange a glance with Connor. "Definitely related to Lucy," we said in unison. ~ Alyxandra Harvey,#NFDB
103:Programming is not all the same. Normal written languages have different rhythms and idioms, right? Well, so do programming languages. The language called C is all harsh imperatives, almost raw computer-speak. The language called Lisp is like one long, looping sentence, full of subclauses, so long in fact that you usually forget what it was even about in the first place. The language called Erlang is just like it sounds: eccentric and Scandinavian. ~ Robin Sloan, #NFDB
104:C is coupled with Unix in the worse-is-better scenario, and can anyone seriously propose Lisp as the right-thing alternative? Lisp, face it, is used for advanced research and development in AI and other esoteric areas. It has weird syntax, and almost all other computer languages share a non-Lispy syntax. Syntax, folks, is religion, and Lisp is the wrong one. Lisp is used by weirdos who do weirdo science. ~ Richard P. Gabriel (as Nickieben Bourbaki), in Worse is Better is Worse, #NFDB
105:Although my own previous enthusiasm has been for syntactically rich languages like the Algol family, I now see clearly and concretely the force of Minsky's 1970 Turing lecture, in which he argued that Lisp's uniformity of structure and power of self reference gave the programmer capabilities whose content was well worth the sacrifice of visual form. ~ Robert Floyd, "The Paradigms of Programming", 1978 Turing Award Lecture, Communications of the ACM 22 (8), August 1979: pp. 455–460., #NFDB
106:an open-plan cubicle kind of thing-working, doing something, writing some Lisp program. And he'd come shuffling in with his ceramic mug of beer, bare feet, and he'd just stand behind me. I'd say hi. And he'd grunt or say nothing. He'd just stand there watching me type. At some
point I'd do something and he'd go, "Ptthh, wrong!" and he'd walk away. So that was kind of getting thrown in the deep end. It was like the Zen approach-the master hit me with a stick, now I must meditate. ~ Peter Seibel,#NFDB
107:The conception of list processing as an abstraction created a new world in which designation and dynamic symbolic structure were the defining characteristics. The embedding of the early list processing systems in languages (the IPLs, LISP) is often decried as having been a barrier to the diffusion of list processing techniques throughout programming practice; but it was the vehicle that held the abstraction together. ~ Allen Newell and Herbert Simon, 1975 Turing Award Lecture[2], Communications of the ACM 19 (3), (March 1976): p. 118., #NFDB
108:nabla9 on July 15, 2018 [-] \n\nCommon Lisp as hackish vs protective is nice way to describe it.\n\nAnother way to describe it exploratory vs implementatory.\n\nIn some ways Common Lisp is like Mathematica for programming. It's a language for a computer architect to develop and explore high level concept. It's not a accident that early Javascript prototype was done in common lisp or that metaobject protocols, aspect-oriented programming, etc. were first implemented and experimented with Common Lisp. ~ site, https://news.ycombinator.com/item?id=17533341, #NFDB
109:It thunders, howls, roars, hisses, whistles, blusters, hums, growls, rumbles, squeaks, groans, sings, crackles, cracks, rattles, flickers, clicks, snarls, tumbles, whimpers, whines, rustles, murmurs, crashes, clucks, to gurgle, tinkles, blows, snores, claps, to lisp, to cough, it boils, to scream, to weep, to sob, to croak, to stutter, to lisp, to coo, to breathe, to clash, to bleat, to neigh, to grumble, to scrape, to bubble. These words, and others like them, which express sounds are more than mere symbols: they are a kind of hieroglyphics for the ear. ~ Georg C Lichtenberg, #NFDB
110:It thunders, howls, roars, hisses, whistles, blusters, hums, growls, rumbles, squeaks, groans, sings, crackles, cracks, rattles, flickers, clicks, snarls, tumbles, whimpers, whines, rustles, murmurs, crashes, clucks, to gurgle, tinkles, blows, snores, claps, to lisp, to cough, it boils, to scream, to weep, to sob, to croak, to stutter, to lisp, to coo, to breathe, to clash, to bleat, to neigh, to grumble, to scrape, to bubble. These words, and others like them, which express sounds are more than mere symbols: they are a kind of hieroglyphics for the ear. ~ Georg C Lichtenberg, #NFDB
111:For many months the Lisp advocates pressed on. I was baffled. Many extremely intelligent people I knew and had much respect for were praising Lisp with almost religious dedication. There had to be something there, something I couldn't afford not to get my hands on! Eventually my thirst for knowledge won me over. I took the plunge, bit the bullet, got my hands dirty, and began months of mind bending exercises. It was a journey on an endless lake of frustration. I turned my mind inside out, rinsed it, and put it back in place. I went through seven rings of hell and came back. And then I got it. ~ Anonymous, #NFDB
112:Last night, I drifted off while reading a Lisp book. Suddenly, I was bathed in a suffusion of blue.
At once, just like they said, I felt a great enlightenment. I saw the naked structure of Lisp code unfold before me.
(My god. It's full of "car"s.)
The patterns and metapatterns danced. Syntax faded, and I swam in the purity of quantified conception. Of ideas manifest.
Truly, this was the language from which the Gods wrought the universe!
[God replies:] "No, it's not. [...] I mean, ostensibly, yes. Honestly, we hacked most of it together with Perl." ~ Randall Munroe, XKCD 224,#NFDB
113:I Haven'T Told My Garden Yet
50
I haven't told my garden yet—
Lest that should conquer me.
I haven't quite the strength now
To break it to the Bee—
I will not name it in the street
For shops would stare at me—
That one so shy—so ignorant
Should have the face to die.
The hillsides must not know it—
Where I have rambled so—
Nor tell the loving forests
The day that I shall go—
Nor lisp it at the table—
Nor heedless by the way
Hint that within the Riddle
One will walk today—
~ Emily Dickinson,#NFDB
114:LISP is now the second oldest programming language in present widespread use (after FORTRAN)... Its core occupies some kind of local optimum in the space of programming languages given that static friction discourages purely notational changes. Recursive use of conditional expressions, representation of symbolic information externally by lists and internally by list structure, and representation of program in the same way will probably have a very long life. ~ John McCarthy (1974) "History of Lisp," as quoted in: Avron Barr, Edward Feigenbaum. The Handbook of artificial intelligence, Volume 2. Addison-Wesley, 1986. p. 5., #NFDB
115:Of Dixie Doyle it is said that she could convince grown men of anything. While she is only a mediocre student and a wholly untalented tennis player, she possesses a quality of performed girlishness that turns sex into a ragged paradox for men beyond the age of thirty. She speaks with the hint of a babyish lisp, the pink end of her tongue frequently peeking out from between her teeth, but her eyes are implacable fields of gray that at any moment could conceal everything you imagine - or nothing at all. She might be an X-ray registering the skeleton of your soul, or, like Oscar Wilde's women, she might be a sphinx without a secret. ~ Joshua Gaylord, #NFDB
116:The Largest Disservice to LISP is most frequently done whenever a LISP advocate opens his/her mouth. LISP advocates have been, in my limited and biased experience, some of the most arrogant and condescending bastards in the world. (…) I have heard more than one LISP advocate state such subjective comments as, "LISP is the most powerful and elegant programming language in the world" and expect such comments to be taken as objective truth. I have never heard a Java, C++, C, Perl, or Python advocate make the same claim about their own language of choice. ~ Comment on Slashdot - Response: "To be fair, the Java, C++, C, Perl or Python advocate wouldn't have much of a case...", #NFDB
117:A notable group of exceptions to all the previous systems are Interactive LISP [...] and TRAC. Both are functionally oriented (one list, the other string), both talk to the user with one language, and both are "homoiconic" in that their internal and external representations are essentially the same. They both have the ability to dynamically create new functions which may then be elaborated at the users's pleasure. Their only great drawback is that programs written in them look like King Burniburiach's letter to the Sumerians done in Babylonian cuniform! ~ Alan Kay in his 1969 PhD thesis: The Reactive Engine (PhD). University of Utah. URL: http://www.mprove.de/diplom/gui/kay69.html, #NFDB
118:Dawn On The Night-Journey
TILL dawn the wind drove round me. It is past
And still, and leaves the air to lisp of bird,
And to the quiet that is almost heard
Of the new-risen day, as yet bound fast
In the first warmth of sunrise. When the last
Of the sun's hours to-day shall be fulfilled,
There shall another breath of time be stilled
For me, which now is to my senses cast
As much beyond me as eternity,
Unknown, kept secret. On the newborn air
The moth quivers in silence. It is vast,
Yea, even beyond the hills upon the sea,
The day whose end shall give this hour as sheer
As chaos to the irrevocable Past.
~ Dante Gabriel Rossetti,#NFDB
119:Long Island Sound
I see it as it looked one afternoon
In August,-by a fresh soft breeze o'erblown.
The swiftness of the tide, the light thereon,
A far-off sail, white as a crescent moon.
The shining waters with pale currents strewn,
The quiet fishing-smacks, the Eastern cove,
The semi-circle of its dark, green grove.
The luminous grasses, and the merry sun
In the grave sky; the sparkle far and wide,
Laughter of unseen children, cheerful chirp
Of crickets, and low lisp of rippling tide,
Light summer clouds fantastical as sleep
Changing unnoted while I gazed thereon.
All these fair sounds and sights I made my own.
~ Emma Lazarus,#NFDB
120:The moment I regained my sight I communicated my frustrations to some members of the Lisp sect. Almost immediately I was bombarded by a standard set of responses: Lisp's parentheses are only a superficial matter, Lisp has a huge benefit of code and data being expressed in the same manner (which, obviously, is a huge improvement over XML), Lisp has tremendously powerful metaprogramming facilities that allow programs to write code and modify themselves, Lisp allows for creation of mini-languages specific to the problem at hand, Lisp blurs the distinction between run time and compile time, Lisp, Lisp, Lisp... The list was very impressive. Needless to say none of it made sense. ~ Anonymous, #NFDB
121:Programming is not all the same. Normal written languages have different rhythms and idioms, right? Well, so do programming languages. The language called C is all harsh imperatives, almost raw computer-speak. The language called Lisp is like one long, looping sentence, full of subclauses, so long in fact that you usually forget what it was even about in the first place. The language called Erlang is just like it sounds: eccentric and Scandinavia. I cannot program in any of these languages because they're all too hard.
But Ruby, my language of choice, was invented by a cheerful Japanese programmer, and it reads like friendly, accessible poetry. Billy Collins by way of Bill Gates. ~ Anonymous,#NFDB
122:The third worry of the pointy-haired boss, the difficulty of hiring programmers, I think is a red herring. How many hackers do you need to hire, after all? Surely by now we all know that software is best developed by teams of less than ten people. And you shouldn’t have trouble hiring hackers on that scale for any language anyone has ever heard of. If you can’t find ten Lisp hackers, then your company is probably based in the wrong city for developing software. In fact, choosing a more powerful language probably decreases the size of the team you need, because (a) if you use a more powerful language, you probably won’t need as many hackers, and (b) hackers who work in more advanced languages are likely to be smarter. ~ Paul Graham, #NFDB
123:Talent lies around in us like kindling waiting for a match, but some people, just as gifted as others, are less lucky. Fate never drops a match on them. The times are wrong, or their health is poor, or their energy low, or their obligations too many. Something. Talent, I tell him, believing what I say, is at least half luck. It isn’t as if our baby lips were touched with a live coal, and thereafter we lisp in numbers or talk in tongues. We are lucky in our parents, teachers, experience, circumstances, friends, times, physical and mental endowment, or we are not. Born to the English language and American opportunity (I say this in 1937, after seven years of depression, but I say it seriously) we are among the incredibly lucky ones. ~ Wallace Stegner, #NFDB
124:Eternal Power! Eternal Power, whose high abode Becomes the grandeur of a God: Infinite lengths beyond the bounds Where stars revolve their little rounds: Thee while the first archangel sings, He hides his face behind his wings: And ranks of shining thrones around Fall worshipping, and spread the ground. Lord, what shall earth and ashes do? We would adore our Maker too; From sin and dust to Thee we cry, The Great, the Holy, and the High. Earth, from afar, hath heard Thy fame, And worms have learn’d to lisp Thy Name; But O! the glories of Thy mind Leave all our soaring thoughts behind. God is in heaven, and men below: Be short our tunes; our words be few: A solemn reverence checks our songs, And praise sits silent on our tongues. —Issac Watts, 1674-1748 ~ A W Tozer, #NFDB
125:A word then, (for I will conquer it,)
The word final, superior to all,
Subtle, sent up--what is it?--I listen;
Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves?
Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?
Whereto answering, the sea,
Delaying not, hurrying not,
Whisper’d me through the night, and very plainly before daybreak,
Lisp’d to me the low and delicious word death,
And again death, death, death, death,
Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my arous’d child’s heart,
But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet,
Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over,
Death, death, death, death, death."
-from "Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking ~ Walt Whitman,#NFDB
126:Romance
Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been- a most familiar birdTaught me my alphabet to sayTo lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child- with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flingsThat little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away- forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.
~ Edgar Allan Poe,#NFDB
127:Hello there,” he said to me. “My name is Buddy Ray. What’s yours?” He had a faint lisp. I swallowed. “Robert Johnson.” Buddy Ray’s smile would make small children flee to their mamas. “Nice to meet you, Robert.” Buddy Ray—I didn’t know if that was a double first name or a first and last name—looked me over as though I were a bite-size snack. Something was off with this guy—you could just see it. He kept licking his lips. I risked a glance back at the big bouncer. Even he looked jittery in Buddy Ray’s presence. As Buddy Ray approached, a pungent stench of cheap cologne failing to mask foul body odor wafted off him, the foul smell taking the lead like a Doberman he was walking. Buddy Ray stopped directly in front of me, maybe six inches away. I held my breath and stood my ground. I, too, had a foot on him. The bouncer took another step backward. Buddy ~ Harlan Coben, #NFDB
128:Ah! sweet is the moonbeam that sleeps on yon fountain,
And sweet the mild rush of the soft-sighing breeze,
And sweet is the glimpse of yon dimly-seen mountain,
'Neath the verdant arcades of yon shadowy trees.
But sweeter than all was thy tone of affection,
Which scarce seemed to break on the stillness of eve,
Though the time it is past!--yet the dear recollection,
For aye in the heart of thy [Percy] must live.
Yet he hears thy dear voice in the summer winds sighing,
Mild accents of happiness lisp in his ear,
When the hope-winged moments athwart him are flying,
And he thinks of the friend to his bosom so dear.--
And thou dearest friend in his bosom for ever
Must reign unalloyed by the fast rolling year,
He loves thee, and dearest one never, Oh! never
Canst thou cease to be loved by a heart so sincere.
AUGUST, 1810.
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, Song. To [Harriet]
,#NFDB
129:I wonder what Lena is doing now. I always wonder what Lena is doing. Rachel, too: both my girls, my beautiful, big-eyed girls. But I worry about Rachel less. Rachel was always harder than Lena, somehow. More defiant, more stubborn, less feeling . Even as a girl, she frightened me—fierce and fiery-eyed, with a temper like my father’s once was.
But Lena . . . little darling Lena, with her tangle of dark hair and her flushed, chubby cheeks. She used to rescue spiders from the pavement to keep them from getting squashed; quiet, thoughtful Lena, with the sweetest lisp to break your heart. To break my heart: my wild, uncured, erratic, incomprehensible heart. I wonder whether her front teeth still overlap; whether she still confuses the words pretzel and pencil occasionally; whether the wispy brown hair grew straight and long, or began to curl.
I wonder whether she believes the lies they told her. ~ Lauren Oliver,#NFDB
130:DOLIST is similar to Perl's foreach or Python's for. Java added a similar kind of loop construct with the "enhanced" for loop in Java 1.5, as part of JSR-201. Notice what a difference macros make. A Lisp programmer who notices a common pattern in their code can write a macro to give themselves a source-level abstraction of that pattern. A Java programmer who notices the same pattern has to convince Sun that this particular abstraction is worth adding to the language. Then Sun has to publish a JSR and convene an industry-wide "expert group" to hash everything out. That process--according to Sun--takes an average of 18 months. After that, the compiler writers all have to go upgrade their compilers to support the new feature. And even once the Java programmer's favorite compiler supports the new version of Java, they probably still can't use the new feature until they're allowed to break source compatibility with older versions of Java. So an annoyance that Common Lisp programmers can resolve for themselves within five minutes plagues Java programmers for years. ~ Peter Seibel (2005) Practical Common Lisp., #NFDB
131:The old feelings rumbled through his belly, taking root in his aching loins. He was too crippled to pleasure himself anymore. He licked his lips and rang the bell. The door to his study opened, and a man in his midthirties stuck his head through the door. “Yesh, Father?” He looked at his spawn, the watery blue eyes, the weak chin. That boy was going to be the death of him. “Come in here, and stop that lisping!” he roared. Obediently, the son made his way into the room, coming to stand at the foot of his father’s chair. Snow White gazed upon his progeny, his stomach curdling. The boy was a freak—wide, pouting lips, the bottom thick as a finger, so loose as to look like red rubber. His chin tucked neatly into his neck, sloped from bottom lip to clavicle with almost no indentation or marking indicating there was a jawline to prop up his face. His eyes were slanted down and the irises cloudy. He’d been sightless since the age of three, couldn’t see the wreck his own father had become. “Yess, Father,” he said again, calmly. A long sibilance replaced the lisp, the boy’s best attempt to work within the confines of his deformity. He stood tall, his shoulders back, ready to accept whatever his father could give—be it love or hate. Snow ~ J T Ellison, #NFDB
132:Life Returning
After War-time.
O LIFE, dear life, with sunbeam finger touching
This poor damp brow, or flying freshly by
On wings of mountain wind, or tenderly
In links of visionary embraces clutching
Me from the yawning grave-Can I believe thou yet hast power to save?
I see thee, O my life, like phantom giant
Stand on the hill-top, large against the dawn,
Upon the night-black clouds a picture drawn
Of aspect wonderful, with hope defiant,
And so majestic grown
I scarce discern the image as my own.
Those mists furl off, and through the vale resplendent
I see the pathway of my years prolong;
Not without labor, yet for labor strong;
Not without pain, but pain whose touch transcendent
By love's divinest laws
Heart unto heart, and all hearts upwards, draws.
O life, O love, your diverse tones bewildering
Make silence, like two meeting waves of sound;
I dream of wifely white arms, lisp of children-Never of ended wars,
Save kisses scaling honorable scars.
No more of battles! Save the combat glorious
To which all earth and heaven may witness stand;
The sword of the Spirit taking in my hand
I shall go forth, since in new fields victorious
The King yet grants that I
His servant live, or His good soldier die.
~ Dinah Maria Mulock Craik,#NFDB
133:I ate a coconut crisp and the whole thing shriveled in my mouth, evaporating into nothing but pure taste. I held another up to the golden light as someone sat down across from me.
"I can't figure out this cooking technique. Do you think it's a meringue?" I asked.
"Actually, I believe it's freeze-dried."
My gaze leaped from the coconut crisp to the source of the foreign-sounding voice, smoother and younger than Michael Saltz's agitated lisp. Pascal Fox.
His black hair was slightly matted and spiked, hair that was- amazingly- a bit like mine, thick and straight in places, wispy and fine in others. He wore a cobalt-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his tattoos. In the semi-dark, I made out a mural of forks and knives, cows and pigs, carrots and eggplants and squashes and melons, like a super-hot, toned supermarket. He seemed to be showing off the whole mural to me.
"Oh, hi!" I said.
"I remember you. You came to my restaurant about three weeks ago, right?"
"Wow," I said. "You have a good memory." I couldn't stop blushing and I regretted eating all that food. It was hard to feel pretty when I felt nine months pregnant.
"I don't remember everyone. Just the special people." He nudged his body an inch toward mine and my breath caught in my throat. Up close, I noticed he had a slightly crooked smile and somewhat stained teeth. I liked that he wasn't the perfect model he appeared to be in all the magazines. He was almost a regular person. ~ Jessica Tom,#NFDB
134:They were so happy to be relieved of those strictures that they very quickly lapsed. Not everyone, of course, but the majority. We built the company a little too fast, and consequently the last 50 percent of the people hired really didn't have much commitment to the corporate culture. There were some warning signs. Consider McKinsey, which holds itself out as one of the world's leading repositories of knowledge on how to manage a business. They say they'll never grow their company by more than 25 percent per year, because otherwise it's just too hard to transmit the corporate culture. So if you're growing faster than 25 percent a year, you have to ask yourself, "What do I know about management that McKinsey doesn't know?" I still think it's more efficient—this is just an old Lisp programmer's standard way of thinking—if you have two really good people and a very powerful tool. That's better than having 20 mediocre people and inefficient tools. ArsDigita demonstrated that pretty well. We were able to get projects done in about 1/5th the time and probably at about 1/10th or 1/20th the cost of people using other tools. Of course, we would do it at 1/20th of the cost and we would charge 1/10th of the cost. So the customer would have a big consumer surplus. They would pay 1/10th of what they would have paid with IBM Global Services or Broadvision or something, but we would have a massive profit margin because we'd be spending less than half of what they paid us to do the job. ~ Jessica Livingston, #NFDB
135:The Old Arm-Chair
I LOVE it, I love it ; and who shall dare
To chide me for loving that old Arm-chair ?
I've treasured it long as a sainted prize ;
I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs.
' Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart ;
Not a tie will break, not a link will start.
Would ye learn the spell ? -- a mother sat there ;
And a sacred thing is that old Arm-chair.
In Childhood's hour I lingered near
The hallowed seat with listening ear ;
And gentle words that mother would give ;
To fit me to die, and teach me to live.
She told me shame would never betide,
With truth for my creed and God for my guide ;
She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer ;
As I knelt beside that old Arm-chair.
I sat and watched her many a day,
When her eye grew dim, and her locks were grey :
And I almost worshipped her when she smiled,
And turned from her Bible, to bless her child.
Years rolled on; but the last one sped-My idol was shattered; my earth-star fled :
I learnt how much the heart can bear,
When I saw her die in that old Arm-chair.
'Tis past, 'tis past, but I gaze on it now
With quivering breath and throbbing brow :
'Twas there she nursed me ; 'twas there she died :
And Memory flows with lava tide.
Say it is folly, and deem me weak,
While the scalding drops start down my cheek ;
But I love it, I love it ; and cannot tear
My soul from a mother's old Arm-chair.
~ Eliza Cook,#NFDB
136:My apologies, see, I forgot my manners.
I get on the mic ’cause it’s my life. You show off for girls and cameras.
You a pop star, not a rapper. A Vanilla Ice or a Hammer.
Y’all hear this crap he dumping out? Somebody get him a Pamper.
And a crown for me. The best have heard about me.
You can only spell “brilliant” by first spelling Bri.
You see, naturally, I do my shit with perfection.
Better call a bodyguard ’cause you gon’ need some protection,
And on this here election, the people crown a new leader.
You didn’t see this coming, and your ghostwriters didn’t either.
I came here to ether. I’m sorry to do this to you.
This is no longer a battle, it’s your funeral, boo. I’m murdering you.
On my corner they call me coroner, I’m warning ya.
Tell the truth, this dude is borin’ ya.
You confused like a foreigner. I’ll explain with ease:
You’re just a casualty in the reality of the madness of Bri.
No fallacies, I spit maladies, causin’ fatalities,
And do it casually, damaging rappers without bandaging.
Imagining managing my own label, my own salary.
And actually, factually, there’s no MC that’s as bad as me.
Milez? That’s cute. But it don’t make me cower.
I move at light speed, you stuck at per hour.
You spit like a lisp. I spit like a high power.
Bri’s the future, and you Today like Matt Lauer.
You coward. But you’re a G? It ain’t convincing to me.
You talk about your clothes, about your shopping sprees.
You talk about your Glock, about your i-c-e.
But in this here ring, they all talking ’bout me,
Bri! ~ Angie Thomas,#NFDB
137:Whisperings In Wattle-Boughs
Oh, gaily sings the bird, and the wattle-boughs are stirr'd
And rustled by the scented breath of spring ;
Oh, the dreary, wistful longing ! Oh, the faces that are thronging !
Oh, the voices that are vaguely whispering !
Oh, tell me, father mine, ere the good ship cross'd the brine,
On the gangway one mute hand-grip we exchanged,
Do you, past the grave, employ, for your stubborn reckless boy,
Those petitions that in life were ne'er estranged ?
Oh, tell me, sister dear, parting word and parting tear
Never pass'd between us ;—let me bear the blame.
Are you living, girl, or dead ? bitter tears since then I've shed
For the lips that lisp'd with mine a mother's name.
Oh, tell me, ancient friend, ever ready to defend,
In our boyhood, at the base of life's long hill,
Are you waking yet, or sleeping ? have you left this vale of weeping?
Or do you, like our comrade, linger still ?
Oh, whisper, buried love, is there rest and peace above ?—
There is little hope or comfort here below ;—
On your sweet face lies the mould, and your bed is strait and cold—
Near the harbour where the sea-tides ebb and flow.
All silent—they are dumb—and the breezes go and come
With an apathy that mocks at man's distress ;
Laugh, scoffer, while you may ! I could bow me down and pray
For an answer that might stay my bitterness.
Oh, harshly screams the bird ! and the wattle-bloom is stirr'd !
There's a sullen weird-like whisper in the bough :
'Aye, kneel, and pray, and weep, but His beloved sleep
Can never be disturb'd by such as thou !!'
~ Adam Lindsay Gordon,#NFDB
138:It is worth nothing that their neologisms, pronounciations and simplified grammar was quickly adopted by both the simplest people in the ports and by the so-called best people; and from the ports this way of speaking spread out into the newspapers and was soon in general use. Even many humans stopped attending to grammatical gender, word endings were dropped, declinations disappeared; our golden youth neglected to say r properly and learned to lisp; few educated people were any longer certain what was meant by 'indeterminism' or 'transcendent', simply because these words, even for human beings, were too long and too hard to pronounce. In short, for good or for ill, the newts became able to speak almost every language of the world according to what coast they lived on. About this time, some of the Czech national newspapers began to complain bitterly, no doubt with good reason, that none of the newts could speak their language. If there were salamanders who could speak Portuguese, Dutch and the languages of other small nations why were there none that could speak Czech? It was true, they conceded in regretful and learned terms, that Czechoslovakia had no sea coasts, and that means there will be no marine newts here, but that does not mean that Czechs should not play the same part in the culture of the world as many of the other nations whose language was being taught to thousands of newts, or perhaps even a greater part. It was only right and proper that the newts should also have some knowledge of Czech culture; but how were they to be informed about it if none of them knew the Czech language? It was not likely that someone somewhere in the world would acknowledge this cultural debt and found a chair in Czech and Czechoslovak literature at one of the newt universities. As the poet puts it, 'Trust no-one in the whole wide world, we have no friends out there'. ~ Karel apek, #NFDB
139:Watching Cameron come toward us I could see why Katy used the words "hot" and "gorgeous" to describe him-he definitely had nice hair and a long, lean body with broad shoulders, and the eyes. I wondered what Jordana would think now if she saw him. He set his tray on the end of the table, not particularly near any of us.
"Everyone," I said, "this is Cameron Quick."
Ethan stood to reach over the table and shake his hand. "Hey. I'm Ethan."
"We were...we both went to the same elementary school," I said, even though they'd heard that basic explanation already, "and then he moved, and...now he's moved back, so he's here. Here he is."
Steph looked at me like she knew I needed help, and said, "I'm Steph, this is Katy." Katy smiled and waved; Steph pointed down the table, "Gil, Freshman Dave, Junior Dave, and obviously Jenna."
Cameron finally spoke, mostly to his lunch tray, "Hi. Nice to meet you all." I watched him to see if he sneaked any looks at Steph, like most guys did when they first met her, dazzled and intimidated by her starlet body and model face. He barely seemed to notice.
Ethan took a bite of his burrito. "So you and Jenna were in the same class when you were kids?"
Cameron glanced at me. "Basically."
"What was Jenna like back then?" Gil asked. "Got pictures?"
Cameron smiled. "Don't need pictures. I got her up here," he said, tapping his forehead. I groaned, making a joke of it, while inside I worried over what he would say. He might tell them I was fat, or about my lisp or my thrift-store clothes or how much I'd changed. "Two braids. Sweet eyes. Good heart. Adorable. Just like she is now."
Gil looked at Ethan.
Katy studied her apple, eyebrows raised.
Steph said, "Jenna has all that and more, except maybe the braids. Which is why everyone loves her. I dare you to find one person in this school who does not like Jenna Vaughn." Based on the color of Katy's neck, I think there might have been one person who didn't like me, at least for the moment. ~ Sara Zarr,#NFDB
140:Ignoto
I love thee not for sacred chastity.
Who loves for that? nor for thy sprightly wit:
I love thee not for thy sweet modesty,
Which makes thee in perfection's throne to sit.
I love thee not for thy enchanting eye,
Thy beauty, ravishing perfection:
I love thee not for that my soul doth dance,
And leap with pleasure when those lips of thine,
Give musical and graceful utterance,
To some (by thee made happy) poet's line.
I love thee not for voice or slender small,
But wilt thou know wherefore? Fair sweet, for all.
'Faith, wench! I cannot court thy sprightly eyes,
With the base viol placed between my thighs:
I cannot lisp, nor to some fiddle sing,
Nor run upon a high stretching minikin.
I cannot whine in puling elegies.
Entombing Cupid with sad obsequies:
I am not fashioned for these amorous times,
To court thy beauty with lascivious rhymes:
I cannot dally, caper, dance and sing,
Oiling my saint with supple sonneting:
I cannot cross my arms, or sigh 'Ah me,'
'Ah me forlorn!' egregious foppery!
I cannot buss thy fill, play with thy hair,
Swearing by Jove, 'Thou art most debonnaire!'
Not I, by cock! but I shall tell thee roundly,
Hark in thine ear, zounds I can ____ thee soundly.
Sweet wench, I love thee; yet I will not sue,
Or show my love as musky courtiers do;
I'll not carouse a health to honour thee,
In this same bezzling drunken courtesy:
And when all's quaffed, eat up my bousinglass,
In glory that I am thy servile ass.
Nor will I wear a rotten Bourbon lock,
As some sworn peasant to a female mock.
Well-featured lass, thou know'st I love thee dear,
39
Yet for thy sake I will not bore mine ear,
To hang thy dirty silken shoe-tires there:
Not for thy love will I once gnash a brick,
Or some pied colours in my bonnet stick.
But by the chaps of hell, to do thee good,
I'll freely spend my thrice decocted blood.
~ Christopher Marlowe,#NFDB
141:Three Sonnets Written In Mid-Channel
Now upon English soil I soon shall stand,
Homeward from climes that fancy deems more fair;
And well I know that there will greet me there
No soft foam fawning upon smiling strand,
No scent of orange-groves, no zephyrs bland,
But Amazonian March, with breast half bare
And sleety arrows whistling through the air,
Will be my welcome from that burly land.
Yet he who boasts his birthplace yonder lies,
Owns in his heart a mood akin to scorn
For sensuous slopes that bask 'neath Southern skies,
Teeming with wine and prodigal of corn,
And, gazing through the mist with misty eyes,
Blesses the brave bleak land where he was born.
II
And wherefore feels he thus? Because its shore
Nor conqueror's foot nor despot's may defile,
But Freedom walks unarmed about the isle,
And Peace sits musing beside each man's door.
Beyond these straits, the wild-beast mob may roar,
Elsewhere the veering demagogue beguile:
We, hand in hand with the Past, look on and smile,
And tread the ways our fathers trod before.
What though some wretch, whose glory you may trace
Past lonely hearths and unrecorded graves,
Round his Sword-sceptre summoning swarms of slaves,
Menace our shores with conflict or disgrace,We laugh behind the bulwark of the waves,
And fling the foam defiant in his face.
III
And can it be,-when Heaven this deep moat made,
And filled it with the ungovernable seas,
Gave us the winds for rampart, waves for frise,
Behind which Freedom, elsewhere if betrayed,
Might shelter find, and flourish unafraid,That men who learned to lisp at English knees
560
Of English fame, to pamper womanish ease
And swell the surfeits of voracious trade
Shall the impregnable breakers undermine,
Take ocean in reverse, and, basely bold,
Burrow beneath the bastions of the brine?Nay, England, if the citadel be sold
For lucre thus, Tarpeia's doom be thine,
And perish smothered in a grave of gold!
~ Alfred Austin,#NFDB
142:Computers speak machine language," Hiro says. "It's written in ones and zeroes
-- binary code. At the lowest level, all computers are programmed with strings
of ones and zeroes. When you program in machine language, you are controlling
the computer at its brainstem, the root of its existence. It's the tongue of
Eden. But it's very difficult to work in machine language because you go crazy
after a while, working at such a minute level. So a whole Babel of computer
languages has been created for programmers: FORTRAN, BASIC, COBOL, LISP, Pascal,
C, PROLOG, FORTH. You talk to the computer in one of these languages, and a
piece of software called a compiler converts it into machine language. But you
never can tell exactly what the compiler is doing. It doesn't always come out
the way you want. Like a dusty pane or warped mirror. A really advanced hacker
comes to understand the true inner workings of the machine -- he sees through
the language he's working in and glimpses the secret functioning of the binary
code -- becomes a Ba'al Shem of sorts."
"Lagos believed that the legends about the tongue of Eden were exaggerated
versions of true events," the Librarian says. "These legends reflected
nostalgia for a time when people spoke Sumerian, a tongue that was superior to
anything that came afterward."
"Is Sumerian really that good?"
"Not as far as modern-day linguists can tell," the Librarian says. "As I
mentioned, it is largely impossible for us to grasp. Lagos suspected that words
worked differently in those days. If one's native tongue influences the
physical structure of the developing brain, then it is fair to say that the
Sumerians -- who spoke a language radically different from anything in existence
today -- had fundamentally different brains from yours. Lagos believed that for
this reason, Sumerian was a language ideally suited to the creation and
propagation of viruses. That a virus, once released into Sumer, would spread
rapidly and virulently, until it had infected everyone."
"Maybe Enki knew that also," Hiro says. "Maybe the nam-shub of Enki wasn't such
a bad thing. Maybe Babel was the best thing that ever happened to us. ~ Neal Stephenson,#NFDB
143:King Cophetua The First
Said Jove within himself one day,
‘I'll make me a mistress out of clay!
These ninefold spheres of chiming quires,
Though little things and therefore sweet,
Too Godlike are for my desires:
My pleasure still is incomplete.
The gust of love is mystery,
Which poorly yet the heavens supply.
Now where may God for mystery seek
Save in the earthly, small, and weak?
My work, then, let me crown and end
With what I ne'er shall comprehend!’
And so the unfathomable Need,
Hell's mock, Heaven's pity, was decreed.
And, with perversity immense
As all his other affluence,
Jove left his wondering Court behind
And Juno's almost equal mind,
On low and little Earth to seek
That vessel infinitely weak,
(The abler for the infinite honour
He hugely long'd to put upon her,)
And, in a melancholy grove,
Found sighing his predestined Love,
A pretty, foolish, pensive maid,
The least of heaven-related things,
Of every boy and beast afraid,
But not of him, the King of Kings.
He look'd so measurelessly mild,
And so he flatter'd her, poor child,
By lifting with respect her hand
To his salute benign and grand,
That, when he spoke, and begged to be
Instructed in her wishes, she,
Having a modest minute tarried,
Lisp'd, ‘I should like, Sire, to be married.’
But, when he smiling ask'd, ‘Whom to?’
She blush'd and said, she scarcely knew.
Then Jove named Shepherds, Lords, and Kings
27
To her free choice; for all such things
Were his and his to give; but these
She shook her curls at. ‘Hard to please
Is my small Cousin, but my nod
Shall call from heaven some splendid God—’
‘Ah, Maker mine, no God will do
That's not as great a God as you!’
Thereat Jove laugh'd: ‘As least of things
Alone can sate the King of Kings,
So the least thing, it seems, that I
Alone of Gods can satisfy!’
And, fading in her flushing arms,
He blazed for ever from her charms.
Thenceforth the maiden sang and shone,
Admired by all and woo'd by none,
For, though she said she was a sinner,
'Twas clear to all that Jove was in her,
And, but for that deep pagan night,
She would have been a Carmelite.
~ Coventry Patmore,#NFDB
144:New Rule: Death isn’t always sad. This week, the Reverend Jerry Falwell died, and millions of Americans asked, “Why? Why, God? Why…didn’t you take Pat Robertson with him?” I don’t want to say Jerry was disliked by the gay community, but tonight in New York City, at exactly eight o’clock, Broadway theaters along the Great White Way turned their lights up for two minutes.
I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but I think we can make an exception, because speaking ill of the dead was kind of Jerry Falwell’s hobby. He’s the guy who said AIDS was God’s punishment for homosexuality and that 9/11 was brought on by pagans, abortionists, feminists, gays, and the ACLU—or, as I like to call them, my studio audience.
It was surreal watching people on the news praise Falwell, followed by a clip package of what he actually said—things like:
"Homosexuals are part of a vile and satanic system that will be utterly annihilated." "If you’re not a born-again Christian, you’re a failure as a human being." "Feminists just need a man in the house." "There is no separation of church and state." And, of course, everyone’s favorite: "The purple Teletubby is gay."
Jerry Falwell found out you could launder your hate through the cover of “God’s will”—he didn’t hate gays, God does.
All Falwell’s power came from name-dropping God, and gay people should steal that trick. Don’t say you want something because it’s your right as a human being—say you want it because it’s your religion.
Gay men have been going at things backward. Forget civil right, and just make gayness a religion. I mean, you’re kneeling anyway. And it’s easy to start a religion. Watch, I’ll do it for you.
I had a vision last night. The Blessed Virgin Mary came to me—I don’t know how she got past the guards—and she told me it’s time to take the high ground from the Seventh-day Adventists and give it to the twenty-four-hour party people. And that what happens in the confessional stays in the confessional. Gay men, don’t say you’re life partners. Say you’re a nunnery of two. “We weren’t having sex,officer. I was performing a very private mass.Here in my car. I was letting my rod and my staff comfort him.”
One can only hope that as Jerry Falwell now approaches the pearly gates, he is met there by God Himself, wearing a Fire Island muscle shirt and nut-hugger shorts, saying to Jerry in a mighty lisp, “I’m not talking to you. ~ Bill Maher,#NFDB
145:I.
Stand still, true poet that you are!
I know you; let me try and draw you.
Some night you'll fail us: when afar
You rise, remember one man saw you,
Knew you, and named a star!
II.
My star, God's glow-worm! Why extend
That loving hand of his which leads you
Yet locks you safe from end to end
Of this dark world, unless he needs you,
just saves your light to spend?
III.
His clenched hand shall unclose at last,
I know, and let out all the beauty:
My poet holds the future fast,
Accepts the coming ages' duty,
Their present for this past.
IV.
That day, the earth's feast-master's brow
Shall clear, to God the chalice raising;
``Others give best at first, but thou
``Forever set'st our table praising,
``Keep'st the good wine till now!''
V.
Meantime, I'll draw you as you stand,
With few or none to watch and wonder:
I'll say-a fisher, on the sand
By Tyre the old, with ocean-plunder,
A netful, brought to land.
VI.
Who has not heard how Tyrian shells
Enclosed the blue, that dye of dyes
Whereof one drop worked miracles,
And coloured like Astarte's eyes
Raw silk the merchant sells?
VII.
And each bystander of them all
Could criticize, and quote tradition
How depths of blue sublimed some pall
-To get which, pricked a king's ambition
Worth sceptre, crown and ball.
VIII.
Yet there's the dye, in that rough mesh,
The sea has only just o'erwhispered!
Live whelks, each lip's beard dripping fresh,
As if they still the water's lisp heard
Through foam the rock-weeds thresh.
IX.
Enough to furnish Solomon
Such hangings for his cedar-house,
That, when gold-robed he took the throne
In that abyss of blue, the Spouse
Might swear his presence shone
X.
Most like the centre-spike of gold
Which burns deep in the blue-bell's womb,
What time, with ardours manifold,
The bee goes singing to her groom,
Drunken and overbold.
XI.
Mere conchs! not fit for warp or woof!
Till cunning come to pound and squeeze
And clarify,-refine to proof
The liquor filtered by degrees,
While the world stands aloof.
XII.
And there's the extract, flasked and fine,
And priced and saleable at last!
And Hobbs, Nobbs, Stokes and Nokes combine
To paint the future from the past,
Put blue into their line.
XIII.
Hobbs hints blue,-Straight he turtle eats:
Nobbs prints blue,-claret crowns his cup:
Nokes outdares Stokes in azure feats,-
Both gorge. Who fished the murex up?
What porridge had John Keats?
The Syrian Venus.
Molluscs from which the famous Tyrian
* purple dye was obtained.
~ Robert Browning, Popularity
,#NFDB
146:Aunt Dorothy's Lecture
Come, go and practise—get your work—
Do something, Nelly, pray.
I hate to see you moon about
In this uncertain way!
Why do you look so vacant, child?
I fear you must be ill.
Surely you are not thinking of
That Captain Cameron still?
Ah, yes—I fear'd so! You may blush;
I blush for you, my dear;
And it is scarce a week ago
Since Gerald brought him here—
The day he fell in the hunting-field,
And his pretty horse was lamed.
O child—and with your bringing up!
You ought to be ashamed.
Last night I saw you watching him,
And you danced with him thrice;
You turn'd quite red when he spoke to you—
Such manners are not nice.
You, Nelly Gray, should not be seen
(I don't wish to be harsh)
Running wild, like the servant-girls,
For a red coat and moustache.
Not that he isn't a gentleman
From spur to shako-brim—
I know good blood when I see it—yes,
I will say that for him.
He does not swagger, nor lisp, nor flirt—
Has none of those vulgar ways;
And he does not talk like a stable-boy,
As the fashion is nowadays.
In fact, I admire him very much—
My dear, you need not fret—
I do; he's very different from
The rest of Gerald's set.
71
He's very handsome, certainly—
I don't mind saying so.
He reminds me a bit of your uncle, when
I met him long ago.
He had a silky, long moustache
Of just that golden shade;
And broad Greek brows, with a tint of bronze,
That Indian suns had made.
He was a soldier, too, you know—
As big and strong and tall:
He'd just come home when I saw him first
At Lady Talbot's ball.
I remember when we were introduced;
By stealth I look'd him o'er—
Such haughty, indolent, gentle eyes,
I never saw before!
I felt so strange when he look'd at me;
I cannot tell you why—
But I seem'd to feel he was mine, to keep
And love, till I should die.
'Twas very odd—in a moment, too,
Before I knew his name!
But, Nelly—O how the world was changed
And brighten'd, when he came!
I was so restless all that night;—
I did not want to see,
I felt where he moved about the room
While he was away from me.
I was jealous—I could not help it,
Although I struggled hard—
Of the other girls, whose favour'd names
Were written on his card;
They were so rich, and I was poor;
They were so grandly dress'd,
And I so dowdy; and yet, and yet,
I thought he liked me best.
The last long hour he danced with them,
And oh I miss'd him so!
And then I heard our carriage call'd,
72
And I knew that I must go.
A big lump rose up in my throat
That I could hardly bear;
But, passing through the vestibule,
I saw him standing there.
I knew not where he came from,
But I felt no surprise
When he look'd down from his stately height
With his grave and quiet eyes,
And held his hand for a mute good-night
That said all words could say;—
Ah, love! he made me happy then
For ever and for aye.
Well, well,—but this is nonsense;
How I am running on!—
His golden hair grew thin and grey,
And now he's dead and gone.
There, go and dress for dinner, child;
It's getting late, you see;
And—perhaps I'll ask young Cameron
If he'll come in to tea.
~ Ada Cambridge,#NFDB
147:How did you find me?"
"I've followed you for a long time." He must have mistaken the look on my face for alarm or fear, and said, "Not literally. I just mean I never lost track."
But it wasn't fear, or anything like that. It was an instant of realization I'd have a lot in the coming days: I'd been thinking of him as coming back from the dead, but the fact was he'd been there all along. He'd been alive when I cried in my room over him being gone. He'd been alive when I started a new school without him, the day I made my first friend a Jones Hall, the time I ran into Ethan at the library. Cameron Quick and I had existed simultaneously on the planet during all of those moments. It didn't seem possible that we could have been leading separate lives, not after everything we'd been through together.
"...then I looked you up online," he was saying, "and found your mom's wedding announcement from before you changed your name. I didn't even need to do that. It's easy to find someone you never lost."
I struggled to understand what he was saying. "You mean...you could have written to me, or seen me, sooner?"
"I wanted to. Almost did, a bunch of times."
"Why didn't you? I wish you had." And I did, I wished it so much, imagined how it would have been to know all those years that he was there, thinking of me.
"Things seemed different for you," he said, matter-of-fact. "Better. I could tell that from the bits of information I found...like an interview with the parents who were putting their kids in your school when it first started. Or an article about that essay contest you won a couple years ago."
"You knew about that?"
He nodded. "That one had a picture. I could see just from looking at you that you had a good thing going. Didn't need me coming along and messing it up."
"Don't say that," I said quickly. Then: "You were never part of what I wanted to forget."
"Nice of you to say, but I know it's not true."
I knew what he was thinking, could see that he'd been carrying around the same burden all those years as me.
"You didn't do anything wrong." It was getting cold on the porch, and late, and the looming topic scared me. I got up. "Let's go in. I can make coffee or hot chocolate or something?"
"I have to go."
"No! Already?" I didn't want to let him out of my sight.
"Don't worry," he said. "Just have to go to work. I'll be around."
"Give me your number. I'll call you."
"I don't have a phone right now."
"Find me at school," I said, "or anytime. Eat lunch with us tomorrow." He didn't answer. "Really," I continued, "you should meet my friends and stuff."
"You have a boyfriend," he finally said. "I saw you guys holding hands."
I nodded. "Ethan."
"For how long?"
"Three months, almost." I couldn't picture Cameron Quick dating anyone, though he must have at some point. If I'd found Ethan, I was sure Cameron had some Ashley or Becca or Caitlin along the way. I didn't ask. "He's nice," I added. "He's..." I don't know what I'd planned to say, but whatever it was it seemed insignificant so I finished that sentence with a shrug.
"You lost your lisp."
And about twenty-five pounds, I thought. "I guess speech therapy worked for both of us."
He smiled. "I always liked that, you know. Your lisp. It was...you." He started down the porch steps. "See you tomorrow, okay?"
"Yeah," I said, unable to take my eyes off of him. "Tomorrow. ~ Sara Zarr,#NFDB
148:An Address To The Deity
God of my life! and author of my days!
Permit my feeble voice to lisp thy praise;
And trembling, take upon a mortal tongue
That hallowed name to harps of seraphs sung.
Yet here the brightest seraphs could no more
Than veil their faces, tremble, and adore.
Worms, angels, men, in every different sphere
Are equal all,—for all are nothing here.
All nature faints beneath the mighty name,
Which nature's works though all their parts proclaim.
I feel that name my inmost thoughts controul,
And breathe an awful stillness through my soul;
As by a charm, the waves of grief subside;
Impetuous Passion stops her headlong tide:
At thy felt presence all emotions cease,
And my hushed spirit finds a sudden peace,
Till every worldly thought within me dies,
And earth's gay pageants vanish from my eyes;
Till all my sense is lost in infinite,
And one vast object fills my aching sight.
But soon, alas! this holy calm is broke;
My soul submits to wear her wonted yoke;
With shackled pinions strives to soar in vain,
And mingles with the dross of earth again.
But he, our gracious Master, kind as just,
Knowing our frame, remembers man is dust.
His spirit, ever brooding o'er our mind,
Sees the first wish to better hopes inclined;
Marks the young dawn of every virtuous aim,
And fans the smoking flax into a flame.
His ears are open to the softest cry,
His grace descends to meet the lifted eye;
He reads the language of a silent tear,
And sighs are incense from a heart sincere.
Such are the vows, the sacrifice I give;
Accept the vow, and bid the suppliant live:
23
From each terrestrial bondage set me free;
Still every wish that centres not in thee;
Bid my fond hopes, my vain disquiets cease,
And point my path to everlasting peace.
If the soft hand of winning Pleasure leads
By living waters, and through flowery meads,
When all is smiling, tranquil, and serene,
And vernal beauty paints the flattering scene,
O teach me to elude each latent snare,
And whisper to my sliding heart—Beware!
With caution let me hear the syren's voice,
And doubtful, with a trembling heart, rejoice.
If friendless, in a vale of tears I stray,
Where briars wound, and thorns perplex my way,
Still let my steady soul thy goodness see,
And with strong confidence lay hold on thee;
With equal eye my various lot receive,
Resigned to die, or resolute to live;
Prepared to kiss the sceptre or the rod,
While God is seen in all, and all in God.
I read his awful name, emblazoned high
With golden letters on the illumined sky;
Nor less the mystic characters I see
Wrought in each flower, inscribed in every tree;
In every leaf that trembles to the breeze
I hear the voice of God among the trees;
With thee in shady solitudes I walk,
With thee in busy crowded cities talk;
In every creature own thy forming power,
In each event thy providence adore.
Thy hopes shall animate my drooping soul,
Thy precepts guide me, and thy fears controul:
Thus shall I rest, unmoved by all alarms,
Secure within the temple of thine arms;
From anxious cares, from gloomy terrors free,
And feel myself omnipotent in thee.
Then when the last, the closing hour draws nigh,
24
And earth recedes before my swimming eye;
When trembling on the doubtful edge of fate
I stand, and stretch my view to either state:
Teach me to quit this transitory scene
With decent triumph and a look serene;
Teach me to fix my ardent hopes on high,
And having lived to thee, in thee to die.
~ Anna Laetitia Barbauld,#NFDB
149:The Fable Of Dryope - Ovid's Metamorphoses Book 9,
[v. 324-393]
She said, and for her lost Calanthis sighs,
When the fair Consort of her son replies.
'Since you a servant's ravish'd form bemoan,
And kindly sigh for sorrows not your own;
Let me (if tears and grief permit) relate
A nearer woe, a sister's stranger fate.
No Nymph of all OEchalia could compare
For beauteous form with Dryope the fair,
Her tender mother's only hope and pride,
(Myself the offspring of a second bride)
This Nymph compress'd by him who rules the day,
Whom Delphi and the Delian isle obey,
Andraemon lov'd; and, bless'd in all those charms
That pleas'd a God, succeeded to her arms.
'A lake there was, with shelving banks around,
Whose verdant summit fragrant myrtles crown'd.
These shades, unknowing of the fates, she sought,
And to the Naiads flow'ry garlands brought;
Her smiling babe (a pleasing charge) she prest
Within her arms, and nourish'd at her breast.
Not distant far, a wat'ry Lotos grows,
The spring was new, and all the verdant boughs
Adorn'd with blossoms promis'd fruits that vie
In glowing colours with the Tyrian dye:
Of these she cropp'd to please her infant son,
And I myself the same rash act had done:
But lo! I saw, (as near her side I stood)
The violated blossoms drop with blood;
Upon the tree I cast a frightful look;
The trembling tree with sudden horror shook.
Lotis the nymph (if rural tales be true)
As from Priapus' lawless lust she flew,
Forsook her form; and fixing here became
A flow'ry plant, which still preserves her name.
'This change unknown, astonish'd at the sight
My trembling sister strove to urge her flight,
And first the pardon of the nymphs implor'd,
209
And those offended sylvan powers ador'd:
But when she backward would have fled, she found
Her stiff'ning feet were rooted in the ground:
In vain to free her fasten'd feet she strove,
And as she struggles, only moves above;
She feels th' encroaching bark around her grow
By quick degrees, and cover all below:
Surpris'd at this, her trembling hand she heaves
To rend her hair, the shooting leaves are seen
To rise, and shade her with a sudden green.
The child Amphissus, to her bosom prest,
Perceiv'd a colder and a harder breast,
And found the springs, that ne'er till then deny'd
Their milky moisture, on a sudden dry'd.
I saw, unhappy! what I now relate,
And stood the helpless witness of thy fate,
Embrac'd thy boughs, thy rising bark delay'd,
There wish'd to grow, and mingle shade with shade.
'Behold Andraemon and th' unhappy sire
Appear, and for their Dryope enquire;
A springing tree for Dryope they find,
And print warm kisses on the panting rind.
Prostrate, with tears their kindred plant bedew,
And close embrace as to the roots they grew,
The face was all that now remain'd of thee,
No more a woman, nor yet quite a tree;
Thy branches hung with humid pearls appear,
From ev'ry leaf distils a trickling tear,
And straight a voice, while yet a voice remains,
Thus thro' the trembling boughs in sighs complains.
''If to the wretched any faith be giv'n,
I swear by all th' unpitying pow'rs of heav'n,
No wilful crime this heavy vengeance bred;
In mutual innocence our lives we led:
If this be false, let these new greens decay,
Let sounding axes lop my limbs away,
And crackling flames on all my honours prey.
But from my branching arms this infant bear,
Let some kind nurse supply a mother's care:
And to his mother let him oft be led,
Sport in her shades, and in her shades be fed;
Teach him, when first his infant voice shall frame
210
Imperfect words, and lisp his mother's name,
To hail this tree; and say with weeping eyes,
Within this plant my hapless parent lies:
And when in youth he seeks the shady woods,
Oh, let him fly the crystal lakes and floods,
Nor touch the fatal flow'rs; but, warn'd by me,
Believe a Goddess shrin'd in ev'ry tree.
My sire, my sister, and my spouse farewell!
If in your breasts or love, or pity dwell,
Protect your plant, nor let my branches feel
The browsing cattle or the piercing steel.
Farewell! and since I cannot bend to join
My lips to yours, advance at least to mine.
My son, thy mother's parting kiss receive,
While yet thy mother has a kiss to give.
I can no more; the creeping rind invades
My closing lips, and hides my head in shades:
Remove your hands, the bark shall soon suffice
Without their aid to seal these dying eyes.'
'She ceas'd at once to speak, and ceas'd to be;
And all the nymph was lost within the tree;
Yet latent life thro' her new branches reign'd,
And long the plant a human heat retain'd.'
~ Alexander Pope,#NFDB
150:A Point Of Honour
``Tell me again; I did not hear: It was wailing so sadly. Nay,
Hush! little one, for mother wants to know what they have to say.
There! At my breast be good and still! What quiets you calms me too.
They say that the source is poisoned; still, it seems pure enough for you!
``I shall bring them to shame, aye one and all, my Father who loves me so,
Dear Mother, a little severe at times, but with story as white as snow,
And sister Effie, so trim and quick, so fair and betrothed so long,
Who will wait for her lover for years and years, but would die at the thought of
wrong.
``O don't! For I know what my brother Ralph, if he knew it, would think and say.
He would drive me across the lonely moor, and would curse me all the way;
Would call on the cold wet winds to whip, and the sunshine to pass me by,
And vow that the ditch were too good a grave for a thing as foul as I.
``And then there is grand-dad, worn and white, who can scarcely speak or see,
But sits in the sun in his wicker chair, with the Bible upon his knee.
To him 'twould but sound like a buzzing hive if they talked to him of my fall:
Yet I almost think that I dread his face, turned heavenward, more than all.
``We have never been either rich or poor, but a proud, stiff yeoman stock.
And to think that I am the first to bring sin's scab on a cleanly flock!
The pet lamb, too, as they call me still, the dearest of all their dears!
Hush, little one! But you well may wail, suckled not upon milk, but tears.
``He never will marry me now, that's sure. Who takes a wife with a stain?
How we used to sit in the bluebell wood, and roam through the primrose lane!
And I was thinking of some one else, while the nightingale trilled above.
He alone, I think, will forgive me though, such a wonderful thing is Love.
``Do you think I do not foresee it all?-a mother and not a wife,
A babe but without a father still, and the lack and the shame for life,
The nudge and the sidelong sneer, in church, at market, year out, year in.
But what would you have me do to escape the wages of my sin?
``Give up the child? To whom? To what? To honest and kindly folk
Who have never a chit of their own and long for a wee thing to kiss and stroke,
Who will call it their own, will rear as such, will teach it to lisp and pray:
70
He will find the money for that and more. There is nothing he will not pay.
``Pay? Well, go on: I am listening hard, for the little one's now at rest.
Just look how it sucks and smiles in sleep on the pillow of mother's breast.
Though I never thought-does Love ever think?-that such was the end of all,
It is wicked, but still for a joy like this I would almost repeat my fall.
``Yes, I understand. He has done his best. O, you make it perfectly clear.
He is doing it all for me, no doubt; he has nothing to face or fear.
But 'tis strange that fathers with gold may pay for their guilt, and can then
forget,
And that lasting shame and a broken heart are the share of the mother's debt.
``I have sometimes thought that Nature has against woman some lasting pique,
For she makes us weak where we should be strong, and strong where we might
be weak,
Most good when a little badness pays, and bad when 'tis safe being good.
To be always good, and nothing but good, 's the one hope for womanhood.
``And I then should be good, or seem to be, which is pretty well much the same,
Should hold up my head with the straightest then, and be shocked at a sister's
shame.
Be called by the Vicar his model maid, be kissed by the Vicar's wife,
And may-be marry an honest man, and be happy and loved for life.
``The hollyhocks now up the garden walk are flowering strong and straight,
The bees are out in the mignonette, and the mossrose lingers late;
The orchard reddens, the acorn cups are thick 'neath the pollard oak,
And up from the old red chimney-stack curls the first blue Autumn smoke.
The kine from the lowland are trailing home, and file betwixt shed and rick,
In the wide brown bowls on the dairy shelf the cream lies smooth and thick;
I can hear the geese in the farmyard pond, I can see the neat new thatch.
Now what if I went there brave and bold, and took courage to lift the latch?
``They never would know, they would cluster round, they would drag me in
through the door,
Would fondle and cuddle, and hug and kiss, and pull me down to the floor;
And who should kiss first, and who kiss last, would be all they would think of
then;
And at night we should all of us kneel and pray, and I too should say, ``Amen!''
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``They never would know; but I should know, and, when they were all asleep,
I should lie awake through the long dark night, and wonder, and sob, and weep,
Through the dear sweet bitter detested past would my wavering fancy roam,
And at dawn I should learn to smile again, for at least I should be at home.
``And where would It be? I must not ask-for I'm to be strong and wise,If well or ailing, alive or dead, what colour its hair and eyes,
Never knit a sock for its little feet, to the end never know its name.
There's a shamelessness yet more shameful far than the worst abyss of shame!
``Well, you see I am going. And where? Why, home! Yes, straight unto Father's
door,
With this tell-tale thing in my warm weak arms, right over the windy moor.
I shall tremble and stammer and halt, no doubt, and look like a thing accurst,
And so double my fault by my helplessness; and then I shall know the worst.
``If my Mother scolds, I will bow my head; if my sister shrinks, I will weep;
If my brother smites, I will let him smite, for a sin so dark and deep.
But what if my Father rises up, and drives from the door,-what then?
Well, then I will go to the Father of all Who pardoned Magdalen.''
~ Alfred Austin,#NFDB
151:Hymn To Death
What is it haunts the summer air?
A sense of something lately passed away;
Something pleasant, something fair,
That was with us yesterday,
And is no longer there.
Now from the pasture comes no baby bleat,
Nor the frisk of frolic feet
There is seen.
Blossom and bloom have spread their wings, and flown,
And the bosks and orchards green
The rosy flush of childhood have outgrown.
Lapwing and linnet and lark have fledged their brood;
Mavis and merle have gotten their desire;
The nightingale begins to tire;
Even the cuckoo's note hath fitful grown;
And in the closing leafage of the wood
The ringdove now is left to coo alone.
II
Then revel in your roses, reckless June!
Revel and ripen swift to your decay.
But your turn will follow soon,
And the rounding harvest-moon
Avenge the too brief innocence of May.
Yet once again there scents the morning air
The soul of something passed away;
Something precious, something fair,
That was breathing yesterday,
And is no longer there.
It is Autumn, dying, dying,
With her leaves around her lying,
And Winter, beggared heir, unprofitably sighing.
Let her die.
Unto us as unto her
Earth is but a sepulchre,
And the over-arching sky
Neither asks nor wonders why
Those who here are left behind
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Season sweet and spacious mind
Fain would save;
Yet with pale visages and streaming tears
Must watch the harvest of the ripened years
Locked in the bootless granary of the grave.
III
Why do you call me hence?
To purge what fault, to punish what offence?
Had I maligned my lot,
Or ever once the privilege forgot
Of being, though the spirit's inward sense,
Mirror and measure of all things that are,
Then it were right, were just,
That, like a falling leaf or failing star,
The winds of Heaven should blow about my dust.
Or had I used the years as waifs and strays,
To build myself a comfortable nest,
Groped life for golden garbage, like the rest,
And, as a lacquey, on the public ways
For private profit hired out my tongue,
Then against death 'twere vain to plead,
Then, then 'twere meet indeed
I should grow silenced, like a bell unrung.
But bear me witness, every Spring that came
Since first with trembling furtive frame
Out of my little crib I crept
While others slept,
Because to me the rising moon
Was more than sleep, or toy, or boon,
That never yet the thrush resumed to sing,
But straight my heart did build, my voice was on the wing;
Found the first primrose gazing frank
From its cradle in the bank,
Harked for the cuckoo days before he called,
Then halted, at his note enthralled.
IV
Why do you beckon to another sphere?
Here was I born,
Am deeply rooted here,
And would not be uptorn.
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I want no other fields than these,
No other skies,
No redder dawn to break on bluer seas,
No brighter stars to rise.
Neither do I crave to know
The origin of joy and woe.
I love the doubt, the dark, the fear,
That still surroundeth all things here.
I love the mystery, nor seek to solve;
Content to let the stars revolve,
Nor ask to have their meaning clear.
Enough for me, enough to feel;
To let the mystic shadows steal
Into a land whither I cannot follow;
To see the stealthy sunlight leave
Dewy dingle, dappled hollow;
To watch, when falls the hour of eve,
Quiet shadows on a quiet hill;
To watch, to wonder, and be still.
And can it be,
That there will break the day,
For me, for me,
When I no more shall hear the throstle flute;
Not because his voice is mute,
But that my soul sleeps stupefied in clay?
Never! what, never again!
Deep within some silent glen
To make a couch with peace, far from surmise of men?
Never, never more to stand,
Spell-bound in a leafy land,
Lie among the grasses tall,
Hear the yaffel call, and call,
And lazily watch the lazy clouds slow floating over all?
That time and life will be, but I shall ne'er
Find little feet upon the stair,
Feel little arms about my throat,
Hear little gleeful voices float
Upon the wavelets of the summer air.
That I again shall never share
The peace that lies upon an English lawn,
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Watch the last lingering planet shining fair
Upon the unwrinkled forehead of the dawn?
Never, never, never more,
When fate or fancy bids me roam,
Lessen with loving thoughts the last long mile
That leads unto my home,
Descry the roses down the casement falling,
Hear the garden thrushes calling,
Behold my dear ones standing at the door,
Void of fear, void of guile,
And hail, as I so oft have hailed before,
The broadening salutation of their smile?
VI
Who will salute me There?
Who, who come forth to greet?
Will Virgil stand upon the golden stair?
Shall I see Spenser's face, and sit at Shakespeare's feet?
Will Galileo with unshrouded gaze
Guide me through the starry maze,
Upon wings that never tire,
Up to the Heaven of Heavens, and higher and ever higher?
If this be so,
Quick let me go!
But ah! pale spectre, paler still you grow.
You would but lure me to the other bank,
To find it blank!
Of all we loved, not one hath e'er come back
To beckon us along the track,
To point the way, to indicate the goal,
And stretch out steadying arms to help the tottering soul.
VII
But wilt thou make this compact with me, Death,
And keep thy bond?
That even if mine be but borrowed breath,
Lent here awhile, to be reclaimed beyond,
And its poor husk be dug into the ground;
Then, though the Future may not find my face,
Nor arms that love me round my neck be wound,
Fair lips that lisp not yet my name shall sound,
And hearts that beat not yet be my warm dwellingplace;
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That under trees which have no rootlets now,
But will then be trunk and bough
And dome of sheltering leaves, sometimes
A tender tear shall fall upon my rhymes;
And hearts at secret war with life,
Or dreaming maid or disillusioned wife,
Shall my persuasive music bless,
Shall call me comforter in their distress,
And make me live again in sorrowing loveliness?
VIII
So unto Death I do commend my Spirit,
And Time which is in league with Death, that they
May hold in trust, and see my kin inherit,
All of me that is not clay;
Embalm my voice and keep it from decay.
Then I will not ask to stay;Nay, rather start at once upon the way:
Cheered by the faith that, at our mortal birth,
For some high reason beyond Reason's ken,
We are put out to nurse on this strange earth,
Until Death comes to take us home again.
~ Alfred Austin,#NFDB
152:The Rape Of The Lock: Canto 4
But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppress'd,
And secret passions labour'd in her breast.
Not youthful kings in battle seiz'd alive,
Not scornful virgins who their charms survive,
Not ardent lovers robb'd of all their bliss,
Not ancient ladies when refus'd a kiss,
Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die,
Not Cynthia when her manteau's pinn'd awry,
E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair,
As thou, sad virgin! for thy ravish'd hair.
For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew,
And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew,
Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite,
As ever sullied the fair face of light,
Down to the central earth, his proper scene,
Repair'd to search the gloomy cave of Spleen.
Swift on his sooty pinions flits the Gnome,
And in a vapour reach'd the dismal dome.
No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows,
The dreaded East is all the wind that blows.
Here, in a grotto, shelter'd close from air,
And screen'd in shades from day's detested glare,
She sighs for ever on her pensive bed,
Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head.
Two handmaids wait the throne: alike in place,
But diff'ring far in figure and in face.
Here stood Ill Nature like an ancient maid,
Her wrinkled form in black and white array'd;
With store of pray'rs, for mornings, nights, and noons,
Her hand is fill'd; her bosom with lampoons.
There Affectation, with a sickly mien,
Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen,
Practis'd to lisp, and hang the head aside,
Faints into airs, and languishes with pride,
On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe,
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Wrapp'd in a gown, for sickness, and for show.
The fair ones feel such maladies as these,
When each new night-dress gives a new disease.
A constant vapour o'er the palace flies;
Strange phantoms, rising as the mists arise;
Dreadful, as hermit's dreams in haunted shades,
Or bright, as visions of expiring maids.
Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires,
Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires:
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes,
And crystal domes, and angels in machines.
Unnumber'd throngs on ev'ry side are seen,
Of bodies chang'd to various forms by Spleen.
Here living teapots stand, one arm held out,
One bent; the handle this, and that the spout:
A pipkin there, like Homer's tripod walks;
Here sighs a jar, and there a goose pie talks;
Men prove with child, as pow'rful fancy works,
And maids turn'd bottles, call aloud for corks.
Safe pass'd the Gnome through this fantastic band,
A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand.
Then thus address'd the pow'r: "Hail, wayward Queen!
Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen:
Parent of vapours and of female wit,
Who give th' hysteric, or poetic fit,
On various tempers act by various ways,
Make some take physic, others scribble plays;
Who cause the proud their visits to delay,
And send the godly in a pet to pray.
A nymph there is, that all thy pow'r disdains,
And thousands more in equal mirth maintains.
But oh! if e'er thy gnome could spoil a grace,
Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face,
Like citron waters matrons' cheeks inflame,
Or change complexions at a losing game;
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads,
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,
Or caus'd suspicion when no soul was rude,
Or discompos'd the head-dress of a prude,
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Or e'er to costive lap-dog gave disease,
Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease:
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin;
That single act gives half the world the spleen."
The goddess with a discontented air
Seems to reject him, though she grants his pray'r.
A wondrous bag with both her hands she binds,
Like that where once Ulysses held the winds;
There she collects the force of female lungs,
Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues.
A vial next she fills with fainting fears,
Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears.
The Gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away,
Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day.
Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he found,
Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound.
Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent,
And all the Furies issu'd at the vent.
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,
And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire.
"Oh wretched maid!" she spread her hands, and cried,
(While Hampton's echoes, "Wretched maid!" replied,
"Was it for this you took such constant care
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare?
For this your locks in paper durance bound,
For this with tort'ring irons wreath'd around?
For this with fillets strain'd your tender head,
And bravely bore the double loads of lead?
Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair,
While the fops envy, and the ladies stare!
Honour forbid! at whose unrivall'd shrine
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all, our sex resign.
Methinks already I your tears survey,
Already hear the horrid things they say,
Already see you a degraded toast,
And all your honour in a whisper lost!
How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend?
'Twill then be infamy to seem your friend!
And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize,
Expos'd through crystal to the gazing eyes,
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And heighten'd by the diamond's circling rays,
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze?
Sooner shall grass in Hyde Park Circus grow,
And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow;
Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall,
Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!"
She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,
And bids her beau demand the precious hairs:
(Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain,
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane)
With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face,
He first the snuffbox open'd, then the case,
And thus broke out--"My Lord, why, what the devil?
Z{-}{-}{-}ds! damn the lock! 'fore Gad, you must be civil!
Plague on't! 'tis past a jest--nay prithee, pox!
Give her the hair"--he spoke, and rapp'd his box.
"It grieves me much," replied the peer again,
"Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain.
But by this lock, this sacred lock I swear,
(Which never more shall join its parted hair;
Which never more its honours shall renew,
Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it grew)
That while my nostrils draw the vital air,
This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear."
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread
The long-contended honours of her head.
But Umbriel, hateful gnome! forbears not so;
He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow.
Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears,
Her eyes half-languishing, half-drown'd in tears;
On her heav'd bosom hung her drooping head,
Which, with a sigh, she rais'd; and thus she said:
"For ever curs'd be this detested day,
Which snatch'd my best, my fav'rite curl away!
Happy! ah ten times happy, had I been,
If Hampton Court these eyes had never seen!
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid,
By love of courts to num'rous ills betray'd.
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Oh had I rather unadmir'd remain'd
In some lone isle, or distant northern land;
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way,
Where none learn ombre, none e'er taste bohea!
There kept my charms conceal'd from mortal eye,
Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die.
What mov'd my mind with youthful lords to roam?
Oh had I stay'd, and said my pray'rs at home!
'Twas this, the morning omens seem'd to tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
The tott'ring china shook without a wind,
Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind!
A Sylph too warn'd me of the threats of fate,
In mystic visions, now believ'd too late!
See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs!
My hands shall rend what ev'n thy rapine spares:
These, in two sable ringlets taught to break,
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck.
The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone,
And in its fellow's fate foresees its own;
Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal shears demands
And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands.
Oh hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize
Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these!"
~ Alexander Pope,#NFDB
153:Phantasies
I. Evening.
Rest, beauty, stillness: not a waif of a cloud
From gray-blue east sheer to the yellow westNo film of mist the utmost slopes to shroud.
The earth lies grace, by quiet airs caressed,
And shepherdeth her shadows, but each stream,
Free to the sky, is by that glow possessed,
And traileth with the splendors of a dream
Athwart the dusky land. Uplift thine eyes!
Unbroken by a vapor or a gleam,
The vast clear reach of mild, wan twilight skies.
But look again, and lo, the evening star!
Against the pale tints black the slim elms rise,
The earth exhales sweet odors nigh and far,
And from the heavens fine influences fall.
Familiar things stand not for what they are:
What they suggest, foreshadow, or recall
The spirit is alert to apprehend,
Imparting somewhat of herself to all.
Labor and thought and care are at an end:
The soul is filled with gracious reveries,
And with her mood soft sounds and colors blend;
For simplest sounds ring forth like melodies
In this weird-lighted air-the monotone
Of some far bell, the distant farmyard cries,
A barking dog, the thin, persistent drone
Of crickets, and the lessening call of birds.
The apparition of yon star alone
Breaks on the sense like music. Beyond word
The peace that floods the soul, for night is here,
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And Beauty still is guide and harbinger.
II. Aspiration.
Dark lies the earth, and bright with worlds the sky:
That soft, large, lustrous star, that first outshone,
Still holds us spelled with potent sorcery.
Dilating, shrinking, lightening, it hath won
Our spirit with its strange strong influence,
And sways it as the tides beneath the moon.
What impulse this, o'ermastering heart and sense?
Exalted, thrilled, the freed soul fain would soar
Unto that point of shining prominence,
Craving new fields and some unheard-of shore,
Yea, all the heavens, for her activity,
To mount with daring flight, to hover o'er
Low hills of earth, flat meadows, level sea,
And earthly joy and trouble. In this hour
Of waning light and sound, of mystery,
Of shadowed love and beauty-veiled power,
She feels her wings: she yearns to grasp her own,
Knowing the utmost good to be her dower.
A dream! a dream! for at a touch 't is gone.
O mocking spirit! thy mere fools are we,
Unto the depths from heights celestial thrown.
From these blind gropings toward reality,
This thirst for truth, this most pathetic need
Of something to uplift, to justify,
To help and comfort while we faint and bleed,
May we not draw, wrung from the last despair,
Some argument of hope, some blessed creed,
That we can trust the faith which whispers prayer,
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The vanishings, the ecstasy, the gleam,
The nameless aspiration, and the dream?
III. Wherefore?
Deep languor overcometh mind and frame:
A listless, drowsy, utter weariness,
A trance wherein no thought finds speech or name,
The overstrained spirit doth possess.
She sinks with drooping wing-poor unfledged bird,
That fain had flown!-in fluttering breathlessness.
To what end those high hopes that wildly stirred
The beating heart with aspirations vain?
Why proffer prayers unanswered and unheard
To blank, deaf heavens that will not heed her pain?
Where lead these lofty, soaring tendencies,
That leap and fly and poise, to fall again,
Yet seem to link her with the utmost skies?
What mean these clinging loves that bind to earth,
And claim her with beseeching, wistful eyes?
This little resting-place 'twixt death and birth,
Why is it fretted with the ceaseless flow
Of flood and ebb, with overgrowth and dearth,
And vext with dreams, and clouded with strange woe?
Ah! she is tired of thought, she yearns for peace,
Seeing all things one equal end must know.
Wherefore this tangle of perplexities,
The trouble or the joy? the weary maze
Of narrow fears and hopes that may not cease?
A chill falls on her from the skyey ways,
Black with the night-tide, where is none to hear
The ancient cry, the Wherefore of our days.
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IV. Fancies.
The ceaseless whirr of crickets fills the ear
From underneath each hedge and bush and tree,
Deep in the dew-drenched grasses everywhere.
The simple sound dispels the fantasy
Of gloom and terror gathering round the mind.
It seems a pleasant thing to breathe, to be,
To hear the many-voiced, soft summer wind
Lisp through the dark thick leafage overheadTo see the rosy half-moon soar behind
The black slim-branching elms. Sad thoughts have fled,
Trouble and doubt, and now strange reveries
And odd caprices fill us in their stead.
From yonder broken disk the redness dies,
Like gold fruit through the leaves the half-sphere gleams,
Then over the hoar tree-tops climbs the skies,
Blanched ever more and more, until it beams
Whiter than crystal. Like a scroll unfurled,
And shadowy as a landscape seen in dreams,
Reveals itself the sleeping, quiet world,
Painted in tender grays and whites subduedThe speckled stream with flakes of light impearled,
The wide, soft meadow and the massive wood.
Naught is too wild for our credulity
In this weird hour: our finest dreams hold good.
Quaint elves and frolic flower-sprites we see,
And fairies weaving rings of gossamer,
And angels floating through the filmy air.
V. In the Night.
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Let us go in: the air is dank and chill
With dewy midnight, and the moon rides high
O'er ghostly fields, pale stream, and spectral hill.
This hour the dawn seems farthest from the sky
So weary long the space that lies between
That sacred joy and this dark mystery
Of earth and heaven: no glimmering is seen,
In the star-sprinkled east, of coming day,
Nor, westward, of the splendor that hath been.
Strange fears beset us, nameless terrors sway
The brooding soul, that hungers for her rest,
Out worn with changing moods, vain hopes' delay,
With conscious thought o'erburdened and oppressed.
The mystery and the shadow wax too deep;
She longs to merge both sense and thought in sleep.
VI. Faerie.
From the oped lattice glance once more abroad
While the ethereal moontide bathes with light
Hill, stream, and garden, and white-winding road.
All gracious myths born of the shadowy night
Recur, and hover in fantastic guise,
Airy and vague, before the drowsy sight.
On yonder soft gray hill Endymion lies
In rosy slumber, and the moonlit air
Breathes kisses on his cheeks and lips and eyes.
'Twixt bush and bush gleam flower-white limbs, left bare,
Of huntress-nymphs, and flying raiment thin,
Vanishing faces, and bright floating hair.
The quaint midsummer fairies and their kin,
Gnomes, elves, and trolls, on blossom, branch, and grass
Gambol and dance, and winding out and in
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Leave circles of spun dew where'er they pass.
Through the blue ether the freed Ariel flies;
Enchantment holds the air; a swarming mass
Of myriad dusky, gold-winged dreams arise,
Throng toward the gates of sense, and so possess
The soul, and lull it to forgetfulness.
VII. Confused Dreams.
O strange, dim other-world revealed to us,
Beginning there where ends reality,
Lying 'twixt life and death, and populous
With souls from either sphere! now enter we
Thy twisted paths. Barred is the silver gate,
But the wild-carven doors of ivory
Spring noiselessly apart: between them straight
Flies forth a cloud of nameless shadowy things,
With harpies, imps, and monsters, small and great,
Blurring the thick air with darkening wings.
All humors of the blood and brain take shape,
And fright us with our own imaginings.
A trouble weighs upon us: no escape
From this unnatural region can there be.
Fixed eyes stare on us, wide mouths grin and gape,
Familiar faces out of reach we see.
Fain would we scream, to shatter with a cry
The tangled woof of hideous fantasy,
When, lo! the air grows clear, a soft fair sky
Shines over head: sharp pain dissolves in peace;
Beneath the silver archway quietly
We float away: all troublous visions cease.
By a strange sense of joy we are possessed,
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Body and spirit soothed in perfect rest.
VIII. The End of the Song.
What dainty note of long-drawn melody
Athwart our dreamless sleep rings sweet and clear,
Till all the fumes of slumber are brushed by,
And with awakened consciousness we hear
The pipe of birds? Look forth! The sane, white day
Blesses the hilltops, and the sun is near.
All misty phantoms slowly roll away
With the night's vapors toward the western sky.
The Real enchants us, the fresh breath of hay
Blows toward us; soft the meadow-grasses lie,
Bearded with dew; the air is a caress;
The sudden sun o'ertops the boundary
Of eastern hills, the morning joyousness
Thrills tingling through the frame; life's pulse beats strong;
Night's fancies melt like dew. So ends the song!
~ Emma Lazarus,#NFDB
154:Fragmentary Scenes From The Road To Avernus
Scene I
'Discontent'
LAURENCE RABY.
Laurence:
I said to young Allan M'Ilveray,
Beside the swift swirls of the North,
When, in lilac shot through with a silver ray,
We haul'd 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 won't pay
Us to-day,
We may tie up our rods and away.'
I said to old Norman M'Gregor,
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
He's down-but he's not worth the trouble
Of seeking. You once shot a bear
In his lair'Tis only a buck that lies there.'
I said to Lord Charles only last year,
The time that we topp'd the oak rail
Between Wharton's plough and Whynne's pasture,
And clear'd the big brook in Blakesvale
We only-at Warburton's double
He fell, then I finish'd the run
And kill'd clean-said, 'So bursts a bubble
That shone half an hour in the sun
What is won?
Your sire clear'd and captured a gun.'
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I said to myself, in true sorrow,
I said yestere'en, 'A fair prize
Is won, and it may be to-morrow
'Twill not seem so fair in thine eyes
Real life is a race through sore trouble,
That gains not an inch on the goal,
And bliss an intangible bubble
That cheats an unsatisfied soul,
And the whole
Of the rest an illegible scroll.'
Scene VII
'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 man's imperfect nature is by imperfection taught:
Add one cubit to your stature if you can by taking thought.
Laurence:
Thus you would not teach that peasant, though he calls you 'father'.
Melchior: True,
I should magnify this present, mystify that future, too
We adapt our conversation always to our hearer's light.
Laurence:
160
I am not of your persuasion.
Melchior: Yet the difference is but slight.
Laurence:
I, EVEN I, say, 'He who barters worldly weal for heavenly worth
He does well'-your saints and martyrs were examples here on earth.
Melchior:
Aye, in earlier Christian ages, while the heathen empire stood,
When the war 'twixt saints and sages cried aloud for saintly blood,
Christ was then their model truly. Now, if all were meek and pure,
Save the ungodly and the unruly, would the Christian Church endure?
Shall the toiler or the fighter dream by day and watch by night,
Turn the left cheek to the smiter, smitten rudely on the right?
Strong men must encounter bad men-so-called saints of latter days
Have been mostly pious madmen, lusting after righteous praise
Or the thralls of superstition, doubtless worthy some reward,
Since they came by their condition hardly of their free accord.
'Tis but madness, sad and solemn, that these fakir-Christians feel
Saint Stylites on his column gratified a morbid zeal.
Laurence:
By your showing, good is really on a par (of worth) with ill.
Melchior:
Nay, I said not so; I merely tell you both some ends fulfil
Priestly vows were my vocation, fast and vigil wait for me.
You must work and face temptation. Never should the strong man flee,
Though God wills the inclination with the soul at war to be. (Pauses.)
In the strife 'twixt flesh and spirit, while you can the spirit aid.
Should you fall not less your merit, be not for a fall afraid.
Whatsoe'er most right, most fit is you shall do. When all is done
Chaunt the noble Nunc Dimittis-Benedicimur, my son.
[Exit MELCHIOR.]
Laurence (alone):
Why do I provoke these wrangles? Melchior talks (as well he may)
With the tongues of men and angels.
(Takes up a pamphlet.) What has this man got to say?
(Reads.) Sic sacerdos fatur (ejus nomen quondam erat Burgo.)
Mala mens est, caro pejus, anima infirma, ergo
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I nunc, ora, sine mora-orat etiam Sancta Virgo.
(Thinks.)
(Speaks.) So it seems they mean to make her wed the usurer, Nathan Lee.
Poor Estelle! her friends forsake her; what has this to do with me?
Glad I am, at least, that Helen still refuses to discard
Her, through tales false gossips tell
in spite or heedlessness.-'Tis hard!
Lee, the Levite!-some few years back Herbert horsewhipp'd him-the cur
Show'd his teeth and laid his ears back. Now his wealth has purchased her.
Must his baseness mar her brightness? Shall the callous, cunning churl
Revel in the rosy whiteness of that golden-headed girl?
(Thinks and smokes.)
(Reads.) Cito certe venit vitae finis (sic sacerdos fatur),
Nunc audite omnes, ite, vobis fabula narratur
Nunc orate et laudate, laudat etiam Alma Mater.
(Muses.) Such has been, and such shall still be,
here as there, in sun or star;
These things are to be and will be, those things were to be and are.
If I thought that speech worth heeding I should-Nay, it seems to me
More like Satan's special pleading than like Gloria Domine.
(Lies down on his couch.)
(Reads.) Et tuquoque frater meus facta mala quod fecisti
Denique confundit Deus omnes res quas tetegisti.
Nunc si unquam, nunc aut nunquam, sanguine adjuro Christi.
Scene IX
'In the Garden'
Aylmer's Garden, near the Lake. LAURENCE RABY and ESTELLE.
He:
Come to the bank where the boat is moor'd to the willow-tree low;
Bertha, the baby, won't notice, Brian, the blockhead, won't 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.
162
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 warn'd 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 curs'd.
Talk not of ties to me reckless, here every tie I discard
163
Make me your girdle, your necklace
She: Laurence, you kiss me too hard.
He:
Aye, 'tis the road to Avernus, n'est 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.
Scene X
'After the Quarrel'
Laurence Raby's Chamber. LAURENCE enters, a little the worse for liquor.
Laurence:
He never gave me a chance to speak,
And he call'd her-worse than a dog
The girl stood up with a crimson cheek,
And I fell'd him there like a log.
I can feel the blow on my knuckles yet
He feels it more on his brow.
In a thousand years we shall all forget
The things that trouble us now.
Scene XI
'Ten Paces Off'
An open country. LAURENCE RABY and FORREST, BRIAN AYLMER and PRESCOT.
Forrest:
I've won the two tosses from Prescot;
Now hear me, and hearken and heed,
And pull that vile flower from your waistcoat,
And throw down that beast of a weed;
I'm going to give you the signal
I gave Harry Hunt at Boulogne,
The morning he met Major Bignell,
And shot him as dead as a stone;
For he must look round on his right hand
To watch the white flutter-that stops
His aim, for it takes off his sight, and
164
I COUGH WHILE THE HANDKERCHIEF DROPS.
And you keep both eyes on his figure,
Old fellow, and don't take them off.
You've got the sawhandled hair trigger
You sight him and shoot when I cough.
Laurence (aside):
Though God will never forgive me,
Though men make light of my name,
Though my sin and my shame outlive me,
I shall not outlast my shame.
The coward, does he mean to miss me?
His right hand shakes like a leaf;
Shall I live for my friends to hiss me,
Of fools and of knaves the chief?
Shall I live for my foes to twit me?
He has master'd his nerve again
He is firm, he will surely hit me
Will he reach the heart or the brain?
One long look eastward and northward
One prayer-'Our Father which art'
And the cough chimes in with the fourth word,
And I shoot skyward-the heart.
Last Scene
'Exeunt'
HELEN RABY.
Where the grave-deeps rot, where the grave-dews rust,
They dug, crying, 'Earth to earth'
Crying, 'Ashes to ashes and dust to dust'
And what are my poor prayers worth?
Upon whom shall I call, or in whom shall I trust,
Though death were indeed new birth.
And they bid me be glad for my baby's sake
That she suffered sinless and young
Would they have me be glad when my breasts still ache
165
Where that small, soft, sweet mouth clung?
I am glad that the heart will so surely break
That has been so bitterly wrung.
He was false, they tell me, and what if he were?
I can only shudder and pray,
Pouring out my soul in a passionate prayer
For the soul that he cast away;
Was there nothing that once was created fair
In the potter's perishing clay?
Is it well for the sinner that souls endure?
For the sinless soul is it well?
Does the pure child lisp to the angels pure?
And where does the strong man dwell,
If the sad assurance of priests be sure,
Or the tale that our preachers tell?
The unclean has follow'd the undefiled,
And the ill MAY regain the good,
And the man MAY be even as the little child!
We are children lost in the wood
Lord! lead us out of this tangled wild,
Where the wise and the prudent have been beguil'd,
And only the babes have stood.
~ Adam Lindsay Gordon,#NFDB
155:'How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh,
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear,
Were discord to the speaking quietude
That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which love had spread
To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills.
Robed in a garment of untrodden snow;
Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend
So stainless that their white and glittering spires
Tinge not the moon's pure beam; yon castled steep
Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower
So idly that rapt fancy deemeth it
A metaphor of peace;all form a scene
Where musing solitude might love to lift
Her soul above this sphere of earthliness;
Where silence undisturbed might watch alone
So cold, so bright, so still.
The orb of day
In southern climes o'er ocean's waveless field
Sinks sweetly smiling; not the faintest breath
Steals o'er the unruffled deep; the clouds of eve
Reflect unmoved the lingering beam of day;
And Vesper's image on the western main
Is beautifully still. To-morrow comes:
Cloud upon cloud, in dark and deepening mass,
Roll o'er the blackened waters; the deep roar
Of distant thunder mutters awfully;
Tempest unfolds its pinion o'er the gloom
That shrouds the boiling surge; the pitiless fiend,
With all his winds and lightnings, tracks his prey;
The torn deep yawns,the vessel finds a grave
Beneath its jagged gulf.
Ah! whence yon glare
That fires the arch of heaven? that dark red smoke
Blotting the silver moon? The stars are quenched
In darkness, and the pure and spangling snow
Gleams faintly through the gloom that gathers round.
Hark to that roar whose swift and deafening peals
In countless echoes through the mountains ring,
Startling pale Midnight on her starry throne!
Now swells the intermingling din; the jar
Frequent and frightful of the bursting bomb;
The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout,
The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men
Inebriate with rage:loud and more loud
The discord grows; till pale Death shuts the scene
And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws
His cold and bloody shroud.Of all the men
Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there
In proud and vigorous health; of all the hearts
That beat with anxious life at sunset there;
How few survive, how few are beating now!
All is deep silence, like the fearful calm
That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause;
Save when the frantic wail of widowed love
Comes shuddering on the blast, or the faint moan
With which some soul bursts from the frame of clay
Wrapt round its struggling powers.
The gray morn
Dawns on the mournful scene; the sulphurous smoke
Before the icy wind slow rolls away,
And the bright beams of frosty morning dance
Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood
Even to the forest's depth, and scattered arms,
And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments
Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful path
Of the outsallying victors; far behind
Black ashes note where their proud city stood.
Within yon forest is a gloomy glen
Each tree which guards its darkness from the day,
Waves o'er a warrior's tomb.
I see thee shrink,
Surpassing Spirit!wert thou human else?
I see a shade of doubt and horror fleet
Across thy stainless features; yet fear not;
This is no unconnected misery,
Nor stands uncaused and irretrievable.
Man's evil nature, that apology
Which kings who rule, and cowards who crouch, set up
For their unnumbered crimes, sheds not the blood
Which desolates the discord-wasted land.
From kings and priests and statesmen war arose,
Whose safety is man's deep unbettered woe,
Whose grandeur his debasement. Let the axe
Strike at the root, the poison-tree will fall;
And where its venomed exhalations spread
Ruin, and death, and woe, where millions lay
Quenching the serpent's famine, and their bones
Bleaching unburied in the putrid blast,
A garden shall arise, in loveliness
Surpassing fabled Eden.
Hath Nature's soul,
That formed this world so beautiful, that spread
Earth's lap with plenty, and life's smallest chord
Strung to unchanging unison, that gave
The happy birds their dwelling in the grove,
That yielded to the wanderers of the deep
The lovely silence of the unfathomed main,
And filled the meanest worm that crawls in dust
With spirit, thought and love,on Man alone,
Partial in causeless malice, wantonly
Heaped ruin, vice, and slavery; his soul
Blasted with withering curses; placed afar
The meteor-happiness, that shuns his grasp,
But serving on the frightful gulf to glare
Rent wide beneath his footsteps?
Nature!no!
Kings, priests and statesmen blast the human flower
Even in its tender bud; their influence darts
Like subtle poison through the bloodless veins
Of desolate society. The child,
Ere he can lisp his mother's sacred name,
Swells with the unnatural pride of crime, and lifts
His baby-sword even in a hero's mood.
This infant arm becomes the bloodiest scourge
Of devastated earth; whilst specious names,
Learnt in soft childhood's unsuspecting hour,
Serve as the sophisms with which manhood dims
Bright reason's ray and sanctifies the sword
Upraised to shed a brother's innocent blood.
Let priest-led slaves cease to proclaim that man
Inherits vice and misery, when force
And falsehood hang even o'er the cradled babe,
Stifling with rudest grasp all natural good.
'Ah! to the stranger-soul, when first it peeps
From its new tenement and looks abroad
For happiness and sympathy, how stern
And desolate a tract is this wide world!
How withered all the buds of natural good!
No shade, no shelter from the sweeping storms
Of pitiless power! On its wretched frame
Poisoned, perchance, by the disease and woe
Heaped on the wretched parent whence it sprung
By morals, law and custom, the pure winds
Of heaven, that renovate the insect tribes,
May breathe not. The untainting light of day
May visit not its longings. It is bound
Ere it has life; yea, all the chains are forged
Long ere its being; all liberty and love
And peace is torn from its defencelessness;
Cursed from its birth, even from its cradle doomed
To abjectness and bondage!
'Throughout this varied and eternal world
Soul is the only element, the block
That for uncounted ages has remained.
The moveless pillar of a mountain's weight
Is active living spirit. Every grain
Is sentient both in unity and part,
And the minutest atom comprehends
A world of loves and hatreds; these beget
Evil and good; hence truth and falsehood spring;
Hence will and thought and action, all the germs
Of pain or pleasure, sympathy or hate,
That variegate the eternal universe.
Soul is not more polluted than the beams
Of heaven's pure orb ere round their rapid lines
The taint of earth-born atmospheres arise.
'Man is of soul and body, formed for deeds
Of high resolve; on fancy's boldest wing
To soar unwearied, fearlessly to turn
The keenest pangs to peacefulness, and taste
The joys which mingled sense and spirit yield;
Or he is formed for abjectness and woe,
To grovel on the dunghill of his fears,
To shrink at every sound, to quench the flame
Of natural love in sensualism, to know
That hour as blest when on his worthless days
The frozen hand of death shall set its seal,
Yet fear the cure, though hating the disease.
The one is man that shall hereafter be;
The other, man as vice has made him now.
'War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight,
The lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade,
And to those royal murderers whose mean thrones
Are bought by crimes of treachery and gore,
The bread they eat, the staff on which they lean.
Guards, garbed in blood-red livery, surround
Their palaces, participate the crimes
That force defends and from a nation's rage
Secures the crown, which all the curses reach
That famine, frenzy, woe and penury breathe.
These are the hired bravos who defend
The tyrant's thronethe bullies of his fear;
These are the sinks and channels of worst vice,
The refuse of society, the dregs
Of all that is most vile; their cold hearts blend
Deceit with sternness, ignorance with pride,
All that is mean and villainous with rage
Which hopelessness of good and self-contempt
Alone might kindle; they are decked in wealth,
Honor and power, then are sent abroad
To do their work. The pestilence that stalks
In gloomy triumph through some eastern land
Is less destroying. They cajole with gold
And promises of fame the thoughtless youth
Already crushed with servitude; he knows
His wretchedness too late, and cherishes
Repentance for his ruin, when his doom
Is sealed in gold and blood!
Those too the tyrant serve, who, skilled to snare
The feet of justice in the toils of law,
Stand ready to oppress the weaker still,
And right or wrong will vindicate for gold,
Sneering at public virtue, which beneath
Their pitiless tread lies torn and trampled where
Honor sits smiling at the sale of truth.
'Then grave and hoary-headed hypocrites,
Without a hope, a passion or a love,
Who through a life of luxury and lies
Have crept by flattery to the seats of power,
Support the system whence their honors flow.
They have three wordswell tyrants know their use,
Well pay them for the loan with usury
Torn from a bleeding world!God, Hell and Heaven:
A vengeful, pitiless, and almighty fiend,
Whose mercy is a nickname for the rage
Of tameless tigers hungering for blood;
Hell, a red gulf of everlasting fire,
Where poisonous and undying worms prolong
Eternal misery to those hapless slaves
Whose life has been a penance for its crimes;
And Heaven, a meed for those who dare belie
Their human nature, quake, believe and cringe
Before the mockeries of earthly power.
'These tools the tyrant tempers to his work,
Wields in his wrath, and as he wills destroys,
Omnipotent in wickedness; the while
Youth springs, age moulders, manhood tamely does
His bidding, bribed by short-lived joys to lend
Force to the weakness of his trembling arm.
They rise, they fall; one generation comes
Yielding its harvest to destruction's scythe.
It fades, another blossoms; yet behold!
Red glows the tyrant's stamp-mark on its bloom,
Withering and cankering deep its passive prime.
He has invented lying words and modes,
Empty and vain as his own coreless heart;
Evasive meanings, nothings of much sound,
To lure the heedless victim to the toils
Spread round the valley of its paradise.
'Look to thyself, priest, conqueror or prince!
Whether thy trade is falsehood, and thy lusts
Deep wallow in the earnings of the poor,
With whom thy master was; or thou delight'st
In numbering o'er the myriads of thy slain,
All misery weighing nothing in the scale
Against thy short-lived fame; or thou dost load
With cowardice and crime the groaning land,
A pomp-fed king. Look to thy wretched self!
Ay, art thou not the veriest slave that e'er
Crawled on the loathing earth? Are not thy days
Days of unsatisfying listlessness?
Dost thou not cry, ere night's long rack is o'er,
"When will the morning come?" Is not thy youth
A vain and feverish dream of sensualism?
Thy manhood blighted with unripe disease?
Are not thy views of unregretted death
Drear, comfortless and horrible? Thy mind,
Is it not morbid as thy nerveless frame,
Incapable of judgment, hope or love?
And dost thou wish the errors to survive,
That bar thee from all sympathies of good,
After the miserable interest
Thou hold'st in their protraction? When the grave
Has swallowed up thy memory and thyself,
Dost thou desire the bane that poisons earth
To twine its roots around thy coffined clay,
Spring from thy bones, and blossom on thy tomb,
That of its fruit thy babes may eat and die?
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, Queen Mab - Part IV.
,#NFDB
156:The Homecoming
Phatik Chakravorti was ringleader among the boys of the village. A new mischief got into his head. There was a heavy log lying on the mud-flat of the river waiting to be shaped into a mast for a boat. He decided that they should all work together to shift the log by main force from its place and roll it away. The owner of the log would be angry and surprised, and they would all enjoy the fun. Every one seconded the proposal, and it was carried unanimously.
But just as the fun was about to begin, Makhan, Phatiks younger brother, sauntered up, and sat down on the log in front of them all without a word. The boys were puzzled for a moment. He was pushed, rather timidly, by one of the boys and told to get up but he remained quite unconcerned. He appeared like a young philosopher meditating on the futility of games. Phatik was furious. Makhan, he cried, if you dont get down this minute Ill thrash you!
Makhan only moved to a more comfortable position.
Now, if Phatik was to keep his regal dignity before the public, it was clear he ought to carry out his threat. But his courage failed him at the crisis. His fertile brain, however, rapidly seized upon a new maneuver which would discomfit his brother and afford his followers an added amusement. He gave the word of command to roll the log and Makhan over together. Makhan heard the order, and made it a point of honor to stick on. But he overlooked the fact, like those who attempt earthly fame in other matters, that there was peril in it.
The boys began to heave at the log with all their might, calling out, One, two, three, go, At the word go the log went; and with it went Makhans philosophy, glory and all.
All the other boys shouted themselves hoarse with delight. But Phatik was a little frightened. He knew what was coming. And, sure enough, Makhan rose from Mother Earth blind as Fate and screaming like the Furies. He rushed at Phatik and scratched his face and beat him and kicked him, and then went crying home. The first act of the drama was over.
Phatik wiped his face, and sat down on the edge of a sunken barge on the river bank, and began to chew a piece of grass. A boat came up to the landing, and a middle-aged man, with grey hair and dark moustache, stepped on shore. He saw the boy sitting there doing nothing, and asked him where the Chakravortis lived. Phatik went on chewing the grass, and said: Over there, but it was quite impossible to tell where he pointed. The stranger asked him again. He swung his legs to and fro on the side of the barge, and said; Go and find out, and continued to chew the grass as before.
But now a servant came down from the house, and told Phatik his mother wanted him. Phatik refused to move. But the servant was the master on this occasion. He took Phatik up roughly, and carried him, kicking and struggling in impotent rage.
When Phatik came into the house, his mother saw him. She called out angrily: So you have been hitting Makhan again?
Phatik answered indignantly: No, I havent; who told you that?
His mother shouted: Dont tell lies! You have.
Phatik said suddenly: I tell you, I havent. You ask Makhan! But Makhan thought it best to stick to his previous statement. He said: Yes, mother. Phatik did hit me.
Phatiks patience was already exhausted. He could not hear this injustice. He rushed at Makban, and hammered him with blows: Take that he cried, and that, and that, for telling lies.
His mother took Makhans side in a moment, and pulled Phatik away, beating him with her hands. When Phatik pushed her aside, she shouted out: What I you little villain! would you hit your own mother?
It was just at this critical juncture that the grey-haired stranger arrived. He asked what was the matter. Phatik looked sheepish and ashamed.
But when his mother stepped back and looked at the stranger, her anger was changed to surprise. For she recognized her brother, and cried: Why, Dada! Where have you come from? As she said these words, she bowed to the ground and touched his feet. Her brother had gone away soon after she had married, and he had started business in Bombay. His sister had lost her husband while he was In Bombay. Bishamber had now come back to Calcutta, and had at once made enquiries about his sister. He had then hastened to see her as soon as he found out where she was.
The next few days were full of rejoicing. The brother asked after the education of the two boys. He was told by his sister that Phatik was a perpetual nuisance. He was lazy, disobedient, and wild. But Makhan was as good as gold, as quiet as a lamb, and very fond of reading, Bishamber kindly offered to take Phatik off his sisters hands, and educate him with his own children in Calcutta. The widowed mother readily agreed. When his uncle asked Phatik If he would like to go to Calcutta with him, his joy knew no bounds, and he said; Oh, yes, uncle! In a way that made it quite clear that he meant it.
It was an immense relief to the mother to get rid of Phatik. She had a prejudice against the boy, and no love was lost between the two brothers. She was in daily fear that he would either drown Makhan some day in the river, or break his head in a fight, or run him into some danger or other. At the same time she was somewhat distressed to see Phatiks extreme eagerness to get away.
Phatik, as soon as all was settled, kept asking his uncle every minute when they were to start. He was on pins and needles all day long with excitement, and lay awake most of the night. He bequeathed to Makhan, in perpetuity, his fishing-rod, his big kite and his marbles. Indeed, at this time of departure his generosity towards Makhan was unbounded.
When they reached Calcutta, Phatik made the acquaintance of his aunt for the first time. She was by no means pleased with this unnecessary addition to her family. She found her own three boys quite enough to manage without taking any one else. And to bring a village lad of fourteen into their midst was terribly upsetting. Bishamber should really have thought twice before committing such an indiscretion.
In this world of human affairs there is no worse nuisance than a boy at the age of fourteen. He is neither ornamental, nor useful. It is impossible to shower affection on him as on a little boy; and he is always getting in the way. If he talks with a childish lisp he is called a baby, and if he answers in a grown-up way he is called impertinent. In fact any talk at all from him is resented. Then he is at the unattractive, growing age. He grows out of his clothes with indecent haste; his voice grows hoarse and breaks and quavers; his face grows suddenly angular and unsightly. It is easy to excuse the shortcomings of early childhood, but it is hard to tolerate even unavoidable lapses in a boy of fourteen. The lad himself becomes painfully self-conscious. When he talks with elderly people he is either unduly forward, or else so unduly shy that he appears ashamed of his very existence.
Yet it is at this very age when in his heart of hearts a young lad most craves for recognition and love; and he becomes the devoted slave of any one who shows him consideration. But none dare openly love him, for that would be regarded as undue indulgence, and therefore bad for the boy. So, what with scolding and chiding, he becomes very much like a stray dog that has lost his master.
For a boy of fourteen his own home is the only Paradise. To live in a strange house with strange people is little short of torture, while the height of bliss is to receive the kind looks of women, and never to be slighted by them.
It was anguish to Phatik to be the unwelcome guest in his aunts house, despised by this elderly woman, and slighted, on every occasion. If she ever asked him to do anything for her, he would be so overjoyed that he would overdo it; and then she would tell him not to be so stupid, but to get on with his lessons.
The cramped atmosphere of neglect in his aunts house oppressed Phatik so much that he felt that he could hardly breathe. He wanted to go out into the open country and fill his lungs and breathe freely. But there was no open country to go to. Surrounded on all sides by Calcutta houses and walls, be would dream night after night of his village home, and long to be back there. He remembered the glorious meadow where he used to By his kite all day long; the broad river-banks where he would wander about the livelong day singing and shouting for joy; the narrow brook where he could go and dive and swim at any time he liked. He thought of his band of boy companions over whom he was despot; and, above all, the memory of that tyrant mother of his, who had such a prejudice against him, occupied him day and night. A kind of physical love like that of animals; a longing to be in the presence of the one who is loved; an inexpressible wistfulness during absence; a silent cry of the inmost heart for the mother, like the lowing of a calf in the twilight;-this love, which was almost an animal instinct, agitated the shy, nervous, lean, uncouth and ugly boy. No one could understand it, but it preyed upon his mind continually.
There was no more backward boy in the whole school than Phatik. He gaped and remained silent when the teacher asked him a question, and like an overladen **** patiently suffered all the blows that came down on his back. When other boys were out at play, he stood wistfully by the window and gazed at the roofs of the distant houses. And if by chance he espied children playing on the open terrace of any roof, his heart would ache with longing.
One day he summoned up all his courage, and asked his uncle: Uncle, when can I go home?
His uncle answered; Wait till the holidays come. But the holidays would not come till November, and there was a long time still to wait.
One day Phatik lost his lesson-book. Even with the help of books he had found it very difficult indeed to prepare his lesson. Now it was impossible. Day after day the teacher would cane him unmercifully. His condition became so abjectly miserable that even his cousins were ashamed to own him. They began to jeer and insult him more than the other boys. He went to his aunt at last, and told her that he bad lost his book.
His aunt pursed her lips in contempt, and said: You great clumsy, country lout. How can I afford, with all my family, to buy you new books five times a month?
That night, on his way back from school, Phatik had a bad headache with a fit of shivering. He felt he was going to have an attack of malarial fever. His one great fear was that he would be a nuisance to his aunt.
The next morning Phatik was nowhere to be seen. All searches in the neighborhood proved futile. The rain had been pouring in torrents all night, and those who went out in search of the boy got drenched through to the skin. At last Bisbamber asked help from the police.
At the end of the day a police van stopped at the door before the house. It was still raining and the streets were all flooded. Two constables brought out Phatik in their arms and placed him before Bishamber. He was wet through from head to foot, muddy all over, his face and eyes flushed red with fever, and his limbs all trembling. Bishamber carried him in his arms, and took him into the inner apartments. When his wife saw him, she exclaimed; What a heap of trouble this boy has given us. Hadnt you better send him home ?
Phatik heard her words, and sobbed out loud: Uncle, I was just going home; but they dragged me back again,
The fever rose very high, and all that night the boy was delirious. Bishamber brought in a doctor. Phatik opened his eyes flushed with fever, and looked up to the ceiling, and said vacantly: Uncle, have the holidays come yet? May I go home?
Bishamber wiped the tears from his own eyes, and took Phatiks lean and burning hands in his own, and sat by him through the night. The boy began again to mutter. At last his voice became excited: Mother, he cried, dont beat me like that! Mother! I am telling the truth!
The next day Phatik became conscious for a short time. He turned his eyes about the room, as if expecting some one to come. At last, with an air of disappointment, his head sank back on the pillow. He turned his face to the wall with a deep sigh.
Bishamber knew his thoughts, and, bending down his head, whispered: Phatik, I have sent for your mother. The day went by. The doctor said in a troubled voice that the boys condition was very critical.
Phatik began to cry out; By the mark! three fathoms. By the mark four fathoms. By the mark-. He had heard the sailor on the river- steamer calling out the mark on the plumb-line. Now he was himself plumbing an unfathomable sea.
Later in the day Phatiks mother burst into the room like a whirlwind, and began to toss from side to side and moan and cry in a loud voice.
Bishamber tried to calm her agitation, but she flung herself on the bed, and cried: Phatik, my darling, my darling.
Phatik stopped his restless movements for a moment. His hands ceased beating up and down. He said: Eh?
The mother cried again: Phatik, my darling, my darling.
Phatik very slowly turned his head and, without seeing anybody, said: Mother, the holidays have come.
4
~ Rabindranath Tagore, The Homecoming
,#NFDB
157: II - BEFORE THE CITY-GATE
(Pedestrians of all kinds come forth.)
SEVERAL APPRENTICES
Why do you go that way?
OTHERS
We're for the Hunters' lodge, to-day.
THE FIRST
We'll saunter to the Mill, in yonder hollow.
AN APPRENTICE
Go to the River Tavern, I should say.
SECOND APPRENTICE
But then, it's not a pleasant way.
THE OTHERS
And what will you?
A THIRD
As goes the crowd, I follow.
A FOURTH
Come up to Burgdorf? There you'll find good cheer,
The finest lasses and the best of beer,
And jolly rows and squabbles, trust me!
A FIFTH
You swaggering fellow, is your hide
A third time itching to be tried?
I won't go there, your jolly rows disgust me!
SERVANT-GIRL
No,no! I'll turn and go to town again.
ANOTHER
We'll surely find him by those poplars yonder.
THE FIRST
That's no great luck for me, 'tis plain.
You'll have him, when and where you wander:
His partner in the dance you'll be,
But what is all your fun to me?
THE OTHER
He's surely not alone to-day:
He'll be with Curly-head, I heard him say.
A STUDENT
Deuce! how they step, the buxom wenches!
Come, Brother! we must see them to the benches.
A strong, old beer, a pipe that stings and bites,
A girl in Sunday clothes,these three are my delights.
CITIZEN'S DAUGHTER
Just see those handsome fellows, there!
It's really shameful, I declare;
To follow servant-girls, when they
Might have the most genteel society to-day!
SECOND STUDENT (to the First)
Not quite so fast! Two others come behind,
Those, dressed so prettily and neatly.
My neighbor's one of them, I find,
A girl that takes my heart, completely.
They go their way with looks demure,
But they'll accept us, after all, I'm sure.
THE FIRST
No, Brother! not for me their formal ways.
Quick! lest our game escape us in the press:
The hand that wields the broom on Saturdays
Will best, on Sundays, fondle and caress.
CITIZEN
He suits me not at all, our new-made Burgomaster!
Since he's installed, his arrogance grows faster.
How has he helped the town, I say?
Things worsen,what improvement names he?
Obedience, more than ever, claims he,
And more than ever we must pay!
BEGGAR (sings)
Good gentlemen and lovely ladies,
So red of cheek and fine of dress,
Behold, how needful here your aid is,
And see and lighten my distress!
Let me not vainly sing my ditty;
He's only glad who gives away:
A holiday, that shows your pity,
Shall be for me a harvest-day!
ANOTHER CITIZEN
On Sundays, holidays, there's naught I take delight in,
Like gossiping of war, and war's array,
When down in Turkey, far away,
The foreign people are a-fighting.
One at the window sits, with glass and friends,
And sees all sorts of ships go down the river gliding:
And blesses then, as home he wends
At night, our times of peace abiding.
THIRD CITIZEN
Yes, Neighbor! that's my notion, too:
Why, let them break their heads, let loose their passions,
And mix things madly through and through,
So, here, we keep our good old fashions!
OLD WOMAN (to the Citizen's Daughter)
Dear me, how fine! So handsome, and so young!
Who wouldn't lose his heart, that met you?
Don't be so proud! I'll hold my tongue,
And what you'd like I'll undertake to get you.
CITIZEN'S DAUGHTER
Come, Agatha! I shun the witch's sight
Before folks, lest there be misgiving:
'Tis true, she showed me, on Saint Andrew's Night,
My future sweetheart, just as he were living.
THE OTHER
She showed me mine, in crystal clear,
With several wild young blades, a soldier-lover:
I seek him everywhere, I pry and peer,
And yet, somehow, his face I can't discover.
SOLDIERS
Castles, with lofty
Ramparts and towers,
Maidens disdainful
In Beauty's array,
Both shall be ours!
Bold is the venture,
Splendid the pay!
Lads, let the trumpets
For us be suing,
Calling to pleasure,
Calling to ruin.
Stormy our life is;
Such is its boon!
Maidens and castles
Capitulate soon.
Bold is the venture,
Splendid the pay!
And the soldiers go marching,
Marching away!
FAUST AND WAGNER
FAUST
Released from ice are brook and river
By the quickening glance of the gracious Spring;
The colors of hope to the valley cling,
And weak old Winter himself must shiver,
Withdrawn to the mountains, a crownless king:
Whence, ever retreating, he sends again
Impotent showers of sleet that darkle
In belts across the green o' the plain.
But the sun will permit no white to sparkle;
Everywhere form in development moveth;
He will brighten the world with the tints he loveth,
And, lacking blossoms, blue, yellow, and red,
He takes these gaudy people instead.
Turn thee about, and from this height
Back on the town direct thy sight.
Out of the hollow, gloomy gate,
The motley throngs come forth elate:
Each will the joy of the sunshine hoard,
To honor the Day of the Risen Lord!
They feel, themselves, their resurrection:
From the low, dark rooms, scarce habitable;
From the bonds of Work, from Trade's restriction;
From the pressing weight of roof and gable;
From the narrow, crushing streets and alleys;
From the churches' solemn and reverend night,
All come forth to the cheerful light.
How lively, see! the multitude sallies,
Scattering through gardens and fields remote,
While over the river, that broadly dallies,
Dances so many a festive boat;
And overladen, nigh to sinking,
The last full wherry takes the stream.
Yonder afar, from the hill-paths blinking,
Their clothes are colors that softly gleam.
I hear the noise of the village, even;
Here is the People's proper Heaven;
Here high and low contented see!
Here I am Man,dare man to be!
WAGNER
To stroll with you, Sir Doctor, flatters;
'Tis honor, profit, unto me.
But I, alone, would shun these shallow matters,
Since all that's coarse provokes my enmity.
This fiddling, shouting, ten-pin rolling
I hate,these noises of the throng:
They rave, as Satan were their sports controlling.
And call it mirth, and call it song!
PEASANTS, UNDER THE LINDEN-TREE
(Dance and Song.)
All for the dance the shepherd dressed,
In ribbons, wreath, and gayest vest
Himself with care arraying:
Around the linden lass and lad
Already footed it like mad:
Hurrah! hurrah!
Hurrahtarara-la!
The fiddle-bow was playing.
He broke the ranks, no whit afraid,
And with his elbow punched a maid,
Who stood, the dance surveying:
The buxom wench, she turned and said:
"Now, you I call a stupid-head!"
Hurrah! hurrah!
Hurrahtarara-la!
"Be decent while you're staying!"
Then round the circle went their flight,
They danced to left, they danced to right:
Their kirtles all were playing.
They first grew red, and then grew warm,
And rested, panting, arm in arm,
Hurrah! hurrah!
Hurrahtarara-la!
And hips and elbows straying.
Now, don't be so familiar here!
How many a one has fooled his dear,
Waylaying and betraying!
And yet, he coaxed her soon aside,
And round the linden sounded wide.
Hurrah! hurrah!
Hurrahtarara-la!
And the fiddle-bow was playing.
OLD PEASANT
Sir Doctor, it is good of you,
That thus you condescend, to-day,
Among this crowd of merry folk,
A highly-learned man, to stray.
Then also take the finest can,
We fill with fresh wine, for your sake:
I offer it, and humbly wish
That not alone your thirst is slake,
That, as the drops below its brink,
So many days of life you drink!
FAUST
I take the cup you kindly reach,
With thanks and health to all and each.
(The People gather in a circle about him.)
OLD PEASANT
In truth, 'tis well and fitly timed,
That now our day of joy you share,
Who heretofore, in evil days,
Gave us so much of helping care.
Still many a man stands living here,
Saved by your father's skillful hand,
That snatched him from the fever's rage
And stayed the plague in all the land.
Then also you, though but a youth,
Went into every house of pain:
Many the corpses carried forth,
But you in health came out again.
FAUST
No test or trial you evaded:
A Helping God the helper aided.
ALL
Health to the man, so skilled and tried.
That for our help he long may abide!
FAUST
To Him above bow down, my friends,
Who teaches help, and succor sends!
(He goes on with WAGNER.)
WAGNER
With what a feeling, thou great man, must thou
Receive the people's honest veneration!
How lucky he, whose gifts his station
With such advantages endow!
Thou'rt shown to all the younger generation:
Each asks, and presses near to gaze;
The fiddle stops, the dance delays.
Thou goest, they stand in rows to see,
And all the caps are lifted high;
A little more, and they would bend the knee
As if the Holy Host came by.
FAUST
A few more steps ascend, as far as yonder stone!
Here from our wandering will we rest contented.
Here, lost in thought, I've lingered oft alone,
When foolish fasts and prayers my life tormented.
Here, rich in hope and firm in faith,
With tears, wrung hands and sighs, I've striven,
The end of that far-spreading death
Entreating from the Lord of Heaven!
Now like contempt the crowd's applauses seem:
Couldst thou but read, within mine inmost spirit,
How little now I deem,
That sire or son such praises merit!
My father's was a sombre, brooding brain,
Which through the holy spheres of Nature groped and wandered,
And honestly, in his own fashion, pondered
With labor whimsical, and pain:
Who, in his dusky work-shop bending,
With proved adepts in company,
Made, from his recipes unending,
Opposing substances agree.
There was a Lion red, a wooer daring,
Within the Lily's tepid bath espoused,
And both, tormented then by flame unsparing,
By turns in either bridal chamber housed.
If then appeared, with colors splendid,
The young Queen in her crystal shell,
This was the medicine the patients' woes soon ended,
And none demanded: who got well?
Thus we, our hellish boluses compounding,
Among these vales and hills surrounding,
Worse than the pestilence, have passed.
Thousands were done to death from poison of my giving;
And I must hear, by all the living,
The shameless murderers praised at last!
WAGNER
Why, therefore, yield to such depression?
A good man does his honest share
In exercising, with the strictest care,
The art bequea thed to his possession!
Dost thou thy father honor, as a youth?
Then may his teaching cheerfully impel thee:
Dost thou, as man, increase the stores of truth?
Then may thine own son afterwards excel thee.
FAUST
O happy he, who still renews
The hope, from Error's deeps to rise forever!
That which one does not know, one needs to use;
And what one knows, one uses never.
But let us not, by such despondence, so
The fortune of this hour embitter!
Mark how, beneath the evening sunlight's glow,
The green-embosomed houses glitter!
The glow retreats, done is the day of toil;
It yonder hastes, new fields of life exploring;
Ah, that no wing can lift me from the soil,
Upon its track to follow, follow soaring!
Then would I see eternal Evening gild
The silent world beneath me glowing,
On fire each mountain-peak, with peace each valley filled,
The silver brook to golden rivers flowing.
The mountain-chain, with all its gorges deep,
Would then no more impede my godlike motion;
And now before mine eyes expands the ocean
With all its bays, in shining sleep!
Yet, finally, the weary god is sinking;
The new-born impulse fires my mind,
I hasten on, his beams eternal drinking,
The Day before me and the Night behind,
Above me heaven unfurled, the floor of waves beneath me,
A glorious dream! though now the glories fade.
Alas! the wings that lift the mind no aid
Of wings to lift the body can bequeath me.
Yet in each soul is born the pleasure
Of yearning onward, upward and away,
When o'er our heads, lost in the vaulted azure,
The lark sends down his flickering lay,
When over crags and piny highlands
The poising eagle slowly soars,
And over plains and lakes and islands
The crane sails by to other shores.
WAGNER
I've had, myself, at times, some odd caprices,
But never yet such impulse felt, as this is.
One soon fatigues, on woods and fields to look,
Nor would I beg the bird his wing to spare us:
How otherwise the mental raptures bear us
From page to page, from book to book!
Then winter nights take loveliness untold,
As warmer life in every limb had crowned you;
And when your hands unroll some parchment rare and old,
All Heaven descends, and opens bright around you!
FAUST
One impulse art thou conscious of, at best;
O, never seek to know the other!
Two souls, alas! reside within my breast,
And each withdraws from, and repels, its brother.
One with tenacious organs holds in love
And clinging lust the world in its embraces;
The other strongly sweeps, this dust above,
Into the high ancestral spaces.
If there be airy spirits near,
'Twixt Heaven and Earth on potent errands fleeing,
Let them drop down the golden atmosphere,
And bear me forth to new and varied being!
Yea, if a magic mantle once were mine,
To waft me o'er the world at pleasure,
I would not for the costliest stores of treasure
Not for a monarch's robe the gift resign.
WAGNER
Invoke not thus the well-known throng,
Which through the firmament diffused is faring,
And danger thousand-fold, our race to wrong.
In every quarter is preparing.
Swift from the North the spirit-fangs so sharp
Sweep down, and with their barbd points assail you;
Then from the East they come, to dry and warp
Your lungs, till breath and being fail you:
If from the Desert sendeth them the South,
With fire on fire your throbbing forehead crowning,
The West leads on a host, to cure the drouth
Only when meadow, field, and you are drowning.
They gladly hearken, prompt for injury,
Gladly obey, because they gladly cheat us;
From Heaven they represent themselves to be,
And lisp like angels, when with lies they meet us.
But, let us go! 'Tis gray and dusky all:
The air is cold, the vapors fall.
At night, one learns his house to prize:
Why stand you thus, with such astonished eyes?
What, in the twilight, can your mind so trouble?
FAUST
Seest thou the black dog coursing there, through corn and
stubble?
WAGNER
Long since: yet deemed him not important in the least.
FAUST
Inspect him close: for what tak'st thou the beast?
WAGNER
Why, for a poodle who has lost his master,
And scents about, his track to find.
FAUST
Seest thou the spiral circles, narrowing faster,
Which he, approaching, round us seems to wind?
A streaming trail of fire, if I see rightly,
Follows his path of mystery.
WAGNER
It may be that your eyes deceive you slightly;
Naught but a plain black poodle do I see.
FAUST
It seems to me that with enchanted cunning
He snares our feet, some future chain to bind.
WAGNER
I see him timidly, in doubt, around us running,
Since, in his master's stead, two strangers doth he find.
FAUST
The circle narrows: he is near!
WAGNER
A dog thou seest, and not a phantom, here!
Behold him stopupon his belly crawlHis
tail set wagging: canine habits, all!
FAUST
Come, follow us! Come here, at least!
WAGNER
'Tis the absurdest, drollest beast.
Stand still, and you will see him wait;
Address him, and he gambols straight;
If something's lost, he'll quickly bring it,
Your cane, if in the stream you fling it.
FAUST
No doubt you're right: no trace of mind, I own,
Is in the beast: I see but drill, alone.
WAGNER
The dog, when he's well educated,
Is by the wisest tolerated.
Yes, he deserves your favor thoroughly,
The clever scholar of the students, he!
(They pass in the city-gate.)
Faust
~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, BEFORE THE CITY-GATE
,#NFDB
158:Epistle To Dr. Arbuthnot
Shut, shut the door, good John! fatigu'd, I said,
Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead.
The dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt,
All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out:
Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand,
They rave, recite, and madden round the land.
What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide?
They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide;
By land, by water, they renew the charge;
They stop the chariot, and they board the barge.
No place is sacred, not the church is free;
Ev'n Sunday shines no Sabbath-day to me:
Then from the Mint walks forth the man of rhyme,
Happy! to catch me just at dinner-time.
Is there a parson, much bemus'd in beer,
A maudlin poetess, a rhyming peer,
A clerk, foredoom'd his father's soul to cross,
Who pens a stanza, when he should engross?
Is there, who, lock'd from ink and paper, scrawls
With desp'rate charcoal round his darken'd walls?
All fly to Twit'nam, and in humble strain
Apply to me, to keep them mad or vain.
Arthur, whose giddy son neglects the laws,
Imputes to me and my damn'd works the cause:
Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope,
And curses wit, and poetry, and Pope.
Friend to my life! (which did not you prolong,
The world had wanted many an idle song)
What drop or nostrum can this plague remove?
Or which must end me, a fool's wrath or love?
A dire dilemma! either way I'm sped,
If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead.
Seiz'd and tied down to judge, how wretched I!
Who can't be silent, and who will not lie;
To laugh, were want of goodness and of grace,
And to be grave, exceeds all pow'r of face.
73
I sit with sad civility, I read
With honest anguish, and an aching head;
And drop at last, but in unwilling ears,
This saving counsel, 'Keep your piece nine years.'
'Nine years! ' cries he, who high in Drury-lane
Lull'd by soft zephyrs through the broken pane,
Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before Term ends,
Oblig'd by hunger, and request of friends:
'The piece, you think, is incorrect: why, take it,
I'm all submission, what you'd have it, make it.'
Three things another's modest wishes bound,
My friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound.
Pitholeon sends to me: 'You know his Grace,
I want a patron; ask him for a place.'
Pitholeon libell'd me- 'but here's a letter
Informs you, sir, 'twas when he knew no better.
Dare you refuse him? Curll invites to dine,
He'll write a Journal, or he'll turn Divine.'
Bless me! a packet- ''Tis a stranger sues,
A virgin tragedy, an orphan muse.'
If I dislike it, 'Furies, death and rage! '
If I approve, 'Commend it to the stage.'
There (thank my stars) my whole commission ends,
The play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends.
Fir'd that the house reject him, ''Sdeath I'll print it,
And shame the fools- your int'rest, sir, with Lintot! '
'Lintot, dull rogue! will think your price too much.'
'Not, sir, if you revise it, and retouch.'
All my demurs but double his attacks;
At last he whispers, 'Do; and we go snacks.'
Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door,
'Sir, let me see your works and you no more.'
'Tis sung, when Midas' ears began to spring,
(Midas, a sacred person and a king)
His very minister who spied them first,
(Some say his queen) was forc'd to speak, or burst.
And is not mine, my friend, a sorer case,
74
When ev'ry coxcomb perks them in my face?
'Good friend, forbear! you deal in dang'rous things.
I'd never name queens, ministers, or kings;
Keep close to ears, and those let asses prick;
'Tis nothing'- Nothing? if they bite and kick?
Out with it, Dunciad! let the secret pass,
That secret to each fool, that he's an ass:
The truth once told (and wherefore should we lie?)
The queen of Midas slept, and so may I.
You think this cruel? take it for a rule,
No creature smarts so little as a fool.
Let peals of laughter, Codrus! round thee break,
Thou unconcern'd canst hear the mighty crack:
Pit, box, and gall'ry in convulsions hurl'd,
Thou stand'st unshook amidst a bursting world.
Who shames a scribbler? break one cobweb through,
He spins the slight, self-pleasing thread anew;
Destroy his fib or sophistry, in vain,
The creature's at his dirty work again;
Thron'd in the centre of his thin designs;
Proud of a vast extent of flimsy lines!
Whom have I hurt? has poet yet, or peer,
Lost the arch'd eye-brow, or Parnassian sneer?
And has not Colley still his lord, and whore?
His butchers Henley, his Free-masons Moore?
Does not one table Bavius still admit?
Still to one bishop Philips seem a wit?
Still Sappho- 'Hold! for God-sake- you'll offend:
No names! - be calm! - learn prudence of a friend!
I too could write, and I am twice as tall;
But foes like these! ' One flatt'rer's worse than all.
Of all mad creatures, if the learn'd are right,
It is the slaver kills, and not the bite.
A fool quite angry is quite innocent;
Alas! 'tis ten times worse when they repent.
One dedicates in high heroic prose,
And ridicules beyond a hundred foes;
One from all Grub Street will my fame defend,
And, more abusive, calls himself my friend.
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This prints my Letters, that expects a bribe,
And others roar aloud, 'Subscribe, subscribe.'
There are, who to my person pay their court:
I cough like Horace, and, though lean, am short,
Ammon's great son one shoulder had too high,
Such Ovid's nose, and 'Sir! you have an eye'Go on, obliging creatures, make me see
All that disgrac'd my betters, met in me:
Say for my comfort, languishing in bed,
'Just so immortal Maro held his head:'
And when I die, be sure you let me know
Great Homer died three thousand years ago.
Why did I write? what sin to me unknown
Dipp'd me in ink, my parents', or my own?
As yet a child, nor yet a fool to fame,
I lisp'd in numbers, for the numbers came.
I left no calling for this idle trade,
No duty broke, no father disobey'd.
The Muse but serv'd to ease some friend, not wife,
To help me through this long disease, my life,
To second, Arbuthnot! thy art and care,
And teach the being you preserv'd, to bear.
But why then publish? Granville the polite,
And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write;
Well-natur'd Garth inflamed with early praise,
And Congreve lov'd, and Swift endur'd my lays;
The courtly Talbot, Somers, Sheffield read,
Ev'n mitred Rochester would nod the head,
And St. John's self (great Dryden's friends before)
With open arms receiv'd one poet more.
Happy my studies, when by these approv'd!
Happier their author, when by these belov'd!
From these the world will judge of men and books,
Not from the Burnets, Oldmixons, and Cookes.
Soft were my numbers; who could take offence,
While pure description held the place of sense?
Like gentle Fanny's was my flow'ry theme,
A painted mistress, or a purling stream.
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Yet then did Gildon draw his venal quill;
I wish'd the man a dinner, and sat still.
Yet then did Dennis rave in furious fret;
I never answer'd, I was not in debt.
If want provok'd, or madness made them print,
I wag'd no war with Bedlam or the Mint.
Did some more sober critic come abroad?
If wrong, I smil'd; if right, I kiss'd the rod.
Pains, reading, study, are their just pretence,
And all they want is spirit, taste, and sense.
Commas and points they set exactly right,
And 'twere a sin to rob them of their mite.
Yet ne'er one sprig of laurel grac'd these ribalds,
From slashing Bentley down to pidling Tibbalds.
Each wight who reads not, and but scans and spells,
Each word-catcher that lives on syllables,
Ev'n such small critics some regard may claim,
Preserv'd in Milton's or in Shakespeare's name.
Pretty! in amber to observe the forms
Of hairs, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms;
The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare,
But wonder how the devil they got there?
Were others angry? I excus'd them too;
Well might they rage; I gave them but their due.
A man's true merit 'tis not hard to find,
But each man's secret standard in his mind,
That casting weight pride adds to emptiness,
This, who can gratify? for who can guess?
The bard whom pilfer'd pastorals renown,
Who turns a Persian tale for half a crown,
Just writes to make his barrenness appear,
And strains, from hard-bound brains, eight lines a year:
He, who still wanting, though he lives on theft,
Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left:
And he, who now to sense, now nonsense leaning,
Means not, but blunders round about a meaning:
And he, whose fustian's so sublimely bad,
It is not poetry, but prose run mad:
All these, my modest satire bade translate,
And own'd, that nine such poets made a Tate.
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How did they fume, and stamp, and roar, and chafe?
And swear, not Addison himself was safe.
Peace to all such! but were there one whose fires
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires,
Blest with each talent and each art to please,
And born to write, converse, and live with ease:
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne,
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes,
And hate for arts that caus'd himself to rise;
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike;
Alike reserv'd to blame, or to commend,
A tim'rous foe, and a suspicious friend;
Dreading ev'n fools, by flatterers besieg'd,
And so obliging, that he ne'er oblig'd;
Like Cato, give his little senate laws,
And sit attentive to his own applause;
While wits and templars ev'ry sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praise.
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be?
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he?
What though my name stood rubric on the walls,
Or plaister'd posts, with claps, in capitals?
Or smoking forth, a hundred hawkers' load,
On wings of winds came flying all abroad?
I sought no homage from the race that write;
I kept, like Asian monarchs, from their sight:
Poems I heeded (now berhym'd so long)
No more than thou, great George! a birthday song.
I ne'er with wits or witlings pass'd my days,
To spread about the itch of verse and praise;
Nor like a puppy, daggled through the town,
To fetch and carry sing-song up and down;
Nor at rehearsals sweat, and mouth'd, and cried,
With handkerchief and orange at my side;
But sick of fops, and poetry, and prate,
To Bufo left the whole Castalian state.
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Proud as Apollo on his forked hill,
Sat full-blown Bufo, puff'd by every quill;
Fed with soft dedication all day long,
Horace and he went hand in hand in song.
His library (where busts of poets dead
And a true Pindar stood without a head,)
Receiv'd of wits an undistinguish'd race,
Who first his judgment ask'd, and then a place:
Much they extoll'd his pictures, much his seat,
And flatter'd ev'ry day, and some days eat:
Till grown more frugal in his riper days,
He paid some bards with port, and some with praise,
To some a dry rehearsal was assign'd,
And others (harder still) he paid in kind.
Dryden alone (what wonder?) came not nigh,
Dryden alone escap'd this judging eye:
But still the great have kindness in reserve,
He help'd to bury whom he help'd to starve.
May some choice patron bless each grey goose quill!
May ev'ry Bavius have his Bufo still!
So, when a statesman wants a day's defence,
Or envy holds a whole week's war with sense,
Or simple pride for flatt'ry makes demands,
May dunce by dunce be whistled off my hands!
Blest be the great! for those they take away,
And those they left me- for they left me Gay;
Left me to see neglected genius bloom,
Neglected die! and tell it on his tomb;
Of all thy blameless life the sole return
My verse, and Queensb'ry weeping o'er thy urn!
Oh let me live my own! and die so too!
('To live and die is all I have to do:')
Maintain a poet's dignity and ease,
And see what friends, and read what books I please.
Above a patron, though I condescend
Sometimes to call a minister my friend:
I was not born for courts or great affairs;
I pay my debts, believe, and say my pray'rs;
Can sleep without a poem in my head,
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Nor know, if Dennis be alive or dead.
Why am I ask'd what next shall see the light?
Heav'ns! was I born for nothing but to write?
Has life no joys for me? or (to be grave)
Have I no friend to serve, no soul to save?
'I found him close with Swift'- 'Indeed? no doubt',
(Cries prating Balbus) 'something will come out'.
'Tis all in vain, deny it as I will.
'No, such a genius never can lie still,'
And then for mine obligingly mistakes
The first lampoon Sir Will. or Bubo makes.
Poor guiltless I! and can I choose but smile,
When ev'ry coxcomb knows me by my style?
Curs'd be the verse, how well soe'er it flow,
That tends to make one worthy man my foe,
Give virtue scandal, innocence a fear,
Or from the soft-ey'd virgin steal a tear!
But he, who hurts a harmless neighbour's peace,
Insults fall'n worth, or beauty in distress,
Who loves a lie, lame slander helps about,
Who writes a libel, or who copies out:
That fop, whose pride affects a patron's name,
Yet absent, wounds an author's honest fame;
Who can your merit selfishly approve,
And show the sense of it without the love;
Who has the vanity to call you friend,
Yet wants the honour, injur'd, to defend;
Who tells what'er you think, whate'er you say,
And, if he lie not, must at least betray:
Who to the Dean, and silver bell can swear,
And sees at Cannons what was never there;
Who reads, but with a lust to misapply,
Make satire a lampoon, and fiction, lie.
A lash like mine no honest man shall dread,
But all such babbling blockheads in his stead.
Let Sporus tremble- 'What? that thing of silk,
Sporus, that mere white curd of ass's milk?
Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel?
Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel? '
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Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings,
This painted child of dirt that stinks and stings;
Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys,
Yet wit ne'er tastes, and beauty ne'r enjoys,
So well-bred spaniels civilly delight
In mumbling of the game they dare not bite.
Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,
As shallow streams run dimpling all the way.
Whether in florid impotence he speaks,
And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks;
Or at the ear of Eve, familiar toad,
Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad,
In puns, or politics, or tales, or lies,
Or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies.
His wit all see-saw, between that and this,
Now high, now low, now Master up, now Miss,
And he himself one vile antithesis.
Amphibious thing! that acting either part,
The trifling head, or the corrupted heart,
Fop at the toilet, flatt'rer at the board,
Now trips a lady, and now struts a lord.
Eve's tempter thus the rabbins have express'd,
A cherub's face, a reptile all the rest;
Beauty that shocks you, parts that none will trust,
Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.
Not fortune's worshipper, nor fashion's fool,
Not lucre's madman, nor ambition's tool,
Not proud, nor servile, be one poet's praise,
That, if he pleas'd, he pleas'd by manly ways;
That flatt'ry, even to kings, he held a shame,
And thought a lie in verse or prose the same:
That not in fancy's maze he wander'd long,
But stoop'd to truth, and moraliz'd his song:
That not for fame, but virtue's better end,
He stood the furious foe, the timid friend,
The damning critic, half-approving wit,
The coxcomb hit, or fearing to be hit;
Laugh'd at the loss of friends he never had,
The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad;
The distant threats of vengeance on his head,
The blow unfelt, the tear he never shed;
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The tale reviv'd, the lie so oft o'erthrown;
Th' imputed trash, and dulness not his own;
The morals blacken'd when the writings 'scape;
The libell'd person, and the pictur'd shape;
Abuse, on all he lov'd, or lov'd him, spread,
A friend in exile, or a father, dead;
The whisper, that to greatness still too near,
Perhaps, yet vibrates on his sovereign's ear:Welcome for thee, fair Virtue! all the past:
For thee, fair Virtue! welcome ev'n the last!
'But why insult the poor? affront the great? '
A knave's a knave, to me, in ev'ry state:
Alike my scorn, if he succeed or fail,
Sporus at court, or Japhet in a jail,
A hireling scribbler, or a hireling peer,
Knight of the post corrupt, or of the shire;
If on a pillory, or near a throne,
He gain his prince's ear, or lose his own.
Yet soft by nature, more a dupe than wit,
Sappho can tell you how this man was bit:
This dreaded sat'rist Dennis will confess
Foe to his pride, but friend to his distress:
So humble, he has knock'd at Tibbald's door,
Has drunk with Cibber, nay, has rhym'd for Moore.
Full ten years slander'd, did he once reply?
Three thousand suns went down on Welsted's lie.
To please a mistress one aspers'd his life;
He lash'd him not, but let her be his wife.
Let Budgell charge low Grub Street on his quill,
And write whate'er he pleas'd, except his will;
Let the two Curlls of town and court, abuse
His father, mother, body, soul, and muse.
Yet why? that father held it for a rule,
It was a sin to call our neighbour fool:
That harmless mother thought no wife a whore,Hear this! and spare his family, James Moore!
Unspotted names! and memorable long,
If there be force in virtue, or in song.
Of gentle blood (part shed in honour's cause,
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While yet in Britain honour had applause)
Each parent sprung- 'What fortune, pray? '- Their own,
And better got, than Bestia's from the throne.
Born to no pride, inheriting no strife,
Nor marrying discord in a noble wife,
Stranger to civil and religious rage,
The good man walk'd innoxious through his age.
No courts he saw, no suits would ever try,
Nor dar'd an oath, nor hazarded a lie:
Un-learn'd, he knew no schoolman's subtle art,
No language, but the language of the heart.
By nature honest, by experience wise,
Healthy by temp'rance and by exercise;
His life, though long, to sickness past unknown;
His death was instant, and without a groan.
O grant me, thus to live, and thus to die!
Who sprung from kings shall know less joy than I.
O friend! may each domestic bliss be thine!
Be no unpleasing melancholy mine:
Me, let the tender office long engage
To rock the cradle of reposing age,
With lenient arts extend a mother's breath,
Make langour smile, and smooth the bed of death,
Explore the thought, explain the asking eye,
And keep a while one parent from the sky!
On cares like these if length of days attend,
May Heav'n, to bless those days, preserve my friend,
Preserve him social, cheerful, and serene,
And just as rich as when he serv'd a queen.
Whether that blessing be denied or giv'n,
Thus far was right, the rest belongs to Heav'n.
~ Alexander Pope,#NFDB
159:In An Almshouse
Oh the dear summer evening! How the air
is mellow with the delicate breath of flowers
and wafts of hay scent from the sunburnt swathes:
how the glad song of life comes everywhence,
from thousand harmless voices, from blithe birds
that twitter on incessant sweet good-nights,
from homeward bees that, through the clover tufts,
stray booming, pilfering treasures to the last,
from sleepless crickets clamouring in the grass.
to tell the world they're happy day and night,
from the persistent rooks in their high town,
from sheep in far off meadows: life, life, life,
it is the song they sing, and to my mind
the song is very happy, very good.
My God, I thank thee I have known this life,
although, I doubt not, dying I shall learn
how greater and how happier is death.
Oh beautiful and various earth of ours,
how good God made thee. Ah, I have lost much,
mine is a very grey and dim earth now,
but I can feel and hear and take in so
the joy of present beauty to my soul,
and then I see it there. O strange blurred mists,
that mean the sky to me, my twilight eyes
discern no more than you, but I see more;
I see this gold and glowing sunset spread,
and break the pale blue sky with flashing clouds,
I see the shadows soften on the hills,
and the green summits brighten one by one
and purple in the nightfall one by one.
Oh, seeing can be done without the eyes.
Are those St Mary's church-bells in the town?
How far sound spreads to-night! St Mary's bells,
chiming for evensong. I would the way
were not so over long for feeble limbs,
and that the pathway and the still canal
had not so like a glimmer in the dusk;
86
for I could gladly feel the peace of prayer
among the others in the quiet church,
with silent graves seen through the open door,
and rustling heard of slowly stirring leaves.
And then 'tis pleasant too to hear the rhythm
of scholars' English and of words in books:
'tis like the voice of some rare foreign tongue
familiar once and loved, that, howso heard,
takes the glad ear with sweetness of old wont.
Oh, there's no sermon now so trite and crude
but makes for me a sort of literature:
'tis my one echo now from that far world
where books are read and written, my world once;
I listen as one listens, note by note,
to some great symphony one knows by heart,
played powerlessly, uncertainly, with change
and thinner chords to suit a learner's hand,
listening with pleasure part for what there is
and more for what there should be and what was
when long ago one used to hear the strain:
I seem to love words now because they are words.
Not that I'll call our Vicar's sermon words:
no, no; he loves his God and loves his poor;
he makes his life one task of doing good;
can such a man speak idly? What he does
is proof to what he urges, his week's life
soul to his Sunday preachings, his shown faith
the key to his expoundings; one may learn
from such a man more things than he can teach:
Alas, the busy patience of his life,
eager and resolute for little things,
strenuous on petty labours, which no voice
shall ever herald past the parish bounds,
which maybe those who see them do not see,
and those whose gain they are know not for gain,
does it not twit me with my languid years
drifted along expectant of a day
when all my world should thank me I had waked?
My world--ah, after all, a lesser one
than I discerned when I was of it still,
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my world of men who learn and teach and learn,
and then have only learned and taught and learned-my world that has forgotten me, a waif
floated away from it on too rough tides,
left spoiled and stranded to drop piece by piece.
Ah me, the difference: I have not known
what envy means unless I know it now
when, in my helplessness, sick, blind, and poor,
past all fulfilling now, with nought fulfilled,
I see our Vicar, with his cheery look,
hurried and overladen with small cares,
glad in his work because it is his work.
And he'll not envy me my garnered lore,
stored up for moth and mildew; what to him
is any wisdom but to work and pray?
the denizens of our rustic market town,
which ignorant strangers take, and break our hearts,
or just a village, know no Tübingen,
have never heard of varying codices,
love, or love not, the Christ of Luke and John,
and have no guess of Renan's; to their minds
belief and unbelief are simplest things,
mere Yes and No, and God must side with Yes,
as kings must with the loyal. But the love
that comes of faith and faith that comes of love;
they can learn those of him and he can teach,
that plain man, ignorant of philosophies
but wise enough to do good all the day.
Ah, why was I too weak for such a life,
which once I might have chosen? A high life,
full of most blessed service.
But I thought
it was not my life meant for me by God:
and now I know not what I should have done,
only I mourn that I have lived in vain,
still daily dreaming some completed task
that never was begun, still waiting force
of impulse more than mine to waken mine,
still dimly pondering "Shall I? Can I? How?"
and waiting to be ready to begin.
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Ah tardy useless labourer in the fields,
who waits to think what weed he shall rout first;
ah laggard sailor, who will not put out
till the direct fair wind sets for his port.
And time will never linger, and the world
can wait for no man, must have its wants fed
at the want's birth-cry--soldiers to the gap
on the hot instant, else no need of you,
no space for you to stand in. Long long since
I thought to have been somewhat, to perhaps
set some regardful honour round my name,
but surely to receive a destined place,
a part among the workers: for it seemed
to have so far uptrodden, half alone,
from peasant lowliness should prelude me
a future as of one of whom they say
"so low he was" to show how high he is.
Dreams, dreams! I never had the pith, the sap,
the strong aspiring pulses; I was one
to think, and shiver, by the study fire
"outside is the cold boisterous sea of life
where I will plunge to-morrow and snatch pearls,"
to wait like a late sleeper in the morn,
that with a drowsy logic lulls himself,
and chides his tardiness on their delay
who will not come to tell him it is time.
And yet I did not sleep; no, to my thought
I always was at school for work to come:
but these days leave us little schooling time.
Long since, and when the wisdom of the wise
was to accept to live one with to learn,
and men might find their work for half a life
in thinking silent, and the other half
in thinking out aloud, those were my days
I should have lived in: I came out of date:
like a reprinted tome of theories
made reasonably ere the science shaped,
which, all uncut, stands on the library shelf
amid new essays on the daily art
born long since of the science, and men say
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"'Tis learned, curious, looks well on the shelf"
and take its slighter useful neighbour down,
so I showed wise and useless to the world.
Wise with the oldworld wisdom grown unapt
to this changed morrow, for the lesson now
is to accept to live one with to do-the wisest wisdom plainly in this stir,
this over crowding, this hot hurrying on,
that make a tempest of our modern days.
This anxious age is driven half mad with work,
it bids us all work, world no need, no room,
for contemplating sages counting life
a time allowed for solving problems in
and its own self a problem to be solved;
on in the rush, or be swept out of sight,
on in the rush, and find your place, and work.
'Tis right, 'tis very right; not only ours
to fit what state God gives us but what times;
and he who is thrown out in a fierce race
can hardly chide, "the others ran too fast."
And, as for me, if I grow old alone,
hid out of memory of springtime peers,
and have my roof and food by dead men's alms,
it is that I have been an alien son,
a dronish servant careful of his ease,
to the master-Present, the strong century
that gave our lives and will have use of them.
I knew it always, but still while I thought.
"To-morrow I go forth," the sudden Now
had gone before I judged it had been there:
I knew it always, but the stealthy years
slid on while I was busy at my books,
and when I, startled, waked and saw it time,
lo the "Too late" which God has spoken me
in blindness and in sickness.
A strange life;
fair bud, fair blossom, never perfect fruit;
the river that seemed destined to push on
long eager miles among its busy mills,
90
among its teeming meadows and its towns,
hemmed stagnant by some little feeble dykes,
some trivial sand-mounds barred against its way,
and rounding to an issueless dull pool.
And yet, but for that wondering vague remorse
not to have been one stronger than myself,
I look back very kindly on my life
so changeful yet so still, not sorrowless
and yet not sad; I love to think of it
and tell it to myself like an old tale
dear for its homely long-familiar turns.
Oh, often I, the grey-haired palsied man,
am yet again the child beneath the hedge,
the village urchin, truant to his task,
of scaring crows, to con a dog's-eared book,
stealing his indolent scholar's luxury
by naughty half-hours through the lonely day.
Oh happy child, I never saw my guilt
nor dreamed of trust betrayed and pence ill-earned,
and it was such a joy to learn and pore
and read great words and wonder what they meant,
and sometimes see, as if a faint new star
dawned on one through a dusky gap at night,
a sudden meaning breaking on the doubt:
poor as I was, ill cared for, with no kin
but the sharp stepmother who, good at heart,
for widow's duty called me hers, not love,
and little Grace, the toddling sister thing
she'd not let love me and not let me touch,
who learned to scold me in her sweet babe's lisp
and would not kiss me even when we played,
no friends, no playmates, every way alone,
yet 'twas a happy boyhood; not forlorn
with the thumbed book for gossip, not forlorn
with all the outdoor world for company.
Oh, many and many a balmy eve like this,
beside my pollard willows by the brook,
I sat and watched the greyness creeping on,
thinking 'twas pity days must end in nights
and one must sleep away so many hours,
losing such sweetness of the summer time.
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Dulled wistful eyes, you cannot show me now
the brown-ribbed hill behind whose rounded slope
my village stands among its fields of flax;
last year I still could find it, where to me
it seemed a smooth dusk cloud against the sky,
could say "there lies my home," and fancy out
the well known landmarks, and go step by step
mind-pilgrimage among the dear old haunts;
but now the hill and sky are both one haze,
the dusk cloud's place is lost in larger dusk.
Well, well, 'tis present to me none the less,
and I am glad to feel it near in sight
with its white winding road that, from the top,
looks on my home, and sudden slants to it.
My home! and now 'tis twenty years and odd
since I have journeyed down the slanting road
and seen our envied boasts, the bridge and spire;
yes, twenty years and odd since the last time,
and then they called me stranger; yet I feel
my true home there. Not in my happy town,
my placid scholar's town of colleges,
where the smooth river, lagging by its elms,
bears on its painted breast oriels and towers
and grey monastic courts made reverend
with elder learning and historic lives;
not in my Cornish schoolhouse near the rocks,
where from the granite headland, with its crown
of glossy sward and wee white heather bloom
and rare and southern wildflowers of the moors,
one looked on the illimitable plain,
the vague mysterious ocean stretching forth
into the space and silence of the sky;
not in the city of the million homes,
the throbbing heart of England--No, not there,
how could I find home there? those pent black streets,
that skyless prison room, where day by day
my heart and head grew number, day by day
I and my schoolboys seemed to grow less apt,
that whirr and whirl of traffic, ceaseless change
of unknown faces thronging to and fro!
92
my life went shrivelling there as if one brought
some thirsty field plant maimed of half its root
amid a ball-night glare of flashing lamps.
And if I, even in this haven nook,
sheltered out of the cold winds of the world,
if here on the free hill-side, with the sounds
of woodland quiet soothing in my ears,
here where the dear home breezes blow to me
over the well known meadows, yet have longed,
like a sick schoolboy for his mother's face,
to look on my remembered trees and fields,
to touch them, to feel kin with them again,
how else could it be with me in the din
the blackness and the crowding?
Oh my heart,
how faint it grew long ere I grew all faint;
long ere there came this swift decrepitude
of too usurping age forestalling time;
how desolate I felt, like a man wrecked
on some far island in a burning clime
where every voice clangs strangely, and all thoughts
come to him yet more foreign than the words,
and very kindness wears unhomeliness;
how in my weariness I grew to loathe
those prison bars of roofs across the sky.
Well, when He pleased, God gave me the release,
gave His good way not mine, I thank Him for it.
Yes, it is well with me: life grows mere rest-I sit apart and am done with the world,
no hopes, no fears, no changes; I have lost
all part in aims and duties, like a tool
blunted with little use I am laid by
never to serve again; I sit apart
useless, forgotten, a lone purblind man
hid in an almshouse--but the rest is good,
is very peaceful, and I feel God near,
near as I never knew Him in old days
when yet I thought I loved Him.
Did I not?
Was it because I did not love Him then
93
I could not choose His service? It seems strange:
they all said I was fit, they urged me to it:
and there on one hand was my worldly ease
and (if I were fit) service to my God,
on the other, chance and my poor single strength
to wrest a pittance from the world's clenched hand:
yes one might say it had been granted me
to choose both God and Mammon virtuously:
and yet I could not--never might my lips
have spoken the great answers "Christ has called,"
"The Holy Ghost has moved me." Day by day
I urged myself, I prayed to hear the call,
and the call came not. Was it want of love?
and would my warmer heart have been more brave,
and known a summons where I did not know?
Ah no, there was no need for such as I,
who have no ministering gift, no rule on minds.
Oh, the poor souls had perished which must lean
on such a pastor; I, who never found
the teacher's common secret how to write
the accurate human lore on willing minds,
how could I teach God's mysteries of love?
how could I force rebellious hearts to know?
I, who must reason with myself an hour
to cross a room and give a friend good-day,
where were my ready words to greet the poor,
my instant tact, my sympathy, command?
Oh, rather was I one to be content,
to be most happy, cloistered in the peace
of some grey convent where the even hours
go measured out by prayers and each still day
melts stealthily to night and has but seen
change between chapel and the studious cell.
Had such a life been granted by my creed
I could have snatched at it ...... yes, even then
before the silent too delusive hope
died at her careless bidding.
Susan Lee,
you never guessed, I but half knew myself,
how close a part you had of all my life
94
from the first time my schoolboy heart grew proud
to feel itself beat quicker at a smile.
I loved you patiently, content to dream
what happy fireside future should be ours
if you should ever love me; afterwards
I sorrowed patiently; and in both whiles
lived in my peace as if you had not been:
but yet you always have been part of me,
I cannot think upon my earlier self
and not remember you. It was but chance
that you were near me, following up the brook
for water-cresses, on that birthday morn
of my new life, when, as I basked and read,
the young squire's tutor came and saw my book,
and sat with me beneath my willow tree;
it was but chance that, for your good-girl treat,
you went a twelve miles' journey to your aunt's
and saw the prize-day splendours of our school
where I stood in my class-boy eminence
(a shamefaced hero, conscious of renown,
and bearing such a greatness bashfully),
and that your face, set in a window frame,
was still the one I saw when I looked up;
it was but chance that made your merry voice
the one to greet me first when, all elate
with budding freshman honours of first term,
I came back to our village ... where, good lack,
I found small reverence for my dignities,
and no one turned to watch me as I walked;
it was but chance that I could see you lead
a romping battle, armed with pelts of hay,
against my Gracie and her rival band
the time I got the germ and ringingest lines
of the Greek ode which gained my earliest prize;
it was but chance made Grace's letter come,
talking of only you, the selfsame day
I heard my name sound in the topmost list,
the very roll of fame as I thought then-maybe I thought it too long afterwards,
poor lad, who fancied I had won a race
because I gained a vantage post to start;
yes, chance and only chance so mingles you
95
with the young promise halos, but you stand
always a star behind them, shining through,
and, though I once was sad because of you,
I have my happy memories of you now.
They said you were not pretty, owed your charm
to choice of ribbons from your father's shop,
but, as for me, I saw not if you wore
too many ribbons or too few, nor sought
what charms you had beyond that one I knew,
the kind and honest look in your grey eyes.
Well, you chose fitlier; and you prosper well,
and I can fancy you in your content,
a busy prudent farmwife all the week
and wearing silk on Sundays when you go
to church among your children, proud to take
your husband's arm ... a man who holds his own
and rents a few more acres every year.
And Grace chose wisely too, the wilful girl
I would have made a lady of--not she,
she would not stay at school, she would not learn
your monkey French, she would not chirp words small
like twittering birds, she would not crotchet lace;
and she would marry sturdy William Ford;
so found some rainy days at first, 'tis true,
but they both took them with a cheery heart,
and now she writes from their far western home
that all goes well with them, and, as for her,
she's happier than a queen the whole day through,
and all the bairns as fresh as buttercups.
'Tis far away, my Gracie, far from me:
I'd like to feel your hand in mine at last,
for I have only you, and, as I think,
you bear a kind heart to me; but that's vain,
there'll be no meeting for us in this world.
But bye and bye, my Gracie, bye and bye.
Aye, there's the answer to one's every want,
one's every doubt, that promise bye and bye;
96
it gives this life a beauty, as the glimpse
between near hills of the great open sea
gives to some inland nook among the woods;
it is the full completed melody
the shifting prelude hints at. Life is good,
but most because, in its best perfectness,
it comes like memory of that other life
we have not known, but shall.
What, little one,
my truant playmate, "Mother gives you leave
to come and say good night for half an hour":
well; on my knee--so. Stories must it be?
"The story about Jesus"? Yes, my child,
that is the best one ...... story of our peace;
you'll know that someday, maybe. Now begins...
~ Augusta Davies Webster,#NFDB
160:The Botanic Garden (Part Vi)
THE LOVES OF THE PLANTS.
CANTO II.
Again the Goddess strikes the golden lyre,
And tunes to wilder notes the warbling wire;
With soft suspended step Attention moves,
And Silence hovers o'er the listening groves;
Orb within orb the charmed audience throng,
And the green vault reverberates the song.
'Breathe soft, ye Gales!' the fair CARLINA cries,
Bear on broad wings your Votress to the skies.
How sweetly mutable yon orient hues,
As Morn's fair hand her opening roses strews;
How bright, when Iris blending many a ray
Binds in embroider'd wreath the brow of Day;
Soft, when the pendant Moon with lustres pale
O'er heaven's blue arch unfurls her milky veil;
While from the north long threads of silver light
Dart on swift shuttles o'er the tissued night!
'Breathe soft, ye Zephyrs! hear my fervent sighs,
Bear on broad wings your Votress to the skies!'-Plume over plume in long divergent lines
On whale-bone ribs the fair Mechanic joins;
Inlays with eider down the silken strings,
And weaves in wide expanse Dædalian wings;
Round her bold sons the waving pennons binds,
And walks with angel-step upon the winds.
So on the shoreless air the intrepid Gaul
Launch'd the vast concave of his buoyant ball.Journeying on high, the silken castle glides
Bright as a meteor through the azure tides;
O'er towns and towers and temples wins its way,
Or mounts sublime, and gilds the vault of day.
Silent with upturn'd eyes unbreathing crowds
Pursue the floating wonder to the clouds;
And, flush'd with transport or benumb'd with fear,
Watch, as it rises, the diminish'd sphere.
-Now less and less!-and now a speck is seen!-
41
And now the fleeting rack obtrudes between!With bended knees, raised arms, and suppliant brow
To every shrine with mingled cries they vow.'Save Him, ye Saints! who o'er the good preside;
'Bear Him, ye Winds! ye Stars benignant! guide.'
-The calm Philosopher in ether fails,
Views broader stars, and breathes in purer gales;
Sees, like a map, in many a waving line
Round Earth's blue plains her lucid waters mine;
Sees at his feet the forky lightnings glow,
And hears innocuous thunders roar below.
--Rife, great MONGOLFIER! urge thy venturous flight
High o'er the Moon's pale ice-reflected light;
High o'er the pearly Star, whose beamy horn.
Hangs in the east, gay harbinger of morn;
Leave the red eye of Mars on rapid wing;
Jove's silver guards, and Saturn's dusky ring;
Leave the fair beams, which, issuing from afar;
Play with new lustres round the Georgian star;
Shun with strong oars the Sun's attractive throne,
The sparkling zodiack, and the milky zone;
Where headlong Comets with increasing force
Through other systems bend their blazing course.For thee Cassiope her chair withdraws,
For thee the Bear retracts his shaggy paws;
High o'er the North thy golden orb shall roll,
And blaze eternal round the wondering pole.
So Argo, rising from the southern main,
Lights with new stars the blue etherial plain;
With favoring beams the mariner protects,
And the bold course, which first it steer'd, directs.
Inventress of the Woof, fair LINA flings
The flying shuttle through the dancing strings;
Inlays the broider'd weft with flowery dyes,
Quick beat the reeds, the pedals fall and rise;
Slow from the beam the lengths of warp unwind,
And dance and nod the massy weights behind.Taught by her labours, from the fertile soil
Immortal Isis clothed the banks of Nile;
And fair ARACHNE with her rival loom
Found undeserved a melancholy doom.-
42
Five
Sister-nymphs with dewy fingers twine
The beamy flax, and stretch the fibre-line;
Quick eddying threads from rapid spindles reel,
Or whirl with beaten foot the dizzy wheel.
-Charm'd round the busy Fair
five
shepherds press,
Praise the nice texture of their snowy dress,
Admire the Artists, and the art approve,
And tell with honey'd words the tale of love.
So now, where Derwent rolls his dusky floods
Through vaulted mountains, and a night of woods,
The Nymph, GOSSYPIA, treads the velvet sod,
And warms with rosy smiles the watery God;
His ponderous oars to slender spindles turns,
And pours o'er massy wheels his foamy urns;
With playful charms her hoary lover wins,
And wields his trident,-while the Monarch spins.
-First with nice eye emerging Naiads cull
From leathery pods the vegetable wool;
With wiry teeth
revolving cards
release
The tanged knots, and smooth the ravell'd fleece;
Next moves the
iron-band
with fingers fine,
Combs the wide card, and forms the eternal line;
Slow, with soft lips, the
whirling Can
acquires
The tender skeins, and wraps in rising spires;
With quicken'd pace
successive rollers
move,
And these retain, and those extend the
rove
Then fly the spoles, the rapid axles glow;And slowly circumvolves the labouring wheel below.
PAPYRA, throned upon the banks of Nile,
43
Spread her smooth leaf, and waved her silver style.
-The storied pyramid, the laurel'd bust,
The trophy'd arch had crumbled into dust;
The sacred symbol, and the epic song,
(Unknown the character, forgot the tongue,)
With each unconquer'd chief, or fainted maid,
Sunk undistinguish'd in Oblivion's shade.
Sad o'er the scatter'd ruins Genius sigh'd,
And infant Arts but learn'd to lisp and died.
Till to astonish'd realms PAPYRA taught
To paint in mystic colours Sound and Thought.
With Wisdom's voice to print the page sublime,
And mark in adamant the steps of Time.
-Three favour'd youths her soft attention share,
The fond disciples of the studious Fair,
Hear her sweet voice, the golden process prove;
Gaze, as they learn; and, as they listen, love.
The first
from Alpha to Omega joins
The letter'd tribes along the level lines;
Weighs with nice ear the vowel, liquid, surd,
And breaks in syllables the volant word.
Then forms
the next
upon the marshal'd plain
In deepening ranks his dexterous cypher-train;
And counts, as wheel the decimating bands,
The dews of Ægypt, or Arabia's sands,
And then
the third
on four concordant lines
Prints the lone crotchet, and the quaver joins;
Marks the gay trill, the solemn pause inscribes,
And parts with bars the undulating tribes.
Pleased round her cane-wove throne, the applauding crowd
Clap'd their rude hands, their swarthy foreheads bow'd;
With loud acclaim 'a present God!' they cry'd,
'A present God!' rebellowing shores reply'dThen peal'd at intervals with mingled swell
The echoing harp, shrill clarion, horn, and shell;
While Bards ecstatic, bending o'er the lyre,
44
Struck deeper chords, and wing'd the song with fire.
Then mark'd Astronomers with keener eyes
The Moon's refulgent journey through the skies;
Watch'd the swift Comets urge their blazing cars,
And weigh'd the Sun with his revolving Stars.
High raised the Chemists their Hermetic wands,
(And changing forms obey'd their waving hands,)
Her treasur'd gold from Earth's deep chambers tore,
Or fused and harden'd her chalybeate ore.
All with bent knee from fair PAPYRA claim
Wove by her hands the wreath of deathless fame.
-Exulting Genius crown'd his darling child,
The young Arts clasp'd her knees, and Virtue smiled.
So now DELANY forms her mimic bowers,
Her paper foliage, and her silken flowers;
Her virgin train the tender scissars ply,
Vein the green leaf, the purple petal dye:
Round wiry stems the flaxen tendril bends,
Moss creeps below, and waxen fruit impends.
Cold Winter views amid his realms of snow
DELANY'S vegetable statues blow;
Smooths his stern brow, delays his hoary wing,
And eyes with wonder all the blooms of spring.
The gentle LAPSANA, NYMPHÆA fair,
And bright CALENDULA with golden hair,
Watch with nice eye the Earth's diurnal way,
Marking her solar and sidereal day,
Her slow nutation, and her varying clime,
And trace with mimic art the march of Time;
Round his light foot a magic chain they fling,
And count the quick vibrations of his wing.First in its brazen cell reluctant roll'd
Bends the dark spring in many a steely fold;
On spiral brass is stretch'd the wiry thong,
Tooth urges tooth, and wheel drives wheel along;
In diamond-eyes the polish'd axles flow,
Smooth slides the hand, the ballance pants below.
Round the white circlet in relievo bold
A Serpent twines his scaly length in gold;
And brightly pencil'd on the enamel'd sphere
Live the fair trophies of the passing year.
-Here
45
Time's
huge fingers grasp his giant-mace,
And dash proud Superstition from her base,
Rend her strong towers and gorgeous fanes, and shed
The crumbling fragments round her guilty head.
There the gay
Hours
, whom wreaths of roses deck,
Lead their young trains amid the cumberous wreck;
And, slowly purpling o'er the mighty waste,
Plant the fair growths of Science and of Taste.
While each light
Moment
, as it dances by
With feathery foot and pleasure-twinkling eye,
Feeds from its baby-hand, with many a kiss,
The callow nestlings of domestic Bliss.
As yon gay clouds, which canopy the skies,
Change their thin forms, and lose their lucid dyes;
So the soft bloom of Beauty's vernal charms
Fades in our eyes, and withers in our arms.
-Bright as the silvery plume, or pearly shell,
The snow-white rose, or lily's virgin bell,
The fair HELLEBORAS attractive shone,
Warm'd every Sage, and every Shepherd won.Round the gay sisters press the
enamour'd bands
And seek with soft solicitude their hands.
-Ere while how chang'd!-in dim suffusion lies
The glance divine, that lighten'd in their eyes;
Cold are those lips, where smiles seductive hung,
And the weak accents linger on their tongue;
Each roseat feature fades to livid green,-Disgust with face averted shuts the scene.
So from his gorgeous throne, which awed the world,
The mighty Monarch of the east was hurl'd,
To dwell with brutes beneath the midnight storm,
By Heaven's just vengeance changed in mind and form.
-Prone to the earth He bends his brow superb,
Crops the young floret and the bladed herb;
Lolls his red tongue, and from the reedy side
46
Of slow Euphrates laps the muddy tide.
Long eagle-plumes his arching neck invest,
Steal round his arms, and clasp his sharpen'd breast;
Dark brinded hairs in bristling ranks, behind,
Rise o'er his back, and rustle in the wind,
Clothe his lank sides, his shrivel'd limbs surround,
And human hands with talons print the ground.
Silent in shining troops the Courtier-throng
Pursue their monarch as he crawls along;
E'en Beauty pleads in vain with smiles and tears,
Nor Flattery's self can pierce his pendant ears.
Two
Sister-Nymphs to Ganges' flowery brink
Bend their light steps, the lucid water drink,
Wind through the dewy rice, and nodding canes,
(As
eight
black Eunuchs guard the sacred plains),
With playful malice watch the scaly brood,
And shower the inebriate berries on the flood.Stay in your crystal chambers, silver tribes!
Turn your bright eyes, and shun the dangerous bribes;
The tramel'd net with less destruction sweeps
Your curling shallows, and your azure deeps;
With less deceit, the gilded fly beneath,
Lurks the fell hook unseen,-to taste is death!-Dim your slow eyes, and dull your pearly coat,
Drunk on the waves your languid forms shall float,
On useless fins in giddy circles play,
And Herons and Otters seize you for their prey.So, when the Saint from Padua's graceless land
In silent anguish sought the barren strand,
High on the shatter'd beech sublime He stood,
Still'd with his waving arm the babbling flood;
'To Man's dull ear,' He cry'd, 'I call in vain,
'Hear me, ye scaly tenants of the main!'Misshapen Seals approach in circling flocks,
In dusky mail the Tortoise climbs the rocks,
Torpedoes, Sharks, Rays, Porpus, Dolphins, pour
Their twinkling squadrons round the glittering shore;
47
With tangled fins, behind, huge Phocæ glide,
And Whales and Grampi swell the distant tide.
Then kneel'd the hoary Seer, to heaven address'd
His fiery eyes, and smote his sounding breast;
'Bless ye the Lord!' with thundering voice he cry'd,
'Bless ye the Lord!' the bending shores reply'd;
The winds and waters caught the sacred word,
And mingling echoes shouted 'Bless the Lord!'
The listening shoals the quick contagion feel,
Pant on the floods, inebriate with their zeal,
Ope their wide jaws, and bow their slimy heads,
And dash with frantic fins their foamy beds.
Sopha'd on silk, amid her charm-built towers,
Her meads of asphodel, and amaranth bowers,
Where Sleep and Silence guard the soft abodes,
In sullen apathy PAPAVER nods.
Faint o'er her couch in scintillating streams
Pass the thin forms of Fancy and of Dreams;
Froze by inchantment on the velvet ground
Fair youths and beauteous ladies glitter round;
On crystal pedestals they seem to sigh,
Bend the meek knee, and lift the imploring eye.
-And now the Sorceress bares her shrivel'd hand,
And circles thrice in air her ebon wand;
Flush'd with new life descending statues talk,
The pliant marble softening as they walk;
With deeper sobs reviving lovers breathe,
Fair bosoms rise, and soft hearts pant beneath;
With warmer lips relenting damsels speak,
And kindling blushes tinge the Parian cheek;
To viewless lutes aërial voices sing,
And hovering Loves are heard on rustling wing.
-She waves her wand again!-fresh horrors seize
Their stiffening limbs, their vital currents freeze;
By each cold nymph her marble lover lies,
And iron slumbers seal their glassy eyes.
So with his dread Caduceus HERMES led
From the dark regions of the imprison'd dead,
Or drove in silent shoals the lingering train
To Night's dull shore, and PLUTO'S dreary reign
So with her waving pencil CREWE commands
The realms of Taste, and Fancy's fairy lands;
48
Calls up with magic voice the shapes, that sleep
In earth's dark bosom, or unfathom'd deep;
That shrined in air on viewless wings aspire,
Or blazing bathe in elemental fire.
As with nice touch her plaistic hand she moves,
Rise the fine forms of Beauties, Graces, Loves;
Kneel to the fair Inchantress, smile or sigh,
And fade or flourish, as she turns her eye.
Fair CISTA, rival of the rosy dawn,
Call'd her light choir, and trod the dewy lawn;
Hail'd with rude melody the new-born May,
As cradled yet in April's lap she lay.
I.
'Born in yon blaze of orient sky,
'Sweet MAY! thy radiant form unfold;
'Unclose thy blue voluptuous eye,
'And wave thy shadowy locks of gold.
II.
'For Thee the fragrant zephyrs blow,
'For Thee descends the sunny shower;
'The rills in softer murmurs slow,
'And brighter blossoms gem the bower.
III.
'Light Graces dress'd in flowery wreaths
'And tiptoe Joys their hands combine;
'And Love his sweet contagion breathes,
'And laughing dances round thy shrine.
IV.
'Warm with new life the glittering throngs
'On quivering fin and rustling wing
'Delighted join their votive songs,
'And hail thee, GODDESS OF THE SPRING.'
O'er the green brinks of Severn's oozy bed,
49
In changeful rings, her sprightly troop She led;
PAN tripp'd before, where Eudness shades the mead,
And blew with glowing lip his sevenfold reed;
Emerging Naiads swell'd the jocund strain,
And aped with mimic step the dancing train.'I faint, I fall!'at noon
the Beauty cried,
'Weep o'er my tomb, ye Nymphs!'-and sunk and died.
-Thus, when white Winter o'er the shivering clime
Drives the still snow, or showers the silver rime;
As the lone shepherd o'er the dazzling rocks
Prints his steep step, and guides his vagrant flocks;
Views the green holly veil'd in network nice,
Her vermil clusters twinkling in the ice;
Admires the lucid vales, and slumbering floods,
Fantastic cataracts, and crystal woods,
Transparent towns, with seas of milk between,
And eyes with transport the refulgent scene:If breaks the sunshine o'er the spangled trees,
Or flits on tepid wing the western breeze,
In liquid dews descends the transient glare,
And all the glittering pageant melts in air.
Where Andes hides his cloud-wreath'd crest in snow,
And roots his base on burning sands below;
Cinchona, fairest of Peruvian maids
To Health's bright Goddess in the breezy glades
On Quito's temperate plain an altar rear'd,
Trill'd the loud hymn, the solemn prayer preferr'd:
Each balmy bud she cull'd, and honey'd flower,
And hung with fragrant wreaths the sacred bower;
Each pearly sea she search'd, and sparkling mine,
And piled their treasures on the gorgeous shrine;
Her suppliant voice for sickening Loxa raised,
Sweet breath'd the gale, and bright the censor blazed.
-'Divine HYGEIA! on thy votaries bend
Thy angel-looks, oh, hear us, and defend!
While streaming o'er the night with baleful glare
The star of Autumn rays his misty hair;
Fierce from his fens the Giant AGUE springs,
And wrapp'd in fogs descends on vampire wings;
'Before, with shuddering limbs cold Tremor reels,
50
And Fever's burning nostril dogs his heels;
Loud claps the grinning Fiend his iron hands,
Stamps with his marble feet, and shouts along the lands;
Withers the damask cheek, unnerves the strong,
And drives with scorpion-lash the shrieking throng.
Oh, Goddess! on thy kneeling votaries bend
Thy angel-looks, oh, hear us, and defend!'
-HYGEIA, leaning from the blest abodes,
The crystal mansions of the immortal gods,
Saw the sad Nymph uplift her dewy eyes,
Spread her white arms, and breathe her fervid sighs;
Call'd to her fair associates, Youth, and Joy,
And shot all-radiant through the glittering sky;
Loose waved behind her golden train of hair,
Her sapphire mantle swam diffus'd in air.O'er the grey matted moss, and pansied sod,
With step sublime the glowing Goddess trod,
Gilt with her beamy eye the conscious shade,
And with her smile celestial bless'd the maid.
'Come to my arms,' with seraph voice she cries,
'Thy vows are heard, benignant Nymph! arise;
Where yon aspiring trunks fantastic wreath
Their mingled roots, and drink the rill beneath,
Yield to the biting axe thy sacred wood,
And strew the bitter foliage on the flood.'
In silent homage bow'd the blushing maid,Five
youths athletic hasten to her aid,
O'er the scar'd hills re-echoing strokes resound,
And headlong forests thunder on the ground.
Round the dark roots, rent bark, and shatter'd boughs,
From ocherous beds the swelling fountain flows;
With streams austere its winding margin laves,
And pours from vale to vale its dusky waves.
-As the pale squadrons, bending o'er the brink,
View with a sigh their alter'd forms, and drink;
Slow-ebbing life with refluent crimson breaks
O'er their wan lips, and paints their haggard cheeks;
Through each fine nerve rekindling transports dart,
Light the quick eye, and swell the exulting heart.
-Thus ISRAEL's heaven-taught chief o'er trackless lands
51
Led to the sultry rock his murmuring bands.
Bright o'er his brows the forky radiance blazed,
And high in air the rod divine He raised.Wide yawns the cliff!-amid the thirsty throng
Rush the redundant waves, and shine along;
With gourds and shells and helmets press the bands,
Ope their parch'd lips, and spread their eager hands,
Snatch their pale infants to the exuberant shower,
Kneel on the shatter'd rock, and bless the Almighty Power.
Bolster'd with down, amid a thousand wants,
Pale Dropsy rears his bloated form, and pants;
'Quench me, ye cool pellucid rills!' he cries,
Wets his parch'd tongue, and rolls his hollow eyes.
So bends tormented TANTALUS to drink,
While from his lips the refluent waters shrink;
Again the rising stream his bosom laves,
And Thirst consumes him 'mid circumfluent waves.
-Divine HYGEIA, from the bending sky
Descending, listens to his piercing cry;
Assumes bright DIGITALIS' dress and air,
Her ruby cheek, white neck, and raven hair;
Four
youths protect her from the circling throng,
And like the Nymph the Goddess steps along.-O'er Him She waves her serpent-wreathed wand,
Cheers with her voice, and raises with her hand,
Warms with rekindling bloom his visage wan,
And charms the shapeless monster into man.
So when Contagion with mephitic breath
And withered Famine urged the work of death;
Marseilles' good Bishop, London's generous Mayor,
With food and faith, with medicine and with prayer,
Raised the weak head and stayed the parting sigh,
Or with new life relumed the swimming eye.-And now, PHILANTHROPY! thy rays divine
Dart round the globe from Zembla to the Line;
O'er each dark prison plays the cheering light,
Like northern lustres o'er the vault of night.From realm to realm, with cross or crescent crown'd,
Where'er Mankind and Misery are found,
O'er burning sands, deep waves, or wilds of snow,
52
Thy HOWARD journeying seeks the house of woe.
Down many a winding step to dungeons dank,
Where anguish wails aloud, and fetters clank;
To caves bestrew'd with many a mouldering bone,
And cells, whose echoes only learn to groan;
Where no kind bars a whispering friend disclose,
No sunbeam enters, and no zephyr blows,
HE treads, inemulous of fame or wealth,
Profuse of toil, and prodigal of health;
With soft assuasive eloquence expands
Power's rigid heart, and opes his clenching hands;
Leads stern-ey'd Justice to the dark domains,
If not to fever, to relax the chains;
Or guides awaken'd Mercy through the gloom,
And shews the prison, sister to the tomb!Gives to her babes the self-devoted wife,
To her fond husband liberty and life!-The Spirits of the Good, who bend from high
Wide o'er these earthly scenes their partial eye,
When first, array'd in VIRTUE'S purest robe,
They saw her HOWARD traversing the globe;
Saw round his brows her sun-like Glory blaze
In arrowy circles of unwearied rays;
Mistook a Mortal for an Angel-Guest,
And ask'd what Seraph-foot the earth imprest.
-Onward he moves!-Disease and Death retire,
And murmuring Demons hate him, and admire.'
Here paused the Goddess,-on HYGEIA'S shrine
Obsequious Gnomes repose the lyre divine;
Descending Sylphs relax the trembling strings,
And catch the rain-drops on their shadowy wings.
-And now her vase a modest Naiad fills
With liquid crystal from her pebbly rills;
Piles the dry cedar round her silver urn,
(Bright climbs the blaze, the crackling faggots burn),
Culls the green herb of China's envy'd bowers,
In gaudy cups the steamy treasure pours;
And, sweetly-smiling, on her bended knee
Presents the fragrant quintessence of Tea.
~ Erasmus Darwin,#NFDB
161:The Botanic Garden( Part Ii)
The Economy Of Vegetation
Canto II
AND NOW THE GODDESS with attention sweet
Turns to the GNOMES, that circle round her feet;
Orb within orb approach the marshal'd trains,
And pigmy legions darken all the plains;
Thrice shout with silver tones the applauding bands,
Bow, ere She speaks, and clap their fairy hands.
So the tall grass, when noon-tide zephyr blows,
Bends it's green blades in undulating rows;
Wide o'er the fields the billowy tumult spreads,
And rustling harvests bow their golden heads.
I. 'GNOMES! YOUR bright forms, presiding at her birth,
Clung in fond squadrons round the new-born EARTH;
When high in ether, with explosion dire,
From the deep craters of his realms of fire,
The whirling Sun this ponderous planet hurl'd,
And gave the astonish'd void another world.
When from it's vaporous air, condensed by cold,
Descending torrents into oceans roll'd;
And fierce attraction with relentless force
Bent the reluctant wanderer to it's course.
'Where yet the Bull with diamond-eye adorns
The Spring's fair forehead, and with golden horns;
Where yet the Lion climbs the ethereal plain,
And shakes the Summer from his radiant mane;
Where Libra lifts her airy arm, and weighs,
Poised in her silver ballance, nights and days;
With paler lustres where Aquarius burns,
And showers the still snow from his hoary urns;
YOUR ardent troops pursued the flying sphere,
Circling the starry girdle of the year;
While sweet vicissitudes of day and clime
Mark'd the new annals of enascent Time.
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II. 'You trod with printless step Earth's tender globe,
While Ocean wrap'd it in his azure robe;
Beneath his waves her hardening strata spread,
Raised her PRIMEVAL ISLANDS from his bed,
Stretch'd her wide lawns, and sunk her winding dells,
And deck'd her shores with corals, pearls, and shells.
'O'er those blest isles no ice-crown'd mountains tower'd,
No lightnings darted, and no tempests lower'd;
Soft fell the vesper-drops, condensed below,
Or bent in air the rain-refracted bow;
Sweet breathed the zephyrs, just perceiv'd and lost;
And brineless billows only kiss'd the coast;
Round the bright zodiac danced the vernal hours,
And Peace, the Cherub, dwelt in mortal bowers!
'So young DIONE, nursed beneath the waves,
And rock'd by Nereids in their coral caves,
Charm'd the blue sisterhood with playful wiles,
Lisp'd her sweet tones, and tried her tender smiles.
Then, on her beryl throne by Triton's borne,
Bright rose the Goddess like the Star of morn;
When with soft fires the milky dawn He leads,
And wakes to life and love the laughing meads;With rosy fingers, as uncurl'd they hung
Round her fair brow, her golden locks she wrung;
O'er the smooth surge on silver sandals flood,
And look'd enchantment on the dazzled flood.The bright drops, rolling from her lifted arms,
In slow meanders wander o'er her charms,
Seek round her snowy neck their lucid track,
Pearl her white shoulders, gem her ivory back,
Round her fine waist and swelling bosom swim,
And star with glittering brine each crystal limb.-The immortal form enamour'd Nature hail'd,
And Beauty blazed to heaven and earth, unvail'd.
III. 'You! who then, kindling after many an age,
Saw with new fires the first VOLCANO rage,
O'er smouldering heaps of livid sulphur swell
At Earth's firm centre, and distend her shell,
Saw at each opening cleft the furnace glow,
And seas rush headlong on the gulphs below.-
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GNOMES! how you shriek'd! when through the troubled air
Roar'd the fierce din of elemental war;
When rose the continents, and sunk the main,
And Earth's huge sphere exploding burst in twain.GNOMES! how you gazed! when from her wounded side
Where now the South-Sea heaves its waste of tide,
Rose on swift wheels the MOON'S refulgent car,
Circling the solar orb; a sister-star,
Dimpled with vales, with shining hills emboss'd,
And roll'd round Earth her airless realms of frost.
'GNOMES! how you trembled! with the dreadful force
When Earth recoiling stagger'd from her course;
When, as her Line in slower circles spun,
And her shock'd axis nodded from the sun,
With dreadful march the accumulated main
Swept her vast wrecks of mountain, vale, and plain;
And, while new tides their shouting floods unite,
And hail their Queen, fair Regent of the night;
Chain'd to one centre whirl'd the kindred spheres,
And mark'd with lunar cycles solar years.
IV. 'GNOMES! you then bade dissolving SHELLS distil
From the loose summits of each shatter'd hill,
To each fine pore and dark interstice flow,
And fill with liquid chalk the mass below.
Whence sparry forms in dusky caverns gleam
With borrow'd light, and twice refract the beam;
While in white beds congealing rocks beneath
Court the nice chissel, and desire to breathe.'Hence wearied HERCULES in marble rears
His languid limbs, and rests a thousand years;
Still, as he leans, shall young ANTINOUS please
With careless grace, and unaffected ease;
Onward with loftier step APOLLO spring,
And launch the unerring arrow from the string;
In Beauty's bashful form, the veil unfurl'd,
Ideal VENUS win the gazing world.
Hence on ROUBILIAC'S tomb shall Fame sublime
Wave her triumphant wings, and conquer Time;
Long with soft touch shall DAMER'S chissel charm,
With grace delight us, and with beauty warm;
FOSTER'S fine form shall hearts unborn engage,
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And MELBOURN's smile enchant another age.
V. GNOMES! you then taught transuding dews to pass
Through time-fall'n woods, and root-inwove morass
Age after age; and with filtration fine
Dispart, from earths and sulphurs, the saline.
1. 'HENCE with diffusive SALT old Ocean steeps
His emerald shallows, and his sapphire deeps.
Oft in wide lakes, around their warmer brim
In hollow pyramids the crystals swim;
Or, fused by earth-born fires, in cubic blocks
Shoot their white forms, and harden into rocks.
'Thus, cavern'd round in CRACOW'S mighty mines,
With crystal walls a gorgeous city shines;
Scoop'd in the briny rock long streets extend
Their hoary course, and glittering domes ascend;
Down the bright steeps, emerging into day,
Impetuous fountains burst their headlong way,
O'er milk-white vales in ivory channels spread,
And wondering seek their subterraneous bed.
Form'd in pellucid salt with chissel nice,
The pale lamp glimmering through the sculptured ice,
With wild reverted eyes fair LOTTA stands,
And spreads to Heaven, in vain, her glassy hands;
Cold dews condense upon her pearly breast,
And the big tear rolls lucid down her vest.
Far gleaming o'er the town transparent fanes
Rear their white towers, and wave their golden vanes;
Long lines of lustres pour their trembling rays,
And the bright vault returns the mingled blaze.
2. 'HENCE orient NITRE owes it's sparkling birth,
And with prismatic crystals gems the earth,
O'er tottering domes in filmy foliage crawls,
Or frosts with branching plumes the mouldering walls.
As woos Azotic Gas the virgin Air,
And veils in crimson clouds the yielding Fair,
Indignant Fire the treacherous courtship flies,
Waves his light wing, and mingles with the skies.
'So Beauty's GODDESS, warm with new desire,
Left, on her silver wheels, the GOD of Fire;
Her faithless charms to fiercer MARS resign'd,
Met with fond lips, with wanton arms intwin'd.
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-Indignant VULCAN eyed the parting Fair,
And watch'd with jealous step the guilty pair;
O'er his broad neck a wiry net he flung,
Quick as he strode, the tinkling meshes rung;
Fine as the spider's flimsy thread He wove
The immortal toil to lime illicit love;
Steel were the knots, and steel the twisted thong,
Ring link'd in ring, indissolubly strong;
On viewless hooks along the fretted roof
He hung, unseen, the inextricable woof.-Quick start the springs, the webs pellucid spread,
And lock the embracing Lovers on their bed;
Fierce with loud taunts vindictive VULCAN springs,
Tries all the bolts, and tightens all the strings,
Shakes with incessant shouts the bright abodes,
Claps his rude hands, and calls the festive Gods.-With spreading palms the alarmed Goddess tries
To veil her beauties from celestial eyes,
Writhes her fair limbs, the slender ringlets strains,
And bids her Loves untie the obdurate chains;
Soft swells her panting bosom, as she turns,
And her flush'd cheek with brighter blushes burns.
Majestic grief the Queen of Heaven avows,
And chaste Minerva hides her helmed brows;
Attendant Nymphs with bashful eyes askance
Steal of intangled MARS a transient glance;
Surrounding Gods the circling nectar quaff,
Gaze on the Fair, and envy as they laugh.
3. 'HENCE dusky IRON sleeps in dark abodes,
And ferny foliage nestles in the nodes;
Till with wide lungs the panting bellows blow,
And waked by fire the glittering torrents flow;
-Quick whirls the wheel, the ponderous hammer falls,
Loud anvils ring amid the trembling walls,
Strokes follow strokes, the sparkling ingot shines,
Flows the red slag, the lengthening bar refines;
Cold waves, immersed, the glowing mass congeal,
And turn to adamant the hissing Steel.
'Last MICHELL'S hands with touch of potent charm
The polish'd rods with powers magnetic arm;
With points directed to the polar stars
In one long line extend the temper'd bars;
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Then thrice and thrice with steady eye he guides,
And o'er the adhesive train the magnet slides;
The obedient Steel with living instinct moves,
And veers for ever to the pole it loves.
'Hail, adamantine STEEL! magnetic Lord!
King of the prow, the plowshare, and the sword!
True to the pole, by thee the pilot guides
His steady helm amid the struggling tides,
Braves with broad sail the immeasurable sea,
Cleaves the dark air, and asks no star but Thee.By thee the plowshare rends the matted plain,
Inhumes in level rows the living grain;
Intrusive forests quit the cultured ground,
And Ceres laughs with golden fillets crown'd.O'er restless realms when scowling Discord flings
Her snakes, and loud the din of battle rings;
Expiring Strength, and vanquish'd Courage feel
Thy arm resistless, adamantine STEEL!
4. 'HENCE in fine streams diffusive ACIDS flow,
Or wing'd with fire o'er Earth's fair bosom blow;
Transmute to glittering Flints her chalky lands,
Or sink on Ocean's bed in countless Sands.
Hence silvery Selenite her chrystal moulds,
And soft Asbestus smooths his silky folds;
His cubic forms phosphoric Fluor prints,
Or rays in spheres his amethystine tints.
Soft cobweb clouds transparent Onyx spreads,
And playful Agates weave their colour'd threads;
Gay pictured Mochoes glow with landscape-dyes,
And changeful Opals roll their lucid eyes;
Blue lambent light around the Sapphire plays,
Bright Rubies blush, and living Diamonds blaze.
'Thus, for attractive earth, inconstant JOVE
Mask'd in new shapes forsook his realms above.First her sweet eyes his Eagle-form beguiles,
And HEBE feeds him with ambrosial smiles;
Next the chang'd God a Cygnet's down assumes,
And playful LEDA smooths his glossy plumes;
Then glides a silver Serpent, treacherous guest!
And fair OLYMPIA folds him in her breast;
Now lows a milk-white Bull on Afric's strand,
And crops with dancing head the daisy'd land.-
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With rosy wreathes EUROPA'S hand adorns
His fringed forehead, and his pearly horns;
Light on his back the sportive Damsel bounds,
And pleased he moves along the flowery grounds;
Bears with slow step his beauteous prize aloof,
Dips in the lucid flood his ivory hoof;
Then wets his velvet knees, and wading laves
His silky sides amid the dimpling waves.
While her fond train with beckoning hands deplore,
Strain their blue eyes, and shriek along the shore;
Beneath her robe she draws her snowy feet,
And, half-reclining on her ermine seat,
Round his raised neck her radiant arms she throws,
And rests her fair cheek on his curled brows;
Her yellow tresses wave on wanton gales,
And high in air her azure mantle sails.
-Onward He moves, applauding Cupids guide,
And skim on shooting wing the shining tide;
Emerging Triton's leave their coral caves,
Sound their loud conchs, and smooth the circling waves,
Surround the timorous Beauty, as she swims,
And gaze enamour'd on her silver limbs.
-Now Europe's shadowy shores with loud acclaim
Hail the fair fugitive, and shout her name;
Soft echoes warble, whispering forests nod,
And conscious Nature owns the present God.
-Changed from the Bull, the rapturous God assumes
Immortal youth, with glow celestial blooms,
With lenient words her virgin fears disarms,
And clasps the yielding Beauty in his arms;
Whence Kings and Heroes own illustrious birth,
Guards of mankind, and demigods on earth.
VI. 'GNOMES! as you pass'd beneath the labouring soil,
The guards and guides of Nature's chemic toil,
YOU saw, deep-sepulchred in dusky realms,
Which Earth's rock-ribbed ponderous vault o'erwhelms,
With self-born fires the mass fermenting glow,
And flame-wing'd sulphurs quit the earths below.
1. 'HENCE ductile CLAYS in wide expansion spread,
Soft as the Cygnet's down, their snow-white bed;
With yielding flakes successive forms reveal,
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And change obedient to the whirling wheel.
-First CHINA'S sons, with early art elate,
Form'd the gay tea-pot, and the pictured plate;
Saw with illumin'd brow and dazzled eyes
In the red stove vitrescent colours rise;
Speck'd her tall beakers with enamel'd stars,
Her monster-josses, and gigantic jars;
Smear'd her huge dragons with metallic hues,
With golden purples, and cobaltic blues;
Bade on wide hills her porcelain castles glare,
And glazed Pagodas tremble in the air.
'ETRURIA! next beneath thy magic hands
Glides the quick wheel, the plaistic clay expands,
Nerved with fine touch, thy fingers (as it turns)
Mark the nice bounds of vases, ewers, and urns;
Round each fair form in lines immortal trace
Uncopied Beauty, and ideal Grace.
'GNOMES! as you now dissect with hammers fine
The granite-rock, the nodul'd flint calcine;
Grind with strong arm, the circling chertz betwixt,
Your pure Ka-o-lins and Pe-tun-tses mixt;
O'er each red saggars burning cave preside,
The keen-eyed Fire-Nymphs blazing by your side;
And pleased on WEDGWOOD ray your partial smile,
A new Etruria decks Britannia's isle.Charm'd by your touch, the flint liquescent pours
Through finer sieves, and falls in whiter showers;
Charm'd by your touch, the kneaded clay refines,
The biscuit hardens, the enamel shines;
Each nicer mould a softer feature drinks,
The bold Cameo speaks, the soft Intaglio thinks.
'To call the pearly drops from Pity's eye,
Or stay Despair's disanimating sigh,
Whether, O Friend of art! the gem you mould
Rich with new taste, with antient virtue bold;
Form the poor fetter'd SLAVE on bended knee
From Britain's sons imploring to be free;
Or with fair HOPE the brightening scenes improve,
And cheer the dreary wastes at Sydney-cove;
Or bid Mortality rejoice and mourn
O'er the fine forms on PORTLAND'S mystic urn.'
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Here
by fall'n columns and disjoin'd arcades,
On mouldering stones, beneath deciduous shades,
Sits HUMANKIND in hieroglyphic state,
Serious, and pondering on their changeful state;
While with inverted torch, and swimming eyes,
Sinks the fair shade of MORTAL LIFE, and dies.
There
the pale GHOST through Death's wide portal bends
His timid feet, the dusky steep descends;
With smiles assuasive LOVE DIVINE invites,
Guides on broad wing, with torch uplifted lights;
IMMORTAL LIFE, her hand extending, courts
The lingering form, his tottering step supports;
Leads on to Pluto's realms the dreary way,
And gives him trembling to Elysian day.
Beneath
in sacred robes the PRIESTESS dress'd,
The coif close-hooded, and the fluttering vest,
With pointing finger guides the initiate youth,
Unweaves the many-colour'd veil of Truth,
Drives the profane from Mystery's bolted door,
And Silence guards the Eleusinian lore.'Whether, O Friend of Art! your gems derive
Fine forms from Greece, and fabled Gods revive;
Or bid from modern life the Portrait breathe,
And bind round Honour's brow the laurel wreath;
Buoyant shall sail, with Fame's historic page,
Each fair medallion o'er the wrecks of age;
Nor Time shall mar; nor steel, nor fire, nor rust
Touch the hard polish of the immortal bust.
2. 'HENCE sable COAL his massy couch extends,
And stars of gold the sparkling Pyrite blends;
Hence dull-eyed Naphtha pours his pitchy streams,
And Jet uncolour'd drinks the solar beams,
Bright Amber shines on his electric throne,
And adds ethereal lustres to his own.
-Led by the phosphor-light, with daring tread
Immortal FRANKLIN sought the fiery bed;
Where, nursed in night, incumbent Tempest shrouds
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The seeds of Thunder in circumfluent clouds,
Besieged with iron points his airy cell,
And pierced the monster slumbering in the shell.
'So, born on sounding pinions to the WEST,
When Tyrant-Power had built his eagle nest;
While from his eyry shriek'd the famish'd brood,
Clenched their sharp claws, and champ'd their beaks for blood,
Immortal FRANKLIN watch'd the callow crew,
And stabb'd the struggling Vampires, ere they flew.
-The patriot-flame with quick contagion ran,
Hill lighted hill, and man electrised man;
Her heroes slain awhile COLUMBIA mourn'd,
And crown'd with laurels LIBERTY return'd.
'The Warrior, LIBERTY, with bending sails
Helm'd his bold course to fair HIBERNIA'S vales;Firm as he steps, along the shouting lands,
Lo! Truth and Virtue range their radiant bands;
Sad Superstition wails her empire torn,
Art plies his oar, and Commerce pours her horn.
'Long had the Giant-form on GALLIA'S plains
Inglorious slept, unconscious of his chains;
Round his large limbs were wound a thousand strings
By the weak hands of Confessors and Kings;
O'er his closed eyes a triple veil was bound,
And steely rivets lock'd him to the ground;
While stern Bastile with iron cage inthralls
His folded limbs, and hems in marble walls.
-Touch'd by the patriot-flame, he rent amazed
The flimsy bonds, and round and round him gazed;
Starts up from earth, above the admiring throng
Lifts his Colossal form, and towers along;
High o'er his foes his hundred arms He rears,
Plowshares his swords, and pruning hooks his spears;
Calls to the Good and Brave with voice, that rolls
Like Heaven's own thunder round the echoing poles;
Gives to the winds his banner broad unfurl'd,
And gathers in its shade the living world!
VII. 'GNOMES! YOU then taught volcanic airs to force
Through bubbling Lavas their resistless course,
O'er the broad walls of rifted Granite climb,
And pierce the rent roof of incumbent Lime,
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Round sparry caves metallic lustres fling,
And bear phlogiston on their tepid wing.
'HENCE glows, refulgent Tin! thy chrystal grains,
And tawny Copper shoots her azure veins;
Zinc lines his fretted vault with sable ore,
And dull Galena tessellates the floor;
On vermil beds in Idria's mighty caves
The living Silver rolls its ponderous waves;
With gay refractions bright Platina shines,
And studs with squander'd stars his dusky mines;
Long threads of netted gold, and silvery darts,
Inlay the Lazuli, and pierce the Quartz;-Whence roof'd with silver beam'd PERU, of old,
And hapless MEXICO was paved with gold.
'Heavens! on my sight what sanguine colours blaze!
Spain's deathless shame! the crimes of modern days!
When Avarice, shrouded in Religion's robe,
Sail'd to the West, and slaughter'd half the globe;
While Superstition, stalking by his side,
Mock'd the loud groans, and lap'd the bloody tide;
For sacred truths announced her frenzied dreams,
And turn'd to night the sun's meridian beams.Hear, oh, BRITANNIA! potent Queen of isles,
On whom fair Art, and meek Religion smiles,
Now AFRIC'S coasts thy craftier sons invade
With murder, rapine, theft,-and call it Trade!
-The SLAVE, in chains, on supplicating knee,
Spreads his wide arms, and lifts his eyes to Thee;
With hunger pale, with wounds and toil oppress'd,
'ARE WE NOT BRETHREN?' sorrow choaks the rest;-AIR! bear to heaven upon thy azure flood
Their innocent cries!-EARTH! cover not their blood!
VIII. 'When Heaven's dread justice smites in crimes o'ergrown
The blood-nursed Tyrant on his purple throne,
GNOMES! YOUR bold forms unnumber'd arms outstretch,
And urge the vengeance o'er the guilty wretch.Thus when CAMBYSES led his barbarous hosts
From Persia's rocks to Egypt's trembling coasts,
Defiled each hallowed fane, and sacred wood,
And, drunk with fury, swell'd the Nile with blood;
Waved his proud banner o'er the Theban states,
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And pour'd destruction through her hundred gates;
In dread divisions march'd the marshal'd bands,
And swarming armies blacken'd all the lands,
By Memphis these to ETHIOP'S sultry plains,
And those to HAMMON'S sand-incircled fanes.Slow as they pass'd, the indignant temples frown'd,
Low curses muttering from the vaulted ground;
Long ailes of Cypress waved their deepen'd glooms,
And quivering spectres grinn'd amid the tombs;
Prophetic whispers breathed from S
And MEMNON'S lyre with hollow murmurs rung;
Burst from each pyramid expiring groans,
And darker shadows stretch'd their lengthen'd cones.Day after day their deathful rout They steer,
Lust in the van, and rapine in the rear.
'GNOMES! as they march'd, You hid the gathered fruits,
The bladed grass, sweet grains, and mealy roots;
Scared the tired quails, that journey'd o'er their heads,
Retain'd the locusts in their earthy beds;
Bade on your sands no night-born dews distil,
Stay'd with vindictive hands the scanty rill.Loud o'er the camp the Fiend of Famine shrieks,
Calls all her brood, and champs her hundred beaks;
O'er ten square leagues her pennons broad expand,
And twilight swims upon the shuddering sand;
Perch'd on her crest the Griffin Discord clings,
And Giant Murder rides between her wings;
Blood from each clotted hair, and horny quill,
And showers of tears in blended streams distil;
High-poised in air her spiry neck she bends,
Rolls her keen eye, her Dragon-claws extends,
Darts from above, and tears at each fell swoop
With iron fangs the decimated troop.
'Now o'er their head the whizzing whirlwinds breathe,
And the live desert pants, and heaves beneath;
Tinged by the crimson sun, vast columns rise
Of eddying sands, and war amid the skies,
In red arcades the billowy plain surround,
And stalking turrets dance upon the ground.
-Long ranks in vain their shining blades extend,
To Demon-Gods their knees unhallow'd bend,
Wheel in wide circle, form in hollow square,
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And now they front, and now they fly the war,
Pierce the deaf tempest with lamenting cries,
Press their parch'd lips, and close their blood-shot eyes.
-GNOMES! o'er the waste YOU led your myriad powers,
Climb'd on the whirls, and aim'd the flinty showers!Onward resistless rolls the infuriate surge,
Clouds follow clouds, and mountains mountains urge;
Wave over wave the driving desert swims,
Bursts o'er their heads, inhumes their struggling limbs;
Man mounts on man, on camels camels rush,
Hosts march o'er hosts, and nations nations crush,Wheeling in air the winged islands fall,
And one great earthy Ocean covers all!Then ceased the storm,-NIGHT bow'd his Ethiop brow
To earth, and listen'd to the groans below,Grim HORROR shook,-awhile the living hill
Heaved with convulsive throes,-and all was still!
IX. 'GNOMES! whose fine forms, impassive as the air,
Shrink with soft sympathy for human care;
Who glide unseen, on printless slippers borne,
Beneath the waving grass, and nodding corn;
Or lay your tiny limbs, when noon-tide warms,
Where shadowy cowslips stretch their golden arms,So mark'd on orreries in lucid signs,
Star'd with bright points the mimic zodiac shines;
Borne on fine wires amid the pictured skies
With ivory orbs the planets set and rise;
Round the dwarf earth the pearly moon is roll'd,
And the sun twinkling whirls his rays of gold.Call your bright myriads, march your mailed hosts,
With spears and helmets glittering round the coasts;
Thick as the hairs, which rear the Lion's mane,
Or fringe the Boar, that bays the hunter-train;
Watch, where proud Surges break their treacherous mounds,
And sweep resistless o'er the cultured grounds;
Such as erewhile, impell'd o'er Belgia's plain,
Roll'd her rich ruins to the insatiate main;
With piles and piers the ruffian waves engage,
And bid indignant Ocean stay his rage.
'Where, girt with clouds, the rifted mountain yawns,
And chills with length of shade the gelid lawns,
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Climb the rude steeps, the granite-cliffs surround,
Pierce with steel points, with wooden wedges wound;
Break into clays the soft volcanic slaggs,
Or melt with acid airs the marble craggs;
Crown the green summits with adventurous flocks,
And charm with novel flowers the wondering rocks.
-So when proud Rome the Afric Warrior braved,
And high on Alps his crimson banner waved;
While rocks on rocks their beetling brows oppose
With piny forests, and unfathomed snows;
Onward he march'd, to Latium's velvet ground
With fires and acids burst the obdurate bound,
Wide o'er her weeping vales destruction hurl'd,
And shook the rising empire of the world.
X. 'Go, gentle GNOMES! resume your vernal toil,
Seek my chill tribes, which sleep beneath the soil;
On grey-moss banks, green meads, or furrow'd lands
Spread the dark mould, white lime, and crumbling sands;
Each bursting bud with healthier juices feed,
Emerging scion, or awaken'd seed.
So, in descending streams, the silver Chyle
Streaks with white clouds the golden floods of bile;
Through each nice valve the mingling currents glide,
Join their fine rills, and swell the sanguine tide;
Each countless cell, and viewless fibre seek,
Nerve the strong arm, and tinge the blushing cheek.
'Oh, watch, where bosom'd in the teeming earth,
Green swells the germ, impatient for its birth;
Guard from rapacious worms its tender shoots,
And drive the mining beetle from its roots;
With ceaseless efforts rend the obdurate clay,
And give my vegetable babes to day!
-Thus when an Angel-form, in light array'd,
Like HOWARD pierced the prison's noisome shade;
Where chain'd to earth, with eyes to heaven upturn'd,
The kneeling Saint in holy anguish mourn'd;Ray'd from his lucid vest, and halo'd brow
O'er the dark roof celestial lustres glow,
'PETER, arise!' with cheering voice He calls,
And sounds seraphic echo round the walls;
Locks, bolts, and chains his potent touch obey,
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And pleased he leads the dazzled Sage to day.
XI. 'YOU! whose fine fingers fill the organic cells,
With virgin earth, of woods and bones and shells;
Mould with retractile glue their spongy beds,
And stretch and strengthen all their fibre-threads.Late when the mass obeys its changeful doom,
And sinks to earth, its cradle and its tomb,
GNOMES! with nice eye the slow solution watch,
With fostering hand the parting atoms catch,
Join in new forms, combine with life and sense,
And guide and guard the transmigrating Ens.
'So when on Lebanon's sequester'd hight
The fair ADONIS left the realms of light,
Bow'd his bright locks, and, fated from his birth
To change eternal, mingled with the earth;With darker horror shook the conscious wood,
Groan'd the sad gales, and rivers blush'd with blood;
On cypress-boughs the Loves their quivers hung,
Their arrows scatter'd, and their bows unstrung;
And BEAUTY'S GODDESS, bending o'er his bier,
Breathed the soft sigh, and pour'd the tender tear.Admiring PROSERPINE through dusky glades
Led the fair phantom to Elysian shades,
Clad with new form, with finer sense combined,
And lit with purer flame the ethereal mind.
-Erewhile, emerging from infernal night,
The bright Assurgent rises into light,
Leaves the drear chambers of the insatiate tomb,
And shines and charms with renovated bloom.While wondering Loves the bursting grave surround,
And edge with meeting wings the yawning ground,
Stretch their fair necks, and leaning o'er the brink
View the pale regions of the dead, and shrink;
Long with broad eyes ecstatic BEAUTY stands,
Heaves her white bosom, spreads her waxen hands;
Then with loud shriek the panting Youth alarms,
'My Life! my Love!' and springs into his arms.'
The GODDESS ceased,-the delegated throng
O'er the wide plains delighted rush along;
In dusky squadrons, and in shining groups,
Hosts follow hosts, and troops succeed to troops;
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Scarce bears the bending grass the moving freight,
And nodding florets bow beneath their weight.
So when light clouds on airy pinions sail,
Flit the soft shadows o'er the waving vale;
Shade follows shade, as laughing Zephyrs drive,
And all the chequer'd landscape seems alive.
~ Erasmus Darwin,#NFDB
162:The Marriage Of Geraint
The brave Geraint, a knight of Arthur's court,
A tributary prince of Devon, one
Of that great Order of the Table Round,
Had married Enid, Yniol's only child,
And loved her, as he loved the light of Heaven.
And as the light of Heaven varies, now
At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night
With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint
To make her beauty vary day by day,
In crimsons and in purples and in gems.
And Enid, but to please her husband's eye,
Who first had found and loved her in a state
Of broken fortunes, daily fronted him
In some fresh splendour; and the Queen herself,
Grateful to Prince Geraint for service done,
Loved her, and often with her own white hands
Arrayed and decked her, as the loveliest,
Next after her own self, in all the court.
And Enid loved the Queen, and with true heart
Adored her, as the stateliest and the best
And loveliest of all women upon earth.
And seeing them so tender and so close,
Long in their common love rejoiced Geraint.
But when a rumour rose about the Queen,
Touching her guilty love for Lancelot,
Though yet there lived no proof, nor yet was heard
The world's loud whisper breaking into storm,
Not less Geraint believed it; and there fell
A horror on him, lest his gentle wife,
Through that great tenderness for Guinevere,
Had suffered, or should suffer any taint
In nature: wherefore going to the King,
He made this pretext, that his princedom lay
Close on the borders of a territory,
Wherein were bandit earls, and caitiff knights,
Assassins, and all flyers from the hand
Of Justice, and whatever loathes a law:
And therefore, till the King himself should please
To cleanse this common sewer of all his realm,
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He craved a fair permission to depart,
And there defend his marches; and the King
Mused for a little on his plea, but, last,
Allowing it, the Prince and Enid rode,
And fifty knights rode with them, to the shores
Of Severn, and they past to their own land;
Where, thinking, that if ever yet was wife
True to her lord, mine shall be so to me,
He compassed her with sweet observances
And worship, never leaving her, and grew
Forgetful of his promise to the King,
Forgetful of the falcon and the hunt,
Forgetful of the tilt and tournament,
Forgetful of his glory and his name,
Forgetful of his princedom and its cares.
And this forgetfulness was hateful to her.
And by and by the people, when they met
In twos and threes, or fuller companies,
Began to scoff and jeer and babble of him
As of a prince whose manhood was all gone,
And molten down in mere uxoriousness.
And this she gathered from the people's eyes:
This too the women who attired her head,
To please her, dwelling on his boundless love,
Told Enid, and they saddened her the more:
And day by day she thought to tell Geraint,
But could not out of bashful delicacy;
While he that watched her sadden, was the more
Suspicious that her nature had a taint.
At last, it chanced that on a summer morn
(They sleeping each by either) the new sun
Beat through the blindless casement of the room,
And heated the strong warrior in his dreams;
Who, moving, cast the coverlet aside,
And bared the knotted column of his throat,
The massive square of his heroic breast,
And arms on which the standing muscle sloped,
As slopes a wild brook o'er a little stone,
Running too vehemently to break upon it.
And Enid woke and sat beside the couch,
Admiring him, and thought within herself,
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Was ever man so grandly made as he?
Then, like a shadow, past the people's talk
And accusation of uxoriousness
Across her mind, and bowing over him,
Low to her own heart piteously she said:
'O noble breast and all-puissant arms,
Am I the cause, I the poor cause that men
Reproach you, saying all your force is gone?
I AM the cause, because I dare not speak
And tell him what I think and what they say.
And yet I hate that he should linger here;
I cannot love my lord and not his name.
Far liefer had I gird his harness on him,
And ride with him to battle and stand by,
And watch his mightful hand striking great blows
At caitiffs and at wrongers of the world.
Far better were I laid in the dark earth,
Not hearing any more his noble voice,
Not to be folded more in these dear arms,
And darkened from the high light in his eyes,
Than that my lord through me should suffer shame.
Am I so bold, and could I so stand by,
And see my dear lord wounded in the strife,
And maybe pierced to death before mine eyes,
And yet not dare to tell him what I think,
And how men slur him, saying all his force
Is melted into mere effeminacy?
O me, I fear that I am no true wife.'
Half inwardly, half audibly she spoke,
And the strong passion in her made her weep
True tears upon his broad and naked breast,
And these awoke him, and by great mischance
He heard but fragments of her later words,
And that she feared she was not a true wife.
And then he thought, 'In spite of all my care,
For all my pains, poor man, for all my pains,
She is not faithful to me, and I see her
Weeping for some gay knight in Arthur's hall.'
Then though he loved and reverenced her too much
To dream she could be guilty of foul act,
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Right through his manful breast darted the pang
That makes a man, in the sweet face of her
Whom he loves most, lonely and miserable.
At this he hurled his huge limbs out of bed,
And shook his drowsy squire awake and cried,
'My charger and her palfrey;' then to her,
'I will ride forth into the wilderness;
For though it seems my spurs are yet to win,
I have not fallen so low as some would wish.
And thou, put on thy worst and meanest dress
And ride with me.' And Enid asked, amazed,
'If Enid errs, let Enid learn her fault.'
But he, 'I charge thee, ask not, but obey.'
Then she bethought her of a faded silk,
A faded mantle and a faded veil,
And moving toward a cedarn cabinet,
Wherein she kept them folded reverently
With sprigs of summer laid between the folds,
She took them, and arrayed herself therein,
Remembering when first he came on her
Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it,
And all her foolish fears about the dress,
And all his journey to her, as himself
Had told her, and their coming to the court.
For Arthur on the Whitsuntide before
Held court at old Caerleon upon Usk.
There on a day, he sitting high in hall,
Before him came a forester of Dean,
Wet from the woods, with notice of a hart
Taller than all his fellows, milky-white,
First seen that day: these things he told the King.
Then the good King gave order to let blow
His horns for hunting on the morrow morn.
And when the King petitioned for his leave
To see the hunt, allowed it easily.
So with the morning all the court were gone.
But Guinevere lay late into the morn,
Lost in sweet dreams, and dreaming of her love
For Lancelot, and forgetful of the hunt;
But rose at last, a single maiden with her,
Took horse, and forded Usk, and gained the wood;
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There, on a little knoll beside it, stayed
Waiting to hear the hounds; but heard instead
A sudden sound of hoofs, for Prince Geraint,
Late also, wearing neither hunting-dress
Nor weapon, save a golden-hilted brand,
Came quickly flashing through the shallow ford
Behind them, and so galloped up the knoll.
A purple scarf, at either end whereof
There swung an apple of the purest gold,
Swayed round about him, as he galloped up
To join them, glancing like a dragon-fly
In summer suit and silks of holiday.
Low bowed the tributary Prince, and she,
Sweet and statelily, and with all grace
Of womanhood and queenhood, answered him:
'Late, late, Sir Prince,' she said, 'later than we!'
'Yea, noble Queen,' he answered, 'and so late
That I but come like you to see the hunt,
Not join it.' 'Therefore wait with me,' she said;
'For on this little knoll, if anywhere,
There is good chance that we shall hear the hounds:
Here often they break covert at our feet.'
And while they listened for the distant hunt,
And chiefly for the baying of Cavall,
King Arthur's hound of deepest mouth, there rode
Full slowly by a knight, lady, and dwarf;
Whereof the dwarf lagged latest, and the knight
Had vizor up, and showed a youthful face,
Imperious, and of haughtiest lineaments.
And Guinevere, not mindful of his face
In the King's hall, desired his name, and sent
Her maiden to demand it of the dwarf;
Who being vicious, old and irritable,
And doubling all his master's vice of pride,
Made answer sharply that she should not know.
'Then will I ask it of himself,' she said.
'Nay, by my faith, thou shalt not,' cried the dwarf;
'Thou art not worthy even to speak of him;'
And when she put her horse toward the knight,
Struck at her with his whip, and she returned
Indignant to the Queen; whereat Geraint
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Exclaiming, 'Surely I will learn the name,'
Made sharply to the dwarf, and asked it of him,
Who answered as before; and when the Prince
Had put his horse in motion toward the knight,
Struck at him with his whip, and cut his cheek.
The Prince's blood spirted upon the scarf,
Dyeing it; and his quick, instinctive hand
Caught at the hilt, as to abolish him:
But he, from his exceeding manfulness
And pure nobility of temperament,
Wroth to be wroth at such a worm, refrained
From even a word, and so returning said:
'I will avenge this insult, noble Queen,
Done in your maiden's person to yourself:
And I will track this vermin to their earths:
For though I ride unarmed, I do not doubt
To find, at some place I shall come at, arms
On loan, or else for pledge; and, being found,
Then will I fight him, and will break his pride,
And on the third day will again be here,
So that I be not fallen in fight. Farewell.'
'Farewell, fair Prince,' answered the stately Queen.
'Be prosperous in this journey, as in all;
And may you light on all things that you love,
And live to wed with her whom first you love:
But ere you wed with any, bring your bride,
And I, were she the daughter of a king,
Yea, though she were a beggar from the hedge,
Will clothe her for her bridals like the sun.'
And Prince Geraint, now thinking that he heard
The noble hart at bay, now the far horn,
A little vext at losing of the hunt,
A little at the vile occasion, rode,
By ups and downs, through many a grassy glade
And valley, with fixt eye following the three.
At last they issued from the world of wood,
And climbed upon a fair and even ridge,
And showed themselves against the sky, and sank.
And thither there came Geraint, and underneath
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Beheld the long street of a little town
In a long valley, on one side whereof,
White from the mason's hand, a fortress rose;
And on one side a castle in decay,
Beyond a bridge that spanned a dry ravine:
And out of town and valley came a noise
As of a broad brook o'er a shingly bed
Brawling, or like a clamour of the rooks
At distance, ere they settle for the night.
And onward to the fortress rode the three,
And entered, and were lost behind the walls.
'So,' thought Geraint, 'I have tracked him to his earth.'
And down the long street riding wearily,
Found every hostel full, and everywhere
Was hammer laid to hoof, and the hot hiss
And bustling whistle of the youth who scoured
His master's armour; and of such a one
He asked, 'What means the tumult in the town?'
Who told him, scouring still, 'The sparrow-hawk!'
Then riding close behind an ancient churl,
Who, smitten by the dusty sloping beam,
Went sweating underneath a sack of corn,
Asked yet once more what meant the hubbub here?
Who answered gruffly, 'Ugh! the sparrow-hawk.'
Then riding further past an armourer's,
Who, with back turned, and bowed above his work,
Sat riveting a helmet on his knee,
He put the self-same query, but the man
Not turning round, nor looking at him, said:
'Friend, he that labours for the sparrow-hawk
Has little time for idle questioners.'
Whereat Geraint flashed into sudden spleen:
'A thousand pips eat up your sparrow-hawk!
Tits, wrens, and all winged nothings peck him dead!
Ye think the rustic cackle of your bourg
The murmur of the world! What is it to me?
O wretched set of sparrows, one and all,
Who pipe of nothing but of sparrow-hawks!
Speak, if ye be not like the rest, hawk-mad,
Where can I get me harbourage for the night?
And arms, arms, arms to fight my enemy? Speak!'
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Whereat the armourer turning all amazed
And seeing one so gay in purple silks,
Came forward with the helmet yet in hand
And answered, 'Pardon me, O stranger knight;
We hold a tourney here tomorrow morn,
And there is scantly time for half the work.
Arms? truth! I know not: all are wanted here.
Harbourage? truth, good truth, I know not, save,
It may be, at Earl Yniol's, o'er the bridge
Yonder.' He spoke and fell to work again.
Then rode Geraint, a little spleenful yet,
Across the bridge that spanned the dry ravine.
There musing sat the hoary-headed Earl,
(His dress a suit of frayed magnificence,
Once fit for feasts of ceremony) and said:
'Whither, fair son?' to whom Geraint replied,
'O friend, I seek a harbourage for the night.'
Then Yniol, 'Enter therefore and partake
The slender entertainment of a house
Once rich, now poor, but ever open-doored.'
'Thanks, venerable friend,' replied Geraint;
'So that ye do not serve me sparrow-hawks
For supper, I will enter, I will eat
With all the passion of a twelve hours' fast.'
Then sighed and smiled the hoary-headed Earl,
And answered, 'Graver cause than yours is mine
To curse this hedgerow thief, the sparrow-hawk:
But in, go in; for save yourself desire it,
We will not touch upon him even in jest.'
Then rode Geraint into the castle court,
His charger trampling many a prickly star
Of sprouted thistle on the broken stones.
He looked and saw that all was ruinous.
Here stood a shattered archway plumed with fern;
And here had fallen a great part of a tower,
Whole, like a crag that tumbles from the cliff,
And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers:
And high above a piece of turret stair,
Worn by the feet that now were silent, wound
Bare to the sun, and monstrous ivy-stems
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Claspt the gray walls with hairy-fibred arms,
And sucked the joining of the stones, and looked
A knot, beneath, of snakes, aloft, a grove.
And while he waited in the castle court,
The voice of Enid, Yniol's daughter, rang
Clear through the open casement of the hall,
Singing; and as the sweet voice of a bird,
Heard by the lander in a lonely isle,
Moves him to think what kind of bird it is
That sings so delicately clear, and make
Conjecture of the plumage and the form;
So the sweet voice of Enid moved Geraint;
And made him like a man abroad at morn
When first the liquid note beloved of men
Comes flying over many a windy wave
To Britain, and in April suddenly
Breaks from a coppice gemmed with green and red,
And he suspends his converse with a friend,
Or it may be the labour of his hands,
To think or say, 'There is the nightingale;'
So fared it with Geraint, who thought and said,
'Here, by God's grace, is the one voice for me.'
It chanced the song that Enid sang was one
Of Fortune and her wheel, and Enid sang:
'Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud;
Turn thy wild wheel through sunshine, storm, and cloud;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.
'Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown;
With that wild wheel we go not up or down;
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.
'Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands;
Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands;
For man is man and master of his fate.
'Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd;
Thy wheel and thou are shadows in the cloud;
Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.'
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'Hark, by the bird's song ye may learn the nest,'
Said Yniol; 'enter quickly.' Entering then,
Right o'er a mount of newly-fallen stones,
The dusky-raftered many-cobwebbed hall,
He found an ancient dame in dim brocade;
And near her, like a blossom vermeil-white,
That lightly breaks a faded flower-sheath,
Moved the fair Enid, all in faded silk,
Her daughter. In a moment thought Geraint,
'Here by God's rood is the one maid for me.'
But none spake word except the hoary Earl:
'Enid, the good knight's horse stands in the court;
Take him to stall, and give him corn, and then
Go to the town and buy us flesh and wine;
And we will make us merry as we may.
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.'
He spake: the Prince, as Enid past him, fain
To follow, strode a stride, but Yniol caught
His purple scarf, and held, and said, 'Forbear!
Rest! the good house, though ruined, O my son,
Endures not that her guest should serve himself.'
And reverencing the custom of the house
Geraint, from utter courtesy, forbore.
So Enid took his charger to the stall;
And after went her way across the bridge,
And reached the town, and while the Prince and Earl
Yet spoke together, came again with one,
A youth, that following with a costrel bore
The means of goodly welcome, flesh and wine.
And Enid brought sweet cakes to make them cheer,
And in her veil enfolded, manchet bread.
And then, because their hall must also serve
For kitchen, boiled the flesh, and spread the board,
And stood behind, and waited on the three.
And seeing her so sweet and serviceable,
Geraint had longing in him evermore
To stoop and kiss the tender little thumb,
That crost the trencher as she laid it down:
But after all had eaten, then Geraint,
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For now the wine made summer in his veins,
Let his eye rove in following, or rest
On Enid at her lowly handmaid-work,
Now here, now there, about the dusky hall;
Then suddenly addrest the hoary Earl:
'Fair Host and Earl, I pray your courtesy;
This sparrow-hawk, what is he? tell me of him.
His name? but no, good faith, I will not have it:
For if he be the knight whom late I saw
Ride into that new fortress by your town,
White from the mason's hand, then have I sworn
From his own lips to have it--I am Geraint
Of Devon--for this morning when the Queen
Sent her own maiden to demand the name,
His dwarf, a vicious under-shapen thing,
Struck at her with his whip, and she returned
Indignant to the Queen; and then I swore
That I would track this caitiff to his hold,
And fight and break his pride, and have it of him.
And all unarmed I rode, and thought to find
Arms in your town, where all the men are mad;
They take the rustic murmur of their bourg
For the great wave that echoes round the world;
They would not hear me speak: but if ye know
Where I can light on arms, or if yourself
Should have them, tell me, seeing I have sworn
That I will break his pride and learn his name,
Avenging this great insult done the Queen.'
Then cried Earl Yniol, 'Art thou he indeed,
Geraint, a name far-sounded among men
For noble deeds? and truly I, when first
I saw you moving by me on the bridge,
Felt ye were somewhat, yea, and by your state
And presence might have guessed you one of those
That eat in Arthur's hall in Camelot.
Nor speak I now from foolish flattery;
For this dear child hath often heard me praise
Your feats of arms, and often when I paused
Hath asked again, and ever loved to hear;
So grateful is the noise of noble deeds
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To noble hearts who see but acts of wrong:
O never yet had woman such a pair
Of suitors as this maiden: first Limours,
A creature wholly given to brawls and wine,
Drunk even when he wooed; and be he dead
I know not, but he past to the wild land.
The second was your foe, the sparrow-hawk,
My curse, my nephew--I will not let his name
Slip from my lips if I can help it--he,
When that I knew him fierce and turbulent
Refused her to him, then his pride awoke;
And since the proud man often is the mean,
He sowed a slander in the common ear,
Affirming that his father left him gold,
And in my charge, which was not rendered to him;
Bribed with large promises the men who served
About my person, the more easily
Because my means were somewhat broken into
Through open doors and hospitality;
Raised my own town against me in the night
Before my Enid's birthday, sacked my house;
From mine own earldom foully ousted me;
Built that new fort to overawe my friends,
For truly there are those who love me yet;
And keeps me in this ruinous castle here,
Where doubtless he would put me soon to death,
But that his pride too much despises me:
And I myself sometimes despise myself;
For I have let men be, and have their way;
Am much too gentle, have not used my power:
Nor know I whether I be very base
Or very manful, whether very wise
Or very foolish; only this I know,
That whatsoever evil happen to me,
I seem to suffer nothing heart or limb,
But can endure it all most patiently.'
'Well said, true heart,' replied Geraint, 'but arms,
That if the sparrow-hawk, this nephew, fight
In next day's tourney I may break his pride.'
And Yniol answered, 'Arms, indeed, but old
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And rusty, old and rusty, Prince Geraint,
Are mine, and therefore at thy asking, thine.
But in this tournament can no man tilt,
Except the lady he loves best be there.
Two forks are fixt into the meadow ground,
And over these is placed a silver wand,
And over that a golden sparrow-hawk,
The prize of beauty for the fairest there.
And this, what knight soever be in field
Lays claim to for the lady at his side,
And tilts with my good nephew thereupon,
Who being apt at arms and big of bone
Has ever won it for the lady with him,
And toppling over all antagonism
Has earned himself the name of sparrow-hawk.'
But thou, that hast no lady, canst not fight.'
To whom Geraint with eyes all bright replied,
Leaning a little toward him, 'Thy leave!
Let ME lay lance in rest, O noble host,
For this dear child, because I never saw,
Though having seen all beauties of our time,
Nor can see elsewhere, anything so fair.
And if I fall her name will yet remain
Untarnished as before; but if I live,
So aid me Heaven when at mine uttermost,
As I will make her truly my true wife.'
Then, howsoever patient, Yniol's heart
Danced in his bosom, seeing better days,
And looking round he saw not Enid there,
(Who hearing her own name had stolen away)
But that old dame, to whom full tenderly
And folding all her hand in his he said,
'Mother, a maiden is a tender thing,
And best by her that bore her understood.
Go thou to rest, but ere thou go to rest
Tell her, and prove her heart toward the Prince.'
So spake the kindly-hearted Earl, and she
With frequent smile and nod departing found,
Half disarrayed as to her rest, the girl;
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Whom first she kissed on either cheek, and then
On either shining shoulder laid a hand,
And kept her off and gazed upon her face,
And told them all their converse in the hall,
Proving her heart: but never light and shade
Coursed one another more on open ground
Beneath a troubled heaven, than red and pale
Across the face of Enid hearing her;
While slowly falling as a scale that falls,
When weight is added only grain by grain,
Sank her sweet head upon her gentle breast;
Nor did she lift an eye nor speak a word,
Rapt in the fear and in the wonder of it;
So moving without answer to her rest
She found no rest, and ever failed to draw
The quiet night into her blood, but lay
Contemplating her own unworthiness;
And when the pale and bloodless east began
To quicken to the sun, arose, and raised
Her mother too, and hand in hand they moved
Down to the meadow where the jousts were held,
And waited there for Yniol and Geraint.
And thither came the twain, and when Geraint
Beheld her first in field, awaiting him,
He felt, were she the prize of bodily force,
Himself beyond the rest pushing could move
The chair of Idris. Yniol's rusted arms
Were on his princely person, but through these
Princelike his bearing shone; and errant knights
And ladies came, and by and by the town
Flowed in, and settling circled all the lists.
And there they fixt the forks into the ground,
And over these they placed the silver wand,
And over that the golden sparrow-hawk.
Then Yniol's nephew, after trumpet blown,
Spake to the lady with him and proclaimed,
'Advance and take, as fairest of the fair,
What I these two years past have won for thee,
The prize of beauty.' Loudly spake the Prince,
'Forbear: there is a worthier,' and the knight
With some surprise and thrice as much disdain
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Turned, and beheld the four, and all his face
Glowed like the heart of a great fire at Yule,
So burnt he was with passion, crying out,
'Do battle for it then,' no more; and thrice
They clashed together, and thrice they brake their spears.
Then each, dishorsed and drawing, lashed at each
So often and with such blows, that all the crowd
Wondered, and now and then from distant walls
There came a clapping as of phantom hands.
So twice they fought, and twice they breathed, and still
The dew of their great labour, and the blood
Of their strong bodies, flowing, drained their force.
But either's force was matched till Yniol's cry,
'Remember that great insult done the Queen,'
Increased Geraint's, who heaved his blade aloft,
And cracked the helmet through, and bit the bone,
And felled him, and set foot upon his breast,
And said, 'Thy name?' To whom the fallen man
Made answer, groaning, 'Edyrn, son of Nudd!
Ashamed am I that I should tell it thee.
My pride is broken: men have seen my fall.'
'Then, Edyrn, son of Nudd,' replied Geraint,
'These two things shalt thou do, or else thou diest.
First, thou thyself, with damsel and with dwarf,
Shalt ride to Arthur's court, and coming there,
Crave pardon for that insult done the Queen,
And shalt abide her judgment on it; next,
Thou shalt give back their earldom to thy kin.
These two things shalt thou do, or thou shalt die.'
And Edyrn answered, 'These things will I do,
For I have never yet been overthrown,
And thou hast overthrown me, and my pride
Is broken down, for Enid sees my fall!'
And rising up, he rode to Arthur's court,
And there the Queen forgave him easily.
And being young, he changed and came to loathe
His crime of traitor, slowly drew himself
Bright from his old dark life, and fell at last
In the great battle fighting for the King.
But when the third day from the hunting-morn
Made a low splendour in the world, and wings
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Moved in her ivy, Enid, for she lay
With her fair head in the dim-yellow light,
Among the dancing shadows of the birds,
Woke and bethought her of her promise given
No later than last eve to Prince Geraint-So bent he seemed on going the third day,
He would not leave her, till her promise given-To ride with him this morning to the court,
And there be made known to the stately Queen,
And there be wedded with all ceremony.
At this she cast her eyes upon her dress,
And thought it never yet had looked so mean.
For as a leaf in mid-November is
To what it is in mid-October, seemed
The dress that now she looked on to the dress
She looked on ere the coming of Geraint.
And still she looked, and still the terror grew
Of that strange bright and dreadful thing, a court,
All staring at her in her faded silk:
And softly to her own sweet heart she said:
'This noble prince who won our earldom back,
So splendid in his acts and his attire,
Sweet heaven, how much I shall discredit him!
Would he could tarry with us here awhile,
But being so beholden to the Prince,
It were but little grace in any of us,
Bent as he seemed on going this third day,
To seek a second favour at his hands.
Yet if he could but tarry a day or two,
Myself would work eye dim, and finger lame,
Far liefer than so much discredit him.'
And Enid fell in longing for a dress
All branched and flowered with gold, a costly gift
Of her good mother, given her on the night
Before her birthday, three sad years ago,
That night of fire, when Edyrn sacked their house,
And scattered all they had to all the winds:
For while the mother showed it, and the two
Were turning and admiring it, the work
To both appeared so costly, rose a cry
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That Edyrn's men were on them, and they fled
With little save the jewels they had on,
Which being sold and sold had bought them bread:
And Edyrn's men had caught them in their flight,
And placed them in this ruin; and she wished
The Prince had found her in her ancient home;
Then let her fancy flit across the past,
And roam the goodly places that she knew;
And last bethought her how she used to watch,
Near that old home, a pool of golden carp;
And one was patched and blurred and lustreless
Among his burnished brethren of the pool;
And half asleep she made comparison
Of that and these to her own faded self
And the gay court, and fell asleep again;
And dreamt herself was such a faded form
Among her burnished sisters of the pool;
But this was in the garden of a king;
And though she lay dark in the pool, she knew
That all was bright; that all about were birds
Of sunny plume in gilded trellis-work;
That all the turf was rich in plots that looked
Each like a garnet or a turkis in it;
And lords and ladies of the high court went
In silver tissue talking things of state;
And children of the King in cloth of gold
Glanced at the doors or gamboled down the walks;
And while she thought 'They will not see me,' came
A stately queen whose name was Guinevere,
And all the children in their cloth of gold
Ran to her, crying, 'If we have fish at all
Let them be gold; and charge the gardeners now
To pick the faded creature from the pool,
And cast it on the mixen that it die.'
And therewithal one came and seized on her,
And Enid started waking, with her heart
All overshadowed by the foolish dream,
And lo! it was her mother grasping her
To get her well awake; and in her hand
A suit of bright apparel, which she laid
Flat on the couch, and spoke exultingly:
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'See here, my child, how fresh the colours look,
How fast they hold like colours of a shell
That keeps the wear and polish of the wave.
Why not? It never yet was worn, I trow:
Look on it, child, and tell me if ye know it.'
And Enid looked, but all confused at first,
Could scarce divide it from her foolish dream:
Then suddenly she knew it and rejoiced,
And answered, 'Yea, I know it; your good gift,
So sadly lost on that unhappy night;
Your own good gift!' 'Yea, surely,' said the dame,
'And gladly given again this happy morn.
For when the jousts were ended yesterday,
Went Yniol through the town, and everywhere
He found the sack and plunder of our house
All scattered through the houses of the town;
And gave command that all which once was ours
Should now be ours again: and yester-eve,
While ye were talking sweetly with your Prince,
Came one with this and laid it in my hand,
For love or fear, or seeking favour of us,
Because we have our earldom back again.
And yester-eve I would not tell you of it,
But kept it for a sweet surprise at morn.
Yea, truly is it not a sweet surprise?
For I myself unwillingly have worn
My faded suit, as you, my child, have yours,
And howsoever patient, Yniol his.
Ah, dear, he took me from a goodly house,
With store of rich apparel, sumptuous fare,
And page, and maid, and squire, and seneschal,
And pastime both of hawk and hound, and all
That appertains to noble maintenance.
Yea, and he brought me to a goodly house;
But since our fortune swerved from sun to shade,
And all through that young traitor, cruel need
Constrained us, but a better time has come;
So clothe yourself in this, that better fits
Our mended fortunes and a Prince's bride:
For though ye won the prize of fairest fair,
And though I heard him call you fairest fair,
678
Let never maiden think, however fair,
She is not fairer in new clothes than old.
And should some great court-lady say, the Prince
Hath picked a ragged-robin from the hedge,
And like a madman brought her to the court,
Then were ye shamed, and, worse, might shame the Prince
To whom we are beholden; but I know,
That when my dear child is set forth at her best,
That neither court nor country, though they sought
Through all the provinces like those of old
That lighted on Queen Esther, has her match.'
Here ceased the kindly mother out of breath;
And Enid listened brightening as she lay;
Then, as the white and glittering star of morn
Parts from a bank of snow, and by and by
Slips into golden cloud, the maiden rose,
And left her maiden couch, and robed herself,
Helped by the mother's careful hand and eye,
Without a mirror, in the gorgeous gown;
Who, after, turned her daughter round, and said,
She never yet had seen her half so fair;
And called her like that maiden in the tale,
Whom Gwydion made by glamour out of flowers
And sweeter than the bride of Cassivelaun,
Flur, for whose love the Roman Csar first
Invaded Britain, 'But we beat him back,
As this great Prince invaded us, and we,
Not beat him back, but welcomed him with joy
And I can scarcely ride with you to court,
For old am I, and rough the ways and wild;
But Yniol goes, and I full oft shall dream
I see my princess as I see her now,
Clothed with my gift, and gay among the gay.'
But while the women thus rejoiced, Geraint
Woke where he slept in the high hall, and called
For Enid, and when Yniol made report
Of that good mother making Enid gay
In such apparel as might well beseem
His princess, or indeed the stately Queen,
He answered: 'Earl, entreat her by my love,
679
Albeit I give no reason but my wish,
That she ride with me in her faded silk.'
Yniol with that hard message went; it fell
Like flaws in summer laying lusty corn:
For Enid, all abashed she knew not why,
Dared not to glance at her good mother's face,
But silently, in all obedience,
Her mother silent too, nor helping her,
Laid from her limbs the costly-broidered gift,
And robed them in her ancient suit again,
And so descended. Never man rejoiced
More than Geraint to greet her thus attired;
And glancing all at once as keenly at her
As careful robins eye the delver's toil,
Made her cheek burn and either eyelid fall,
But rested with her sweet face satisfied;
Then seeing cloud upon the mother's brow,
Her by both hands she caught, and sweetly said,
'O my new mother, be not wroth or grieved
At thy new son, for my petition to her.
When late I left Caerleon, our great Queen,
In words whose echo lasts, they were so sweet,
Made promise, that whatever bride I brought,
Herself would clothe her like the sun in Heaven.
Thereafter, when I reached this ruined hall,
Beholding one so bright in dark estate,
I vowed that could I gain her, our fair Queen,
No hand but hers, should make your Enid burst
Sunlike from cloud--and likewise thought perhaps,
That service done so graciously would bind
The two together; fain I would the two
Should love each other: how can Enid find
A nobler friend? Another thought was mine;
I came among you here so suddenly,
That though her gentle presence at the lists
Might well have served for proof that I was loved,
I doubted whether daughter's tenderness,
Or easy nature, might not let itself
Be moulded by your wishes for her weal;
Or whether some false sense in her own self
Of my contrasting brightness, overbore
680
Her fancy dwelling in this dusky hall;
And such a sense might make her long for court
And all its perilous glories: and I thought,
That could I someway prove such force in her
Linked with such love for me, that at a word
(No reason given her) she could cast aside
A splendour dear to women, new to her,
And therefore dearer; or if not so new,
Yet therefore tenfold dearer by the power
Of intermitted usage; then I felt
That I could rest, a rock in ebbs and flows,
Fixt on her faith. Now, therefore, I do rest,
A prophet certain of my prophecy,
That never shadow of mistrust can cross
Between us. Grant me pardon for my thoughts:
And for my strange petition I will make
Amends hereafter by some gaudy-day,
When your fair child shall wear your costly gift
Beside your own warm hearth, with, on her knees,
Who knows? another gift of the high God,
Which, maybe, shall have learned to lisp you thanks.'
He spoke: the mother smiled, but half in tears,
Then brought a mantle down and wrapt her in it,
And claspt and kissed her, and they rode away.
Now thrice that morning Guinevere had climbed
The giant tower, from whose high crest, they say,
Men saw the goodly hills of Somerset,
And white sails flying on the yellow sea;
But not to goodly hill or yellow sea
Looked the fair Queen, but up the vale of Usk,
By the flat meadow, till she saw them come;
And then descending met them at the gates,
Embraced her with all welcome as a friend,
And did her honour as the Prince's bride,
And clothed her for her bridals like the sun;
And all that week was old Caerleon gay,
For by the hands of Dubric, the high saint,
They twain were wedded with all ceremony.
And this was on the last year's Whitsuntide.
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But Enid ever kept the faded silk,
Remembering how first he came on her,
Drest in that dress, and how he loved her in it,
And all her foolish fears about the dress,
And all his journey toward her, as himself
Had told her, and their coming to the court.
And now this morning when he said to her,
'Put on your worst and meanest dress,' she found
And took it, and arrayed herself therein.
~ Alfred Lord Tennyson,#NFDB
163:Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
While yet our England was a wolfish den;
Before our forests heard the talk of men;
Before the first of Druids was a child;--
Long didst thou sit amid our regions wild
Rapt in a deep prophetic solitude.
There came an eastern voice of solemn mood:--
Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine,
Apollo's garland:--yet didst thou divine
Such home-bred glory, that they cry'd in vain,
"Come hither, Sister of the Island!" Plain
Spake fair Ausonia; and once more she spake
A higher summons:--still didst thou betake
Thee to thy native hopes. O thou hast won
A full accomplishment! The thing is done,
Which undone, these our latter days had risen
On barren souls. Great Muse, thou know'st what prison
Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets
Our spirit's wings: despondency besets
Our pillows; and the fresh to-morrow morn
Seems to give forth its light in very scorn
Of our dull, uninspired, snail-paced lives.
Long have I said, how happy he who shrives
To thee! But then I thought on poets gone,
And could not pray:nor can I now--so on
I move to the end in lowliness of heart.--
"Ah, woe is me! that I should fondly part
From my dear native land! Ah, foolish maid!
Glad was the hour, when, with thee, myriads bade
Adieu to Ganges and their pleasant fields!
To one so friendless the clear freshet yields
A bitter coolness, the ripe grape is sour:
Yet I would have, great gods! but one short hour
Of native airlet me but die at home."
Endymion to heaven's airy dome
Was offering up a hecatomb of vows,
When these words reach'd him. Whereupon he bows
His head through thorny-green entanglement
Of underwood, and to the sound is bent,
Anxious as hind towards her hidden fawn.
"Is no one near to help me? No fair dawn
Of life from charitable voice? No sweet saying
To set my dull and sadden'd spirit playing?
No hand to toy with mine? No lips so sweet
That I may worship them? No eyelids meet
To twinkle on my bosom? No one dies
Before me, till from these enslaving eyes
Redemption sparkles!I am sad and lost."
Thou, Carian lord, hadst better have been tost
Into a whirlpool. Vanish into air,
Warm mountaineer! for canst thou only bear
A woman's sigh alone and in distress?
See not her charms! Is Phoebe passionless?
Phoebe is fairer farO gaze no more:
Yet if thou wilt behold all beauty's store,
Behold her panting in the forest grass!
Do not those curls of glossy jet surpass
For tenderness the arms so idly lain
Amongst them? Feelest not a kindred pain,
To see such lovely eyes in swimming search
After some warm delight, that seems to perch
Dovelike in the dim cell lying beyond
Their upper lids?Hist! "O for Hermes' wand
To touch this flower into human shape!
That woodland Hyacinthus could escape
From his green prison, and here kneeling down
Call me his queen, his second life's fair crown!
Ah me, how I could love!My soul doth melt
For the unhappy youthLove! I have felt
So faint a kindness, such a meek surrender
To what my own full thoughts had made too tender,
That but for tears my life had fled away!
Ye deaf and senseless minutes of the day,
And thou, old forest, hold ye this for true,
There is no lightning, no authentic dew
But in the eye of love: there's not a sound,
Melodious howsoever, can confound
The heavens and earth in one to such a death
As doth the voice of love: there's not a breath
Will mingle kindly with the meadow air,
Till it has panted round, and stolen a share
Of passion from the heart!"
Upon a bough
He leant, wretched. He surely cannot now
Thirst for another love: O impious,
That he can even dream upon it thus!
Thought he, "Why am I not as are the dead,
Since to a woe like this I have been led
Through the dark earth, and through the wondrous sea?
Goddess! I love thee not the less: from thee
By Juno's smile I turn notno, no, no
While the great waters are at ebb and flow.
I have a triple soul! O fond pretence
For both, for both my love is so immense,
I feel my heart is cut in twain for them."
And so he groan'd, as one by beauty slain.
The lady's heart beat quick, and he could see
Her gentle bosom heave tumultuously.
He sprang from his green covert: there she lay,
Sweet as a muskrose upon new-made hay;
With all her limbs on tremble, and her eyes
Shut softly up alive. To speak he tries.
"Fair damsel, pity me! forgive that I
Thus violate thy bower's sanctity!
O pardon me, for I am full of grief
Grief born of thee, young angel! fairest thief!
Who stolen hast away the wings wherewith
I was to top the heavens. Dear maid, sith
Thou art my executioner, and I feel
Loving and hatred, misery and weal,
Will in a few short hours be nothing to me,
And all my story that much passion slew me;
Do smile upon the evening of my days:
And, for my tortur'd brain begins to craze,
Be thou my nurse; and let me understand
How dying I shall kiss that lily hand.
Dost weep for me? Then should I be content.
Scowl on, ye fates! until the firmament
Outblackens Erebus, and the full-cavern'd earth
Crumbles into itself. By the cloud girth
Of Jove, those tears have given me a thirst
To meet oblivion."As her heart would burst
The maiden sobb'd awhile, and then replied:
"Why must such desolation betide
As that thou speakest of? Are not these green nooks
Empty of all misfortune? Do the brooks
Utter a gorgon voice? Does yonder thrush,
Schooling its half-fledg'd little ones to brush
About the dewy forest, whisper tales?
Speak not of grief, young stranger, or cold snails
Will slime the rose to night. Though if thou wilt,
Methinks 'twould be a guilta very guilt
Not to companion thee, and sigh away
The lightthe duskthe darktill break of day!"
"Dear lady," said Endymion, "'tis past:
I love thee! and my days can never last.
That I may pass in patience still speak:
Let me have music dying, and I seek
No more delightI bid adieu to all.
Didst thou not after other climates call,
And murmur about Indian streams?"Then she,
Sitting beneath the midmost forest tree,
For pity sang this roundelay
"O Sorrow,
Why dost borrow
The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?
To give maiden blushes
To the white rose bushes?
Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips?
"O Sorrow,
Why dost borrow
The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?
To give the glow-worm light?
Or, on a moonless night,
To tinge, on syren shores, the salt sea-spry?
"O Sorrow,
Why dost borrow
The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue?
To give at evening pale
Unto the nightingale,
That thou mayst listen the cold dews among?
"O Sorrow,
Why dost borrow
Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?
A lover would not tread
A cowslip on the head,
Though he should dance from eve till peep of day
Nor any drooping flower
Held sacred for thy bower,
Wherever he may sport himself and play.
"To Sorrow
I bade good-morrow,
And thought to leave her far away behind;
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly;
She is so constant to me, and so kind:
I would deceive her
And so leave her,
But ah! she is so constant and so kind.
"Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,
I sat a weeping: in the whole world wide
There was no one to ask me why I wept,
And so I kept
Brimming the water-lily cups with tears
Cold as my fears.
"Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,
I sat a weeping: what enamour'd bride,
Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds,
But hides and shrouds
Beneath dark palm trees by a river side?
"And as I sat, over the light blue hills
There came a noise of revellers: the rills
Into the wide stream came of purple hue
'Twas Bacchus and his crew!
The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills
From kissing cymbals made a merry din
'Twas Bacchus and his kin!
Like to a moving vintage down they came,
Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame;
All madly dancing through the pleasant valley,
To scare thee, Melancholy!
O then, O then, thou wast a simple name!
And I forgot thee, as the berried holly
By shepherds is forgotten, when, in June,
Tall chesnuts keep away the sun and moon:
I rush'd into the folly!
"Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood,
Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood,
With sidelong laughing;
And little rills of crimson wine imbrued
His plump white arms, and shoulders, enough white
For Venus' pearly bite;
And near him rode Silenus on his ****,
Pelted with flowers as he on did pass
Tipsily quaffing.
"Whence came ye, merry Damsels! whence came ye!
So many, and so many, and such glee?
Why have ye left your bowers desolate,
Your lutes, and gentler fate?
We follow Bacchus! Bacchus on the wing?
A conquering!
Bacchus, young Bacchus! good or ill betide,
We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide:
Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
To our wild minstrelsy!'
"Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs! whence came ye!
So many, and so many, and such glee?
Why have ye left your forest haunts, why left
Your nuts in oak-tree cleft?
For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree;
For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms,
And cold mushrooms;
For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth;
Great God of breathless cups and chirping mirth!
Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
To our mad minstrelsy!'
"Over wide streams and mountains great we went,
And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy tent,
Onward the tiger and the leopard pants,
With Asian elephants:
Onward these myriadswith song and dance,
With zebras striped, and sleek Arabians' prance,
Web-footed alligators, crocodiles,
Bearing upon their scaly backs, in files,
Plump infant laughers mimicking the coil
Of seamen, and stout galley-rowers' toil:
With toying oars and silken sails they glide,
Nor care for wind and tide.
"Mounted on panthers' furs and lions' manes,
From rear to van they scour about the plains;
A three days' journey in a moment done:
And always, at the rising of the sun,
About the wilds they hunt with spear and horn,
On spleenful unicorn.
"I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adown
Before the vine-wreath crown!
I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and sing
To the silver cymbals' ring!
I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierce
Old Tartary the fierce!
The kings of Inde their jewel-sceptres vail,
And from their treasures scatter pearled hail;
Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans,
And all his priesthood moans;
Before young Bacchus' eye-wink turning pale.
Into these regions came I following him,
Sick hearted, wearyso I took a whim
To stray away into these forests drear
Alone, without a peer:
And I have told thee all thou mayest hear.
"Young stranger!
I've been a ranger
In search of pleasure throughout every clime:
Alas! 'tis not for me!
Bewitch'd I sure must be,
To lose in grieving all my maiden prime.
"Come then, Sorrow!
Sweetest Sorrow!
Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast:
I thought to leave thee
And deceive thee,
But now of all the world I love thee best.
"There is not one,
No, no, not one
But thee to comfort a poor lonely maid;
Thou art her mother,
And her brother,
Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade."
O what a sigh she gave in finishing,
And look, quite dead to every worldly thing!
Endymion could not speak, but gazed on her;
And listened to the wind that now did stir
About the crisped oaks full drearily,
Yet with as sweet a softness as might be
Remember'd from its velvet summer song.
At last he said: "Poor lady, how thus long
Have I been able to endure that voice?
Fair Melody! kind Syren! I've no choice;
I must be thy sad servant evermore:
I cannot choose but kneel here and adore.
Alas, I must not thinkby Phoebe, no!
Let me not think, soft Angel! shall it be so?
Say, beautifullest, shall I never think?
O thou could'st foster me beyond the brink
Of recollection! make my watchful care
Close up its bloodshot eyes, nor see despair!
Do gently murder half my soul, and I
Shall feel the other half so utterly!
I'm giddy at that cheek so fair and smooth;
O let it blush so ever! let it soothe
My madness! let it mantle rosy-warm
With the tinge of love, panting in safe alarm.
This cannot be thy hand, and yet it is;
And this is sure thine other softlingthis
Thine own fair bosom, and I am so near!
Wilt fall asleep? O let me sip that tear!
And whisper one sweet word that I may know
This is this worldsweet dewy blossom!"Woe!
Woe! Woe to that Endymion! Where is he?
Even these words went echoing dismally
Through the wide foresta most fearful tone,
Like one repenting in his latest moan;
And while it died away a shade pass'd by,
As of a thunder cloud. When arrows fly
Through the thick branches, poor ring-doves sleek forth
Their timid necks and tremble; so these both
Leant to each other trembling, and sat so
Waiting for some destructionwhen lo,
Foot-feather'd Mercury appear'd sublime
Beyond the tall tree tops; and in less time
Than shoots the slanted hail-storm, down he dropt
Towards the ground; but rested not, nor stopt
One moment from his home: only the sward
He with his wand light touch'd, and heavenward
Swifter than sight was goneeven before
The teeming earth a sudden witness bore
Of his swift magic. Diving swans appear
Above the crystal circlings white and clear;
And catch the cheated eye in wild surprise,
How they can dive in sight and unseen rise
So from the turf outsprang two steeds jet-black,
Each with large dark blue wings upon his back.
The youth of Caria plac'd the lovely dame
On one, and felt himself in spleen to tame
The other's fierceness. Through the air they flew,
High as the eagles. Like two drops of dew
Exhal'd to Phoebus' lips, away they are gone,
Far from the earth awayunseen, alone,
Among cool clouds and winds, but that the free,
The buoyant life of song can floating be
Above their heads, and follow them untir'd.
Muse of my native land, am I inspir'd?
This is the giddy air, and I must spread
Wide pinions to keep here; nor do I dread
Or height, or depth, or width, or any chance
Precipitous: I have beneath my glance
Those towering horses and their mournful freight.
Could I thus sail, and see, and thus await
Fearless for power of thought, without thine aid?
There is a sleepy dusk, an odorous shade
From some approaching wonder, and behold
Those winged steeds, with snorting nostrils bold
Snuff at its faint extreme, and seem to tire,
Dying to embers from their native fire!
There curl'd a purple mist around them; soon,
It seem'd as when around the pale new moon
Sad Zephyr droops the clouds like weeping willow:
'Twas Sleep slow journeying with head on pillow.
For the first time, since he came nigh dead born
From the old womb of night, his cave forlorn
Had he left more forlorn; for the first time,
He felt aloof the day and morning's prime
Because into his depth Cimmerian
There came a dream, shewing how a young man,
Ere a lean bat could plump its wintery skin,
Would at high Jove's empyreal footstool win
An immortality, and how espouse
Jove's daughter, and be reckon'd of his house.
Now was he slumbering towards heaven's gate,
That he might at the threshold one hour wait
To hear the marriage melodies, and then
Sink downward to his dusky cave again.
His litter of smooth semilucent mist,
Diversely ting'd with rose and amethyst,
Puzzled those eyes that for the centre sought;
And scarcely for one moment could be caught
His sluggish form reposing motionless.
Those two on winged steeds, with all the stress
Of vision search'd for him, as one would look
Athwart the sallows of a river nook
To catch a glance at silver throated eels,
Or from old Skiddaw's top, when fog conceals
His rugged forehead in a mantle pale,
With an eye-guess towards some pleasant vale
Descry a favourite hamlet faint and far.
These raven horses, though they foster'd are
Of earth's splenetic fire, dully drop
Their full-veined ears, nostrils blood wide, and stop;
Upon the spiritless mist have they outspread
Their ample feathers, are in slumber dead,
And on those pinions, level in mid air,
Endymion sleepeth and the lady fair.
Slowly they sail, slowly as icy isle
Upon a calm sea drifting: and meanwhile
The mournful wanderer dreams. Behold! he walks
On heaven's pavement; brotherly he talks
To divine powers: from his hand full fain
Juno's proud birds are pecking pearly grain:
He tries the nerve of Phoebus' golden bow,
And asketh where the golden apples grow:
Upon his arm he braces Pallas' shield,
And strives in vain to unsettle and wield
A Jovian thunderbolt: arch Hebe brings
A full-brimm'd goblet, dances lightly, sings
And tantalizes long; at last he drinks,
And lost in pleasure at her feet he sinks,
Touching with dazzled lips her starlight hand.
He blows a bugle,an ethereal band
Are visible above: the Seasons four,
Green-kyrtled Spring, flush Summer, golden store
In Autumn's sickle, Winter frosty hoar,
Join dance with shadowy Hours; while still the blast,
In swells unmitigated, still doth last
To sway their floating morris. "Whose is this?
Whose bugle?" he inquires: they smile"O Dis!
Why is this mortal here? Dost thou not know
Its mistress' lips? Not thou?'Tis Dian's: lo!
She rises crescented!" He looks, 'tis she,
His very goddess: good-bye earth, and sea,
And air, and pains, and care, and suffering;
Good-bye to all but love! Then doth he spring
Towards her, and awakesand, strange, o'erhead,
Of those same fragrant exhalations bred,
Beheld awake his very dream: the gods
Stood smiling; merry Hebe laughs and nods;
And Phoebe bends towards him crescented.
O state perplexing! On the pinion bed,
Too well awake, he feels the panting side
Of his delicious lady. He who died
For soaring too audacious in the sun,
Where that same treacherous wax began to run,
Felt not more tongue-tied than Endymion.
His heart leapt up as to its rightful throne,
To that fair shadow'd passion puls'd its way
Ah, what perplexity! Ah, well a day!
So fond, so beauteous was his bed-fellow,
He could not help but kiss her: then he grew
Awhile forgetful of all beauty save
Young Phoebe's, golden hair'd; and so 'gan crave
Forgiveness: yet he turn'd once more to look
At the sweet sleeper,all his soul was shook,
She press'd his hand in slumber; so once more
He could not help but kiss her and adore.
At this the shadow wept, melting away.
The Latmian started up: "Bright goddess, stay!
Search my most hidden breast! By truth's own tongue,
I have no ddale heart: why is it wrung
To desperation? Is there nought for me,
Upon the bourne of bliss, but misery?"
These words awoke the stranger of dark tresses:
Her dawning love-look rapt Endymion blesses
With 'haviour soft. Sleep yawned from underneath.
"Thou swan of Ganges, let us no more breathe
This murky phantasm! thou contented seem'st
Pillow'd in lovely idleness, nor dream'st
What horrors may discomfort thee and me.
Ah, shouldst thou die from my heart-treachery!
Yet did she merely weepher gentle soul
Hath no revenge in it: as it is whole
In tenderness, would I were whole in love!
Can I prize thee, fair maid, all price above,
Even when I feel as true as innocence?
I do, I do.What is this soul then? Whence
Came it? It does not seem my own, and I
Have no self-passion or identity.
Some fearful end must be: where, where is it?
By Nemesis, I see my spirit flit
Alone about the darkForgive me, sweet:
Shall we away?" He rous'd the steeds: they beat
Their wings chivalrous into the clear air,
Leaving old Sleep within his vapoury lair.
The good-night blush of eve was waning slow,
And Vesper, risen star, began to throe
In the dusk heavens silvery, when they
Thus sprang direct towards the Galaxy.
Nor did speed hinder converse soft and strange
Eternal oaths and vows they interchange,
In such wise, in such temper, so aloof
Up in the winds, beneath a starry roof,
So witless of their doom, that verily
'Tis well nigh past man's search their hearts to see;
Whether they wept, or laugh'd, or griev'd, or toy'd
Most like with joy gone mad, with sorrow cloy'd.
Full facing their swift flight, from ebon streak,
The moon put forth a little diamond peak,
No bigger than an unobserved star,
Or tiny point of fairy scymetar;
Bright signal that she only stoop'd to tie
Her silver sandals, ere deliciously
She bow'd into the heavens her timid head.
Slowly she rose, as though she would have fled,
While to his lady meek the Carian turn'd,
To mark if her dark eyes had yet discern'd
This beauty in its birthDespair! despair!
He saw her body fading gaunt and spare
In the cold moonshine. Straight he seiz'd her wrist;
It melted from his grasp: her hand he kiss'd,
And, horror! kiss'd his ownhe was alone.
Her steed a little higher soar'd, and then
Dropt hawkwise to the earth. There lies a den,
Beyond the seeming confines of the space
Made for the soul to wander in and trace
Its own existence, of remotest glooms.
Dark regions are around it, where the tombs
Of buried griefs the spirit sees, but scarce
One hour doth linger weeping, for the pierce
Of new-born woe it feels more inly smart:
And in these regions many a venom'd dart
At random flies; they are the proper home
Of every ill: the man is yet to come
Who hath not journeyed in this native hell.
But few have ever felt how calm and well
Sleep may be had in that deep den of all.
There anguish does not sting; nor pleasure pall:
Woe-hurricanes beat ever at the gate,
Yet all is still within and desolate.
Beset with painful gusts, within ye hear
No sound so loud as when on curtain'd bier
The death-watch tick is stifled. Enter none
Who strive therefore: on the sudden it is won.
Just when the sufferer begins to burn,
Then it is free to him; and from an urn,
Still fed by melting ice, he takes a draught
Young Semele such richness never quaft
In her maternal longing. Happy gloom!
Dark Paradise! where pale becomes the bloom
Of health by due; where silence dreariest
Is most articulate; where hopes infest;
Where those eyes are the brightest far that keep
Their lids shut longest in a dreamless sleep.
O happy spirit-home! O wondrous soul!
Pregnant with such a den to save the whole
In thine own depth. Hail, gentle Carian!
For, never since thy griefs and woes began,
Hast thou felt so content: a grievous feud
Hath let thee to this Cave of Quietude.
Aye, his lull'd soul was there, although upborne
With dangerous speed: and so he did not mourn
Because he knew not whither he was going.
So happy was he, not the aerial blowing
Of trumpets at clear parley from the east
Could rouse from that fine relish, that high feast.
They stung the feather'd horse: with fierce alarm
He flapp'd towards the sound. Alas, no charm
Could lift Endymion's head, or he had view'd
A skyey mask, a pinion'd multitude,
And silvery was its passing: voices sweet
Warbling the while as if to lull and greet
The wanderer in his path. Thus warbled they,
While past the vision went in bright array.
"Who, who from Dian's feast would be away?
For all the golden bowers of the day
Are empty left? Who, who away would be
From Cynthia's wedding and festivity?
Not Hesperus: lo! upon his silver wings
He leans away for highest heaven and sings,
Snapping his lucid fingers merrily!
Ah, Zephyrus! art here, and Flora too!
Ye tender bibbers of the rain and dew,
Young playmates of the rose and daffodil,
Be careful, ere ye enter in, to fill
Your baskets high
With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines,
Savory, latter-mint, and columbines,
Cool parsley, basil sweet, and sunny thyme;
Yea, every flower and leaf of every clime,
All gather'd in the dewy morning: hie
Away! fly, fly!
Crystalline brother of the belt of heaven,
Aquarius! to whom king Jove has given
Two liquid pulse streams 'stead of feather'd wings,
Two fan-like fountains,thine illuminings
For Dian play:
Dissolve the frozen purity of air;
Let thy white shoulders silvery and bare
Shew cold through watery pinions; make more bright
The Star-Queen's crescent on her marriage night:
Haste, haste away!
Castor has tamed the planet Lion, see!
And of the Bear has Pollux mastery:
A third is in the race! who is the third,
Speeding away swift as the eagle bird?
The ramping Centaur!
The Lion's mane's on end: the Bear how fierce!
The Centaur's arrow ready seems to pierce
Some enemy: far forth his bow is bent
Into the blue of heaven. He'll be shent,
Pale unrelentor,
When he shall hear the wedding lutes a playing.
Andromeda! sweet woman! why delaying
So timidly among the stars: come hither!
Join this bright throng, and nimbly follow whither
They all are going.
Danae's Son, before Jove newly bow'd,
Has wept for thee, calling to Jove aloud.
Thee, gentle lady, did he disenthral:
Ye shall for ever live and love, for all
Thy tears are flowing.
By Daphne's fright, behold Apollo!"
More
Endymion heard not: down his steed him bore,
Prone to the green head of a misty hill.
His first touch of the earth went nigh to kill.
"Alas!" said he, "were I but always borne
Through dangerous winds, had but my footsteps worn
A path in hell, for ever would I bless
Horrors which nourish an uneasiness
For my own sullen conquering: to him
Who lives beyond earth's boundary, grief is dim,
Sorrow is but a shadow: now I see
The grass; I feel the solid groundAh, me!
It is thy voicedivinest! Where?who? who
Left thee so quiet on this bed of dew?
Behold upon this happy earth we are;
Let us ay love each other; let us fare
On forest-fruits, and never, never go
Among the abodes of mortals here below,
Or be by phantoms duped. O destiny!
Into a labyrinth now my soul would fly,
But with thy beauty will I deaden it.
Where didst thou melt too? By thee will I sit
For ever: let our fate stop herea kid
I on this spot will offer: Pan will bid
Us live in peace, in love and peace among
His forest wildernesses. I have clung
To nothing, lov'd a nothing, nothing seen
Or felt but a great dream! O I have been
Presumptuous against love, against the sky,
Against all elements, against the tie
Of mortals each to each, against the blooms
Of flowers, rush of rivers, and the tombs
Of heroes gone! Against his proper glory
Has my own soul conspired: so my story
Will I to children utter, and repent.
There never liv'd a mortal man, who bent
His appetite beyond his natural sphere,
But starv'd and died. My sweetest Indian, here,
Here will I kneel, for thou redeemed hast
My life from too thin breathing: gone and past
Are cloudy phantasms. Caverns lone, farewel!
And air of visions, and the monstrous swell
Of visionary seas! No, never more
Shall airy voices cheat me to the shore
Of tangled wonder, breathless and aghast.
Adieu, my daintiest Dream! although so vast
My love is still for thee. The hour may come
When we shall meet in pure elysium.
On earth I may not love thee; and therefore
Doves will I offer up, and sweetest store
All through the teeming year: so thou wilt shine
On me, and on this damsel fair of mine,
And bless our simple lives. My Indian bliss!
My river-lily bud! one human kiss!
One sigh of real breathone gentle squeeze,
Warm as a dove's nest among summer trees,
And warm with dew at ooze from living blood!
Whither didst melt? Ah, what of that!all good
We'll talk aboutno more of dreaming.Now,
Where shall our dwelling be? Under the brow
Of some steep mossy hill, where ivy dun
Would hide us up, although spring leaves were none;
And where dark yew trees, as we rustle through,
Will drop their scarlet berry cups of dew?
O thou wouldst joy to live in such a place;
Dusk for our loves, yet light enough to grace
Those gentle limbs on mossy bed reclin'd:
For by one step the blue sky shouldst thou find,
And by another, in deep dell below,
See, through the trees, a little river go
All in its mid-day gold and glimmering.
Honey from out the gnarled hive I'll bring,
And apples, wan with sweetness, gather thee,
Cresses that grow where no man may them see,
And sorrel untorn by the dew-claw'd stag:
Pipes will I fashion of the syrinx flag,
That thou mayst always know whither I roam,
When it shall please thee in our quiet home
To listen and think of love. Still let me speak;
Still let me dive into the joy I seek,
For yet the past doth prison me. The rill,
Thou haply mayst delight in, will I fill
With fairy fishes from the mountain tarn,
And thou shalt feed them from the squirrel's barn.
Its bottom will I strew with amber shells,
And pebbles blue from deep enchanted wells.
Its sides I'll plant with dew-sweet eglantine,
And honeysuckles full of clear bee-wine.
I will entice this crystal rill to trace
Love's silver name upon the meadow's face.
I'll kneel to Vesta, for a flame of fire;
And to god Phoebus, for a golden lyre;
To Empress Dian, for a hunting spear;
To Vesper, for a taper silver-clear,
That I may see thy beauty through the night;
To Flora, and a nightingale shall light
Tame on thy finger; to the River-gods,
And they shall bring thee taper fishing-rods
Of gold, and lines of Naiads' long bright tress.
Heaven shield thee for thine utter loveliness!
Thy mossy footstool shall the altar be
'Fore which I'll bend, bending, dear love, to thee:
Those lips shall be my Delphos, and shall speak
Laws to my footsteps, colour to my cheek,
Trembling or stedfastness to this same voice,
And of three sweetest pleasurings the choice:
And that affectionate light, those diamond things,
Those eyes, those passions, those supreme pearl springs,
Shall be my grief, or twinkle me to pleasure.
Say, is not bliss within our perfect seisure?
O that I could not doubt?"
The mountaineer
Thus strove by fancies vain and crude to clear
His briar'd path to some tranquillity.
It gave bright gladness to his lady's eye,
And yet the tears she wept were tears of sorrow;
Answering thus, just as the golden morrow
Beam'd upward from the vallies of the east:
"O that the flutter of this heart had ceas'd,
Or the sweet name of love had pass'd away.
Young feather'd tyrant! by a swift decay
Wilt thou devote this body to the earth:
And I do think that at my very birth
I lisp'd thy blooming titles inwardly;
For at the first, first dawn and thought of thee,
With uplift hands I blest the stars of heaven.
Art thou not cruel? Ever have I striven
To think thee kind, but ah, it will not do!
When yet a child, I heard that kisses drew
Favour from thee, and so I kisses gave
To the void air, bidding them find out love:
But when I came to feel how far above
All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood,
All earthly pleasure, all imagin'd good,
Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss,
Even then, that moment, at the thought of this,
Fainting I fell into a bed of flowers,
And languish'd there three days. Ye milder powers,
Am I not cruelly wrong'd? Believe, believe
Me, dear Endymion, were I to weave
With my own fancies garlands of sweet life,
Thou shouldst be one of all. Ah, bitter strife!
I may not be thy love: I am forbidden
Indeed I amthwarted, affrighted, chidden,
By things I trembled at, and gorgon wrath.
Twice hast thou ask'd whither I went: henceforth
Ask me no more! I may not utter it,
Nor may I be thy love. We might commit
Ourselves at once to vengeance; we might die;
We might embrace and die: voluptuous thought!
Enlarge not to my hunger, or I'm caught
In trammels of perverse deliciousness.
No, no, that shall not be: thee will I bless,
And bid a long adieu."
The Carian
No word return'd: both lovelorn, silent, wan,
Into the vallies green together went.
Far wandering, they were perforce content
To sit beneath a fair lone beechen tree;
Nor at each other gaz'd, but heavily
Por'd on its hazle cirque of shedded leaves.
Endymion! unhappy! it nigh grieves
Me to behold thee thus in last extreme:
Ensky'd ere this, but truly that I deem
Truth the best music in a first-born song.
Thy lute-voic'd brother will I sing ere long,
And thou shalt aidhast thou not aided me?
Yes, moonlight Emperor! felicity
Has been thy meed for many thousand years;
Yet often have I, on the brink of tears,
Mourn'd as if yet thou wert a forester,
Forgetting the old tale.
He did not stir
His eyes from the dead leaves, or one small pulse
Of joy he might have felt. The spirit culls
Unfaded amaranth, when wild it strays
Through the old garden-ground of boyish days.
A little onward ran the very stream
By which he took his first soft poppy dream;
And on the very bark 'gainst which he leant
A crescent he had carv'd, and round it spent
His skill in little stars. The teeming tree
Had swollen and green'd the pious charactery,
But not ta'en out. Why, there was not a slope
Up which he had not fear'd the antelope;
And not a tree, beneath whose rooty shade
He had not with his tamed leopards play'd.
Nor could an arrow light, or javelin,
Fly in the air where his had never been
And yet he knew it not.
O treachery!
Why does his lady smile, pleasing her eye
With all his sorrowing? He sees her not.
But who so stares on him? His sister sure!
Peona of the woods!Can she endure
Impossiblehow dearly they embrace!
His lady smiles; delight is in her face;
It is no treachery.
"Dear brother mine!
Endymion, weep not so! Why shouldst thou pine
When all great Latmos so exalt wilt be?
Thank the great gods, and look not bitterly;
And speak not one pale word, and sigh no more.
Sure I will not believe thou hast such store
Of grief, to last thee to my kiss again.
Thou surely canst not bear a mind in pain,
Come hand in hand with one so beautiful.
Be happy both of you! for I will pull
The flowers of autumn for your coronals.
Pan's holy priest for young Endymion calls;
And when he is restor'd, thou, fairest dame,
Shalt be our queen. Now, is it not a shame
To see ye thus,not very, very sad?
Perhaps ye are too happy to be glad:
O feel as if it were a common day;
Free-voic'd as one who never was away.
No tongue shall ask, whence come ye? but ye shall
Be gods of your own rest imperial.
Not even I, for one whole month, will pry
Into the hours that have pass'd us by,
Since in my arbour I did sing to thee.
O Hermes! on this very night will be
A hymning up to Cynthia, queen of light;
For the soothsayers old saw yesternight
Good visions in the air,whence will befal,
As say these sages, health perpetual
To shepherds and their flocks; and furthermore,
In Dian's face they read the gentle lore:
Therefore for her these vesper-carols are.
Our friends will all be there from nigh and far.
Many upon thy death have ditties made;
And many, even now, their foreheads shade
With cypress, on a day of sacrifice.
New singing for our maids shalt thou devise,
And pluck the sorrow from our huntsmen's brows.
Tell me, my lady-queen, how to espouse
This wayward brother to his rightful joys!
His eyes are on thee bent, as thou didst poise
His fate most goddess-like. Help me, I pray,
To lureEndymion, dear brother, say
What ails thee?" He could bear no more, and so
Bent his soul fiercely like a spiritual bow,
And twang'd it inwardly, and calmly said:
"I would have thee my only friend, sweet maid!
My only visitor! not ignorant though,
That those deceptions which for pleasure go
'Mong men, are pleasures real as real may be:
But there are higher ones I may not see,
If impiously an earthly realm I take.
Since I saw thee, I have been wide awake
Night after night, and day by day, until
Of the empyrean I have drunk my fill.
Let it content thee, Sister, seeing me
More happy than betides mortality.
A hermit young, I'll live in mossy cave,
Where thou alone shalt come to me, and lave
Thy spirit in the wonders I shall tell.
Through me the shepherd realm shall prosper well;
For to thy tongue will I all health confide.
And, for my sake, let this young maid abide
With thee as a dear sister. Thou alone,
Peona, mayst return to me. I own
This may sound strangely: but when, dearest girl,
Thou seest it for my happiness, no pearl
Will trespass down those cheeks. Companion fair!
Wilt be content to dwell with her, to share
This sister's love with me?" Like one resign'd
And bent by circumstance, and thereby blind
In self-commitment, thus that meek unknown:
"Aye, but a buzzing by my ears has flown,
Of jubilee to Dian:truth I heard!
Well then, I see there is no little bird,
Tender soever, but is Jove's own care.
Long have I sought for rest, and, unaware,
Behold I find it! so exalted too!
So after my own heart! I knew, I knew
There was a place untenanted in it:
In that same void white Chastity shall sit,
And monitor me nightly to lone slumber.
With sanest lips I vow me to the number
Of Dian's sisterhood; and, kind lady,
With thy good help, this very night shall see
My future days to her fane consecrate."
As feels a dreamer what doth most create
His own particular fright, so these three felt:
Or like one who, in after ages, knelt
To Lucifer or Baal, when he'd pine
After a little sleep: or when in mine
Far under-ground, a sleeper meets his friends
Who know him not. Each diligently bends
Towards common thoughts and things for very fear;
Striving their ghastly malady to cheer,
By thinking it a thing of yes and no,
That housewives talk of. But the spirit-blow
Was struck, and all were dreamers. At the last
Endymion said: "Are not our fates all cast?
Why stand we here? Adieu, ye tender pair!
Adieu!" Whereat those maidens, with wild stare,
Walk'd dizzily away. Pained and hot
His eyes went after them, until they got
Near to a cypress grove, whose deadly maw,
In one swift moment, would what then he saw
Engulph for ever. "Stay!" he cried, "ah, stay!
Turn, damsels! hist! one word I have to say.
Sweet Indian, I would see thee once again.
It is a thing I dote on: so I'd fain,
Peona, ye should hand in hand repair
Into those holy groves, that silent are
Behind great Dian's temple. I'll be yon,
At vesper's earliest twinklethey are gone
But once, once, once again" At this he press'd
His hands against his face, and then did rest
His head upon a mossy hillock green,
And so remain'd as he a corpse had been
All the long day; save when he scantly lifted
His eyes abroad, to see how shadows shifted
With the slow move of time,sluggish and weary
Until the poplar tops, in journey dreary,
Had reach'd the river's brim. Then up he rose,
And, slowly as that very river flows,
Walk'd towards the temple grove with this lament:
"Why such a golden eve? The breeze is sent
Careful and soft, that not a leaf may fall
Before the serene father of them all
Bows down his summer head below the west.
Now am I of breath, speech, and speed possest,
But at the setting I must bid adieu
To her for the last time. Night will strew
On the damp grass myriads of lingering leaves,
And with them shall I die; nor much it grieves
To die, when summer dies on the cold sward.
Why, I have been a butterfly, a lord
Of flowers, garlands, love-knots, silly posies,
Groves, meadows, melodies, and arbour roses;
My kingdom's at its death, and just it is
That I should die with it: so in all this
We miscal grief, bale, sorrow, heartbreak, woe,
What is there to plain of? By Titan's foe
I am but rightly serv'd." So saying, he
Tripp'd lightly on, in sort of deathful glee;
Laughing at the clear stream and setting sun,
As though they jests had been: nor had he done
His laugh at nature's holy countenance,
Until that grove appear'd, as if perchance,
And then his tongue with sober seemlihed
Gave utterance as he entered: "Ha!" I said,
"King of the butterflies; but by this gloom,
And by old Rhadamanthus' tongue of doom,
This dusk religion, pomp of solitude,
And the Promethean clay by thief endued,
By old Saturnus' forelock, by his head
Shook with eternal palsy, I did wed
Myself to things of light from infancy;
And thus to be cast out, thus lorn to die,
Is sure enough to make a mortal man
Grow impious." So he inwardly began
On things for which no wording can be found;
Deeper and deeper sinking, until drown'd
Beyond the reach of music: for the choir
Of Cynthia he heard not, though rough briar
Nor muffling thicket interpos'd to dull
The vesper hymn, far swollen, soft and full,
Through the dark pillars of those sylvan aisles.
He saw not the two maidens, nor their smiles,
Wan as primroses gather'd at midnight
By chilly finger'd spring. "Unhappy wight!
Endymion!" said Peona, "we are here!
What wouldst thou ere we all are laid on bier?"
Then he embrac'd her, and his lady's hand
Press'd, saying:" Sister, I would have command,
If it were heaven's will, on our sad fate."
At which that dark-eyed stranger stood elate
And said, in a new voice, but sweet as love,
To Endymion's amaze: "By Cupid's dove,
And so thou shalt! and by the lily truth
Of my own breast thou shalt, beloved youth!"
And as she spake, into her face there came
Light, as reflected from a silver flame:
Her long black hair swell'd ampler, in display
Full golden; in her eyes a brighter day
Dawn'd blue and full of love. Aye, he beheld
Phoebe, his passion! joyous she upheld
Her lucid bow, continuing thus; "Drear, drear
Has our delaying been; but foolish fear
Withheld me first; and then decrees of fate;
And then 'twas fit that from this mortal state
Thou shouldst, my love, by some unlook'd for change
Be spiritualiz'd. Peona, we shall range
These forests, and to thee they safe shall be
As was thy cradle; hither shalt thou flee
To meet us many a time." Next Cynthia bright
Peona kiss'd, and bless'd with fair good night:
Her brother kiss'd her too, and knelt adown
Before his goddess, in a blissful swoon.
She gave her fair hands to him, and behold,
Before three swiftest kisses he had told,
They vanish'd far away!Peona went
Home through the gloomy wood in wonderment.
(line 2): This line originally began with 'O Mountain-born in the draft, where also 'while' stands cancelled in favour of 'by.'
(line 158): Keats has been supposed to have invented the variant 'spry' for 'spray' for convenience of rhyming, just as Shelley has been accused of inventing for like reasons the word 'uprest', for example, in Laon And Cythna, Canto III, Stanza xxi. Sandys, the translator of Ovid, may not be a very good authority; but he is not improbably Keats's authority for 'spry', and will certainly do in default of a better.
(line 273): The biblical dissyllabic form 'mayest' is clearly used by deliberate preference, for the line originally stood thus in the draft :
And I have told thee all that thou canst hear.
(line 298): Remember'd from its velvet summer song : The gentleness of summer wind seems to have been a cherished idea with Keats. Compare with Sleep And Poetry, line 1 --
'What is more gentle than a wind in summer?'
(line 585): This was originally a short line consisting of the words "Thine illuminings" alone. The whole stanza, ... was sent by Keats to his friend Baily for his "vote, pro or con," in a letter dated the 22nd of November 1817.
(line 668): An imagination in which Hunt would have found it difficult to discover the reality; but probably Keats had never seen the miserable platform of dry twigs that serves for "a dove's nest among summer trees."
(line 672): Endymion's imaginary home and employments as pictured in the next fifty lines may be compared with Shelley's AEgean island described so wonderfully in Epipsychidion. Both passages are thoroughly characteristic; and they show the divergence between the modes of thought and sentiment of the two men in a very marked way.
(line 885-86): A curious importation from Hebrew theology into a subject from Greek mythology. Compare St. Matthew, X, 29: "Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father." Or, as made familiar to our childhood by the popular hymn-wright,---
'A little sparrow cannot fall,
Unnoticed, Lord, by Thee.'
In the finished manuscript the word "kist" occurs twice instead of "kiss'd" as in the first edition; but "bless'd" is not similarly transformed to "blest."
At the end of the draft Keats wrote "Burford Bridge Nov. 28, 1817--".
The imprint of Endymion is as follows:-- T. Miller, Printer, Noble Street, Cheapside. by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
~ John Keats, Endymion - Book IV
,#NFDB
164:There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen
Their baaing vanities, to browse away
The comfortable green and juicy hay
From human pastures; or, O torturing fact!
Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack'd
Fire-branded foxes to sear up and singe
Our gold and ripe-ear'd hopes. With not one tinge
Of sanctuary splendour, not a sight
Able to face an owl's, they still are dight
By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests,
And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts,
Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mount
To their spirit's perch, their being's high account,
Their tiptop nothings, their dull skies, their thrones
Amid the fierce intoxicating tones
Of trumpets, shoutings, and belabour'd drums,
And sudden cannon. Ah! how all this hums,
In wakeful ears, like uproar past and gone
Like thunder clouds that spake to Babylon,
And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks.
Are then regalities all gilded masks?
No, there are throned seats unscalable
But by a patient wing, a constant spell,
Or by ethereal things that, unconfin'd,
Can make a ladder of the eternal wind,
And poise about in cloudy thunder-tents
To watch the abysm-birth of elements.
Aye, 'bove the withering of old-lipp'd Fate
A thousand Powers keep religious state,
In water, fiery realm, and airy bourne;
And, silent as a consecrated urn,
Hold sphery sessions for a season due.
Yet few of these far majesties, ah, few!
Have bared their operations to this globe
Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe
Our piece of heavenwhose benevolence
Shakes hand with our own Ceres; every sense
Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude,
As bees gorge full their cells. And, by the feud
'Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear,
Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair
Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest.
When thy gold breath is misting in the west,
She unobserved steals unto her throne,
And there she sits most meek and most alone;
As if she had not pomp subservient;
As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent
Towards her with the Muses in thine heart;
As if the ministring stars kept not apart,
Waiting for silver-footed messages.
O Moon! the oldest shades 'mong oldest trees
Feel palpitations when thou lookest in:
O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din
The while they feel thine airy fellowship.
Thou dost bless every where, with silver lip
Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine,
Couched in thy brightness, dream of fields divine:
Innumerable mountains rise, and rise,
Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes;
And yet thy benediction passeth not
One obscure hiding-place, one little spot
Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren
Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken,
And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf
Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief
To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps
Within its pearly house.The mighty deeps,
The monstrous sea is thinethe myriad sea!
O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee,
And Tellus feels his forehead's cumbrous load.
Cynthia! where art thou now? What far abode
Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine
Such utmost beauty? Alas, thou dost pine
For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale
For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail
His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost thou sigh?
Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper's eye,
Or what a thing is love! 'Tis She, but lo!
How chang'd, how full of ache, how gone in woe!
She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness
Is wan on Neptune's blue: yet there's a stress
Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees,
Dancing upon the waves, as if to please
The curly foam with amorous influence.
O, not so idle: for down-glancing thence
She fathoms eddies, and runs wild about
O'erwhelming water-courses; scaring out
The thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and fright'ning
Their savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning.
Where will the splendor be content to reach?
O love! how potent hast thou been to teach
Strange journeyings! Wherever beauty dwells,
In gulf or aerie, mountains or deep dells,
In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun,
Thou pointest out the way, and straight 'tis won.
Amid his toil thou gav'st Leander breath;
Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death;
Thou madest Pluto bear thin element;
And now, O winged Chieftain! thou hast sent
A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world,
To find Endymion.
On gold sand impearl'd
With lily shells, and pebbles milky white,
Poor Cynthia greeted him, and sooth'd her light
Against his pallid face: he felt the charm
To breathlessness, and suddenly a warm
Of his heart's blood: 'twas very sweet; he stay'd
His wandering steps, and half-entranced laid
His head upon a tuft of straggling weeds,
To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads,
Lashed from the crystal roof by fishes' tails.
And so he kept, until the rosy veils
Mantling the east, by Aurora's peering hand
Were lifted from the water's breast, and fann'd
Into sweet air; and sober'd morning came
Meekly through billows:when like taper-flame
Left sudden by a dallying breath of air,
He rose in silence, and once more 'gan fare
Along his fated way.
Far had he roam'd,
With nothing save the hollow vast, that foam'd
Above, around, and at his feet; save things
More dead than Morpheus' imaginings:
Old rusted anchors, helmets, breast-plates large
Of gone sea-warriors; brazen beaks and targe;
Rudders that for a hundred years had lost
The sway of human hand; gold vase emboss'd
With long-forgotten story, and wherein
No reveller had ever dipp'd a chin
But those of Saturn's vintage; mouldering scrolls,
Writ in the tongue of heaven, by those souls
Who first were on the earth; and sculptures rude
In ponderous stone, developing the mood
Of ancient Nox;then skeletons of man,
Of beast, behemoth, and leviathan,
And elephant, and eagle, and huge jaw
Of nameless monster. A cold leaden awe
These secrets struck into him; and unless
Dian had chaced away that heaviness,
He might have died: but now, with cheered feel,
He onward kept; wooing these thoughts to steal
About the labyrinth in his soul of love.
"What is there in thee, Moon! that thou shouldst move
My heart so potently? When yet a child
I oft have dried my tears when thou hast smil'd.
Thou seem'dst my sister: hand in hand we went
From eve to morn across the firmament.
No apples would I gather from the tree,
Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks deliciously:
No tumbling water ever spake romance,
But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance:
No woods were green enough, no bower divine,
Until thou liftedst up thine eyelids fine:
In sowing time ne'er would I dibble take,
Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake;
And, in the summer tide of blossoming,
No one but thee hath heard me blithly sing
And mesh my dewy flowers all the night.
No melody was like a passing spright
If it went not to solemnize thy reign.
Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain
By thee were fashion'd to the self-same end;
And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend
With all my ardours: thou wast the deep glen;
Thou wast the mountain-topthe sage's pen
The poet's harpthe voice of friendsthe sun;
Thou wast the riverthou wast glory won;
Thou wast my clarion's blastthou wast my steed
My goblet full of winemy topmost deed:
Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon!
O what a wild and harmonized tune
My spirit struck from all the beautiful!
On some bright essence could I lean, and lull
Myself to immortality: I prest
Nature's soft pillow in a wakeful rest.
But, gentle Orb! there came a nearer bliss
My strange love cameFelicity's abyss!
She came, and thou didst fade, and fade away
Yet not entirely; no, thy starry sway
Has been an under-passion to this hour.
Now I begin to feel thine orby power
Is coming fresh upon me: O be kind,
Keep back thine influence, and do not blind
My sovereign vision.Dearest love, forgive
That I can think away from thee and live!
Pardon me, airy planet, that I prize
One thought beyond thine argent luxuries!
How far beyond!" At this a surpris'd start
Frosted the springing verdure of his heart;
For as he lifted up his eyes to swear
How his own goddess was past all things fair,
He saw far in the concave green of the sea
An old man sitting calm and peacefully.
Upon a weeded rock this old man sat,
And his white hair was awful, and a mat
Of weeds were cold beneath his cold thin feet;
And, ample as the largest winding-sheet,
A cloak of blue wrapp'd up his aged bones,
O'erwrought with symbols by the deepest groans
Of ambitious magic: every ocean-form
Was woven in with black distinctness; storm,
And calm, and whispering, and hideous roar
Were emblem'd in the woof; with every shape
That skims, or dives, or sleeps, 'twixt cape and cape.
The gulphing whale was like a dot in the spell,
Yet look upon it, and 'twould size and swell
To its huge self; and the minutest fish
Would pass the very hardest gazer's wish,
And show his little eye's anatomy.
Then there was pictur'd the regality
Of Neptune; and the sea nymphs round his state,
In beauteous vassalage, look up and wait.
Beside this old man lay a pearly wand,
And in his lap a book, the which he conn'd
So stedfastly, that the new denizen
Had time to keep him in amazed ken,
To mark these shadowings, and stand in awe.
The old man rais'd his hoary head and saw
The wilder'd strangerseeming not to see,
His features were so lifeless. Suddenly
He woke as from a trance; his snow-white brows
Went arching up, and like two magic ploughs
Furrow'd deep wrinkles in his forehead large,
Which kept as fixedly as rocky marge,
Till round his wither'd lips had gone a smile.
Then up he rose, like one whose tedious toil
Had watch'd for years in forlorn hermitage,
Who had not from mid-life to utmost age
Eas'd in one accent his o'er-burden'd soul,
Even to the trees. He rose: he grasp'd his stole,
With convuls'd clenches waving it abroad,
And in a voice of solemn joy, that aw'd
Echo into oblivion, he said:
"Thou art the man! Now shall I lay my head
In peace upon my watery pillow: now
Sleep will come smoothly to my weary brow.
O Jove! I shall be young again, be young!
O shell-borne Neptune, I am pierc'd and stung
With new-born life! What shall I do? Where go,
When I have cast this serpent-skin of woe?
I'll swim to the syrens, and one moment listen
Their melodies, and see their long hair glisten;
Anon upon that giant's arm I'll be,
That writhes about the roots of Sicily:
To northern seas I'll in a twinkling sail,
And mount upon the snortings of a whale
To some black cloud; thence down I'll madly sweep
On forked lightning, to the deepest deep,
Where through some sucking pool I will be hurl'd
With rapture to the other side of the world!
O, I am full of gladness! Sisters three,
I bow full hearted to your old decree!
Yes, every god be thank'd, and power benign,
For I no more shall wither, droop, and pine.
Thou art the man!" Endymion started back
Dismay'd; and, like a wretch from whom the rack
Tortures hot breath, and speech of agony,
Mutter'd: "What lonely death am I to die
In this cold region? Will he let me freeze,
And float my brittle limbs o'er polar seas?
Or will he touch me with his searing hand,
And leave a black memorial on the sand?
Or tear me piece-meal with a bony saw,
And keep me as a chosen food to draw
His magian fish through hated fire and flame?
O misery of hell! resistless, tame,
Am I to be burnt up? No, I will shout,
Until the gods through heaven's blue look out!
O Tartarus! but some few days agone
Her soft arms were entwining me, and on
Her voice I hung like fruit among green leaves:
Her lips were all my own, andah, ripe sheaves
Of happiness! ye on the stubble droop,
But never may be garner'd. I must stoop
My head, and kiss death's foot. Love! love, farewel!
Is there no hope from thee? This horrid spell
Would melt at thy sweet breath.By Dian's hind
Feeding from her white fingers, on the wind
I see thy streaming hair! and now, by Pan,
I care not for this old mysterious man!"
He spake, and walking to that aged form,
Look'd high defiance. Lo! his heart 'gan warm
With pity, for the grey-hair'd creature wept.
Had he then wrong'd a heart where sorrow kept?
Had he, though blindly contumelious, brought
Rheum to kind eyes, a sting to human thought,
Convulsion to a mouth of many years?
He had in truth; and he was ripe for tears.
The penitent shower fell, as down he knelt
Before that care-worn sage, who trembling felt
About his large dark locks, and faultering spake:
"Arise, good youth, for sacred Phoebus' sake!
I know thine inmost bosom, and I feel
A very brother's yearning for thee steal
Into mine own: for why? thou openest
The prison gates that have so long opprest
My weary watching. Though thou know'st it not,
Thou art commission'd to this fated spot
For great enfranchisement. O weep no more;
I am a friend to love, to loves of yore:
Aye, hadst thou never lov'd an unknown power
I had been grieving at this joyous hour
But even now most miserable old,
I saw thee, and my blood no longer cold
Gave mighty pulses: in this tottering case
Grew a new heart, which at this moment plays
As dancingly as thine. Be not afraid,
For thou shalt hear this secret all display'd,
Now as we speed towards our joyous task."
So saying, this young soul in age's mask
Went forward with the Carian side by side:
Resuming quickly thus; while ocean's tide
Hung swollen at their backs, and jewel'd sands
Took silently their foot-prints. "My soul stands
Now past the midway from mortality,
And so I can prepare without a sigh
To tell thee briefly all my joy and pain.
I was a fisher once, upon this main,
And my boat danc'd in every creek and bay;
Rough billows were my home by night and day,
The sea-gulls not more constant; for I had
No housing from the storm and tempests mad,
But hollow rocks,and they were palaces
Of silent happiness, of slumberous ease:
Long years of misery have told me so.
Aye, thus it was one thousand years ago.
One thousand years!Is it then possible
To look so plainly through them? to dispel
A thousand years with backward glance sublime?
To breathe away as 'twere all scummy slime
From off a crystal pool, to see its deep,
And one's own image from the bottom peep?
Yes: now I am no longer wretched thrall,
My long captivity and moanings all
Are but a slime, a thin-pervading scum,
The which I breathe away, and thronging come
Like things of yesterday my youthful pleasures.
"I touch'd no lute, I sang not, trod no measures:
I was a lonely youth on desert shores.
My sports were lonely, 'mid continuous roars,
And craggy isles, and sea-mew's plaintive cry
Plaining discrepant between sea and sky.
Dolphins were still my playmates; shapes unseen
Would let me feel their scales of gold and green,
Nor be my desolation; and, full oft,
When a dread waterspout had rear'd aloft
Its hungry hugeness, seeming ready ripe
To burst with hoarsest thunderings, and wipe
My life away like a vast sponge of fate,
Some friendly monster, pitying my sad state,
Has dived to its foundations, gulph'd it down,
And left me tossing safely. But the crown
Of all my life was utmost quietude:
More did I love to lie in cavern rude,
Keeping in wait whole days for Neptune's voice,
And if it came at last, hark, and rejoice!
There blush'd no summer eve but I would steer
My skiff along green shelving coasts, to hear
The shepherd's pipe come clear from aery steep,
Mingled with ceaseless bleatings of his sheep:
And never was a day of summer shine,
But I beheld its birth upon the brine:
For I would watch all night to see unfold
Heaven's gates, and Aethon snort his morning gold
Wide o'er the swelling streams: and constantly
At brim of day-tide, on some grassy lea,
My nets would be spread out, and I at rest.
The poor folk of the sea-country I blest
With daily boon of fish most delicate:
They knew not whence this bounty, and elate
Would strew sweet flowers on a sterile beach.
"Why was I not contented? Wherefore reach
At things which, but for thee, O Latmian!
Had been my dreary death? Fool! I began
To feel distemper'd longings: to desire
The utmost privilege that ocean's sire
Could grant in benediction: to be free
Of all his kingdom. Long in misery
I wasted, ere in one extremest fit
I plung'd for life or death. To interknit
One's senses with so dense a breathing stuff
Might seem a work of pain; so not enough
Can I admire how crystal-smooth it felt,
And buoyant round my limbs. At first I dwelt
Whole days and days in sheer astonishment;
Forgetful utterly of self-intent;
Moving but with the mighty ebb and flow.
Then, like a new fledg'd bird that first doth shew
His spreaded feathers to the morrow chill,
I tried in fear the pinions of my will.
'Twas freedom! and at once I visited
The ceaseless wonders of this ocean-bed.
No need to tell thee of them, for I see
That thou hast been a witnessit must be
For these I know thou canst not feel a drouth,
By the melancholy corners of that mouth.
So I will in my story straightway pass
To more immediate matter. Woe, alas!
That love should be my bane! Ah, Scylla fair!
Why did poor Glaucus everever dare
To sue thee to his heart? Kind stranger-youth!
I lov'd her to the very white of truth,
And she would not conceive it. Timid thing!
She fled me swift as sea-bird on the wing,
Round every isle, and point, and promontory,
From where large Hercules wound up his story
Far as Egyptian Nile. My passion grew
The more, the more I saw her dainty hue
Gleam delicately through the azure clear:
Until 'twas too fierce agony to bear;
And in that agony, across my grief
It flash'd, that Circe might find some relief
Cruel enchantress! So above the water
I rear'd my head, and look'd for Phoebus' daughter.
Aeaea's isle was wondering at the moon:
It seem'd to whirl around me, and a swoon
Left me dead-drifting to that fatal power.
"When I awoke, 'twas in a twilight bower;
Just when the light of morn, with hum of bees,
Stole through its verdurous matting of fresh trees.
How sweet, and sweeter! for I heard a lyre,
And over it a sighing voice expire.
It ceasedI caught light footsteps; and anon
The fairest face that morn e'er look'd upon
Push'd through a screen of roses. Starry Jove!
With tears, and smiles, and honey-words she wove
A net whose thraldom was more bliss than all
The range of flower'd Elysium. Thus did fall
The dew of her rich speech: "Ah! Art awake?
O let me hear thee speak, for Cupid's sake!
I am so oppress'd with joy! Why, I have shed
An urn of tears, as though thou wert cold dead;
And now I find thee living, I will pour
From these devoted eyes their silver store,
Until exhausted of the latest drop,
So it will pleasure thee, and force thee stop
Here, that I too may live: but if beyond
Such cool and sorrowful offerings, thou art fond
Of soothing warmth, of dalliance supreme;
If thou art ripe to taste a long love dream;
If smiles, if dimples, tongues for ardour mute,
Hang in thy vision like a tempting fruit,
O let me pluck it for thee." Thus she link'd
Her charming syllables, till indistinct
Their music came to my o'er-sweeten'd soul;
And then she hover'd over me, and stole
So near, that if no nearer it had been
This furrow'd visage thou hadst never seen.
"Young man of Latmos! thus particular
Am I, that thou may'st plainly see how far
This fierce temptation went: and thou may'st not
Exclaim, How then, was Scylla quite forgot?
"Who could resist? Who in this universe?
She did so breathe ambrosia; so immerse
My fine existence in a golden clime.
She took me like a child of suckling time,
And cradled me in roses. Thus condemn'd,
The current of my former life was stemm'd,
And to this arbitrary queen of sense
I bow'd a tranced vassal: nor would thence
Have mov'd, even though Amphion's harp had woo'd
Me back to Scylla o'er the billows rude.
For as Apollo each eve doth devise
A new appareling for western skies;
So every eve, nay every spendthrift hour
Shed balmy consciousness within that bower.
And I was free of haunts umbrageous;
Could wander in the mazy forest-house
Of squirrels, foxes shy, and antler'd deer,
And birds from coverts innermost and drear
Warbling for very joy mellifluous sorrow
To me new born delights!
"Now let me borrow,
For moments few, a temperament as stern
As Pluto's sceptre, that my words not burn
These uttering lips, while I in calm speech tell
How specious heaven was changed to real hell.
"One morn she left me sleeping: half awake
I sought for her smooth arms and lips, to slake
My greedy thirst with nectarous camel-draughts;
But she was gone. Whereat the barbed shafts
Of disappointment stuck in me so sore,
That out I ran and search'd the forest o'er.
Wandering about in pine and cedar gloom
Damp awe assail'd me; for there 'gan to boom
A sound of moan, an agony of sound,
Sepulchral from the distance all around.
Then came a conquering earth-thunder, and rumbled
That fierce complain to silence: while I stumbled
Down a precipitous path, as if impell'd.
I came to a dark valley.Groanings swell'd
Poisonous about my ears, and louder grew,
The nearer I approach'd a flame's gaunt blue,
That glar'd before me through a thorny brake.
This fire, like the eye of gordian snake,
Bewitch'd me towards; and I soon was near
A sight too fearful for the feel of fear:
In thicket hid I curs'd the haggard scene
The banquet of my arms, my arbour queen,
Seated upon an uptorn forest root;
And all around her shapes, wizard and brute,
Laughing, and wailing, groveling, serpenting,
Shewing tooth, tusk, and venom-bag, and sting!
O such deformities! Old Charon's self,
Should he give up awhile his penny pelf,
And take a dream 'mong rushes Stygian,
It could not be so phantasied. Fierce, wan,
And tyrannizing was the lady's look,
As over them a gnarled staff she shook.
Oft-times upon the sudden she laugh'd out,
And from a basket emptied to the rout
Clusters of grapes, the which they raven'd quick
And roar'd for more; with many a hungry lick
About their shaggy jaws. Avenging, slow,
Anon she took a branch of mistletoe,
And emptied on't a black dull-gurgling phial:
Groan'd one and all, as if some piercing trial
Was sharpening for their pitiable bones.
She lifted up the charm: appealing groans
From their poor breasts went sueing to her ear
In vain; remorseless as an infant's bier
She whisk'd against their eyes the sooty oil.
Whereat was heard a noise of painful toil,
Increasing gradual to a tempest rage,
Shrieks, yells, and groans of torture-pilgrimage;
Until their grieved bodies 'gan to bloat
And puff from the tail's end to stifled throat:
Then was appalling silence: then a sight
More wildering than all that hoarse affright;
For the whole herd, as by a whirlwind writhen,
Went through the dismal air like one huge Python
Antagonizing Boreas,and so vanish'd.
Yet there was not a breath of wind: she banish'd
These phantoms with a nod. Lo! from the dark
Came waggish fauns, and nymphs, and satyrs stark,
With dancing and loud revelry,and went
Swifter than centaurs after rapine bent.
Sighing an elephant appear'd and bow'd
Before the fierce witch, speaking thus aloud
In human accent: "Potent goddess! chief
Of pains resistless! make my being brief,
Or let me from this heavy prison fly:
Or give me to the air, or let me die!
I sue not for my happy crown again;
I sue not for my phalanx on the plain;
I sue not for my lone, my widow'd wife;
I sue not for my ruddy drops of life,
My children fair, my lovely girls and boys!
I will forget them; I will pass these joys;
Ask nought so heavenward, so tootoo high:
Only I pray, as fairest boon, to die,
Or be deliver'd from this cumbrous flesh,
From this gross, detestable, filthy mesh,
And merely given to the cold bleak air.
Have mercy, Goddess! Circe, feel my prayer!"
That curst magician's name fell icy numb
Upon my wild conjecturing: truth had come
Naked and sabre-like against my heart.
I saw a fury whetting a death-dart;
And my slain spirit, overwrought with fright,
Fainted away in that dark lair of night.
Think, my deliverer, how desolate
My waking must have been! disgust, and hate,
And terrors manifold divided me
A spoil amongst them. I prepar'd to flee
Into the dungeon core of that wild wood:
I fled three dayswhen lo! before me stood
Glaring the angry witch. O Dis, even now,
A clammy dew is beading on my brow,
At mere remembering her pale laugh, and curse.
"Ha! ha! Sir Dainty! there must be a nurse
Made of rose leaves and thistledown, express,
To cradle thee my sweet, and lull thee: yes,
I am too flinty-hard for thy nice touch:
My tenderest squeeze is but a giant's clutch.
So, fairy-thing, it shall have lullabies
Unheard of yet; and it shall still its cries
Upon some breast more lily-feminine.
Oh, noit shall not pine, and pine, and pine
More than one pretty, trifling thousand years;
And then 'twere pity, but fate's gentle shears
Cut short its immortality. Sea-flirt!
Young dove of the waters! truly I'll not hurt
One hair of thine: see how I weep and sigh,
That our heart-broken parting is so nigh.
And must we part? Ah, yes, it must be so.
Yet ere thou leavest me in utter woe,
Let me sob over thee my last adieus,
And speak a blessing: Mark me! thou hast thews
Immortal, for thou art of heavenly race:
But such a love is mine, that here I chase
Eternally away from thee all bloom
Of youth, and destine thee towards a tomb.
Hence shalt thou quickly to the watery vast;
And there, ere many days be overpast,
Disabled age shall seize thee; and even then
Thou shalt not go the way of aged men;
But live and wither, cripple and still breathe
Ten hundred years: which gone, I then bequeath
Thy fragile bones to unknown burial.
Adieu, sweet love, adieu!"As shot stars fall,
She fled ere I could groan for mercy. Stung
And poisoned was my spirit: despair sung
A war-song of defiance 'gainst all hell.
A hand was at my shoulder to compel
My sullen steps; another 'fore my eyes
Moved on with pointed finger. In this guise
Enforced, at the last by ocean's foam
I found me; by my fresh, my native home.
Its tempering coolness, to my life akin,
Came salutary as I waded in;
And, with a blind voluptuous rage, I gave
Battle to the swollen billow-ridge, and drave
Large froth before me, while there yet remain'd
Hale strength, nor from my bones all marrow drain'd.
"Young lover, I must weepsuch hellish spite
With dry cheek who can tell? While thus my might
Proving upon this element, dismay'd,
Upon a dead thing's face my hand I laid;
I look'd'twas Scylla! Cursed, cursed Circe!
O vulture-witch, hast never heard of mercy?
Could not thy harshest vengeance be content,
But thou must nip this tender innocent
Because I lov'd her?Cold, O cold indeed
Were her fair limbs, and like a common weed
The sea-swell took her hair. Dead as she was
I clung about her waist, nor ceas'd to pass
Fleet as an arrow through unfathom'd brine,
Until there shone a fabric crystalline,
Ribb'd and inlaid with coral, pebble, and pearl.
Headlong I darted; at one eager swirl
Gain'd its bright portal, enter'd, and behold!
'Twas vast, and desolate, and icy-cold;
And all aroundBut wherefore this to thee
Who in few minutes more thyself shalt see?
I left poor Scylla in a niche and fled.
My fever'd parchings up, my scathing dread
Met palsy half way: soon these limbs became
Gaunt, wither'd, sapless, feeble, cramp'd, and lame.
"Now let me pass a cruel, cruel space,
Without one hope, without one faintest trace
Of mitigation, or redeeming bubble
Of colour'd phantasy; for I fear 'twould trouble
Thy brain to loss of reason: and next tell
How a restoring chance came down to quell
One half of the witch in me. On a day,
Sitting upon a rock above the spray,
I saw grow up from the horizon's brink
A gallant vessel: soon she seem'd to sink
Away from me again, as though her course
Had been resum'd in spite of hindering force
So vanish'd: and not long, before arose
Dark clouds, and muttering of winds morose.
Old Eolus would stifle his mad spleen,
But could not: therefore all the billows green
Toss'd up the silver spume against the clouds.
The tempest came: I saw that vessel's shrouds
In perilous bustle; while upon the deck
Stood trembling creatures. I beheld the wreck;
The final gulphing; the poor struggling souls:
I heard their cries amid loud thunder-rolls.
O they had all been sav'd but crazed eld
Annull'd my vigorous cravings: and thus quell'd
And curb'd, think on't, O Latmian! did I sit
Writhing with pity, and a cursing fit
Against that hell-born Circe. The crew had gone,
By one and one, to pale oblivion;
And I was gazing on the surges prone,
With many a scalding tear and many a groan,
When at my feet emerg'd an old man's hand,
Grasping this scroll, and this same slender wand.
I knelt with painreached out my handhad grasp'd
These treasurestouch'd the knucklesthey unclasp'd
I caught a finger: but the downward weight
O'erpowered meit sank. Then 'gan abate
The storm, and through chill aguish gloom outburst
The comfortable sun. I was athirst
To search the book, and in the warming air
Parted its dripping leaves with eager care.
Strange matters did it treat of, and drew on
My soul page after page, till well-nigh won
Into forgetfulness; when, stupefied,
I read these words, and read again, and tried
My eyes against the heavens, and read again.
O what a load of misery and pain
Each Atlas-line bore off!a shine of hope
Came gold around me, cheering me to cope
Strenuous with hellish tyranny. Attend!
For thou hast brought their promise to an end.
"In the wide sea there lives a forlorn wretch,
Doom'd with enfeebled carcase to outstretch
His loath'd existence through ten centuries,
And then to die alone. Who can devise
A total opposition? No one. So
One million times ocean must ebb and flow,
And he oppressed. Yet he shall not die,
These things accomplish'd:If he utterly
Scans all the depths of magic, and expounds
The meanings of all motions, shapes, and sounds;
If he explores all forms and substances
Straight homeward to their symbol-essences;
He shall not die. Moreover, and in chief,
He must pursue this task of joy and grief
Most piously;all lovers tempest-tost,
And in the savage overwhelming lost,
He shall deposit side by side, until
Time's creeping shall the dreary space fulfil:
Which done, and all these labours ripened,
A youth, by heavenly power lov'd and led,
Shall stand before him; whom he shall direct
How to consummate all. The youth elect
Must do the thing, or both will be destroy'd."
"Then," cried the young Endymion, overjoy'd,
"We are twin brothers in this destiny!
Say, I intreat thee, what achievement high
Is, in this restless world, for me reserv'd.
What! if from thee my wandering feet had swerv'd,
Had we both perish'd?""Look!" the sage replied,
"Dost thou not mark a gleaming through the tide,
Of divers brilliances? 'tis the edifice
I told thee of, where lovely Scylla lies;
And where I have enshrined piously
All lovers, whom fell storms have doom'd to die
Throughout my bondage." Thus discoursing, on
They went till unobscur'd the porches shone;
Which hurryingly they gain'd, and enter'd straight.
Sure never since king Neptune held his state
Was seen such wonder underneath the stars.
Turn to some level plain where haughty Mars
Has legion'd all his battle; and behold
How every soldier, with firm foot, doth hold
His even breast: see, many steeled squares,
And rigid ranks of ironwhence who dares
One step? Imagine further, line by line,
These warrior thousands on the field supine:
So in that crystal place, in silent rows,
Poor lovers lay at rest from joys and woes.
The stranger from the mountains, breathless, trac'd
Such thousands of shut eyes in order plac'd;
Such ranges of white feet, and patient lips
All ruddy,for here death no blossom nips.
He mark'd their brows and foreheads; saw their hair
Put sleekly on one side with nicest care;
And each one's gentle wrists, with reverence,
Put cross-wise to its heart.
"Let us commence,
Whisper'd the guide, stuttering with joy, even now."
He spake, and, trembling like an aspen-bough,
Began to tear his scroll in pieces small,
Uttering the while some mumblings funeral.
He tore it into pieces small as snow
That drifts unfeather'd when bleak northerns blow;
And having done it, took his dark blue cloak
And bound it round Endymion: then struck
His wand against the empty air times nine.
"What more there is to do, young man, is thine:
But first a little patience; first undo
This tangled thread, and wind it to a clue.
Ah, gentle! 'tis as weak as spider's skein;
And shouldst thou break itWhat, is it done so clean?
A power overshadows thee! Oh, brave!
The spite of hell is tumbling to its grave.
Here is a shell; 'tis pearly blank to me,
Nor mark'd with any sign or charactery
Canst thou read aught? O read for pity's sake!
Olympus! we are safe! Now, Carian, break
This wand against yon lyre on the pedestal."
'Twas done: and straight with sudden swell and fall
Sweet music breath'd her soul away, and sigh'd
A lullaby to silence."Youth! now strew
These minced leaves on me, and passing through
Those files of dead, scatter the same around,
And thou wilt see the issue."'Mid the sound
Of flutes and viols, ravishing his heart,
Endymion from Glaucus stood apart,
And scatter'd in his face some fragments light.
How lightning-swift the change! a youthful wight
Smiling beneath a coral diadem,
Out-sparkling sudden like an upturn'd gem,
Appear'd, and, stepping to a beauteous corse,
Kneel'd down beside it, and with tenderest force
Press'd its cold hand, and weptand Scylla sigh'd!
Endymion, with quick hand, the charm applied
The nymph arose: he left them to their joy,
And onward went upon his high employ,
Showering those powerful fragments on the dead.
And, as he pass'd, each lifted up its head,
As doth a flower at Apollo's touch.
Death felt it to his inwards; 'twas too much:
Death fell a weeping in his charnel-house.
The Latmian persever'd along, and thus
All were re-animated. There arose
A noise of harmony, pulses and throes
Of gladness in the airwhile many, who
Had died in mutual arms devout and true,
Sprang to each other madly; and the rest
Felt a high certainty of being blest.
They gaz'd upon Endymion. Enchantment
Grew drunken, and would have its head and bent.
Delicious symphonies, like airy flowers,
Budded, and swell'd, and, full-blown, shed full showers
Of light, soft, unseen leaves of sounds divine.
The two deliverers tasted a pure wine
Of happiness, from fairy-press ooz'd out.
Speechless they eyed each other, and about
The fair assembly wander'd to and fro,
Distracted with the richest overflow
Of joy that ever pour'd from heaven.
"Away!"
Shouted the new-born god; "Follow, and pay
Our piety to Neptunus supreme!"
Then Scylla, blushing sweetly from her dream,
They led on first, bent to her meek surprise,
Through portal columns of a giant size,
Into the vaulted, boundless emerald.
Joyous all follow'd, as the leader call'd,
Down marble steps; pouring as easily
As hour-glass sandand fast, as you might see
Swallows obeying the south summer's call,
Or swans upon a gentle waterfall.
Thus went that beautiful multitude, nor far,
Ere from among some rocks of glittering spar,
Just within ken, they saw descending thick
Another multitude. Whereat more quick
Moved either host. On a wide sand they met,
And of those numbers every eye was wet;
For each their old love found. A murmuring rose,
Like what was never heard in all the throes
Of wind and waters: 'tis past human wit
To tell; 'tis dizziness to think of it.
This mighty consummation made, the host
Mov'd on for many a league; and gain'd, and lost
Huge sea-marks; vanward swelling in array,
And from the rear diminishing away,
Till a faint dawn surpris'd them. Glaucus cried,
"Behold! behold, the palace of his pride!
God Neptune's palaces!" With noise increas'd,
They shoulder'd on towards that brightening east.
At every onward step proud domes arose
In prospect,diamond gleams, and golden glows
Of amber 'gainst their faces levelling.
Joyous, and many as the leaves in spring,
Still onward; still the splendour gradual swell'd.
Rich opal domes were seen, on high upheld
By jasper pillars, letting through their shafts
A blush of coral. Copious wonder-draughts
Each gazer drank; and deeper drank more near:
For what poor mortals fragment up, as mere
As marble was there lavish, to the vast
Of one fair palace, that far far surpass'd,
Even for common bulk, those olden three,
Memphis, and Babylon, and Nineveh.
As large, as bright, as colour'd as the bow
Of Iris, when unfading it doth shew
Beyond a silvery shower, was the arch
Through which this Paphian army took its march,
Into the outer courts of Neptune's state:
Whence could be seen, direct, a golden gate,
To which the leaders sped; but not half raught
Ere it burst open swift as fairy thought,
And made those dazzled thousands veil their eyes
Like callow eagles at the first sunrise.
Soon with an eagle nativeness their gaze
Ripe from hue-golden swoons took all the blaze,
And then, behold! large Neptune on his throne
Of emerald deep: yet not exalt alone;
At his right hand stood winged Love, and on
His left sat smiling Beauty's paragon.
Far as the mariner on highest mast
Can see all round upon the calmed vast,
So wide was Neptune's hall: and as the blue
Doth vault the waters, so the waters drew
Their doming curtains, high, magnificent,
Aw'd from the throne aloof;and when storm-rent
Disclos'd the thunder-gloomings in Jove's air;
But sooth'd as now, flash'd sudden everywhere,
Noiseless, sub-marine cloudlets, glittering
Death to a human eye: for there did spring
From natural west, and east, and south, and north,
A light as of four sunsets, blazing forth
A gold-green zenith 'bove the Sea-God's head.
Of lucid depth the floor, and far outspread
As breezeless lake, on which the slim canoe
Of feather'd Indian darts about, as through
The delicatest air: air verily,
But for the portraiture of clouds and sky:
This palace floor breath-air,but for the amaze
Of deep-seen wonders motionless,and blaze
Of the dome pomp, reflected in extremes,
Globing a golden sphere.
They stood in dreams
Till Triton blew his horn. The palace rang;
The Nereids danc'd; the Syrens faintly sang;
And the great Sea-King bow'd his dripping head.
Then Love took wing, and from his pinions shed
On all the multitude a nectarous dew.
The ooze-born Goddess beckoned and drew
Fair Scylla and her guides to conference;
And when they reach'd the throned eminence
She kist the sea-nymph's cheek,who sat her down
A toying with the doves. Then,"Mighty crown
And sceptre of this kingdom!" Venus said,
"Thy vows were on a time to Nais paid:
Behold!"Two copious tear-drops instant fell
From the God's large eyes; he smil'd delectable,
And over Glaucus held his blessing hands.
"Endymion! Ah! still wandering in the bands
Of love? Now this is cruel. Since the hour
I met thee in earth's bosom, all my power
Have I put forth to serve thee. What, not yet
Escap'd from dull mortality's harsh net?
A little patience, youth! 'twill not be long,
Or I am skilless quite: an idle tongue,
A humid eye, and steps luxurious,
Where these are new and strange, are ominous.
Aye, I have seen these signs in one of heaven,
When others were all blind; and were I given
To utter secrets, haply I might say
Some pleasant words:but Love will have his day.
So wait awhile expectant. Pr'ythee soon,
Even in the passing of thine honey-moon,
Visit my Cytherea: thou wilt find
Cupid well-natured, my Adonis kind;
And pray persuade with theeAh, I have done,
All blisses be upon thee, my sweet son!"
Thus the fair goddess: while Endymion
Knelt to receive those accents halcyon.
Meantime a glorious revelry began
Before the Water-Monarch. Nectar ran
In courteous fountains to all cups outreach'd;
And plunder'd vines, teeming exhaustless, pleach'd
New growth about each shell and pendent lyre;
The which, in disentangling for their fire,
Pull'd down fresh foliage and coverture
For dainty toying. Cupid, empire-sure,
Flutter'd and laugh'd, and oft-times through the throng
Made a delighted way. Then dance, and song,
And garlanding grew wild; and pleasure reign'd.
In harmless tendril they each other chain'd,
And strove who should be smother'd deepest in
Fresh crush of leaves.
O 'tis a very sin
For one so weak to venture his poor verse
In such a place as this. O do not curse,
High Muses! let him hurry to the ending.
All suddenly were silent. A soft blending
Of dulcet instruments came charmingly;
And then a hymn.
"KING of the stormy sea!
Brother of Jove, and co-inheritor
Of elements! Eternally before
Thee the waves awful bow. Fast, stubborn rock,
At thy fear'd trident shrinking, doth unlock
Its deep foundations, hissing into foam.
All mountain-rivers lost, in the wide home
Of thy capacious bosom ever flow.
Thou frownest, and old Eolus thy foe
Skulks to his cavern, 'mid the gruff complaint
Of all his rebel tempests. Dark clouds faint
When, from thy diadem, a silver gleam
Slants over blue dominion. Thy bright team
Gulphs in the morning light, and scuds along
To bring thee nearer to that golden song
Apollo singeth, while his chariot
Waits at the doors of heaven. Thou art not
For scenes like this: an empire stern hast thou;
And it hath furrow'd that large front: yet now,
As newly come of heaven, dost thou sit
To blend and interknit
Subdued majesty with this glad time.
O shell-borne King sublime!
We lay our hearts before thee evermore
We sing, and we adore!
"Breathe softly, flutes;
Be tender of your strings, ye soothing lutes;
Nor be the trumpet heard! O vain, O vain;
Not flowers budding in an April rain,
Nor breath of sleeping dove, nor river's flow,
No, nor the Eolian twang of Love's own bow,
Can mingle music fit for the soft ear
Of goddess Cytherea!
Yet deign, white Queen of Beauty, thy fair eyes
On our souls' sacrifice.
"Bright-winged Child!
Who has another care when thou hast smil'd?
Unfortunates on earth, we see at last
All death-shadows, and glooms that overcast
Our spirits, fann'd away by thy light pinions.
O sweetest essence! sweetest of all minions!
God of warm pulses, and dishevell'd hair,
And panting bosoms bare!
Dear unseen light in darkness! eclipser
Of light in light! delicious poisoner!
Thy venom'd goblet will we quaff until
We fillwe fill!
And by thy Mother's lips"
Was heard no more
For clamour, when the golden palace door
Opened again, and from without, in shone
A new magnificence. On oozy throne
Smooth-moving came Oceanus the old,
To take a latest glimpse at his sheep-fold,
Before he went into his quiet cave
To muse for everThen a lucid wave,
Scoop'd from its trembling sisters of mid-sea,
Afloat, and pillowing up the majesty
Of Doris, and the Egean seer, her spouse
Next, on a dolphin, clad in laurel boughs,
Theban Amphion leaning on his lute:
His fingers went across itAll were mute
To gaze on Amphitrite, queen of pearls,
And Thetis pearly too.
The palace whirls
Around giddy Endymion; seeing he
Was there far strayed from mortality.
He could not bear itshut his eyes in vain;
Imagination gave a dizzier pain.
"O I shall die! sweet Venus, be my stay!
Where is my lovely mistress? Well-away!
I dieI hear her voiceI feel my wing"
At Neptune's feet he sank. A sudden ring
Of Nereids were about him, in kind strife
To usher back his spirit into life:
But still he slept. At last they interwove
Their cradling arms, and purpos'd to convey
Towards a crystal bower far away.
Lo! while slow carried through the pitying crowd,
To his inward senses these words spake aloud;
Written in star-light on the dark above:
Dearest Endymion! my entire love!
How have I dwelt in fear of fate: 'tis done
Immortal bliss for me too hast thou won.
Arise then! for the hen-dove shall not hatch
Her ready eggs, before I'll kissing snatch
Thee into endless heaven. Awake! awake!
The youth at once arose: a placid lake
Came quiet to his eyes; and forest green,
Cooler than all the wonders he had seen,
Lull'd with its simple song his fluttering breast.
How happy once again in grassy nest!
(line 1): Woodhouse notes that "Keats said, with much simplicity, 'It will be easily seen what I think of the present ministers, by the beginning of the third Book.'"
(line 407): Whether the reference is to the Pillars of Hercules, the confluence of the Mediterranean and Atlantic, or to the scene of the Death of Hercules, is not very clear; but probably "wound up his story" refers rather to his last labour than to his death on Mount ta.
(lines 863-65): This simile must surely be a reminiscence of Perrin's Fables Amusantes or some similar book used in Mr. Clarke's School. I remember the Fable of the old eagle and her young stood first in the book I used at school. The draft gives line 860 thus -- 'But soon like eagles natively their gaze...'
At the end of this Book Keats wrote in the draft, "Oxf: Sept. 26."
~ Poetical Works of John Keats, ed. H. Buxton Forman, Crowell publ. 1895. by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
~ John Keats, Endymion - Book III
,#NFDB
165:class:Classics
BOOK THE NINTH
The Story of Achelous and Hercules
Theseus requests the God to tell his woes,
Whence his maim'd brow, and whence his groans arose
Whence thus the Calydonian stream reply'd,
With twining reeds his careless tresses ty'd:
Ungrateful is the tale; for who can bear,
When conquer'd, to rehearse the shameful war?
Yet I'll the melancholy story trace;
So great a conqu'ror softens the disgrace:
Nor was it still so mean the prize to yield,
As great, and glorious to dispute the field.
Perhaps you've heard of Deianira's name,
For all the country spoke her beauty's fame.
Long was the nymph by num'rous suitors woo'd,
Each with address his envy'd hopes pursu'd:
I joyn'd the loving band; to gain the fair,
Reveal'd my passion to her father's ear.
Their vain pretensions all the rest resign,
Alcides only strove to equal mine;
He boasts his birth from Jove, recounts his spoils,
His step-dame's hate subdu'd, and finish'd toils.
Can mortals then (said I), with Gods compare?
Behold a God; mine is the watry care:
Through your wide realms I take my mazy way,
Branch into streams, and o'er the region stray:
No foreign guest your daughter's charms adores,
But one who rises in your native shores.
Let not his punishment your pity move;
Is Juno's hate an argument for love?
Though you your life from fair Alcmena drew,
Jove's a feign'd father, or by fraud a true.
Chuse then; confess thy mother's honour lost,
Or thy descent from Jove no longer boast.
While thus I spoke, he look'd with stern disdain,
Nor could the sallies of his wrath restrain,
Which thus break forth. This arm decides our right;
Vanquish in words, be mine the prize in fight.
Bold he rush'd on. My honour to maintain,
I fling my verdant garments on the plain,
My arms stretch forth, my pliant limbs prepare,
And with bent hands expect the furious war.
O'er my sleek skin now gather'd dust he throws,
And yellow sand his mighty muscles strows.
Oft he my neck, and nimble legs assails,
He seems to grasp me, but as often fails.
Each part he now invades with eager hand;
Safe in my bulk, immoveable I stand.
So when loud storms break high, and foam and roar
Against some mole that stretches from the shore;
The firm foundation lasting tempests braves,
Defies the warring winds, and driving waves.
A-while we breathe, then forward rush amain,
Renew the combat, and our ground maintain;
Foot strove with foot, I prone extend my breast,
Hands war with hands, and forehead forehead prest.
Thus have I seen two furious bulls engage,
Inflam'd with equal love, and equal rage;
Each claims the fairest heifer of the grove,
And conquest only can decide their love:
The trembling herds survey the fight from far,
'Till victory decides th' important war.
Three times in vain he strove my joints to wrest,
To force my hold, and throw me from his breast;
The fourth he broke my gripe, that clasp'd him round,
Then with new force he stretch'd me on the ground;
Close to my back the mighty bur then clung,
As if a mountain o'er my limbs were flung.
Believe my tale; nor do I, boastful, aim
By feign'd narration to extol my fame.
No sooner from his grasp I freedom get,
Unlock my arms, that flow'd with trickling sweat,
But quick he seized me, and renew'd the strife,
As my exhausted bosom pants for life:
My neck he gripes, my knee to earth he strains;
I fall, and bite the sand with shame, and pains.
O'er-match'd in strength, to wiles, and arts I take,
And slip his hold, in form of speckled snake;
Who, when I wreath'd in spires my body round,
Or show'd my forky tongue with hissing sound,
Smiles at my threats: Such foes my cradle knew,
He cries, dire snakes my infant hand o'erthrew;
A dragon's form might other conquests gain,
To war with me you take that shape in vain.
Art thou proportion'd to the Hydra's length,
Who by his wounds receiv'd augmented strength?
He rais'd a hundred hissing heads in air;
When one I lopt, up-sprung a dreadful pair.
By his wounds fertile, and with slaughter strong,
Singly I quell'd him, and stretch'd dead along.
What canst thou do, a form precarious, prone,
To rouse my rage with terrors not thy own?
He said; and round my neck his hands he cast,
And with his straining fingers wrung me fast;
My throat he tortur'd, close as pincers clasp,
In vain I strove to loose the forceful grasp.
Thus vanquish'd too, a third form still remains,
Chang'd to a bull, my lowing fills the plains.
Strait on the left his nervous arms were thrown
Upon my brindled neck, and tugg'd it down;
Then deep he struck my horn into the sand,
And fell'd my bulk among the dusty land.
Nor yet his fury cool'd; 'twixt rage and scorn,
From my maim'd front he tore the stubborn horn:
This, heap'd with flow'rs, and fruits, the Naiads bear,
Sacred to plenty, and the bounteous year.
He spoke; when lo, a beauteous nymph appears,
Girt like Diana's train, with flowing hairs;
The horn she brings in which all Autumn's stor'd,
And ruddy apples for the second board.
Now morn begins to dawn, the sun's bright fire
Gilds the high mountains, and the youths retire;
Nor stay'd they, 'till the troubled stream subsides,
And in its bounds with peaceful current glides.
But Achelous in his oozy bed
Deep hides his brow deform'd, and rustick head:
No real wound the victor's triumph show'd,
But his lost honours griev'd the watry God;
Yet ev'n that loss the willow's leaves o'erspread,
And verdant reeds, in garlands, bind his head.
The Death of Nessus the Centaur
This virgin too, thy love, O Nessus, found,
To her alone you owe the fatal wound.
As the strong son of Jove his bride conveys,
Where his paternal lands their bulwarks raise;
Where from her slopy urn, Evenus pours
Her rapid current, swell'd by wintry show'rs,
He came. The frequent eddies whirl'd the tide,
And the deep rolling waves all pass deny'd.
As for himself, he stood unmov'd by fears,
For now his bridal charge employ'd his cares,
The strong-limb'd Nessus thus officious cry'd
(For he the shallows of the stream had try'd),
Swim thou, Alcides, all thy strength prepare,
On yonder bank I'll lodge thy nuptial care.
Th' Aonian chief to Nessus trusts his wife,
All pale, and trembling for her heroe's life:
Cloath'd as he stood in the fierce lion's hide,
The laden quiver o'er his shoulder ty'd
(For cross the stream his bow and club were cast),
Swift he plung'd in: These billows shall be past,
He said, nor sought where smoother waters glide,
But stem'd the rapid dangers of the tide.
The bank he reach'd; again the bow he bears;
When, hark! his bride's known voice alarms his ears.
Nessus, to thee I call (aloud he cries)
Vain is thy trust in flight, be timely wise:
Thou monster double-shap'd, my right set free;
If thou no rev'rence owe my fame and me,
Yet kindred should thy lawless lust deny;
Think not, perfidious wretch, from me to fly,
Tho' wing'd with horse's speed; wounds shall pursue;
Swift as his words the fatal arrow flew:
The centaur's back admits the feather'd wood,
And thro' his breast the barbed weapon stood;
Which when, in anguish, thro' the flesh he tore,
From both the wounds gush'd forth the spumy gore
Mix'd with Lernaean venom; this he took,
Nor dire revenge his dying breast forsook.
His garment, in the reeking purple dy'd,
To rouse love's passion, he presents the bride.
The Death of Hercules
Now a long interval of time succeeds,
When the great son of Jove's immortal deeds,
And step-dame's hate, had fill'd Earth's utmost round;
He from Oechalia, with new lawrels crown'd,
In triumph was return'd. He rites prepares,
And to the King of Gods directs his pray'rs;
When Fame (who falshood cloaths in truth's disguise,
And swells her little bulk with growing lies)
Thy tender ear, o Deianira, mov'd,
That Hercules the fair Iole lov'd.
Her love believes the tale; the truth she fears
Of his new passion, and gives way to tears.
The flowing tears diffus'd her wretched grief,
Why seek I thus, from streaming eyes, relief?
She cries; indulge not thus these fruitless cares,
The harlot will but triumph in thy tears:
Let something be resolv'd, while yet there's time;
My bed not conscious of a rival's crime.
In silence shall I mourn, or loud complain?
Shall I seek Calydon, or here remain?
What tho', ally'd to Meleager's fame,
I boast the honours of a sister's name?
My wrongs, perhaps, now urge me to pursue
Some desp'rate deed, by which the world shall view
How far revenge, and woman's rage can rise,
When weltring in her blood the harlot dies.
Thus various passions rul'd by turns her breast,
She now resolves to send the fatal vest,
Dy'd with Lernaean gore, whose pow'r might move
His soul anew, and rouse declining love.
Nor knew she what her sudden rage bestows,
When she to Lychas trusts her future woes;
With soft endearments she the boy commands,
To bear the garment to her husband's hands.
Th' unwitting hero takes the gift in haste,
And o'er his shoulders Lerna's poison cast,
As first the fire with frankincense he strows,
And utters to the Gods his holy vows;
And on the marble altar's polish'd frame
Pours forth the grapy stream; the rising flame
Sudden dissolves the subtle pois'nous juice,
Which taints his blood, and all his nerves bedews.
With wonted fortitude he bore the smart,
And not a groan confess'd his burning heart.
At length his patience was subdu'd by pain,
He rends the sacred altar from the plain;
Oete's wide forests echo with his cries:
Now to rip off the deathful robe he tries.
Where-e'er he plucks the vest, the skin he tears,
The mangled muscles, and huge bones he bares
(A ghastful sight!), or raging with his pain,
To rend the sticking plague he tugs in vain.
As the red iron hisses in the flood,
So boils the venom in his curdling blood.
Now with the greedy flame his entrails glow,
And livid sweats down all his body flow;
The cracking nerves burnt up are burst in twain,
The lurking venom melts his swimming brain.
Then, lifting both his hands aloft, he cries,
Glut thy revenge, dread Empress of the skies;
Sate with my death the rancour of thy heart,
Look down with pleasure, and enjoy my smart.
Or, if e'er pity mov'd a hostile breast
(For here I stand thy enemy profest),
Take hence this hateful life, with tortures torn,
Inur'd to trouble, and to labours born.
Death is the gift most welcome to my woe,
And such a gift a stepdame may bestow.
Was it for this Busiris was subdu'd,
Whose barb'rous temples reek'd with strangers' blood?
Press'd in these arms his fate Antaeus found,
Nor gain'd recruited vigour from the ground.
Did I not triple-form'd Geryon fell?
Or did I fear the triple dog of Hell?
Did not these hands the bull's arm'd forehead hold?
Are not our mighty toils in Elis told?
Do not Stymphalian lakes proclaim thy fame?
And fair Par thenian woods resound thy name?
Who seiz'd the golden belt of Thermodon?
And who the dragon-guarded apples won?
Could the fierce centaur's strength my force withstand,
Or the fell boar that spoil'd th' Arcadian land?
Did not these arms the Hydra's rage subdue,
Who from his wounds to double fury grew?
What if the Thracian horses, fat with gore,
Who human bodies in their mangers tore,
I saw, and with their barb'rous lord o'erthrew?
What if these hands Nemaea's lion slew?
Did not this neck the heav'nly globe sustain?
The female partner of the Thunderer's reign
Fatigu'd, at length suspends her harsh commands,
Yet no fatigue hath slack'd these valiant hands.
But now new plagues pursue me, neither force,
Nor arms, nor darts can stop their raging course.
Devouring flame thro' my rack'd entrails strays,
And on my lungs and shrivel'd muscles preys.
Yet still Eurystheus breathes the vital air.
What mortal now shall seek the Gods with pray'r?
The Transformation of Lychas into a Rock
The hero said; and with the torture stung,
Furious o'er Oete's lofty hills he sprung.
Stuck with the shaft, thus scours the tyger round,
And seeks the flying author of his wound.
Now might you see him trembling, now he vents
His anguish'd soul in groans, and loud laments;
He strives to tear the clinging vest in vain,
And with up-rooted forests strows the plain;
Now kindling into rage, his hands he rears,
And to his kindred Gods directs his pray'rs.
When Lychas, lo, he spies; who trembling flew,
And in a hollow rock conceal'd from view,
Had shun'd his wrath. Now grief renew'd his pain,
His madness chaf'd, and thus he raves again.
Lychas, to thee alone my fate I owe,
Who bore the gift, the cause of all my woe.
The youth all pale, with shiv'ring fear was stung,
And vain excuses falter'd on his tongue.
Alcides snatch'd him, as with suppliant face
He strove to clasp his knees, and beg for grace:
He toss'd him o'er his head with airy course,
And hurl'd with more than with an engine's force;
Far o'er th' Eubaean main aloof he flies,
And hardens by degrees amid the skies.
So showry drops, when chilly tempests blow,
Thicken at first, then whiten into snow,
In balls congeal'd the rolling fleeces bound,
In solid hail result upon the ground.
Thus, whirl'd with nervous force thro' distant air,
The purple tide forsook his veins, with fear;
All moisture left his limbs. Transform'd to stone,
In ancient days the craggy flint was known;
Still in the Eubaean waves his front he rears,
Still the small rock in human form appears,
And still the name of hapless Lychas bears.
The Apotheosis of Hercules
But now the hero of immortal birth
Fells Oete's forests on the groaning Earth;
A pile he builds; to Philoctetes' care
He leaves his deathful instruments of war;
To him commits those arrows, which again
Shall see the bulwarks of the Trojan reign.
The son of Paean lights the lofty pyre,
High round the structure climbs the greedy fire;
Plac'd on the top, thy nervous shoulders spread
With the Nemaean spoils, thy careless head
Rais'd on a knotty club, with look divine,
Here thou, dread hero, of celestial line,
Wert stretch'd at ease; as when a chearful guest,
Wine crown'd thy bowls, and flow'rs thy temples drest.
Now on all sides the potent flames aspire,
And crackle round those limbs that mock the fire
A sudden terror seiz'd th' immortal host,
Who thought the world's profess'd defender lost.
This when the Thund'rer saw, with smiles he cries,
'Tis from your fears, ye Gods, my pleasures rise;
Joy swells my breast, that my all-ruling hand
O'er such a grateful people boasts command,
That you my suff'ring progeny would aid;
Tho' to his deeds this just respect be paid,
Me you've oblig'd. Be all your fears forborn,
Th' Oetean fires do thou, great hero, scorn.
Who vanquish'd all things, shall subdue the flame.
That part alone of gross maternal frame
Fire shall devour; while what from me he drew
Shall live immortal, and its force subdue;
That, when he's dead, I'll raise to realms above;
May all the Pow'rs the righteous act approve.
If any God dissent, and judge too great
The sacred honours of the heav'nly seat,
Ev'n he shall own his deeds deserve the sky,
Ev'n he reluctant, shall at length comply.
Th' assembled Pow'rs assent. No frown 'till now
Had mark'd with passion vengeful Juno's brow,
Mean-while whate'er was in the pow'r of flame
Was all consum'd; his body's nervous frame
No more was known, of human form bereft,
Th' eternal part of Jove alone was left.
As an old serpent casts his scaly vest,
Wreathes in the sun, in youthful glory drest;
So when Alcides mortal mold resign'd,
His better part enlarg'd, and grew refin'd;
August his visage shone; almighty Jove
In his swift carr his honour'd offspring drove;
High o'er the hollow clouds the coursers fly,
And lodge the hero in the starry sky.
The Transformation of Galanthis
Atlas perceiv'd the load of Heav'n's new guest.
Revenge still rancour'd in Eurystheus' breast
Against Alcides' race. Alcmena goes
To Iole, to vent maternal woes;
Here she pours forth her grief, recounts the spoils
Her son had bravely reap'd in glorious toils.
This Iole, by Hercules' commands,
Hyllus had lov'd, and joyn'd in nuptial bands.
Her swelling womb the teeming birth confess'd,
To whom Alcmena thus her speech address'd.
O, may the Gods protect thee, in that hour,
When, 'midst thy throws, thou call'st th' Ilithyan Pow'r!
May no delays prolong thy racking pain,
As when I su'd for Juno's aid in vain.
When now Alcides' mighty birth drew nigh,
And the tenth sign roll'd forward on the sky,
My womb extends with such a mighty load,
As Jove the parent of the bur then show'd.
I could no more th' encreasing smart sustain,
My horror kindles to recount the pain;
Cold chills my limbs while I the tale pursue,
And now methinks I feel my pangs anew.
Seven days and nights amidst incessant throws,
Fatigu'd with ills I lay, nor knew repose;
When lifting high my hands, in shrieks I pray'd,
Implor'd the Gods, and call'd Lucina's aid.
She came, but prejudic'd, to give my Fate
A sacrifice to vengeful Juno's hate.
She hears the groaning anguish of my fits,
And on the altar at my door she sits.
O'er her left knee her crossing leg she cast,
Then knits her fingers close, and wrings them fast:
This stay'd the birth; in mutt'ring verse she pray'd,
The mutt'ring verse th' unfinish'd birth delay'd.
Now with fierce struggles, raging with my pain,
At Jove's ingratitude I rave in vain.
How did I wish for death! such groans I sent,
As might have made the flinty heart relent.
Now the Cadmeian matrons round me press,
Offer their vows, and seek to bring redress;
Among the Theban dames Galanthis stands,
Strong limb'd, red hair'd, and just to my commands:
She first perceiv'd that all these racking woes
From the persisting hate of Juno rose.
As here and there she pass'd, by chance she sees
The seated Goddess; on her close-press'd knees
Her fast-knit hands she leans; with chearful voice
Galanthis cries, Whoe'er thou art, rejoyce,
Congratulate the dame, she lies at rest,
At length the Gods Alcmena's womb have blest.
Swift from her seat the startled Goddess springs,
No more conceal'd, her hands abroad she flings;
The charm unloos'd, the birth my pangs reliev'd;
Galanthis' laughter vex'd the Pow'r deceiv'd.
Fame says, the Goddess dragg'd the laughing maid
Fast by the hair; in vain her force essay'd
Her grov'ling body from the ground to rear;
Chang'd to fore-feet her shrinking arms appear:
Her hairy back her former hue retains,
The form alone is lost; her strength remains;
Who, since the lye did from her mouth proceed,
Shall from her pregnant mouth bring forth her breed;
Nor shall she quit her long-frequented home,
But haunt those houses where she lov'd to roam.
The Fable of Dryope
She said, and for her lost Galanthis sighs;
When the fair consort of her son replies;
Since you a servant's ravish'd form bemoan,
And kindly sigh for sorrows not your own,
Let me (if tears and grief permit) relate
A nearer woe, a sister's stranger fate.
No nymph of all Oechaloa could compare
For beauteous form with Dryope the fair;
Her tender mother's only hope and pride
(My self the offspring of a second bride),
This nymph, compress'd by him who rules the day,
Whom Delphi, and the Delian isle obey,
Andraemon lov'd; and blest in all those charms
That pleas'd a God, succeeded to her arms.
A lake there was, with shelving banks around,
Whose verdant summit fragrant myrtles crown'd.
Those shades, unknowing of the fates, she sought;
And to the Naiads flow'ry garlands brought;
Her smiling babe (a pleasing charge) she prest
Between her arms, and nourish'd at her breast.
Not distant far a watry lotos grows;
The Spring was new, and all the verdant boughs,
Acorn'd with blossoms, promis'd fruits that vye
In glowing colours with the Tyrian dye.
Of these she cropt, to please her infant son,
And I my self the same rash act had done,
But, lo! I saw (as near her side I stood)
The violated blossoms drop with blood;
Upon the tree I cast a frightful look,
The trembling tree with sudden horror shook.
Lotis the nymph (if rural tales be true)
As from Priapus' lawless lust she flew,
Forsook her form; and fixing here became
A flow'ry plant, which still preserves her name.
This change unknown, astonish'd at the sight,
My trembling sister strove to urge her flight;
Yet first the pardon of the Nymphs implor'd,
And those offended Sylvan pow'rs ador'd:
But when she backward would have fled, she found
Her stiff'ning feet were rooted to the ground:
In vain to free her fasten'd feet she strove,
And as she struggles only moves above;
She feels th' incroaching bark around her grow,
By slow degrees, and cover all below:
Surpriz'd at this, her trembling hand she heaves
To rend her hair; her hand is fill'd with leaves;
Where late was hair, the shooting leaves are seen
To rise, and shade her with a sudden green.
The Child Amphisus, to her bosom prest,
Perceiv'd a colder and a harder breast,
And found the springs, that n'er 'till then deny'd
Their milky moisture, on a sudden dry'd.
I saw, unhappy, what I now relate,
And stood the helpless witness of thy fate;
Embrac'd thy boughs, the rising bark delay'd,
There wish'd to grow, and mingle shade with shade.
Behold Andraemon, and th' unhappy sire
Appear, and for their Dryope enquire;
A springing tree for Dryope they find,
And print warm kisses on the panting rind;
Prostrate, with tears their kindred plant bedew,
And close embrac'd, as to the roots they grew;
The face was all that now remain'd of thee;
No more a woman, nor yet quite a tree:
Thy branches hung with humid pearls appear,
From ev'ry leaf distills a trickling tear;
And strait a voice, while yet a voice remains,
Thus thro' the trembling boughs in sighs complains.
If to the wretched any faith be giv'n,
I swear by all th' unpitying Pow'rs of Heav'n,
No wilful crime this heavy vengeance bred,
In mutual innocence our lives we led.
If this be false, let these new greens decay,
Let sounding axes lop my limbs away,
And crackling flames on all my honours prey.
Now from my branching arms this infant bear,
Let some kind nurse supply a mother's care;
Yet to his mother let him oft be led,
Sport in her shades, and in her shades be fed;
Teach him, when first his infant voice shall frame
Imperfect words, and lisp his mother's name,
To hail this tree, and say with weeping eyes,
Within this plant my hapless parent lies;
And when in youth he seeks the shady woods,
Oh, let him fly the chrystal lakes and floods,
Nor touch the fatal flow'rs; but warn'd by me,
Believe a Goddess shrin'd in ev'ry tree.
My sire, my sister, and my spouse farewel!
If in your breasts or love, or pity, dwell,
Protect your plant, nor let my branches feel
The browzing cattle, or the piercing steel.
Farewel! and since I cannot bend to join
My lips to yours, advance at least to mine.
My son, thy mother's parting kiss receive,
While yet thy mother has a kiss to give.
I can no more; the creeping rind invades
My closing lips, and hides my head in shades:
Remove your hands; the bark shall soon suffice,
Without their aid, to seal these dying eyes.
She ceas'd at once to speak, and ceas'd to be;
And all the nymph was lost within the tree:
Yet latent life thro' her new branches reign'd,
And long the plant a human heat retain'd.
Iolaus restor'd to Youth
While Iole the fatal change declares,
Alcmena's pitying hand oft wip'd her tears.
Grief too stream'd down her cheeks; soon sorrow flies,
And rising joy the trickling moisture dries,
Lo Iolaus stands before their eyes.
A youth he stood; and the soft down began
O'er his smooth chin to spread, and promise man.
Hebe submitted to her husband's pray'rs,
Instill'd new vigour, and restor'd his years.
The Prophecy of Themis
Now from her lips a solemn oath had past,
That Iolaus this gift alone shou'd taste,
Had not just Themis thus maturely said
(Which check'd her vow, and aw'd the blooming maid).
Thebes is embroil'd in war. Capaneus stands
Invincible, but by the Thund'rer's hands.
Ambition shall the guilty brothers fire,
Both rush to mutual wounds, and both expire.
The reeling Earth shall ope her gloomy womb,
Where the yet breathing bard shall find his tomb.
The son shall bath his hands in parents' blood,
And in one act be both unjust, and good.
Of home, and sense depriv'd, where-e'er he flies,
The Furies, and his mother's ghost he spies.
His wife the fatal bracelet shall implore,
And Phegeus stain his sword in kindred gore.
Callirhoe shall then with suppliant pray'r
Prevail on Jupiter's relenting ear.
Jove shall with youth her infant sons inspire,
And bid their bosoms glow with manly fire.
The Debate of the Gods
When Themis thus with prescient voice had spoke,
Among the Gods a various murmur broke;
Dissention rose in each immortal breast,
That one should grant, what was deny'd the rest.
Aurora for her aged spouse complains,
And Ceres grieves for Jason's freezing veins;
Vulcan would Erichthonius' years renew,
Her future race the care of Venus drew,
She would Anchises' blooming age restore;
A diff'rent care employ'd each heav'nly Pow'r:
Thus various int'rests did their jars encrease,
'Till Jove arose; he spoke, their tumults cease.
Is any rev'rence to our presence giv'n,
Then why this discord 'mong the Pow'rs of Heav'n?
Who can the settled will of Fate subdue?
'Twas by the Fates that Iolaus knew
A second youth. The Fates' determin'd doom
Shall give Callirhoe's race a youthful bloom.
Arms, nor ambition can this pow'r obtain;
Quell your desires; ev'n me the Fates restrain.
Could I their will controul, no rolling years
Had Aeacus bent down with silver hairs;
Then Rhadamanthus still had youth possess'd,
And Minos with eternal bloom been bless'd.
Jove's words the synod mov'd; the Pow'rs give o'er,
And urge in vain unjust complaint no more.
Since Rhadamanthus' veins now slowly flow'd,
And Aeacus, and Minos bore the load;
Minos, who in the flow'r of youth, and fame,
Made mighty nations tremble at his name,
Infirm with age, the proud Miletus fears,
Vain of his birth, and in the strength of years,
And now regarding all his realms as lost,
He durst not force him from his native coast.
But you by choice, Miletus, fled his reign,
And thy swift vessel plow'd th' Aegean main;
On Asiatick shores a town you frame,
Which still is honour'd with the founder's name.
Here you Cyanee knew, the beauteous maid,
As on her father's winding banks she stray'd:
Caunus and Byblis hence their lineage trace,
The double offspring of your warm embrace.
The Passion of of Byblis
Let the sad fate of wretched Byblis prove
A dismal warning to unlawful love;
One birth gave being to the hapless pair,
But more was Caunus than a sister's care;
Unknown she lov'd, for yet the gentle fire
Rose not in flames, nor kindled to desire,
'Twas thought no sin to wonder at his charms,
Hang on his neck, and languish in his arms;
Thus wing'd with joy, fled the soft hours away,
And all the fatal guilt on harmless Nature lay.
But love (too soon from piety declin'd)
Insensibly deprav'd her yielding mind.
Dress'd she appears, with nicest art adorn'd,
And ev'ry youth, but her lov'd brother, scorn'd;
For him alone she labour'd to be fair,
And curst all charms that might with hers compare.
'Twas she, and only she, must Caunus please,
Sick at her heart, yet knew not her disease:
She call'd him lord, for brother was a name
Too cold, and dull for her aspiring flame;
And when he spoke, if sister he reply'd,
For Byblis change that frozen word, she cry'd.
Yet waking still she watch'd her strugling breast,
And love's approaches were in vain address'd,
'Till gentle sleep an easy conquest made,
And in her soft embrace the conqueror was laid.
But oh too soon the pleasing vision fled,
And left her blushing on the conscious bed:
Ah me! (she cry'd) how monstrous do I seem?
Why these wild thoughts? and this incestuous dream?
Envy herself ('tis true) must own his charms,
But what is beauty in a sister's arms?
Oh were I not that despicable she,
How bless'd, how pleas'd, how happy shou'd I be!
But unregarded now must bear my pain,
And but in dreams, my wishes can obtain.
O sea-born Goddess! with thy wanton boy!
Was ever such a charming scene of joy?
Such perfect bliss! such ravishing delight!
Ne'er hid before in the kind shades of night.
How pleas'd my heart! in what sweet raptures tost!
Ev'n life it self in the soft combat lost,
While breathless he on my heav'd bosom lay,
And snatch'd the treasures of my soul away.
If the bare fancy so affects my mind,
How shou'd I rave if to the substance join'd?
Oh, gentle Caunus! quit thy hated line,
Or let thy parents be no longer mine!
Oh that in common all things were enjoy'd,
But those alone who have our hopes destroy'd.
Were I a princess, thou an humble swain,
The proudest kings shou'd rival thee in vain.
It cannot be, alas! the dreadful ill
Is fix'd by Fate, and he's my brother still.
Hear me, ye Gods! I must have friends in Heav'n,
For Jove himself was to a sister giv'n:
But what are their prerogatives above,
To the short liberties of human love?
Fantastick thoughts! down, down, forbidden fires,
Or instant death extinguish my desires.
Strict virtue, then, with thy malicious leave,
Without a crime I may a kiss receive:
But say shou'd I in spight of laws comply,
Yet cruel Caunus might himself deny,
No pity take of an afflicted maid
(For love's sweet game must be by couples play'd).
Yet why shou'd youth, and charms like mine, despair?
Such fears ne'er startled the Aeolian pair;
No ties of blood could their full hopes destroy,
They broke thro' all, for the prevailing joy;
And who can tell but Caunus too may be
Rack'd and tormented in his breast for me?
Like me, to the extreamest anguish drove,
Like me, just waking from a dream of love?
But stay! Oh whither wou'd my fury run!
What arguments I urge to be undone!
Away fond Byblis, quench these guilty flames;
Caunus thy love but as brother claims;
Yet had he first been touch'd with love of me,
The charming youth cou'd I despairing see?
Oppress'd with grief, and dying by disdain?
Ah no! too sure I shou'd have eas'd his pain!
Since then, if Caunus ask'd me, it were done;
Asking my self, what dangers can I run?
But canst thou ask? and see that right betray'd,
From Pyrrha down to thy whole sex convey'd?
That self-denying gift we all enjoy,
Of wishing to be won, yet seeming to be coy.
Well then, for once, let a fond mistress woo;
The force of love no custom can subdue;
This frantick passion he by words shall know,
Soft as the melting heart from whence they flow.
The pencil then in her fair hand she held,
By fear discourag'd, but by love compell'd
She writes, then blots, writes on, and blots again,
Likes it as fit, then razes it as vain:
Shame, and assurance in her face appear,
And a faint hope just yielding to despair;
Sister was wrote, and blotted as a word
Which she, and Caunus too (she hop'd) abhorr'd;
But now resolv'd to be no more controul'd
By scrup'lous virtue, thus her grief she told.
Thy lover (gentle Caunus) wishes thee
That health, which thou alone canst give to me.
O charming youth! the gift I ask bestow,
Ere thou the name of the fond writer know;
To thee without a name I would be known,
Since knowing that, my frailty I must own.
Yet why shou'd I my wretched name conceal?
When thousand instances my flames reveal:
Wan looks, and weeping eyes have spoke my pain,
And sighs discharg'd from my heav'd heart in vain;
Had I not wish'd my passion might be seen,
What cou'd such fondness and embraces mean?
Such kisses too! (Oh heedless lovely boy)
Without a crime no sister cou'd enjoy:
Yet (tho' extreamest rage has rack'd my soul,
And raging fires in my parch'd bosom roul)
Be witness, Gods! how piously I strove,
To rid my thoughts of this enchanting love.
But who cou'd scape so fierce, and sure a dart,
Aim'd at a tender, and defenceless heart?
Alas! what maid cou'd suffer, I have born,
Ere the dire secret from my breast was torn;
To thee a helpless vanquish'd wretch I come,
'Tis you alone can save, or give my doom;
My life, or death this moment you may chuse.
Yet think, oh think, no hated stranger sues,
No foe; but one, alas! too near ally'd,
And wishing still much nearer to be ty'd.
The forms of decency let age debate,
And virtue's rules by their cold morals state;
Their ebbing joys give leisure to enquire,
And blame those noble flights our youth inspire:
Where Nature kindly summons let us go,
Our sprightly years no bounds in love shou'd know,
Shou'd feel no check of guilt, and fear no ill;
Lovers, and Gods act all things at their will:
We gain one blessing from our hated kin,
Since our paternal freedom hides the sin;
Uncensur'd in each other's arms we lye,
Think then how easie to compleat our joy.
Oh, pardon and oblige a blushing maid,
Whose rage the pride of her vain sex betray'd;
Nor let my tomb thus mournfully complain,
Here Byblis lies, by her lov'd Caunus slain.
Forc'd here to end, she with a falling tear
Temper'd the pliant wax, which did the signet bear:
The curious cypher was impress'd by art,
But love had stamp'd one deeper in her heart;
Her page, a youth of confidence, and skill,
(Secret as night) stood waiting on her will;
Sighing (she cry'd): Bear this, thou faithful boy,
To my sweet partner in eternal joy:
Here a long pause her secret guilt confess'd,
And when at length she would have spoke the rest,
Half the dear name lay bury'd in her breast.
Thus as he listned to her vain command,
Down fell the letter from her trembling hand.
The omen shock'd her soul. Yet go, she cry'd;
Can a request from Byblis be deny'd?
To the Maeandrian youth this message's born,
The half-read lines by his fierce rage were torn;
Hence, hence, he cry'd, thou pandar to her lust,
Bear hence the triumph of thy impious trust:
Thy instant death will but divulge her shame,
Or thy life's blood shou'd quench the guilty flame.
Frighted, from threatning Caunus he withdrew,
And with the dreadful news to his lost mistress flew.
The sad repulse so struck the wounded fair,
Her sense was bury'd in her wild despair;
Pale was her visage, as the ghastly dead;
And her scar'd soul from the sweet mansion fled;
Yet with her life renew'd, her love returns,
And faintly thus her cruel fate she mourns:
'Tis just, ye Gods! was my false reason blind?
To write a secret of this tender kind?
With female craft I shou'd at first have strove,
By dubious hints to sound his distant love;
And try'd those useful, tho' dissembled, arts,
Which women practise on disdainful hearts:
I shou'd have watch'd whence the black storm might rise;
Ere I had trusted the unfaithful skies.
Now on the rouling billows I am tost,
And with extended sails, on the blind shelves am lost.
Did not indulgent Heav'n my doom foretell,
When from my hand the fatal letter fell?
What madness seiz'd my soul? and urg'd me on
To take the only course to be undone?
I cou'd my self have told the moving tale
With such alluring grace as must prevail;
Then had his eyes beheld my blushing fears,
My rising sighs, and my descending tears;
Round his dear neck these arms I then had spread,
And, if rejected, at his feet been dead:
If singly these had not his thoughts inclin'd,
Yet all united would have shock'd his mind.
Perhaps, my careless page might be in fault,
And in a luckless hour the fatal message brought;
Business, and worldly thoughts might fill his breast,
Sometimes ev'n love itself may be an irksome guest:
He cou'd not else have treated me with scorn,
For Caunus was not of a tygress born;
Nor steel, nor adamant has fenc'd his heart;
Like mine, 'tis naked to the burning dart.
Away false fears! he must, he shall be mine;
In death alone I will my claim resign;
'Tis vain to wish my written crime unknown,
And for my guilt much vainer to atone.
Repuls'd and baffled, fiercer still she burns,
And Caunus with disdain her impious love returns.
He saw no end of her injurious flame,
And fled his country to avoid the shame.
Forsaken Byblis, who had hopes no more;
Burst out in rage, and her loose robes she tore;
With her fair hands she smote her tender breast,
And to the wond'ring world her love confess'd;
O'er hills and dales, o'er rocks and streams she flew,
But still in vain did her wild lust pursue:
Wearied at length, on the cold earth she fell,
And now in tears alone could her sad story tell.
Relenting Gods in pity fix'd her there,
And to a fountain turn'd the weeping fair.
The Fable of Iphis and Ian the
The fame of this, perhaps, thro' Crete had flown:
But Crete had newer wonders of her own,
In Iphis chang'd; for, near the Gnossian bounds
(As loud report the miracle resounds),
At Phaestus dwelt a man of honest blood,
But meanly born, and not so rich as good;
Esteem'd, and lov'd by all the neighbourhood;
Who to his wife, before the time assign'd
For child-birth came, thus bluntly spoke his mind.
If Heav'n, said Lygdus, will vouchsafe to hear,
I have but two petitions to prefer;
Short pains for thee, for me a son and heir.
Girls cost as many throes in bringing forth;
Beside, when born, the titts are little worth;
Weak puling things, unable to sustain
Their share of labour, and their bread to gain.
If, therefore, thou a creature shalt produce,
Of so great charges, and so little use
(Bear witness, Heav'n, with what reluctancy),
Her hapless innocence I doom to die.
He said, and common tears the common grief display,
Of him who bad, and her who must obey.
Yet Telethusa still persists, to find
Fit arguments to move a father's mind;
T' extend his wishes to a larger scope,
And in one vessel not confine his hope.
Lygdus continues hard: her time drew near,
And she her heavy load could scarcely bear;
When slumbring, in the latter shades of night,
Before th' approaches of returning light,
She saw, or thought she saw, before her bed,
A glorious train, and Isis at their head:
Her moony horns were on her forehead plac'd,
And yellow shelves her shining temples grac'd:
A mitre, for a crown, she wore on high;
The dog, and dappl'd bull were waiting by;
Osyris, sought along the banks of Nile;
The silent God: the sacred crocodile;
And, last, a long procession moving on,
With timbrels, that assist the lab'ring moon.
Her slumbers seem'd dispell'd, and, broad awake,
She heard a voice, that thus distinctly spake.
My votary, thy babe from death defend,
Nor fear to save whate'er the Gods will send.
Delude with art thy husband's dire decree:
When danger calls, repose thy trust on me:
And know thou hast not serv'd a thankless deity.
This promise made, with night the Goddess fled;
With joy the woman wakes, and leaves her bed;
Devoutly lifts her spotless hands on high,
And prays the Pow'rs their gift to ratifie.
Now grinding pains proceed to bearing throes,
'Till its own weight the burden did disclose.
'Twas of the beauteous kind, and brought to light
With secrecy, to shun the father's sight.
Th' indulgent mother did her care employ,
And past it on her husb and for a boy.
The nurse was conscious of the fact alone;
The father paid his vows as for a son;
And call'd him Iphis, by a common name,
Which either sex with equal right may claim.
Iphis his grandsire was; the wife was pleas'd,
Of half the fraud by Fortune's favour eas'd:
The doubtful name was us'd without deceit,
And truth was cover'd with a pious cheat.
The habit show'd a boy, the beauteous face
With manly fierceness mingled female grace.
Now thirteen years of age were swiftly run,
When the fond father thought the time drew on
Of settling in the world his only son.
Ian the was his choice; so wondrous fair,
Her form alone with Iphis cou'd compare;
A neighbour's daughter of his own degree,
And not more bless'd with Fortune's goods than he.
They soon espous'd; for they with ease were join'd,
Who were before contracted in the mind.
Their age the same, their inclinations too;
And bred together, in one school they grew.
Thus, fatally dispos'd to mutual fires,
They felt, before they knew, the same desires.
Equal their flame, unequal was their care;
One lov'd with hope, one languish'd in despair.
The maid accus'd the lingring day alone:
For whom she thought a man, she thought her own.
But Iphis bends beneath a greater grief;
As fiercely burns, but hopes for no relief.
Ev'n her despair adds fuel to her fire;
A maid with madness does a maid desire.
And, scarce refraining tears, Alas, said she,
What issue of my love remains for me!
How wild a passion works within my breast,
With what prodigious flames am I possest!
Could I the care of Providence deserve,
Heav'n must destroy me, if it would preserve.
And that's my fate, or sure it would have sent
Some usual evil for my punishment:
Not this unkindly curse; to rage, and burn,
Where Nature shews no prospect of return.
Nor cows for cows consume with fruitless fire;
Nor mares, when hot, their fellow-mares desire:
The father of the fold supplies his ewes;
The stag through secret woods his hind pursues;
And birds for mates the males of their own species chuse.
Her females Nature guards from female flame,
And joins two sexes to preserve the game:
Wou'd I were nothing, or not what I am!
Crete, fam'd for monsters, wanted of her store,
'Till my new love produc'd one monster more.
The daughter of the sun a bull desir'd,
And yet ev'n then a male a female fir'd:
Her passion was extravagantly new,
But mine is much the madder of the two.
To things impossible she was not bent,
But found the means to compass her intent.
To cheat his eyes she took a different shape;
Yet still she gain'd a lover, and a leap.
Shou'd all the wit of all the world conspire,
Shou'd Daedalus assist my wild desire,
What art can make me able to enjoy,
Or what can change Ian the to a boy?
Extinguish then thy passion, hopeless maid,
And recollect thy reason for thy aid.
Know what thou art, and love as maidens ought,
And drive these golden wishes from thy thought.
Thou canst not hope thy fond desires to gain;
Where hope is wanting, wishes are in vain.
And yet no guards against our joys conspire;
No jealous husb and hinders our desire;
My parents are propitious to my wish,
And she herself consenting to the bliss.
All things concur to prosper our design;
All things to prosper any love but mine.
And yet I never can enjoy the fair;
'Tis past the pow'r of Heav'n to grant my pray'r.
Heav'n has been kind, as far as Heav'n can be;
Our parents with our own desires agree;
But Nature, stronger than the Gods above,
Refuses her assistance to my love;
She sets the bar that causes all my pain;
One gift refus'd, makes all their bounty vain.
And now the happy day is just at hand,
To bind our hearts in Hymen's holy band:
Our hearts, but not our bodies: thus accurs'd,
In midst of water I complain of thirst.
Why com'st thou, Juno, to these barren rites,
To bless a bed defrauded of delights?
But why shou'd Hymen lift his torch on high,
To see two brides in cold embraces lye?
Thus love-sick Iphis her vain passion mourns;
With equal ardour fair Ian the burns,
Invoking Hymen's name, and Juno's pow'r,
To speed the work, and haste the happy hour.
She hopes, while Telethusa fears the day,
And strives to interpose some new delay:
Now feigns a sickness, now is in a fright
For this bad omen, or that boding sight.
But having done whate'er she could devise,
And empty'd all her magazine of lies,
The time approach'd; the next ensuing day
The fatal secret must to light betray.
Then Telethusa had recourse to pray'r,
She, and her daughter with dishevel'd hair;
Trembling with fear, great Isis they ador'd,
Embrac'd her altar, and her aid implor'd.
Fair queen, who dost on fruitful Egypt smile,
Who sway'st the sceptre of the Pharian isle,
And sev'n-fold falls of disemboguing Nile,
Relieve, in this our last distress, she said,
A suppliant mother, and a mournful maid.
Thou, Goddess, thou wert present to my sight;
Reveal'd I saw thee by thy own fair light:
I saw thee in my dream, as now I see,
With all thy marks of awful majesty:
The glorious train that compass'd thee around;
And heard the hollow timbrels holy sound.
Thy words I noted, which I still retain;
Let not thy sacred oracles be vain.
That Iphis lives, that I myself am free
From shame, and punishment, I owe to thee.
On thy protection all our hopes depend.
Thy counsel sav'd us, let thy pow'r defend.
Her tears pursu'd her words; and while she spoke,
The Goddess nodded, and her altar shook:
The temple doors, as with a blast of wind,
Were heard to clap; the lunar horns that bind
The brows of Isis cast a blaze around;
The trembling timbrel made a murm'ring sound.
Some hopes these happy omens did impart;
Forth went the mother with a beating heart:
Not much in fear, nor fully satisfy'd;
But Iphis follow'd with a larger stride:
The whiteness of her skin forsook her face;
Her looks embolden'd with an awful grace;
Her features, and her strength together grew,
And her long hair to curling locks withdrew.
Her sparkling eyes with manly vigour shone,
Big was her voice, audacious was her tone.
The latent parts, at length reveal'd, began
To shoot, and spread, and burnish into man.
The maid becomes a youth; no more delay
Your vows, but look, and confidently pay.
Their gifts the parents to the temple bear:
The votive tables this inscription wear;
Iphis the man, has to the Goddess paid
The vows, that Iphis offer'd when a maid.
Now when the star of day had shewn his face,
Venus and Juno with their presence grace
The nuptial rites, and Hymen from above
Descending to compleat their happy love;
The Gods of marriage lend their mutual aid;
And the warm youth enjoys the lovely maid.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
~ Ovid, BOOK THE NINTH
,#NFDB
166:The Golden Age
Long ere the Muse the strenuous chords had swept,
And the first lay as yet in silence slept,
A Time there was which since has stirred the lyre
To notes of wail and accents warm with fire;
Moved the soft Mantuan to his silvery strain,
And him who sobbed in pentametric pain;
To which the World, waxed desolate and old,
Fondly reverts, and calls the Age of Gold.
Then, without toil, by vale and mountain side,
Men found their few and simple wants supplied;
Plenty, like dew, dropped subtle from the air,
And Earth's fair gifts rose prodigal as prayer.
Love, with no charms except its own to lure,
Was swiftly answered by a love as pure.
No need for wealth; each glittering fruit and flower,
Each star, each streamlet, made the maiden's dower.
Far in the future lurked maternal throes,
And children blossomed painless as the rose.
No harrowing question `why,' no torturing `how,'
Bent the lithe frame or knit the youthful brow.
The growing mind had naught to seek or shun;
Like the plump fig it ripened in the sun.
From dawn to dark Man's life was steeped in joy,
And the gray sire was happy as the boy.
Nature with Man yet waged no troublous strife,
And Death was almost easier than Life.
Safe on its native mountains throve the oak,
Nor ever groaned 'neath greed's relentless stroke.
No fear of loss, no restlessness for more,
Drove the poor mariner from shore to shore.
No distant mines, by penury divined,
Made him the sport of fickle wave or wind.
Rich for secure, he checked each wish to roam,
And hugged the safe felicity of home.
Those days are long gone by; but who shall say
Why, like a dream, passed Saturn's Reign away?
Over its rise, its ruin, hangs a veil,
486
And naught remains except a Golden Tale.
Whether 'twas sin or hazard that dissolved
That happy scheme by kindly Gods evolved;
Whether Man fell by lucklessness or pride,Let jarring sects, and not the Muse, decide.
But when that cruel Fiat smote the earth,
Primeval Joy was poisoned at its birth.
In sorrow stole the infant from the womb,
The agëd crept in sorrow to the tomb.
The ground, so bounteous once, refused to bear
More than was wrung by sower, seed, and share.
Ofttimes would ruthless winds or torrents raze
The ripening fruit of toilsome nights and days.
Each one in turn grew jealous of his own,
And fenced his patch with ditch and churlish stone.
As greed uprose, and greed engendered strife,
Contention raged coincident with life.
Man against man, maid against maiden turned,
And the soft breast with envious passions burned.
The loss of one was hailed as others' gain,
And pleasure took unnatural birth from pain.
Goaded by woe, and through tradition's lore
Mindful of all the blissfulness of yore,
The Human Race, its sorrows to assuage,
Dreamed afar off a second Golden Age;
Not in the dim irrevocable Past,
But in a Future just as vague and vast.
The prophet's lips, the poet's flattering pen,
Revelled in forecasts of that golden Then.
The days should come when grief would be no more,
And Peace and Plenty rule from shore to shore;
All men alike enjoy what none did earn,
And even more than Saturn's Reign return.
As years rolled on, as centuries went by,
And still that Promised Time seemed no more nigh,
Mankind at length, outwearied with delays,
Gave up all hope of those seductive days.
Then other prophets, other scribes arose,
A nearer, surer Eden to disclose.
`O, long-befooled!' they said, `awake, and deem
The Past a tale, the Future but a dream.
487
Here, in the living Present, act your part,
Straining its vulgar blessings to your heart.
Let hand with hand and brain with brain contend,
And each one labour to some selfish end.
In wealth and riot, luxury and power,
Baffle the mockery of the transient hour.
If thousands fall, if tens of thousands bleed,
Will not a hundred, or a score, succeed?
Let those who cannot yield to those who canFate has its piles of victims; why not Man?
Better a furious fight where some one wins,
Than sluggish life which ends as it begins.
Vain was the bard who, whilst the World was new,
'Twixt men and beasts the fond distinction drew,
That these confine their downward gaze to earth,
Whilst man looks up, enamoured of his birth.
Not in the skies, but deep beneath the soil,
There will you find your happiness and spoil.
Enough for brutes its simple face to know,
But godlike man must pierce and delve below.
Deep in its bowels seek the shining ore,
And at its touch shall Saturn reign once more.
For him whose thews are sound, whose vision clear,
Whose purpose firm, the Golden Age is here.'
Never from cave or tripod, mount or glade,
Issued a voice so welcomed, so obeyed.
From zone to zone the Golden Gospel flew,
And in its train mankind obedient drew.
See from their seats the ancient Gods dethroned,
Altars upset, and oracles disown'd.
The Muses, scared, conceal the smothered lyre;
No longer prized, the Graces swift retire;
Virtue, a butt for ribalds, seeks her shroud,
And even Venus veils herself in cloud.
Religion, Ethics, all men erst adored,
Hymned on the harp, or fought for with the sword,
All lofty scopes, all ends esteemed of old,
Dissolve like mist before the rage for gold.
The priest for gold makes traffic of his robe;
For gold the soldier desolates the globe;
The poet shapes for gold his venal lays;
488
Through gold Vice stalks caparisoned with praise.
Tempted by gold, the virgin sells her charms,
Though no Immortal slips into her arms.
Saddled with gold, the adventurer can buy
Titles, precedence, place, and dignity.
High, middle, low, the young, the ripe, the old,
Man, woman, child, live, die, are damned for Gold.
Soon as the youthful mind begins to ope,
It searches Life's significance and scope;
And, fed by generous impulse year by year,
Dreams for itself some glorious career.
Its shall it be, instructed by the Muse,
Truth to abet, and beauty to diffuse;
With full-blown sail, and genius at the helm,
To steer men's thoughts to a serener realm.
Perhaps the ingenuous boy would fain recall
Tintoret's canvas, Memmi's fresco'd wall;
With godlike pencil purify the mart,
And life ennoble with the breath of Art.
Maybe he burns, by Plato's failure fired,
To scale the heights which every wing have tired,
Seize first each part, then comprehend the whole,
And solve the eternal problem of the Soul.
Be these his aims, or, nobler still, to train
His kind to mutiny till Virtue reign,
Soon doth he learn to count his lovely schemes
A host of bubbles in a world of dreams.
Experience whispers early, Have a care!
Who with the Muse would live must live on air.
The tempting maid is but a poet's lie,
`Who gave to song what gold could never buy.'
Confront the world, take counsel with the throng;
Their verdict what? `The thing's not worth a song.'
Are you content you now have learnt your price?
Come, sink the Muse, and don't be quite so nice.
Start a new Company, and float the shares,
Then lunch with Ministers and dine with Mayors.
Pimp for a Party, praise a Premier's heart,
Head a subscription, and then shine-a Bart.
Return your income fifty thousand clearThe devil's in it, or you'll die a peer.
489
Success so great is never done by halves'Tis only virtue, when 'tis greatest, starves.
Perhaps his breast, untutored yet to serve,
Spurns the base counsel with a proud reserve;
For Youth is stubborn, and when Nature draws,
In vain a parent's warning, wisdom's saws.
Let cravens straight their impotence confess,
And sell their birthright for a filthy mess;
In flowers see, bee-like, nought but stuff for hives,
And for foul lucre prostitute their lives;
They have not failed who never once have tried,
Or, if they failed, they failed for want of pride.
He, he at least his soul will ne'er demean,
But 'mong the foul will keep his honour clean.
O touching sight, to witness day by day
His splendid generous day-dreams fade away!
His sire reproaches, and his brothers scoff,
His mother doubts, his sisters e'en fall off.
The neighbours pity, strangers deem him mad;
Girls, smiling, whisper, What a foolish lad!
Meanwhile his compeers, started in the race,
Are swiftly marching on to power and place.
One makes a coup, and weds a wife of rank;
Another's junior partner in a bank.
A third in sugar with unscriptural hand,
Traffics, and builds a lasting house on sand.
A fourth, for beer and piety renowned,
Owns all the publics in the country round;
Its drink adulterates with face demure,
But burns with zeal to keep opinion pure;
Cares not one jot for bodies drunk or sick,
But scans your soul like a new Dominick.
The fifth, the patron of a new balloon,
Projects a Company to reach the moon;
Baits his prospectus with a batch of peers,
And vows nought pays like money in the Spheres.
Shares in the moon advanced-advancing still.
Then comes a crash-stock guaranteed at nil.
But sure, the man is ruined? Not at all;
He scarce can tumble who has sense to crawl.
490
Your modern Icarus is much too wise
On his own pinions to attempt the skiesOn others' soaring follies doth he rise.
Long ere the bubble burst his shares were sold;
Just at that moment he had need of gold.
Singed wings, you know, are but for simple folk;
He, with his peers, 'scapes safe from flame and smoke,
And buys a borough with the happy stroke.
Few are the souls who die for Cato's creed:
To fail seems base, when all around succeed.
Foiled in his purpose, both by foe and friend,
Through noble means to reach a noble end,
The baffled boy forswears his cherished dream,
And learns to swim, like others, with the stream.
Keen to recover precious moments lost,
And taught by bitter tasks what Virtue cost,
He midst the rush, whilst others rise and fall,
Swims on, the most unscrupulous of all.
Let others chouse with care, he cheats with pluck,
And millions stake their all upon his luck.
His daring overawes the small, the great,
And whilst he plunders they but peculate.
He lures the easy, makes the fat his spoil,
Pares the lean wage of proletarian toil;
Swindles the widow of her hoarded mite,
Drags the poor pensioner once more to fight;
Robs age of rest, and youth of prospects fair,
Plunges the sanguine bridegroom in despair;
Severs the ties made sacred long by home,
And sends the son from sire across the foam;
Dashes the faith of plighted swain and maid,
And helps alone the cynic sexton's spade:
Does all that well beseems a Fallen StarIt needs a Lucifer to fall so far!
Sometimes will Fortune on the traitor scowl,
And e'en with gold not pay a deed so foul.
He who was born a glittering child of light,
Trenchant as Raphael, as Ithuriel bright,
Yet sells his soul a vulgar prize to reap,
And for brute guerdons holds his honour cheap,
491
Too often finds that he who, grovelling, flies
From unrewarded reverie in the skies,
And seeks in venal efforts to employ
The gifts God formed for beauty and for joy,
Makes but a barren barter of his birth,
And Heaven foregoes, without securing earth.
See how he sinks! The more he strains to clutch
Terrestrial spoil, unworthy of his touch,
It seems, for him, to take elusive shapes,
And like a shadow from his grasp escapes.
As baser wax his aims, more mean his scope,
More and still more he sprawls-the sport of Hope.
Still as he tries to suffocate his soul,
Farther beyond him seems the carnal goal.
In vain he turns to catch the favouring gale;
Becalmed he lies-he labours but to fail.
Poor and despised, he now would fain retrace
His erring steps to his first dwelling-place,
But finds, alas! baseness hath borne its fruit;
Wings long unused have withered at the root.
He who in vain has crawled in vain would fly,
And rots abandoned both by earth and sky.
Meaner his end than that poor tradesman's doom,
Who, asked what words of honour on his tomb
His friends should place, with cynic touch replied,
`Here lies who, born a man, a grocer died!'
Whom doth this foe of human virtue spare?
Look round! More sweet its victims, the more fair.
Its natural slaves, who, spawned from wealth, are born
To Traffic's tricks they lack the soul to scorn,
Whose lust for lucre is their proper lot,
It just as oft impoverishes as not.
'Tis those in whom the Unseen God inspires
The restless leaven of divine desires;
Who, from the moment that they lisp, betray
An alien spirit housed within their clay;
Whose fretful youth life's narrow limits chafe,
And yearns for worlds more spacious, if less safe;
Striving to reach, despite its fleshly thrall,
That larger Something which surrounds us all;These, these the souls-and not that baser band-
492
To whom Gold loves to stretch a helping hand;
With early smiles their generous aims to bless,
And lead them, blind, to ruinous success.
When Lelius chanted first his fragrant lays,
Men praised, and he was amply paid with praise.
Not salons' sycophant, nor Fashion's bard,
No glittering heaps did his sweet notes reward.
He was content with audience fit, though few,
When to his side the cunning demon drew.
`Your pen's worth gold; you need but blunt its point;
Come, cut the Muse; the times are out of joint.
Fame's well enough, but comfort has its laws;
You'll make a damned poor supper off applause.
Sing, be select, and starve. Prose is the thingThe thing that pays. The Million now is King.
Write gossip, scandal, slander-what you will;
A well-filled purse awaits a ready quill.'
The curst insidious demon has his way,
And Grub-street swallows Lelius for aye.
Turn from the pen, and for a while survey
The wide domains which brush and canvas sway.
Enter those realms, and what do we behold?
Art, heavenly Art, the slave and pimp of gold!
Time was when its poor votaries were too proud
To sate the itch of a vain-glorious crowd,
Serve the mean aims of narrow personal pelf,
And swell the ignoble retinue of Self.
Only the State, which merges private ends,
Or sacred Church, which lifts them and extends,
Might then presume the artist's craft to claim,
And paid him, happy, with immortal Fame.
Here, Friendship's guest, where fairest Florence lies,
A dream in stone, stretched out before mine eyes,
I think of all the treasures there enshrined,
And what small dole nurtured each master mind;
Or led by memory o'er the classic chain
Which Umbrian slope divides from Tuscan plain,
I all the priceless unbought gems recall
That link with heaven Assisi's frescoed wall;
Then, borne on wings of weakness, I repair
To mine own land, and groan to think that there,
493
Debased by Fashion to a venal trade,
Art counts its triumphs by its fortunes made;
Spurned by the State, and by the Church unsought,
Works but for wealth, and by the base is bought;
Stranger to altars, palaces, or domes,
Pampers the pomp of ostentatious homes.
How changed the days since Duccio's hand of old
On Saints and Virgins lavished costly gold;
But for himself asked but a few poor crowns,
Less than we give to harlequins and clowns.
Now do our mercenary tricksters grudge
Almost the very canvas that they smudge;
Yet scan with greedy eyes the glittering heap
That opulent folly holds, for once, so cheap.
See, too, how Genius, when its touch was true,
On humble walls its lasting fancies drew;
Whose modern apes, ridiculously bold,
Hang their ephemeral daubs in frames of gold.
In vain doth Heaven, while Gold thus rules the earth,
With generous instincts sow the soul at birth.
Swift in the genial soil the seed takes root,
Then seeks the sun with many a venturous shoot.
But, ah, how soon the cruel outer air
Checks the brave growth and nips its promise fair!
Warmed by the glow of Tasso's splendid lay,
Or borne by Dante to the gates of Day;
Softly seduced by Scott's romantic strain
To deem all ends, excepting honour, vain;
Or nobly trained by Shelley's burning song
To cherish an eternal feud with wrong,The simple girl constructs a future fair,
Rears a whole world of castles in the air,
And nowhere warned, or deaf to warning, deems
That life will clothe and justify her dreams.
As year by year the maiden grows apace,
And half the woman mantles in her face,
With sickening sense, sad eye, and sinking heart,
She sees her forecasts one by one depart.
Slowly, but, ah, too surely doth she find
That poets' tales no longer rule mankind;
That Peace is homeless as the hunted hare,
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And Love far less a shelter than a snare;
That godlike Valour meets a demon's doom,
Whilst Prudence prospers even from the tomb;
That Youth, save schooled in Mammon's miry ways,
Groans o'er the lapse of unrequited days;
That Beauty, Genius, all are vain and cold,
Till foully touched and fertilised by Gold.
Soon as the time so dear to mother's vows
Draws nigh, to find the maid some fitting spouse,
Then most of all she learns what leading part
Is played by Gold in dramas of the heart.
Chance to young Hylas, beautiful as Dawn,
And sweet as fair, she feels her fancy drawn.
Are you a nymph? one whispers. Let him pass.
He doth but gather daisies in the grass.
Where your cool wave, hidden from human eyes,
In which to lure and love him till he dies?
Bid him rejoin his Hercules, and seize
The golden apples of the Hesperides;
And then perchance, should none more rich than he
Engage your love, you may his Hera be.
Alas, poor Hylas! worse than Mysian fate
Doth his meandering flowery feet await.
If that a Solon, versed in every art
Of song and science, touch the maiden's heart,
The neighbours softly whisper, Have a care;
Can Erudition keep a chaise and pair?
Pundits, alas, like fools, must pay their bills,
And Knowledge figures sorrily in wills.
For single life learning is well enough,
But marriage should be made of sterner stuff.
Should Cato's fame her pious soul attract,
The whole world cries, The woman must be cracked.
What! wed with Virtue! Is the girl awake?
Sure, she confounds the altar with the stake.
Send for the doctor. Try a change of air.
Swear Cato drinks. In war and love all's fair.
Bring Croesus to the front. At four he's freeThere's no one left to swindle after three.
In one brief hour behold him curled and drest,
And borne on wings of fashion to the West!
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What though to regions fondly deemed refined,
He brings his City manners, City mind,
And cynics titter?-he laughs best who wins,A Greenwhich dinner covers many sins.
What! dine with Croesus? Surely. Is a feast
One jot the worse because the host's a beast?
He's worse than that-a snob-a cad. Agreed;
But then his goblets smack of Ganymede?
Do some strange freaks his conversation mar?
He stops your censure with a prime cigar.
A Norway stream, a shooting-lodge in Perth,
In practice look uncommonly like worth.
The Town to hear some new soprano flocks.
You long to go? Well, Croesus has a box.
How at this hour are tickets to be got
For the Regatta? Croesus has a yacht.
Goodwood is here. Your hopes begin to flag.
One chance awaits you: Croesus has a drag.
You doat on Flower-shows: Croesus has a bone.
Be friends with Croesus, and the World's your own.
Who could resist seductions such as these?
Or what could charm, if Croesus failed to please?
Blinded and bribed, the critical are cured,
And loud extol whom late they scarce endured.
Caressed and courted, Croesus grows the rage,
The type and glory of our Golden Age;
And Cato, Hylas, Solon, shoved aside,
Our heavenly maid is hailed as Croesus' bride.
Shade of Lucretius! if thy lyre waxed wild
With sacred rage for Clytemnestra's child,
And nought could hold thee as thy soul surveyed
The cursëd ills Religion can persuade,
How would thy verse impetuously shower
Sonorous scorn on Gold's atrocious power;
Embalm its victims with a touch divine,
And damn the monster in one sounding line!
Can honeyed forms or stereotyped applause
Alter the scope of Heaven's eternal laws?
What though with gifts should massive sideboards groan,
And every heart be glad except her own,
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And troops of blooming girls behold with pride,
Perchance with envy, this resplendent bride;
Though vieing voices hail her Fashion's queen,
And even a Bishop's blessing crown the scene,
No rites, no rings, no altars, can avail
To make a sacred contract of a sale,
Stir the far depths of the reluctant mind,
Or join the hearts which love hath failed to bind.
If soul stands passive whilst the flesh is sold,
Is there no foul aroma in the gold?
Is the base barter covered by the price,
And do huge figures make the nasty nice?
The nameless outcast, prowling for her prey,
Renews her filthy bargain day by day;
Let Croesus give her what he gave his wife,
She's virtuous too-at least, she's his for life.
Croesus-but hold! Let Charity presume
That Croesus' wife but dimly knew her doom.
The luckless maid, since knowledge comes too late,
In splendour seeks oblivion of her fate;
Of every tender pious aim bereft,
Hugs in despair the only idol left;
In alien worship seeks to be consoled,
And builds her hopes of happiness on Gold.
Gold rules her steps, determines her desiresMere puppet she, whilst Mammon jerks the wires.
Futile to ask if London suits her healthWould you consult her doctor, not her wealth?
You soon are answered: Whether ill or well,
A house in Town is indispensable.
Where shall it be? On gravel or on clay?
Wherever tenants have the most to pay.
Price is the thing, not soil. If Fashion's camp
Be pitched just here, what matter dry or damp?
But, health apart, 'tis known that Croesus' wife,
If left to choose, prefers a country life.
Well, she shall have it when the Parks are brown,
And Fashion, wearied, hath dispersed the Town.
But whilst the woods are leafy, and the lanes
With lush wild-flowers rob life of half its pains;
While sweetest scents and softest sounds combine
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To make existence, did they last, divine;
Not for the world must Croesus' wife be missed
From fetid streets, foul rooms, and Fashion's list;
And only thence to rural refuge flies
As, self-exhausted, pleasant Summer dies.
Say, shall we marvel, amid scenes like these,
With all to dazzle, but with nought to please,
If links of simple gold should fail to cleave,
And tempters prompt their webs not vainly weave?
See, Plutus, first in each ignoble strife,
Battered and bored, bethinks him of a wife.
The happy tidings, spreading through the West,
Fires each maternal mercenary breast.
The soaring dames parade their daughters' charms,
To lure the hug of Plutus' palsied arms;
And as brave Eld for one fair woman fought,
For one foul man our world to rage is wrought.
At last, opining he might chance do worse,
Plutus to proud Olympia flings his purse.
Olympia lifts it with triumphant smile,
Whilst round her crowds congratulating guile,
Escorts her to the altar, decks her brows
With orange-buds, then leaves her with her spouse,
Who, though his suit by golden showers throve,
Can grasp his Danaë with no thews of Jove.
O, who shall tell Olympia's tale aright,
Each splendid day, each miserable night;
Her thirst divine by human draughts but slaked,
Her smiling face whilst the heart sorely ached,
Or note the edge whence one we loved so well
To sweet, seductive, base perdition fell?
I cast no stone, but half by rage consoled,
I snatch the lyre and curse this fiendish Gold.
Though Beauty's fame oft spreads through all the land,
Splendour is far more curiously scanned;
And they who once upon Olympia threw
A passing glance, since she was fair to view,
Now gilded pomp and Ostentation's choir
Attend her path, of gazing never tire;
Suck up her speech, translate her silent eyes,
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Each movement, look, and posture scrutinise,
Stalk all her steps, as matron, friend, and wife,
And feed in greedy gossip on her life.
Not mine to follow to the noisome den
Where woman's frailty stands the gaze of men,
And well-coached menials, limed with gold, detail
The piteous scenes that pass behind the veil.
Enough to know that, thanks to wealth, once more
Plutus can woo, e'en richer than before.
The tottering cuckold leaves the court consoled;
Considerate juries tip his horns with Gold!
Sure some malicious demon in the brain
It needs must be, drives men reputed sane
To spurn the joys adjacent to their feet,
In the fond chase of this receding cheat?
Say, when the Stoic on his tranquil height,
And swinish crowd, sweating in miry fight,
In every age a like conclusion reach,
And sage and simple one same sermon preachThat whether Heaven hath made one serf or king,
Reason alone true happiness can bringCan we but stand astounded as we scan
This race untaught, unteachable, called Man?
Would you be truly rich, how small the heap
Your aims require, the price how passing cheap!
A modest house, from urban jars removed,
By thrist selected, yet by taste approved;
Whose walls are gay with every sweet that blows,
Whose windows scented by the blushing rose;
Whose chambers few to no fine airs pretend,
Yet never are too full to greet a friend;
A garden plot, whither unbidden come
Bird's idle pipe and bee's laborious hum;
Smooth-shaven lawn, whereon in pastime's hours
The mallet rings within a belt of flowers;
A leafy nook where to enjoy at will
Gibbon's rich prose or Shakespeare's wizard quill;
A neighbouring copse wherein the stock-doves coo,
And a wild stream unchecked sings all day through;
Two clean bright stalls, where midday, night, and morn,
Two good stout roadsters champ their well-earned corn;
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A few learned shelves from modern rubbish free,
Yet always, Mill, with just a place for Thee;
Head ne'er at dawn by clownish bouts obscured,
And limbs by temperate exercise inured;
A few firm friendships made in early life,
Yet doubly fastened by a pleasant wife;
A wholesome board, a draught of honest wine;This is true wealth; and this, thank Heaven, is mine!
And though you ransacked worlds from shore to shore,
From sea to sky, you could not give me more.
And if, all these beyond, I still should crave
Something impossible this side the grave,
Let humbler souls my soaring hopes forgiveAfter my life still in my verse to live.
Well would it be if Mammon's feverish rage
Did but the vulgar and the base engage;
If those alone whose undistinguished name,
Haply if fouled, would shed no slur on Fame,
Sought in this sordid, despicable strife,
To find the good and snatch the crown of life.
But in the mire of venal fight embroiled,
Have we not seen the noblest scutcheons soiled?
Not the proud thought that many a splendid fray,
When crowns obeyed the fortunes of the day,
To stalwart arms its pregnant issue owed,
Whose glorious blood in their own body flowed;
Not the remembrance that their sires did share
The toils that made this England great and fair;
Not their resplendent pedigree, nor all
The line of haught fierce faces on the wall,
That tells the tale of their ancestral hall,
Have yet availed, in days like these, to hold
Men, thus seduced, from the coarse race for Gold.
Have we not seen the generous beast, whose sires
Once bore their fathers into battle's fires,
By titled gamblers' mercenary taste
His once stout loins to nimble flanks debased,
Made for curst gold to sweat through all his pores,
The panting pet of blacklegs, lords, and whores?
On such a course what dismal woes await,
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Let the world learn by young Lucullus' fate.
Whilst yet the bloom of boyhood matched his cheek,
And all his duty was to master Greek.
Make a long score, bound o'er the running brook,
Cleave the clear wave, Lucullus had a book.
No glorious volume was't, whose subtle page
The wisdom breathed of many a studious age.
No wealth of wit, no Learning's garnered sheaves
Lay, like a treasure, lurking in its leaves.
But, in their place, crabbed Calculation scrawled
Symbols which shocked and figures that appalled.
Not for sweet Fancy, nor the simple stake
Of generous sports, did he his tasks forsake.
Ere sentiment could move, or sense control,
Adventurous Greed had swallowed up his soul.
If Gold Acrisius' Tower of Brass could flout,
How will the playground shut the monster out?
Thus by his own base instincts first betrayed,
The race of harpies lend their shameful aid,
With evil eye his smiling lands behold,
And smooth his path to infamy with gold.
At length behold him grown to man's estate,
Rich, noble, noted, lord of his own fate.
Here Duty beckons, Honour there incites,
And Love entices to its saving rites.
He heeds them not; he joins the madding crowd,
King of the base, the vulgar, and the loud;
Builds his most precious friendships on a bet,
And through the gutter trails his coronet.
Vain fool! inflamed by flattery and conceit,
He marks no pitfalls yawning at his feet;
But, winning, deems the cunning snare his luck,
And losing, pays, to plume him on his pluck;
Accepts each challenge, doubles every stake,
While tipsy plaudits follow in his wake.
But what avails, if Fortune quits his side?
Curse on the jade, he cries, she always lied!
Well, now's an end! . . . A comrade plucks his gown:
An end as yet, man! cut the timber down.
The luck will turn; you lost for want of skill;
Come, play again-you'll win. . . . By G-, I will!
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Done soon as said. The swift sure axe resounds
Through the green stretch of his ancestral grounds.
The soaring elm, whose topmost boughs defied
The scaling valour of his boyish pride;
The umbrageous beech, beneath whose courtly shade
The loves that issued in his life were made;
The lordly oak, young when his line was young,
To which with pride inherited had clung
His sires and they from whom his sires were sprung;
Behold them now, around the naked hall,
One after one in fell succession fall.
Lo, the wide woods which centuries had seen
By frosts unmoved, mid thunder-fugues serene,
By thousand suns, by tens of thousand showers,
Fostered and fed, one greedy day devours.
And all in vain! Lured by the severed spoil,
The foul fierce harpies fasten on the soil.
`My lands on luck.' We take you. Clear the course;
Twenty to one upon Lucullus' horse!
One minute more, and poor Lucullus flies,
The beggared heir of all the centuries.
Then scoffed, and scourged, and stripped of all his wealth,
His last friends leave him-energy and health.
Anxiety and fierce Excitement's flame
Have scorched his blood and shrivelled up his frame.
`Plum to a pony!' hear the cripple call;
`Ere six months pass, the grave will end it all.'
Lucky at last, he wins his bootless bet,
And dies of drink, debauchery, and debt.
Gone are the times indeed when savage Might
Usurped the throne and claimed the wage of Right.
No longer now the tiller of the soil
Sees his fair fields the lusty robber's spoil;
No timid burgher now grows rich by stealth,
Lest some rude noble swoop upon his wealth;
The quiet citizen no longer fears
A raid upon his money or his ears,
That local turmoil or imperial strife
Will wreck his home or leave him bare for life.
But say, is Force the only fearful foe,
502
Or the keen Sword worst source of human woe?
Wielding base weapons Violence disdained,
Cunning prevails where once Compulsion reigned.
The tyrant's lance, Oppression's piercing shaft,
Torment no more, but abdicate to Craft.
Could feudal despot swooping on his prey,
Could bandit burning for the unequal fray,
Could fire, sword, famine, spread more wreck abroad,
Than marks the path of Greed allied with Fraud;
Or waits on life, where no rude signs portend
When the dread bolt of Ruin will descend?
See the poor father, who for years has toiled,
At one fell stroke of all his store despoiled.
His was the pious wish, by daily care
And safe degrees to make his hearth more fair;
His the ambition-far too meek to roamTo swell the simple luxuries of home;
By loving thrift to deck his comely spouse
With some poor gem, the summit of her vows;
To instruct his boys in every generous art
Which trains the man to act a shining part;
By culture's aid to see his daughters armed
With each fair grace that in their mother charmed;
Year after year, as strength and vigour waned,
To find his fondest forecasts all attained;
And then, since faithful to the final stage,
Doff the hard harness from the back of age.
But watchful Greed with jealous eye beheld
Day after day his little earnings swelled;
Studied the tender workings of his mind,
Marked the fond aims to which his heart inclined;
With specious lips his trusting senses stole,
And with false visions fired his prudent soul.
Poor wretch! but yesterday in modest state
He lived, secure from every bolt of Fate.
To-day, he wanders feverish and depressed,
As though whole Andes weighed upon his breast.
To-morrow, back unto his home he crawls,
A beggared man, and at the threshold falls.
Now will no more his trustful wife behold
The gladsome face returning as of old,
503
And read in sparkling eye and smiling cheek
The day's good tidings e'en before he speak;
Never again in hastening footsteps guess
Some pretty love-gift, token of success.
Their blooming boys, for whom parental hope
So oft had cast the fairest horoscope,
And seen with fond anticipating eyes
Each proud successive civic honour rise,
Torn from their noble studies, have to crave
From base pursuits the pittance of a slave,
Pour the soul's wine into the body's sieve,
And grand life lose in mean attempts to live.
Perchance, at home their humble wants denied,
Gaunt Hunger drives them from their mother's side;
Leaves her to weep alone o'er what hath been,
And places ocean, pitiless, between.
The tender girls, their father's pride and joy,
Whose dreams a fiend had scrupled to destroy;
From childhood's earliest days whose only care
Was to be gracious, virtuous, and fair,
And who from Heaven could nothing else implore
Save to be all their mother was before;
Who pictured as their perfect scheme of life
A clinging daughter and a helpful wife,At one rude flash behold the world enlarge,
And stand, pale victims, trembling on the marge.
Little, alas, now boots it where they roam,
Since they must leave the tranquil shores of home.
Whether, poor slaves, they crawl with aching feet
Hour after hour from dreary street to street,
Or, as in mockery of home, alas!
Beneath the stranger's icy portal pass,
And thankless task and miserable wage
Their exiled cheerless energies engage,
Their youth, their life, is blasted at the core,
And Hope's sweet sap will mount their veins no more.
Should every door their humble prayers repel,
Scorning to buy what Hunger kneels to sell,
And they, half thankful that the strangers spurn,
To their own roof be driven to return,
How strange the scene that meets their wearied gaze!
How changed the hearth, the home, of other days!
504
Contracting Care usurps the mother's face,
Whose smiles of old spread sunshine through the place.
Alone she weeps; but should she chance to hear
Her husband's steps, she hides the furtive tear;
Follows his movements with an anxious dread,
Studies his brow, and scans his restless tread;
Assails his woe with every female wile,
Prattles of hope, and simulates a smile.
He, broken man, wrapt in perpetual gloom,
Wanders anon from vacant room to room;
Then, creeping back, the image of despair,
With a deep sigh he sinks into his chair.
He seldom speaks; and when his voice is heard,
Peevish its tone, and querulous his word;
And vain laments and childish tears attest
The lamp of life is dying in his breast.
Perhaps his death some timely pittance frees,
Secured by prudence in their days of ease;
And, O the pity! posthumous relief
Stanches love's wounds, and blunts the edge of grief.
Unless, indeed-for this too hath been knownAll-grasping Greed hath made that mite its own,
Filched from the widow her last hopes of bread,
And whom it ruined living, plunders dead!
These are thy triumphs, Gold! thy trophies these,
To nurture fraud, and rob the world of ease,
Faith to befool, young genius to seduce,
And blight at once its beauty and its use.
Thine is the bait, as loveless hearths avouch,
Which drags fresh victims to the venal couch;
Thine the foul traps wherewith our ways are rife,
That lure them first, then close upon their life;
Thine, thine the springes, set in regions fair,
Whose unseen nooses strangle whom they snare;
The cynic glory thine to lie in wait
To make men little who had else been great,
Frustrate our plenty, aggravate our dearth,
And keep eternal feud 'twixt Heaven and Earth!
Lo, where huge London, huger day by day,
505
O'er six fair counties spreads its hideous sway,
A tract there lies by Fortune's favours blest,
And at Fame's font yclept the happy West.
There, as by wizard touch, for miles on miles,
Rise squares, streets, crescents of palatial piles.
In the brave days when England's trusty voice
Made grappling rivals tremble or rejoice;
When, foremost shield of Weakness or of Right,
She scorned to warn unless resolved to smite;
When, few but firm, her stalwart children bore
The terror of her Flag from shore to shore,
Purged Christ's dear tomb from sacrilege and shame,
And made the Moslem quake at Richard's name;
Taught the vain Gaul, though gallant, still to kneel,
And Spain's proud sons the weight of northern steel;Then were her best in no such splendour nursed
As now awaits her basest and her worst.
No kingly Harry glittering with renown,
No Edward radiant in a peaceful crown,
Was housed as now, at turn of Fortune's wrist,
Some lucky navvy turned capitalist,
Some convict's bastard who a-sudden shines
In the bright splendour of Australian mines,
Or subtle Greek, who, skilled in Eastern ways,
Exposes all Golconda to our gaze.
These, as to Pomp's pretentious peaks they rush,
Heed not the crowds their sordid conquests crush:
Secure in glaring opulence, they scan
With placid eyes the miseries of man;
Fat units, watch the leanness of the whole,
And gag remonstrance with a paltry dole:
Mid harrowing want, with conscience unafraid,
Die on the golden dirt-heaps they have made.
Here Plenty gorges gifts from every zone,
There thankful Hunger gnaws its meagre bone;
Profusion here melts more than pearls in wine,
There craves gaunt Penury some shucks from swine;
And whilst rich rogues quaff deep round roaring fires,
At Dives' portal Lazarus expires!
Betwixt these fierce extremes of wealth and woe,
A crowd of strugglers hustles to and fro,
506
Whose one sole aim and only hope in life
Are just to wrench subsistence from the strife.
To what base shifts these hideous straits compel
The straining wretches, let our records tell.
Victims of greedy Competition's craft,
We drain cheap poison in each sparkling draught,
Purchase a lie in every vaunted ware,
And swallow filth in the most frugal fare.
Building a refuge for our age, we find
The crumbling mortar lets in wet and wind;
Face the rude waves, by science freed from awe,
To sink, poor dupes, on life-belts made of straw!
Nor this the worst! When ripened Shame would hide
Fruits of that hour when Passion conquered Pride,
There are not wanting in this Christian land
The breast remorseless and the Thuggish hand,
To advertise the dens where Death is sold,
And quench the breath of baby-life for gold!
Nor man alone, case-hardened man, surveys
These shocking contrasts with a careless gaze.
Fair melting woman of the tender breast
Here finds no room for pity as her guest.
Unsexed, she strains to Ostentation's goal,
While Splendour's dreams demoralise her soul;
Drains, like a goddess, hecatombs of lives,
Nor heeds who lags, provided she arrives.
See Claribel, by every gift designed
Mid anguish keen to be an angel kind,
Once plunged in rival factions' golden fight,
Turned to a demon in her own despite.
Behold, to-morrow in the Royal smile
Will bask the birth and wealth of all the Isle.
She, long abroad, received the summons late.
What's to be done? Nor time nor tide will wait.
She turns her wardrobe over, racks her brain;
Nothing will do. She wants a dress and train.
Drive to the modiste's. Not a finger free.
There's only Clara. Clara let it be.
But Clara's sick and sorry. Give her gold;
Her aches will cease, her sorrows be consoled.
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It must be done. Sure Lilian there will glow
In gorgeous newness decked from top to toe;
Shall it be said that Claribel did less?
To-morrow, then, in time the train and dress.
So Clara drags her weary limbs from bed,
O'er the brave finery hangs her throbbing head;
Still as her senses swim sews on and on,
Till day dies out and twilight pale is gone.
Then, by the taper's soft and silent light,
Like a pale flower that opens most by night,
Her pace she quickens, and the needle moves
Subtler and swifter through the gauzy grooves;
But as the dawn on guttering sockets gains,
Her tired lids drop, and sleep arrests her pains.
But sleep how short! She feels her shoulder clutched:
`Clara, awake! the train's not even touched!
Day strides apace. See, there's the morning sun,
And ere again he sinks, 't must all be done.'
Again, again, the shooting thread she plies,
In silent agony of smothered sighs.
She seems to breathe her breath into the gown,
To give it life the while she lays hers down.
Fast as the task advances set by pride,
So fast within her ebbs the vital tide.
The daylight goes, and softly comes the moon's,
And then poor Clara over the last stitch swoons.
Meanwhile, the panting Claribel awaits
The precious gown within her golden gates.
It comes-it comes. Now who shall shine her down?
Not Lilian, surely? No, not the entire Town.
She not for worlds had lost this courtly chance;
And Clara dies that Claribel may dance!
If private worth, thus languishing, expires,
Will public Virtue keep alive her fires?
The slaves of wealth, in Britain as in Rome,
Bring to the Forum vices formed at home.
First the community, and then the State,
Falls to their fangs, which naught can satiate.
Not born nor bred to rule, of culture void,
508
And by no wave of young ambition buoyed,
Anxious on heights conspicuous to flaunt
Nought but the tawdry trophies they can vaunt,
They woo the grasping crowd with golden guile,
And spread Corruption's canker through the Isle.
You want a seat? Then boldly sate your itch.
Be very radical, and very rich.
Sell your opinions first to please the pure,
Then buy the sordid, and your triumph's sure.
Do all, in brief, that honest men abhor,
And England hails another Senator.
See the vain Tribune who, in lust of power,
Bows to the base exactions of the hour,
And, fooled by sycophants, stands forth at last
A devotee turned sworn iconoclast!
Behind him sit dense rows of golden mutes,
Deaf to whate'er demonstrates or refutes,
Ready to vote, rescind, obey in all
The whip demands, as hounds the huntsman's call.
They neither know nor reck what helpful deeds
In this grave hour their perilled Country needs.
They want to see their daughters nobly wed,
Their wives at Court, their own names trumpeted,
Their private Bills advanced another stage,
Their schemes of plunder foisted on the age.
Leave them but these, the gamblers come to call,
Nor heed an Empire nodding to its fall!
When Power is built on props like these, how vain
The hope that Law the giddy will restrain!
Spoilt by twin sops, servility and gold,
The headstrong crowd is then but ill controlled.
In vain they now would sway who lately served,
And Riot cows Authority unnerved.
Better that such base compromise should end,
And the dread bolt of Anarchy descend!
Goths of the gutter, Vandals of the slum,
Thieves and Reformers, come! Barbarians, come!
Before your might let rails and rules be hurled,
And sweep Civilisation from the world!
509
Nor now, alas, do Commoners alone
To private ends the public weal postpone.
Those too, whom worth ancestral plants on seats
High above where all vulgar Clamour beats,
With paltry fear to their clipped ermine cling,
And shrink from right, lest right should ruin bring.
The Peers stand firm; the Commons disagree.
The Peers be-well, it now is close on three.
By five, a world of reasons will be found.
Throw Jonas over, or the ship's aground.
You know the fury of the hand that steers;
And what were Britain with no House of Peers?
Would Primogeniture its fall survive,
Or even Property be kept alive?
Let Herbert fume, or frantic Cecil chafe,
Better a deal to choose the side that's safe;
Bow to the will of Finlen and his hordes,
And still thank Heavën for a House of Lords!
Thus may the British breast exult to think.
That noble names can sell ignoble ink;
That ill-got gains, if deftly spent, unlock
Birth's choicest circles to the ambitious smock;
That Dives foul mounts fine Aristo's stairs,
If but Aristo Dives' plunder shares;
And half Debrett urbanely flocks to White's,
To back the boor who saves them from the kites.
His son succeeds him. `Make the son a Peer.
Why not? His income's eighty thousand clear.
New blood is wanted. Here's the very stuff.
Besides, he wields the county vote.' Enough.
But hold! there's Cato. `Cato! are you sane?
Why, Cato's means but one small hearth sustain.
Ennoble Cato, you'll have Peers for life,
Or else forbid the man to take a wife.
He can't maintain the necessary state,
And would you have a poor name legislate?
No, Dives' son's the very man we need.
What says the Crown?' The Crown! Of course, Agreed.
And the young fool, enriched by parent knaves,
From Ruin's jaws our Constitution saves!
Is there no path of honour for the great,
510
No sound and clean salvation for the State?
Must we for ever fly to shifts like this,
And trust to Gold to save us from the abyss?
Must honours old by new-got wealth be vamped,
And Valour's stock by plutocrats be swamped?
Back to your lands, base sons of splendid sires!
From spendthrift squares back to your native shires!
Back, back from Baden, and leave Homburg's shades
To dazzling Jews and mercenary jades.
Leave London's round of vulgar joys to those
Who seek in such from base pursuits repose.
Cease to contend with upstart Wealth's parade,
To wring your lands to vie with tricks of trade;
And, proudly spurning Glitter's transient lies,
At least be honest, if you can't be wise!
Worship your household gods, and spend at home
The solid earnings of the generous loam.
Delve, fence, and drain; the dripping waste reclaim;
With spreading woodlands multiply your fame.
Yours let it be to screen the reverent hind,
Who loves your presence, 'gainst the frost and wind;
Scorning to count the profit, raise his lot;
Lure the shy Graces to his lowly cot;
Be, one and all, acknowledged, far and wide,
Patriarchs and patterns of the country side.
And whether demagogues shall rise or fall,
A Cleon mount, or Boänerges bawl,
True to yourselves and native duty, thus
Save this poor England by being virtuous!
And you, Sir, hope of this once famous isle,
Round whom its halo plays, its favours smile,
Hark to the Muse, which, poised on Candour's wings,
Flouts the base crowd, but scorns to flatter kings.
Hark, while she tells you, nor her counsel spurn,
From giddy Pleasure's gilded toys to turn;
That not from minions opulent or coarse
Do Princes gain their lustre and their force;
That Reverence anchors not in deep carouse,
And that a Crown fits only kingly brows!
Fired by each bright example, shun the shade,
Where Scandal best can ply her noxious trade.
511
Learn from your pious Father how to share
With hands, too lonely now, a Kingdom's care.
Be by your fair loved Consort's pattern moved,
And like your virtuous Mother, stand approved;
Do for this England all the Sceptre can,
And be at least a stainless gentleman.
Be this too much, you well may live to find
That firmest Thrones can fail the weak and blind,
And, though no Samson, sharing half his fate,
Pull down the pillars of a mighty State!
Whilst our domestic fortunes thus obey
All-searching Gold's demoralising sway,
We hug the limits of our puny shore,
And Glory knows our once great name no more.
First are we still in every bloodless fray,
Where piles of gold adventurous prows repay;
But when flushed Honour sets the world on fire,
We furl our sails and to our coasts retire;
And, basely calm whilst outraged nations bleed,
Invent new doctrines to excuse our greed.
When gallant Denmark, now the spoiler's prey,
Flashed her bright blade, and faced the unequal fray,
And, all abandoned both by men and gods,
Fell, faint with wounds, before accursèd odds,Where, where was England's vindicating sword,
Her promised arm, to stay the invading horde;
Bid the rude German drop his half-clutched spoil,
And scare the robber from ancestral soil?
The fair young Dane, beloved by every Grace,
And all the Virtues shining in her face,
Who, more an angel than a princess deemed,
Withal was even sweeter than she seemed,
With noisy throats we summoned o'er the foam,
And with cheap cheers escorted to her home.
But when with streaming eye and throbbing breast
She, pious child, her loving fears confessed,
And, leagued with Honour's voice and Valour's ire,
Prayed us to save her country and her sire,
We turned away, and opulently cold,
Put back our swords of steel in sheaths of gold!
512
And yet what sandy base doth Gold afford,
Though crowned by Law, and fenced round by the Sword,
Learn from that Empire which, a scorn for aye,
Grew in a night and perished in a day!
Helped by a magic name and doubtful hour,
See the Adventurer scale the steeps of Power.
Upon him groups of desperate gamesters wait,
To snatch their profit from a sinking State.
Folly, and Fate which Folly still attends,
Conspire to shape and expedite their ends.
The Hour, the Man are here! No pulse? No breath?
Wake, Freedom, wake! In vain! She sleeps like Death.
The impious hands, emboldened by her swoon,
Choke in the night, and slay her in the noon!
Then, when vain crowds with dilatory glaive
Rush to avenge the life they would not save,
The prompt conspirators with lavish hand
Fling their last pieces to a pampered band,
Bribe cut-throat blades Vengeance' choked ways to hold,
And bar the avenues of rage with gold!
Then mark how soon, amid triumphant hymns,
The Imperial purple girds the blood-stained limbs.
The perjured hands a golden sceptre gain,
A crown of gold screens the seared brow of Cain,
And golden eagles, erst of simpler ore,
Assert the Caesar, and his rod restore.
See round his throne Pomp's servile tributes swell,
Not Nero knew, e'er Rome to ruin fell,
Far from his feet the lust of glitter spread,
And the vain herd on Splendour's follies fed!
Nor they alone, the shallow, base, and gay,
Bend to this Idol with the feet of clay:
Statesmen and soldiers kneel with flattering suit,
Kings are his guests, e'en queens his cheeks salute;
Senates extol him, supple priests caress,
And even thou, O Pius, stoop'st to bless!
And the World's verdict, ever blind as base,
Welcomes the `Second Saviour' of the race!
And yet how weak this Empire girt with gold
Did prove to save when Battle's torrents rolled,
513
Have we not seen in ruin, rout, and shame,
Burnt deep in Gaul's for ever broken fame?
What then availed her courts of pomp and pride,
What her bright camps with glittering shows allied?
What, in that hour, the luxury which passed
To soldiers' lips the sybarite repast?
Did all her gold suffice, when steel withstood
Her stride, to make her rash, vain challenge good?
Behold her Chief, in comfort longwhile slung,
By War's rough couch and random fare unstrung
His vaunted Leaders, who to Power had mown
Their path with swords that propped a venal Throne,
Brandishing rival blades, his brain confound,
While still, but sure, the solid foe press round.
See her soft sons, whom arms enervate lead,
Spurn the long marches which to victory speed,
And, fondly deeming Science served by Wealth
Will snatch the fight at distance and by stealth,
Smitten with fear at Valour's downright face,
And taught swift limbs in Flight's ignoble chase!
See one, see all, before the Victor fleet,
Then lay their swords, submissive, at his feet!
O hapless France! e'en then insurgent ire
Had your soiled scutcheon lifted from the mire,
Placed the bright helm on Honour's front once more,
And laurels reaped more lasting than of yore,
Had not rich ease your manhood's marrow stole,
And gold emollient softened all your soul.
O, what a sight-a sight these eyes beheldHer fair green woods by the invader felled;
Her fields and vineyards by the Teuton trod,
Those she once smote encamped upon her sod;
Her homes, in dread, abandoned to the foe,
Or saved from rapine by obsequience low;
Her cities ransomed, provinces o'erawed,
Her iron strongholds wrenched by force or fraud;
Her once proud Paris grovelling in the dust,
And-crowning irony, if lesson justThe grasping victor, loth to quit his hold,
Coaxed slowly homewards o'er a bridge of gold!
514
Is there no warning, England, here, for thee?
Or are Heaven's laws balked by a strip of sea?
Are thy foundations, Albion, so approved,
Thou canst behold such downfall all unmoved?
Have we not marked how this Briarean Gold
Doth all our life and energies enfold?
And as our practice, so our doctrines tooWe shape new ethics for our vices new;
Our sires forswear, our splendid Past defame,
And in high places glory in our shame!
Hear our loud-tinkling Tribunes all declare
Once lavish England hath no blood to spare,
No gold to spend; within her watery wall
She needs to roll and wallow in it all.
Doth towering Might some poor faint Cause oppress,
They bid her turn, impartial, from distress;
Indulge her tears, but hide her ire from sight,
Lest a like doom her angry front invite.
And when this craven caution fails to save
Her peaceful fortunes from the braggart glaive,
They bid her still be moral and be meek,
Hug tight her gold, and turn the other cheek.
Her very sons, sprung from her mighty loins,
We aliens make, to save some paltry coins;
With our own hands destroy our Empire old,
And stutter, `All is lost, except our gold!'
With languid limbs, by comfortable fire,
We see our glories, one by one, expire;
A Nelson's flag, a Churchill's flashing blade,
Debased to menials of rapacious Trade;
Lost by a Cardwell what a Wellesley won,
And by a Gladstone Chatham's world undone!
Pale, gibbering spectres fumbling at the helm,
Whilst dark winds howl, and billowy seas o'erwhelm.
Yet deem you, England, that you thus will save,
Even your wealth from rapine or the grave?
Will your one chain of safety always hold,
Or `silver streak' for ever guard your gold?
If through long slumbrous years the ignoble rust
Of selfish ease your erst bright steel encrust,
When Storm impends, you vainly will implore
The Gods of Ocean to protect your shore.
515
Bribed by the foe, behold Britannia stand
At Freedom's portals with a traitress hand,
Help the Barbarian to its sacred hold,
Then, like Tarpeia, sink oppressed with Gold!
Perish the thought! O, rather let me see
Conspiring myriads bristling on the sea,
Our tranquil coasts bewildered by alarms,
And Britain, singly, face a World in arms!
What if a treacherous Heaven befriend our foes?
Let us go down in glory, as we rose!
And if that doom-the best that could betideBe to our Fame by envious Fate denied,
Then come, primeval clouds and seasons frore,
And wrap in gloom our luckless land once more!
Come, every wind of Heaven that rudely blows,
Plunge back our Isle in never-ending snows!
Rage, Eurus, rage! fierce Boreas, descend!
With glacial mists lost Albion befriend!
E'en of its name be every trace destroyed,
And Dark sit brooding o'er the formless Void!
~ Alfred Austin,#NFDB
167:Obiit Mdcccxxxiii (Entire)
Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
Believing where we cannot prove;
Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
Thou madest Life in man and brute;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast made.
Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
Thou madest man, he knows not why,
He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him: thou art just.
Thou seemest human and divine,
The highest, holiest manhood, thou:
Our wills are ours, we know not how;
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.
Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they.
We have but faith: we cannot know;
For knowledge is of things we see;
And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness: let it grow.
Let knowledge grow from more to more,
But more of reverence in us dwell;
That mind and soul, according well,
May make one music as before,
But vaster. We are fools and slight;
We mock thee when we do not fear:
But help thy foolish ones to bear;
Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.
414
Forgive what seem’d my sin in me;
What seem’d my worth since I began;
For merit lives from man to man,
And not from man, O Lord, to thee.
Forgive my grief for one removed,
Thy creature, whom I found so fair.
I trust he lives in thee, and there
I find him worthier to be loved.
Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
Confusions of a wasted youth;
Forgive them where they fail in truth,
And in thy wisdom make me wise.
I.
I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things.
But who shall so forecast the years
And find in loss a gain to match?
Or reach a hand thro’ time to catch
The far-off interest of tears?
Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown’d,
Let darkness keep her raven gloss:
Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,
To dance with death, to beat the ground,
Than that the victor Hours should scorn
The long result of love, and boast,
‘Behold the man that loved and lost,
But all he was is overworn.’
II.
415
Old Yew, which graspest at the stones
That name the under-lying dead,
Thy fibres net the dreamless head,
Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.
The seasons bring the flower again,
And bring the firstling to the flock;
And in the dusk of thee, the clock
Beats out the little lives of men.
O not for thee the glow, the bloom,
Who changest not in any gale,
Nor branding summer suns avail
To touch thy thousand years of gloom:
And gazing on thee, sullen tree,
Sick for thy stubborn hardihood,
I seem to fail from out my blood
And grow incorporate into thee.
III.
O Sorrow, cruel fellowship,
O Priestess in the vaults of Death,
O sweet and bitter in a breath,
What whispers from thy lying lip?
‘The stars,’ she whispers, ‘blindly run;
A web is wov’n across the sky;
From out waste places comes a cry,
And murmurs from the dying sun:
‘And all the phantom, Nature, stands–
With all the music in her tone,
A hollow echo of my own,–
A hollow form with empty hands.’
And shall I take a thing so blind,
Embrace her as my natural good;
Or crush her, like a vice of blood,
Upon the threshold of the mind?
416
IV.
To Sleep I give my powers away;
My will is bondsman to the dark;
I sit within a helmless bark,
And with my heart I muse and say:
O heart, how fares it with thee now,
That thou should’st fail from thy desire,
Who scarcely darest to inquire,
‘What is it makes me beat so low?’
Something it is which thou hast lost,
Some pleasure from thine early years.
Break, thou deep vase of chilling tears,
That grief hath shaken into frost!
Such clouds of nameless trouble cross
All night below the darken’d eyes;
With morning wakes the will, and cries,
‘Thou shalt not be the fool of loss.’
V.
I sometimes hold it half a sin
To put in words the grief I feel;
For words, like Nature, half reveal
And half conceal the Soul within.
But, for the unquiet heart and brain,
A use in measured language lies;
The sad mechanic exercise,
Like dull narcotics, numbing pain.
In words, like weeds, I’ll wrap me o’er,
Like coarsest clothes against the cold:
But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more.
417
VI.
One writes, that ‘Other friends remain,’
That ‘Loss is common to the race’–
And common is the commonplace,
And vacant chaff well meant for grain.
That loss is common would not make
My own less bitter, rather more:
Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.
O father, wheresoe’er thou be,
Who pledgest now thy gallant son;
A shot, ere half thy draught be done,
Hath still’d the life that beat from thee.
O mother, praying God will save
Thy sailor,–while thy head is bow’d,
His heavy-shotted hammock-shroud
Drops in his vast and wandering grave.
Ye know no more than I who wrought
At that last hour to please him well;
Who mused on all I had to tell,
And something written, something thought;
Expecting still his advent home;
And ever met him on his way
With wishes, thinking, ‘here to-day,’
Or ‘here to-morrow will he come.’
O somewhere, meek, unconscious dove,
That sittest ranging golden hair;
And glad to find thyself so fair,
Poor child, that waitest for thy love!
For now her father’s chimney glows
In expectation of a guest;
And thinking ‘this will please him best,’
She takes a riband or a rose;
418
For he will see them on to-night;
And with the thought her colour burns;
And, having left the glass, she turns
Once more to set a ringlet right;
And, even when she turn’d, the curse
Had fallen, and her future Lord
Was drown’d in passing thro’ the ford,
Or kill’d in falling from his horse.
O what to her shall be the end?
And what to me remains of good?
To her, perpetual maidenhood,
And unto me no second friend.
VII.
Dark house, by which once more I stand
Here in the long unlovely street,
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, waiting for a hand,
A hand that can be clasp’d no more–
Behold me, for I cannot sleep,
And like a guilty thing I creep
At earliest morning to the door.
He is not here; but far away
The noise of life begins again,
And ghastly thro’ the drizzling rain
On the bald street breaks the blank day.
VIII.
A happy lover who has come
To look on her that loves him well,
Who ’lights and rings the gateway bell,
And learns her gone and far from home;
419
He saddens, all the magic light
Dies off at once from bower and hall,
And all the place is dark, and all
The chambers emptied of delight:
So find I every pleasant spot
In which we two were wont to meet,
The field, the chamber and the street,
For all is dark where thou art not.
Yet as that other, wandering there
In those deserted walks, may find
A flower beat with rain and wind,
Which once she foster'd up with care;
So seems it in my deep regret,
O my forsaken heart, with thee
And this poor flower of poesy
Which little cared for fades not yet.
But since it pleased a vanish’d eye,
I go to plant it on his tomb,
That if it can it there may bloom,
Or dying, there at least may die.
IX.
Fair ship, that from the Italian shore
Sailest the placid ocean-plains
With my lost Arthur’s loved remains,
Spread thy full wings, and waft him o’er.
So draw him home to those that mourn
In vain; a favourable speed
Ruffle thy mirror’d mast, and lead
Thro’ prosperous floods his holy urn.
All night no ruder air perplex
Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright
As our pure love, thro’ early light
Shall glimmer on the dewy decks.
420
Sphere all your lights around, above;
Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow;
Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now,
My friend, the brother of my love;
My Arthur, whom I shall not see
Till all my widow’d race be run;
Dear as the mother to the son,
More than my brothers are to me.
X.
I hear the noise about thy keel;
I hear the bell struck in the night:
I see the cabin-window bright;
I see the sailor at the wheel.
Thou bring’st the sailor to his wife,
And travell’d men from foreign lands;
And letters unto trembling hands;
And, thy dark freight, a vanish’d life.
So bring him: we have idle dreams:
This look of quiet flatters thus
Our home-bred fancies: O to us,
The fools of habit, sweeter seems
To rest beneath the clover sod,
That takes the sunshine and the rains,
Or where the kneeling hamlet drains
The chalice of the grapes of God;
Than if with thee the roaring wells
Should gulf him fathom-deep in brine;
And hands so often clasp’d in mine,
Should toss with tangle and with shells.
XI.
421
Calm is the morn without a sound,
Calm as to suit a calmer grief,
And only thro’ the faded leaf
The chestnut pattering to the ground:
Calm and deep peace on this high wold,
And on these dews that drench the furze,
And all the silvery gossamers
That twinkle into green and gold:
Calm and still light on yon great plain
That sweeps with all its autumn bowers,
And crowded farms and lessening towers,
To mingle with the bounding main:
Calm and deep peace in this wide air,
These leaves that redden to the fall;
And in my heart, if calm at all,
If any calm, a calm despair:
Calm on the seas, and silver sleep,
And waves that sway themselves in rest,
And dead calm in that noble breast
Which heaves but with the heaving deep.
XII.
Lo, as a dove when up she springs
To bear thro’ Heaven a tale of woe,
Some dolorous message knit below
The wild pulsation of her wings;
Like her I go; I cannot stay;
I leave this mortal ark behind,
A weight of nerves without a mind,
And leave the cliffs, and haste away
O’er ocean-mirrors rounded large,
And reach the glow of southern skies,
And see the sails at distance rise,
And linger weeping on the marge,
422
And saying; ‘Comes he thus, my friend?
Is this the end of all my care?’
And circle moaning in the air:
‘Is this the end? Is this the end?’
And forward dart again, and play
About the prow, and back return
To where the body sits, and learn
That I have been an hour away.
XIII.
Tears of the widower, when he sees
A late-lost form that sleep reveals,
And moves his doubtful arms, and feels
Her place is empty, fall like these;
Which weep a loss for ever new,
A void where heart on heart reposed;
And, where warm hands have prest and closed,
Silence, till I be silent too.
Which weeps the comrade of my choice,
An awful thought, a life removed,
The human-hearted man I loved,
A Spirit, not a breathing voice.
Come Time, and teach me, many years,
I do not suffer in a dream;
For now so strange do these things seem,
Mine eyes have leisure for their tears;
My fancies time to rise on wing,
And glance about the approaching sails,
As tho’ they brought but merchants’ bales,
And not the burthen that they bring.
XIV.
423
If one should bring me this report,
That thou hadst touch’d the land to-day,
And I went down unto the quay,
And found thee lying in the port;
And standing, muffled round with woe,
Should see thy passengers in rank
Come stepping lightly down the plank,
And beckoning unto those they know;
And if along with these should come
The man I held as half-divine;
Should strike a sudden hand in mine,
And ask a thousand things of home;
And
And
And
And
I should tell him all my pain,
how my life had droop’d of late,
he should sorrow o’er my state
marvel what possess’d my brain;
And I perceived no touch of change,
No hint of death in all his frame,
But found him all in all the same,
I should not feel it to be strange.
XV.
To-night the winds begin to rise
And roar from yonder dropping day:
The last red leaf is whirl’d away,
The rooks are blown about the skies;
The forest crack’d, the waters curl’d,
The cattle huddled on the lea;
And wildly dash’d on tower and tree
The sunbeam strikes along the world:
And but for fancies, which aver
That all thy motions gently pass
Athwart a plane of molten glass,
I scarce could brook the strain and stir
424
That makes the barren branches loud;
And but for fear it is not so,
The wild unrest that lives in woe
Would dote and pore on yonder cloud
That rises upward always higher,
And onward drags a labouring breast,
And topples round the dreary west,
A looming bastion fringed with fire.
XVI.
What words are these have fall’n from me?
Can calm despair and wild unrest
Be tenants of a single breast,
Or sorrow such a changeling be?
Or doth she only seem to take
The touch of change in calm or storm;
But knows no more of transient form
In her deep self, than some dead lake
That holds the shadow of a lark
Hung in the shadow of a heaven?
Or has the shock, so harshly given,
Confused me like the unhappy bark
That strikes by night a craggy shelf,
And staggers blindly ere she sink?
And stunn’d me from my power to think
And all my knowledge of myself;
And made me that delirious man
Whose fancy fuses old and new,
And flashes into false and true,
And mingles all without a plan?
XVII.
425
Thou comest, much wept for: such a breeze
Compell’d thy canvas, and my prayer
Was as the whisper of an air
To breathe thee over lonely seas.
For I in spirit saw thee move
Thro’ circles of the bounding sky,
Week after week: the days go by:
Come quick, thou bringest all I love.
Henceforth, wherever thou may’st roam,
My blessing, like a line of light,
Is on the waters day and night,
And like a beacon guards thee home.
So may whatever tempest mars
Mid-ocean, spare thee, sacred bark;
And balmy drops in summer dark
Slide from the bosom of the stars.
So kind an office hath been done,
Such precious relics brought by thee;
The dust of him I shall not see
Till all my widow’d race be run.
XVIII.
’Tis well; ’tis something; we may stand
Where he in English earth is laid,
And from his ashes may be made
The violet of his native land.
’Tis little; but it looks in truth
As if the quiet bones were blest
Among familiar names to rest
And in the places of his youth.
Come then, pure hands, and bear the head
That sleeps or wears the mask of sleep,
And come, whatever loves to weep,
And hear the ritual of the dead.
426
Ah yet, ev’n yet, if this might be,
I, falling on his faithful heart,
Would breathing thro’ his lips impart
The life that almost dies in me;
That dies not, but endures with pain,
And slowly forms the the firmer mind,
Treasuring the look it cannot find,
The words that are not heard again.
XIX.
The Danube to the Severn gave
The darken’d heart that beat no more;
They laid him by the pleasant shore,
And in the hearing of the wave.
There twice a day the Severn fills;
That salt sea-water passes by,
And hushes half the babbling Wye,
And makes a silence in the hills.
The Wye is hush’d nor moved along,
And hush’d my deepest grief of all,
When fill’d with tears that cannot fall,
I brim with sorrow drowning song.
The tide flows down, the wave again
Is vocal in its wooded walls;
My deeper anguish also falls,
And I can speak a little then.
XX.
The lesser griefs that may be said,
That breathe a thousand tender vows,
Are but as servants in a house
Where lies the master newly dead;
427
Who speak their feeling as it is,
And weep the fulness from the mind:
‘It will be hard,’ they say, ‘to find
Another service such as this.’
My lighter moods are like to these,
That out of words a comfort win;
But there are other griefs within,
And tears that at their fountain freeze;
For by the hearth the children sit
Cold in that atmosphere of Death,
And scarce endure to draw the breath,
Or like to noiseless phantoms flit:
But open converse is there none,
So much the vital spirits sink
To see the vacant chair, and think,
‘How good! how kind! and he is gone.’
XXI.
I sing to him that rests below,
And, since the grasses round me wave,
I take the grasses of the grave,
And make them pipes whereon to blow.
The traveller hears me now and then,
And sometimes harshly will he speak:
‘This fellow would make weakness weak,
And melt the waxen hearts of men.’
Another answers, ‘Let him be,
He loves to make parade of pain,
That with his piping he may gain
The praise that comes to constancy.’
A third is wroth: ‘Is this an hour
For private sorrow’s barren song,
When more and more the people throng
The chairs and thrones of civil power?
428
‘A time to sicken and to swoon,
When Science reaches forth her arms
To feel from world to world, and charms
Her secret from the latest moon?’
Behold, ye speak an idle thing:
Ye never knew the sacred dust:
I do but sing because I must,
And pipe but as the linnets sing:
And one is glad; her note is gay,
For now her little ones have ranged;
And one is sad; her note is changed,
Because her brood is stol’n away.
XXII.
The path by which we twain did go,
Which led by tracts that pleased us well,
Thro’ four sweet years arose and fell,
From flower to flower, from snow to snow:
And we with singing cheer’d the way,
And, crown’d with all the season lent,
From April on to April went,
And glad at heart from May to May:
But where the path we walk’d began
To slant the fifth autumnal slope,
As we descended following Hope,
There sat the Shadow fear’d of man;
Who broke our fair companionship,
And spread his mantle dark and cold,
And wrapt thee formless in the fold,
And dull’d the murmur on thy lip,
And bore thee where I could not see
Nor follow, tho’ I walk in haste,
And think, that somewhere in the waste
429
The Shadow sits and waits for me.
XXIII.
Now, sometimes in my sorrow shut,
Or breaking into song by fits,
Alone, alone, to where he sits,
The Shadow cloak’d from head to foot,
Who keeps the keys of all the creeds,
I wander, often falling lame,
And looking back to whence I came,
Or on to where the pathway leads;
And crying, How changed from where it ran
Thro’ lands where not a leaf was dumb;
But all the lavish hills would hum
The murmur of a happy Pan:
When each by turns was guide to each,
And Fancy light from Fancy caught,
And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought
Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech;
And all we met was fair and good,
And all was good that Time could bring,
And all the secret of the Spring
Moved in the chambers of the blood;
And many an old philosophy
On Argive heights divinely sang,
And round us all the thicket rang
To many a flute of Arcady.
XXIV.
And was the day of my delight
As pure and perfect as I say?
The very source and fount of Day
430
Is dash’d with wandering isles of night.
If all was good and fair we met,
This earth had been the Paradise
It never look’d to human eyes
Since our first Sun arose and set.
And is it that the haze of grief
Makes former gladness loom so great?
The lowness of the present state,
That sets the past in this relief?
Or that the past will always win
A glory from its being far;
And orb into the perfect star
We saw not, when we moved therein?
XXV.
I know that this was Life,–the track
Whereon with equal feet we fared;
And then, as now, the day prepared
The daily burden for the back.
But this it was that made me move
As light as carrier-birds in air;
I loved the weight I had to bear,
Because it needed help of Love:
Nor could I weary, heart or limb,
When mighty Love would cleave in twain
The lading of a single pain,
And part it, giving half to him.
XXVI.
Still onward winds the dreary way;
I with it; for I long to prove
No lapse of moons can canker Love,
Whatever fickle tongues may say.
431
And if that eye which watches guilt
And goodness, and hath power to see
Within the green the moulder’d tree,
And towers fall’n as soon as built–
Oh, if indeed that eye foresee
Or see (in Him is no before)
In more of life true life no more
And Love the indifference to be,
Then might I find, ere yet the morn
Breaks hither over Indian seas,
That Shadow waiting with the keys,
To shroud me from my proper scorn.
XXVII.
I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods:
I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,
Unfetter’d by the sense of crime,
To whom a conscience never wakes;
Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
Nor any want-begotten rest.
I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
’Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
XXVIII.
432
The time draws near the birth of Christ:
The moon is hid; the night is still;
The Christmas bells from hill to hill
Answer each other in the mist.
Four voices of four hamlets round,
From far and near, on mead and moor,
Swell out and fail, as if a door
Were shut between me and the sound:
Each voice four changes on the wind,
That now dilate, and now decrease,
Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace,
Peace and goodwill, to all mankind.
This year I slept and woke with pain,
I almost wish’d no more to wake,
And that my hold on life would break
Before I heard those bells again:
But they my troubled spirit rule,
For they controll’d me when a boy;
They bring me sorrow touch’d with joy,
The merry merry bells of Yule.
XXIX.
With such compelling cause to grieve
As daily vexes household peace,
And chains regret to his decease,
How dare we keep our Christmas-eve;
Which brings no more a welcome guest
To enrich the threshold of the night
With shower’d largess of delight
In dance and song and game and jest?
Yet go, and while the holly boughs
Entwine the cold baptismal font,
Make one wreath more for Use and Wont,
That guard the portals of the house;
433
Old sisters of a day gone by,
Gray nurses, loving nothing new;
Why should they miss their yearly due
Before their time? They too will die.
XXX.
With trembling fingers did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth;
A rainy cloud possess’d the earth,
And sadly fell our Christmas-eve.
At our old pastimes in the hall
We gambol’d, making vain pretence
Of gladness, with an awful sense
Of one mute Shadow watching all.
We paused: the winds were in the beech:
We heard them sweep the winter land;
And in a circle hand-in-hand
Sat silent, looking each at each.
Then echo-like our voices rang;
We sung, tho’ every eye was dim,
A merry song we sang with him
Last year: impetuously we sang:
We ceased: a gentler feeling crept
Upon us: surely rest is meet:
‘They rest,’ we said, ‘their sleep is sweet,’
And silence follow’d, and we wept.
Our voices took a higher range;
Once more we sang: ‘They do not die
Nor lose their mortal sympathy,
Nor change to us, although they change;
‘Rapt from the fickle and the frail
With gather’d power, yet the same,
Pierces the keen seraphic flame
From orb to orb, from veil to veil.’
434
Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn,
Draw forth the cheerful day from night:
O Father, touch the east, and light
The light that shone when Hope was born.
XXXI.
When Lazarus left his charnel-cave,
And home to Mary’s house return’d,
Was this demanded–if he yearn’d
To hear her weeping by his grave?
‘Where wert thou, brother, those four days?’
There lives no record of reply,
Which telling what it is to die
Had surely added praise to praise.
From every house the neighbours met,
The streets were fill’d with joyful sound,
A solemn gladness even crown’d
The purple brows of Olivet.
Behold a man raised up by Christ!
The rest remaineth unreveal’d;
He told it not; or something seal’d
The lips of that Evangelist.
XXXII.
Her eyes are homes of silent prayer,
Nor other thought her mind admits
But, he was dead, and there he sits,
And he that brought him back is there.
Then one deep love doth supersede
All other, when her ardent gaze
Roves from the living brother’s face,
And rests upon the Life indeed.
435
All subtle thought, all curious fears,
Borne down by gladness so complete,
She bows, she bathes the Saviour’s feet
With costly spikenard and with tears.
Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers,
Whose loves in higher love endure;
What souls possess themselves so pure,
Or is there blessedness like theirs?
XXXIII.
O thou that after toil and storm
Mayst seem to have reach’d a purer air,
Whose faith has centre everywhere,
Nor cares to fix itself to form,
Leave thou thy sister when she prays,
Her early Heaven, her happy views;
Nor thou with shadow’d hint confuse
A life that leads melodious days.
Her faith thro’ form is pure as thine,
Her hands are quicker unto good:
Oh, sacred be the flesh and blood
To which she links a truth divine!
See thou, that countest reason ripe
In holding by the law within,
Thou fail not in a world of sin,
And ev’n for want of such a type.
XXXIV.
My own dim life should teach me this,
That life shall live for evermore,
Else earth is darkness at the core,
And dust and ashes all that is;
This round of green, this orb of flame,
436
Fantastic beauty; such as lurks
In some wild Poet, when he works
Without a conscience or an aim.
What then were God to such as I?
’Twere hardly worth my while to choose
Of things all mortal, or to use
A little patience ere I die;
’Twere best at once to sink to peace,
Like birds the charming serpent draws,
To drop head-foremost in the jaws
Of vacant darkness and to cease.
XXXV.
Yet if some voice that man could trust
Should murmur from the narrow house,
‘The cheeks drop in; the body bows;
Man dies: nor is there hope in dust:’
Might I not say? ‘Yet even here,
But for one hour, O Love, I strive
To keep so sweet a thing alive:’
But I should turn mine ears and hear
The moanings of the homeless sea,
The sound of streams that swift or slow
Draw down Æonian hills, and sow
The dust of continents to be;
And Love would answer with a sigh,
‘The sound of that forgetful shore
Will change my sweetness more and more,
Half-dead to know that I shall die.’
O me, what profits it to put
And idle case? If Death were seen
At first as Death, Love had not been,
Or been in narrowest working shut,
437
Mere fellowship of sluggish moods,
Or in his coarsest Satyr-shape
Had bruised the herb and crush’d the grape,
And bask’d and batten’d in the woods.
XXXVI.
Tho’ truths in manhood darkly join,
Deep-seated in our mystic frame,
We yield all blessing to the name
Of Him that made them current coin;
For Wisdom dealt with mortal powers,
Where truth in closest words shall fail,
When truth embodied in a tale
Shall enter in at lowly doors.
And so the Word had breath, and wrought
With human hands the creed of creeds
In loveliness of perfect deeds,
More strong than all poetic thought;
Which he may read that binds the sheaf,
Or builds the house, or digs the grave,
And those wild eyes that watch the wave
In roarings round the coral reef.
XXXVII.
Urania speaks with darken’d brow:
‘Thou pratest here where thou art least;
This faith has many a purer priest,
And many an abler voice than thou.
‘Go down beside thy native rill,
On thy Parnassus set thy feet,
And hear thy laurel whisper sweet
About the ledges of the hill.’
And my Melpomene replies,
438
A touch of shame upon her cheek:
‘I am not worthy ev’n to speak
Of thy prevailing mysteries;
‘For I am but an earthly Muse,
And owning but a little art
To lull with song an aching heart,
And render human love his dues;
‘But brooding on the dear one dead,
And all he said of things divine,
(And dear to me as sacred wine
To dying lips is all he said),
‘I murmur’d, as I came along,
Of comfort clasp’d in truth reveal’d;
And loiter’d in the master’s field,
And darken’d sanctities with song.’
XXXVIII.
With weary steps I loiter on,
Tho’ always under alter’d skies
The purple from the distance dies,
My prospect and horizon gone.
No joy the blowing season gives,
The herald melodies of spring,
But in the songs I love to sing
A doubtful gleam of solace lives.
If any care for what is here
Survive in spirits render’d free,
Then are these songs I sing of thee
Not all ungrateful to thine ear.
XXXIX.
Old warder of these buried bones,
439
And answering now my random stroke
With fruitful cloud and living smoke,
Dark yew, that graspest at the stones
And dippest toward the dreamless head,
To thee too comes the golden hour
When flower is feeling after flower;
But Sorrow–fixt upon the dead,
And darkening the dark graves of men,–
What whisper’d from her lying lips?
Thy gloom is kindled at the tips,
And passes into gloom again.
XL.
Could we forget the widow’d hour
And look on Spirits breathed away,
As on a maiden in the day
When first she wears her orange-flower!
When crown’d with blessing she doth rise
To take her latest leave of home,
And hopes and light regrets that come
Make April of her tender eyes;
And doubtful joys the father move,
And tears are on the mother’s face,
As parting with a long embrace
She enters other realms of love;
Her office there to rear, to teach,
Becoming as is meet and fit
A link among the days, to knit
The generations each with each;
And, doubtless, unto thee is given
A life that bears immortal fruit
In those great offices that suit
The full-grown energies of heaven.
Ay me, the difference I discern!
440
How often shall her old fireside
Be cheer’d with tidings of the bride,
How often she herself return,
And tell them all they would have told,
And bring her babe, and make her boast,
Till even those that miss’d her most
Shall count new things as dear as old:
But thou and I have shaken hands,
Till growing winters lay me low;
My paths are in the fields I know,
And thine in undiscover’d lands.
XLI.
The spirit ere our fatal loss
Did ever rise from high to higher;
As mounts the heavenward altar-fire,
As flies the lighter thro’ the gross.
But thou art turn’d to something strange,
And I have lost the links that bound
Thy changes; here upon the ground,
No more partaker of thy change.
Deep folly! yet that this could be–
That I could wing my will with might
To leap the grades of life and light,
And flash at once, my friend, to thee.
For tho’ my nature rarely yields
To that vague fear implied in death;
Nor shudders at the gulfs beneath,
The howlings from forgotten fields;
Yet oft when sundown skirts the moor
An inner trouble I behold,
A spectral doubt which makes me cold,
That I shall be thy mate no more,
441
Tho’ following with an upward mind
The wonders that have come to thee,
Thro’ all the secular to-be,
But evermore a life behind.
XLII.
I vex my heart with fancies dim:
He still outstript me in the race;
It was but unity of place
That made me dream I rank’d with him.
And so may Place retain us still,
And he the much-beloved again,
A lord of large experience, train
To riper growth the mind and will:
And what delights can equal those
That stir the spirit’s inner deeps,
When one that loves but knows not, reaps
A truth from one that loves and knows?
XLIII.
If Sleep and Death be truly one,
And every spirit’s folded bloom
Thro’ all its intervital gloom
In some long trance should slumber on;
Unconscious of the sliding hour,
Bare of the body, might it last,
And silent traces of the past
Be all the colour of the flower:
So then were nothing lost to man;
So that still garden of the souls
In many a figured leaf enrolls
The total world since life began;
And love will last as pure and whole
442
As when he loved me here in Time,
And at the spiritual prime
Rewaken with the dawning soul.
XLIV.
How fares it with the happy dead?
For here the man is more and more;
But he forgets the days before
God shut the doorways of his head.
The days have vanish’d, tone and tint,
And yet perhaps the hoarding sense
Gives out at times (he knows not whence)
A little flash, a mystic hint;
And in the long harmonious years
(If Death so taste Lethean springs),
May some dim touch of earthly things
Surprise thee ranging with thy peers.
If such a dreamy touch should fall,
O turn thee round, resolve the doubt;
My guardian angel will speak out
In that high place, and tell thee all.
XLV.
The baby new to earth and sky,
What time his tender palm is prest
Against the circle of the breast,
Has never thought that ‘this is I:’
But as he grows he gathers much,
And learns the use of ‘I,’ and ‘me,’
And finds ‘I am not what I see,
And other than the things I touch.’
So rounds he to a separate mind
From whence clear memory may begin,
443
As thro’ the frame that binds him in
His isolation grows defined.
This use may lie in blood and breath,
Which else were fruitless of their due,
Had man to learn himself anew
Beyond the second birth of Death.
XLVI.
We ranging down this lower track,
The path we came by, thorn and flower,
Is shadow’d by the growing hour,
Lest life should fail in looking back.
So be it: there no shade can last
In that deep dawn behind the tomb,
But clear from marge to marge shall bloom
The eternal landscape of the past;
A lifelong tract of time reveal’d;
The fruitful hours of still increase;
Days order’d in a wealthy peace,
And those five years its richest field.
O Love, thy province were not large,
A bounded field, nor stretching far;
Look also, Love, a brooding star,
A rosy warmth from marge to marge.
XLVII.
That each, who seems a separate whole,
Should move his rounds, and fusing all
The skirts of self again, should fall
Remerging in the general Soul,
Is faith as vague as all unsweet:
Eternal form shall still divide
The eternal soul from all beside;
444
And I shall know him when we meet:
And we shall sit at endless feast,
Enjoying each the other’s good:
What vaster dream can hit the mood
Of Love on earth? He seeks at least
Upon the last and sharpest height,
Before the spirits fade away,
Some landing-place, to clasp and say,
‘Farewell! We lose ourselves in light.’
XLVIII.
If these brief lays, of Sorrow born,
Were taken to be such as closed
Grave doubts and answers here proposed,
Then these were such as men might scorn:
Her care is not to part and prove;
She takes, when harsher moods remit,
What slender shade of doubt may flit,
And makes it vassal unto love:
And hence, indeed, she sports with words,
But better serves a wholesome law,
And holds it sin and shame to draw
The deepest measure from the chords:
Nor dare she trust a larger lay,
But rather loosens from the lip
Short swallow-flights of song, that dip
Their wings in tears, and skim away.
XLIX.
From art, from nature, from the schools,
Let random influences glance,
Like light in many a shiver’d lance
445
That breaks about the dappled pools:
The lightest wave of thought shall lisp,
The fancy’s tenderest eddy wreathe,
The slightest air of song shall breathe
To make the sullen surface crisp.
And look thy look, and go thy way,
But blame not thou the winds that make
The seeming-wanton ripple break,
The tender-pencil’d shadow play.
Beneath all fancied hopes and fears
Ay me, the sorrow deepens down,
Whose muffled motions blindly drown
The bases of my life in tears.
L.
Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow.
Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack’d with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a Fury slinging flame.
Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
And weave their petty cells and die.
Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day.
LI.
446
Do we indeed desire the dead
Should still be near us at our side?
Is there no baseness we would hide?
No inner vileness that we dread?
Shall he for whose applause I strove,
I had such reverence for his blame,
See with clear eye some hidden shame
And I be lessen’d in his love?
I wrong the grave with fears untrue:
Shall love be blamed for want of faith?
There must be wisdom with great Death:
The dead shall look me thro’ and thro’.
Be near us when we climb or fall:
Ye watch, like God, the rolling hours
With larger other eyes than ours,
To make allowance for us all.
LII.
I cannot love thee as I ought,
For love reflects the thing beloved;
My words are only words, and moved
Upon the topmost froth of thought.
‘Yet blame not thou thy plaintive song,’
The Spirit of true love replied;
‘Thou canst not move me from thy side,
Nor human frailty do me wrong.
‘What keeps a spirit wholly true
To that ideal which he bears?
What record? not the sinless years
That breathed beneath the Syrian blue:
‘So fret not, like an idle girl,
That life is dash’d with flecks of sin.
Abide: thy wealth is gather’d in,
When Time hath sunder’d shell from pearl.’
447
LIII.
How many a father have I seen,
A sober man, among his boys,
Whose youth was full of foolish noise,
Who wears his manhood hale and green:
And dare we to this fancy give,
That had the wild oat not been sown,
The soil, left barren, scarce had grown
The grain by which a man may live?
Or, if we held the doctrine sound
For life outliving heats of youth,
Yet who would preach it as a truth
To those that eddy round and round?
Hold thou the good: define it well:
For fear divine Philosophy
Should push beyond her mark, and be
Procuress to the Lords of Hell.
LIV.
Oh yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;
That nothing walks with aimless feet;
That not one life shall be destroy’d,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete;
That not a worm is cloven in vain;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivell’d in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another’s gain.
448
Behold, we know not anything;
I can but trust that good shall fall
At last–far off–at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.
So runs my dream: but what am I?
An infant crying in the night:
An infant crying for the light:
And with no language but a cry.
LV.
The wish, that of the living whole
No life may fail beyond the grave,
Derives it not from what we have
The likest God within the soul?
Are God and Nature then at strife,
That Nature lends such evil dreams?
So careful of the type she seems,
So careless of the single life;
That I, considering everywhere
Her secret meaning in her deeds,
And finding that of fifty seeds
She often brings but one to bear,
I falter where I firmly trod,
And falling with my weight of cares
Upon the great world’s altar-stairs
That slope thro’ darkness up to God,
I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,
And faintly trust the larger hope.
LVI.
449
‘So careful of the type?’ but no.
From scarped cliff and quarried stone
She cries, ‘A thousand types are gone:
I care for nothing, all shall go.
‘Thou makest thine appeal to me:
I bring to life, I bring to death:
The spirit does but mean the breath:
I know no more.’ And he, shall he,
Man, her last work, who seem’d so fair,
Such splendid purpose in his eyes,
Who roll’d the psalm to wintry skies,
Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer,
Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation’s final law–
Tho’ Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek’d against his creed–
Who loved, who suffer’d countless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just,
Be blown about the desert dust,
Or seal’d within the iron hills?
No more? A monster then, a dream,
A discord. Dragons of the prime,
That tare each other in their slime,
Were mellow music match’d with him.
O life as futile, then, as frail!
O for thy voice to soothe and bless!
What hope of answer, or redress?
Behind the veil, behind the veil.
LVII.
Peace; come away: the song of woe
Is after all an earthly song:
Peace; come away: we do him wrong
To sing so wildly: let us go.
450
Come; let us go: your cheeks are pale;
But half my life I leave behind:
Methinks my friend is richly shrined;
But I shall pass; my work will fail.
Yet in these ears, till hearing dies,
One set slow bell will seem to toll
The passing of the sweetest soul
That ever look’d with human eyes.
I hear it now, and o’er and o’er,
Eternal greetings to the dead;
And ‘Ave, Ave, Ave,’ said,
‘Adieu, adieu’ for evermore.
LVIII.
In those sad words I took farewell:
Like echoes in sepulchral halls,
As drop by drop the water falls
In vaults and catacombs, they fell;
And, falling, idly broke the peace
Of hearts that beat from day to day,
Half-conscious of their dying clay,
And those cold crypts where they shall cease.
The high Muse answer’d: ‘Wherefore grieve
Thy brethren with a fruitless tear?
Abide a little longer here,
And thou shalt take a nobler leave.’
LIX.
O Sorrow, wilt thou live with me
No casual mistress, but a wife,
My bosom-friend and half of life;
As I confess it needs must be;
O Sorrow, wilt thou rule my blood,
451
Be sometimes lovely like a bride,
And put thy harsher moods aside,
If thou wilt have me wise and good.
My centred passion cannot move,
Nor will it lessen from to-day;
But I’ll have leave at times to play
As with the creature of my love;
And set thee forth, for thou art mine,
With so much hope for years to come,
That, howsoe’er I know thee, some
Could hardly tell what name were thine.
LX.
He past; a soul of nobler tone:
My spirit loved and loves him yet,
Like some poor girl whose heart is set
On one whose rank exceeds her own.
He mixing with his proper sphere,
She finds the baseness of her lot,
Half jealous of she knows not what,
And envying all that meet him there.
The little village looks forlorn;
She sighs amid her narrow days,
Moving about the household ways,
In that dark house where she was born.
The foolish neighbours come and go,
And tease her till the day draws by:
At night she weeps, ‘How vain am I!
How should he love a thing so low?’
LXI.
If, in thy second state sublime,
452
Thy ransom’d reason change replies
With all the circle of the wise,
The perfect flower of human time;
And if thou cast thine eyes below,
How dimly character’d and slight,
How dwarf’d a growth of cold and night,
How blanch'd with darkness must I grow!
Yet turn thee to the doubtful shore,
Where thy first form was made a man:
I loved thee, Spirit, and love, nor can
The soul of Shakespeare love thee more.
LXII.
Tho’ if an eye that’s downward cast
Could make thee somewhat blench or fail,
Then be my love an idle tale,
And fading legend of the past;
And thou, as one that once declined,
When he was little more than boy,
On some unworthy heart with joy,
But lives to wed an equal mind;
And breathes a novel world, the while
His other passion wholly dies,
Or in the light of deeper eyes
Is matter for a flying smile.
LXIII.
Yet pity for a horse o’er-driven,
And love in which my hound has part,
Can hang no weight upon my heart
In its assumptions up to heaven;
And I am so much more than these,
As thou, perchance, art more than I,
And yet I spare them sympathy,
453
And I would set their pains at ease.
So mayst thou watch me where I weep,
As, unto vaster motions bound,
The circuits of thine orbit round
A higher height, a deeper deep.
LXIV.
Dost thou look back on what hath been,
As some divinely gifted man,
Whose life in low estate began
And on a simple village green;
Who breaks his birth’s invidious bar,
And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance,
And grapples with his evil star;
Who makes by force his merit known
And lives to clutch the golden keys,
To mould a mighty state’s decrees,
And shape the whisper of the throne;
And moving up from high to higher,
Becomes on Fortune’s crowning slope
The pillar of a people’s hope,
The centre of a world’s desire;
Yet feels, as in a pensive dream,
When all his active powers are still,
A distant dearness in the hill,
A secret sweetness in the stream,
The limit of his narrower fate,
While yet beside its vocal springs
He play’d at counsellors and kings,
With one that was his earliest mate;
Who ploughs with pain his native lea
And reaps the labour of his hands,
454
Or in the furrow musing stands;
‘Does my old friend remember me?’
LXV.
Sweet soul, do with me as thou wilt;
I lull a fancy trouble-tost
With ‘Love’s too precious to be lost,
A little grain shall not be spilt.’
And in that solace can I sing,
Till out of painful phases wrought
There flutters up a happy thought,
Self-balanced on a lightsome wing:
Since we deserved the name of friends,
And thine effect so lives in me,
A part of mine may live in thee
And move thee on to noble ends.
LXVI.
You thought my heart too far diseased;
You wonder when my fancies play
To find me gay among the gay,
Like one with any trifle pleased.
The shade by which my life was crost,
Which makes a desert in the mind,
Has made me kindly with my kind,
And like to him whose sight is lost;
Whose feet are guided thro’ the land,
Whose jest among his friends is free,
Who takes the children on his knee,
And winds their curls about his hand:
He plays with threads, he beats his chair
For pastime, dreaming of the sky;
His inner day can never die,
455
His night of loss is always there.
LXVII.
When on my bed the moonlight falls,
I know that in thy place of rest
By that broad water of the west,
There comes a glory on the walls:
Thy marble bright in dark appears,
As slowly steals a silver flame
Along the letters of thy name,
And o’er the number of thy years.
The mystic glory swims away;
From off my bed the moonlight dies;
And closing eaves of wearied eyes
I sleep till dusk is dipt in gray:
And then I know the mist is drawn
A lucid veil from coast to coast,
And in the dark church like a ghost
Thy tablet glimmers to the dawn.
LXVIII.
When in the down I sink my head,
Sleep, Death’s twin-brother, times my breath;
Sleep, Death’s twin-brother, knows not Death,
Nor can I dream of thee as dead:
I walk as ere I walk’d forlorn,
When all our path was fresh with dew,
And all the bugle breezes blew
Reveillée to the breaking morn.
But what is this? I turn about,
I find a trouble in thine eye,
Which makes me sad I know not why,
Nor can my dream resolve the doubt:
456
But ere the lark hath left the lea
I wake, and I discern the truth;
It is the trouble of my youth
That foolish sleep transfers to thee.
LXIX.
I dream’d there would be Spring no more,
That Nature’s ancient power was lost:
The streets were black with smoke and frost,
They chatter’d trifles at the door:
I wander’d from the noisy town,
I found a wood with thorny boughs:
I took the thorns to bind my brows,
I wore them like a civic crown:
I met with scoffs, I met with scorns
From youth and babe and hoary hairs:
They call’d me in the public squares
The fool that wears a crown of thorns:
They call’d me fool, they call’d me child:
I found an angel of the night;
The voice was low, the look was bright;
He look’d upon my crown and smiled:
He reach’d the glory of a hand,
That seem’d to touch it into leaf:
The voice was not the voice of grief,
The words were hard to understand.
LXX.
I cannot see the features right,
When on the gloom I strive to paint
The face I know; the hues are faint
And mix with hollow masks of night;
457
Cloud-towers by ghostly masons wrought,
A gulf that ever shuts and gapes,
A hand that points, and palled shapes
In shadowy thoroughfares of thought;
And crowds that stream from yawning doors,
And shoals of pucker’d faces drive;
Dark bulks that tumble half alive,
And lazy lengths on boundless shores;
Till all at once beyond the will
I hear a wizard music roll,
And thro’ a lattice on the soul
Looks thy fair face and makes it still.
LXXI.
Sleep, kinsman thou to death and trance
And madness, thou hast forged at last
A night-long Present of the Past
In which we went thro’ summer France.
Hadst thou such credit with the soul?
Then bring an opiate trebly strong,
Drug down the blindfold sense of wrong
That so my pleasure may be whole;
While now we talk as once we talk’d
Of men and minds, the dust of change,
The days that grow to something strange,
In walking as of old we walk’d
Beside the river’s wooded reach,
The fortress, and the mountain ridge,
The cataract flashing from the bridge,
The breaker breaking on the beach.
LXXII.
458
Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again,
And howlest, issuing out of night,
With blasts that blow the poplar white,
And lash with storm the streaming pane?
Day, when my crown’d estate begun
To pine in that reverse of doom,
Which sicken’d every living bloom,
And blurr’d the splendour of the sun;
Who usherest in the dolorous hour
With thy quick tears that make the rose
Pull sideways, and the daisy close
Her crimson fringes to the shower;
Who might’st have heaved a windless flame
Up the deep East, or, whispering, play’d
A chequer-work of beam and shade
Along the hills, yet look’d the same.
As wan, as chill, as wild as now;
Day, mark’d as with some hideous crime,
When the dark hand struck down thro’ time,
And cancell’d nature’s best: but thou,
Lift as thou may’st thy burthen’d brows
Thro’ clouds that drench the morning star,
And whirl the ungarner’d sheaf afar,
And sow the sky with flying boughs,
And up thy vault with roaring sound
Climb thy thick noon, disastrous day;
Touch thy dull goal of joyless gray,
And hide thy shame beneath the ground.
LXXIII.
So many worlds, so much to do,
So little done, such things to be,
How know I what had need of thee,
For thou wert strong as thou wert true?
459
The fame is quench’d that I foresaw,
The head hath miss’d an earthly wreath:
I curse not nature, no, nor death;
For nothing is that errs from law.
We pass; the path that each man trod
Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds:
What fame is left for human deeds
In endless age? It rests with God.
O hollow wraith of dying fame,
Fade wholly, while the soul exults,
And self-infolds the large results
Of force that would have forged a name.
LXXIV.
As sometimes in a dead man’s face,
To those that watch it more and more,
A likeness, hardly seen before,
Comes out–to some one of his race:
So, dearest, now thy brows are cold,
I see thee what thou art, and know
Thy likeness to the wise below,
Thy kindred with the great of old.
But there is more than I can see,
And what I see I leave unsaid,
Nor speak it, knowing Death has made
His darkness beautiful with thee.
LXXV.
I leave thy praises unexpress’d
In verse that brings myself relief,
And by the measure of my grief
I leave thy greatness to be guess’d;
What practice howsoe’er expert
460
In fitting aptest words to things,
Or voice the richest-toned that sings,
Hath power to give thee as thou wert?
I care not in these fading days
To raise a cry that lasts not long,
And round thee with the breeze of song
To stir a little dust of praise.
Thy leaf has perish’d in the green,
And, while we breathe beneath the sun,
The world which credits what is done
Is cold to all that might have been.
So here shall silence guard thy fame;
But somewhere, out of human view,
Whate’er thy hands are set to do
Is wrought with tumult of acclaim.
LXXVI.
Take wings of fancy, and ascend,
And in a moment set thy face
Where all the starry heavens of space
Are sharpen’d to a needle’s end;
Take wings of foresight; lighten thro’
The secular abyss to come,
And lo, thy deepest lays are dumb
Before the mouldering of a yew;
And if the matin songs, that woke
The darkness of our planet, last,
Thine own shall wither in the vast,
Ere half the lifetime of an oak.
Ere these have clothed their branchy bowers
With fifty Mays, thy songs are vain;
And what are they when these remain
The ruin’d shells of hollow towers?
461
LXXVII.
What hope is here for modern rhyme
To him, who turns a musing eye
On songs, and deeds, and lives, that lie
Foreshorten’d in the tract of time?
These mortal lullabies of pain
May bind a book, may line a box,
May serve to curl a maiden’s locks;
Or when a thousand moons shall wane
A man upon a stall may find,
And, passing, turn the page that tells
A grief, then changed to something else,
Sung by a long-forgotten mind.
But what of that? My darken’d ways
Shall ring with music all the same;
To breathe my loss is more than fame,
To utter love more sweet than praise.
LXXVIII.
Again at Christmas did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth;
The silent snow possess’d the earth,
And calmly fell our Christmas-eve:
The yule-clog sparkled keen with frost,
No wing of wind the region swept,
But over all things brooding slept
The quiet sense of something lost.
As in the winters left behind,
Again our ancient games had place,
The mimic picture’s breathing grace,
And dance and song and hoodman-blind.
Who show’d a token of distress?
462
No single tear, no mark of pain:
O sorrow, then can sorrow wane?
O grief, can grief be changed to less?
O last regret, regret can die!
No–mixt with all this mystic frame,
Her deep relations are the same,
But with long use her tears are dry.
LXXIX.
‘More than my brothers are to me,’–
Let this not vex thee, noble heart!
I know thee of what force thou art
To hold the costliest love in fee.
But thou and I are one in kind,
As moulded like in Nature’s mint;
And hill and wood and field did print
The same sweet forms in either mind.
For us the same cold streamlet curl’d
Thro’ all his eddying coves; the same
All winds that roam the twilight came
In whispers of the beauteous world.
At one dear knee we proffer’d vows,
One lesson from one book we learn’d,
Ere childhood’s flaxen ringlet turn’d
To black and brown on kindred brows.
And so my wealth resembles thine,
But he was rich where I was poor,
And he supplied my want the more
As his unlikeness fitted mine.
LXXX.
If any vague desire should rise,
463
That holy Death ere Arthur died
Had moved me kindly from his side,
And dropt the dust on tearless eyes;
Then fancy shapes, as fancy can,
The grief my loss in him had wrought,
A grief as deep as life or thought,
But stay’d in peace with God and man.
I make a picture in the brain;
I hear the sentence that he speaks;
He bears the burthen of the weeks
But turns his burthen into gain.
His credit thus shall set me free;
And, influence-rich to soothe and save,
Unused example from the grave
Reach out dead hands to comfort me.
LXXXI.
Could I have said while he was here,
‘My love shall now no further range;
There cannot come a mellower change,
For now is love mature in ear.’
Love, then, had hope of richer store:
What end is here to my complaint?
This haunting whisper makes me faint,
‘More years had made me love thee more.’
But Death returns an answer sweet:
‘My sudden frost was sudden gain,
And gave all ripeness to the grain,
It might have drawn from after-heat.’
LXXXII.
I wage not any feud with Death
For changes wrought on form and face;
464
No lower life that earth’s embrace
May breed with him, can fright my faith.
Eternal process moving on,
From state to state the spirit walks;
And these are but the shatter’d stalks,
Or ruin’d chrysalis of one.
Nor blame I Death, because he bare
The use of virtue out of earth:
I know transplanted human worth
Will bloom to profit, otherwhere.
For this alone on Death I wreak
The wrath that garners in my heart;
He put our lives so far apart
We cannot hear each other speak.
LXXXIII.
Dip down upon the northern shore,
O sweet new-year delaying long;
Thou doest expectant nature wrong;
Delaying long, delay no more.
What stays thee from the clouded noons,
Thy sweetness from its proper place?
Can trouble live with April days,
Or sadness in the summer moons?
Bring orchis, bring the foxglove spire,
The little speedwell’s darling blue,
Deep tulips dash’d with fiery dew,
Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire.
O thou, new-year, delaying long,
Delayest the sorrow in my blood,
That longs to burst a frozen bud
And flood a fresher throat with song.
465
LXXXIV.
When I contemplate all alone
The life that had been thine below,
And fix my thoughts on all the glow
To which thy crescent would have grown;
I see thee sitting crown’d with good,
A central warmth diffusing bliss
In glance and smile, and clasp and kiss,
On all the branches of thy blood;
Thy blood, my friend, and partly mine;
For now the day was drawing on,
When thou should’st link thy life with one
Of mine own house, and boys of thine
Had babbled ‘Uncle’ on my knee;
But that remorseless iron hour
Made cypress of her orange flower,
Despair of Hope, and earth of thee.
I seem to meet their least desire,
To clap their cheeks, to call them mine.
I see their unborn faces shine
Beside the never-lighted fire.
I see myself an honour’d guest,
Thy partner in the flowery walk
Of letters, genial table-talk,
Or deep dispute, and graceful jest;
While now thy prosperous labour fills
The lips of men with honest praise,
And sun by sun the happy days
Descend below the golden hills
With promise of a morn as fair;
And all the train of bounteous hours
Conduct by paths of growing powers,
To reverence and the silver hair;
Till slowly worn her earthly robe,
466
Her lavish mission richly wrought,
Leaving great legacies of thought,
Thy spirit should fail from off the globe;
What time mine own might also flee,
As link’d with thine in love and fate,
And, hovering o’er the dolorous strait
To the other shore, involved in thee,
Arrive at last the blessed goal,
And He that died in Holy Land
Would reach us out the shining hand,
And take us as a single soul.
What reed was that on which I leant?
Ah, backward fancy, wherefore wake
The old bitterness again, and break
The low beginnings of content.
LXXXV.
This truth came borne with bier and pall,
I felt it, when I sorrow’d most,
’Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all–
O true in word, and tried in deed,
Demanding, so to bring relief
To this which is our common grief,
What kind of life is that I lead;
And whether trust in things above
Be dimm’d of sorrow, or sustain’d;
And whether love for him have drain’d
My capabilities of love;
Your words have virtue such as draws
A faithful answer from the breast,
Thro’ light reproaches, half exprest,
And loyal unto kindly laws.
467
My blood an even tenor kept,
Till on mine ear this message falls,
That in Vienna’s fatal walls
God’s finger touch’d him, and he slept.
The great Intelligences fair
That range above our mortal state,
In circle round the blessed gate,
Received and gave him welcome there;
And led him thro’ the blissful climes,
And show'd him in the fountain fresh
All knowledge that the sons of flesh
Shall gather in the cycled times.
But I remained, whose hopes were dim,
Whose life, whose thoughts were little worth,
To wander on a darkened earth,
Where all things round me breathed of him.
friendship, equal poised control,
heart, with kindliest motion warm,
sacred essence, other form,
solemn ghost, O crowned soul!
Yet none could better know than I,
How much of act at human hands
The sense of human will demands
By which we dare to live or die.
Whatever way my days decline,
I felt and feel, tho’ left alone,
His being working in mine own,
The footsteps of his life in mine;
A life that all the Muses decked
With gifts of grace, that might express
All comprehensive tenderness,
All-subtilising intellect:
And so my passion hath not swerved
To works of weakness, but I find
468
An image comforting the mind,
And in my grief a strength reserved.
Likewise the imaginative woe,
That loved to handle spiritual strife,
Diffused the shock thro’ all my life,
But in the present broke the blow.
My pulses therefore beat again
For other friends that once I met;
Nor can it suit me to forget
The mighty hopes that make us men.
I woo your love: I count it crime
To mourn for any overmuch;
I, the divided half of such
A friendship as had master’d Time;
Which masters Time indeed, and is
Eternal, separate from fears:
The all-assuming months and years
Can take no part away from this:
But Summer on the steaming floods,
And Spring that swells the narrow brooks,
And Autumn, with a noise of rooks,
That gather in the waning woods,
And every pulse of wind and wave
Recalls, in change of light or gloom,
My old affection of the tomb,
And my prime passion in the grave:
My old affection of the tomb,
A part of stillness, yearns to speak:
‘Arise, and get thee forth and seek
A friendship for the years to come.
‘I watch thee from the quiet shore;
Thy spirit up to mine can reach;
But in dear words of human speech
We two communicate no more.’
469
And I, ‘Can clouds of nature stain
The starry clearness of the free?
How is it? Canst thou feel for me
Some painless sympathy with pain?’
And lightly does the whisper fall;
‘’Tis hard for thee to fathom this;
I triumph in conclusive bliss,
And that serene result of all.’
So hold I commerce with the dead;
Or so methinks the dead would say;
Or so shall grief with symbols play
And pining life be fancy-fed.
Now looking to some settled end,
That these things pass, and I shall prove
A meeting somewhere, love with love,
I crave your pardon, O my friend;
If not so fresh, with love as true,
I, clasping brother-hands aver
I could not, if I would, transfer
The whole I felt for him to you.
For which be they that hold apart
The promise of the golden hours?
First love, first friendship, equal powers,
That marry with the virgin heart.
Still mine, that cannot but deplore,
That beats within a lonely place,
That yet remembers his embrace,
But at his footstep leaps no more,
My heart, tho’ widow’d, may not rest
Quite in the love of what is gone,
But seeks to beat in time with one
That warms another living breast.
Ah, take the imperfect gift I bring,
470
Knowing the primrose yet is dear,
The primrose of the later year,
As not unlike to that of Spring.
LXXXVI.
Sweet after showers, ambrosial air,
That rollest from the gorgeous gloom
Of evening over brake and bloom
And meadow, slowly breathing bare
The round of space, and rapt below
Thro’ all the dewy-tassell’d wood,
And shadowing down the horned flood
In ripples, fan my brows and blow
The fever from my cheek, and sigh
The full new life that feeds thy breath
Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death,
Ill brethren, let the fancy fly
From belt to belt of crimson seas
On leagues of odour streaming far,
To where in yonder orient star
A hundred spirits whisper ‘Peace.’
LXXXVII.
I past beside the reverend walls
In which of old I wore the gown;
I roved at random thro’ the town,
And saw the tumult of the halls;
And heard one more in college fanes
The storm their high-built organs make,
And thunder-music, rolling, shake
The prophet blazon’d on the panes;
And caught one more the distant shout,
The measured pulse of racing oars
471
Among the willows; paced the shores
And many a bridge, and all about
The same gray flats again, and felt
The same, but not the same; and last
Up that long walk of limes I past
To see the rooms in which he dwelt.
Another name was on the door:
I linger’d; all within was noise
Of songs, and clapping hands, and boys
That crash’d the glass and beat the floor;
Where once we held debate, a band
Of youthful friends, on mind and art,
And labour, and the changing mart,
And all the framework of the land;
When one would aim an arrow fair,
But send it slackly from the string;
And one would pierce an outer ring,
And one an inner, here and there;
And last the master-bowman, he,
Would cleave the mark. A willing ear
We lent him. Who, but hung to hear
The rapt oration flowing free
From point to point, with power and grace
And music in the bounds of law,
To those conclusions when we saw
The God within him light his face,
And seem to lift the form, and glow
In azure orbits heavenly wise;
And over those ethereal eyes
The bar of Michael Angelo.
LXXXVIII.
472
Wild bird, whose warble, liquid sweet,
Rings Eden thro’ the budded quicks,
O tell me where the senses mix,
O tell me where the passions meet,
Whence radiate: fierce extremes employ
Thy spirits in the darkening leaf,
And in the midmost heart of grief
Thy passion clasps a secret joy:
And I–my harp would prelude woe–
I cannot all command the strings;
The glory of the sum of things
Will flash along the chords and go.
LXXXIX.
Witch-elms that counterchange the floor
Of this flat lawn with dusk and bright;
And thou, with all thy breadth and height
Of foliage, towering sycamore;
How often, hither wandering down,
My Arthur found your shadows fair,
And shook to all the liberal air
The dust and din and steam of town:
He brought an eye for all he saw;
He mixt in all our simple sports;
They pleased him, fresh from brawling courts
And dusty purlieus of the law.
O joy to him in this retreat,
Immantled in ambrosial dark,
To drink the cooler air, and mark
The landscape winking thro’ the heat:
O sound to rout the brood of cares,
The sweep of scythe in morning dew,
The gust that round the garden flew,
And tumbled half the mellowing pears!
473
O bliss, when all in circle drawn
About him, heart and ear were fed
To hear him, as he lay and read
The Tuscan poets on the lawn:
Or in the all-golden afternoon
A guest, or happy sister, sung,
Or here she brought the harp and flung
A ballad to the brightening moon:
Nor less it pleased in livelier moods,
Beyond the bounding hill to stray,
And break the livelong summer day
With banquet in the distant woods;
Whereat we glanced from theme to theme,
Discuss’d the books to love or hate,
Or touch’d the changes of the state,
Or threaded some Socratic dream;
But if I praised the busy town,
He loved to rail against it still,
For ‘ground in yonder social mill
We rub each other’s angles down,
‘And merge’ he said ‘in form and gloss
The picturesque of man and man.’
We talk’d: the stream beneath us ran,
The wine-flask lying couch’d in moss,
Or cool’d within the glooming wave;
And last, returning from afar,
Before the crimson-circled star
Had fall’n into her father’s grave,
And brushing ankle-deep in flowers,
We heard behind the woodbine veil
The milk that bubbled in the pail,
And buzzings of the honied hours.
474
XC.
He tasted love with half his mind,
Nor ever drank the inviolate spring
Where nighest heaven, who first could fling
This bitter seed among mankind;
That could the dead, whose dying eyes
Were closed with wail, resume their life,
They would but find in child and wife
An iron welcome when they rise:
’Twas well, indeed, when warm with wine,
To pledge them with a kindly tear,
To talk them o’er, to wish them here,
To count their memories half divine;
But if they came who past away,
Behold their brides in other hands;
The hard heir strides about their lands,
And will not yield them for a day.
Yea, tho’ their sons were none of these,
Not less the yet-loved sire would make
Confusion worse than death, and shake
The pillars of domestic peace.
Ah dear, but come thou back to me:
Whatever change the years have wrought,
I find not yet one lonely thought
That cries against my wish for thee.
XCI.
When rosy plumelets tuft the larch,
And rarely pipes the mounted thrush;
Or underneath the barren bush
Flits by the sea-blue bird of March;
Come, wear the form by which I know
Thy spirit in time among thy peers;
The hope of unaccomplish’d years
475
Be large and lucid round thy brow.
When summer’s hourly-mellowing change
May breathe, with many roses sweet,
Upon the thousand waves of wheat,
That ripple round the lonely grange;
Come: not in watches of the night,
But where the sunbeam broodeth warm,
Come, beauteous in thine after form,
And like a finer light in light.
XCII.
If any vision should reveal
Thy likeness, I might count it vain
As but the canker of the brain;
Yea, tho’ it spake and made appeal
To chances where our lots were cast
Together in the days behind,
I might but say, I hear a wind
Of memory murmuring the past.
Yea, tho’ it spake and bared to view
A fact within the coming year;
And tho’ the months, revolving near,
Should prove the phantom-warning true,
They might not seem thy prophecies,
But spiritual presentiments,
And such refraction of events
As often rises ere they rise.
XCIII.
I shall not see thee. Dare I say
No spirit ever brake the band
That stays him from the native land
476
Where first he walk’d when claspt in clay?
No visual shade of some one lost,
But he, the Spirit himself, may come
Where all the nerve of sense is numb;
Spirit to Spirit, Ghost to Ghost.
O, therefore from thy sightless range
With gods in unconjectured bliss,
O, from the distance of the abyss
Of tenfold-complicated change,
Descend, and touch, and enter; hear
The wish too strong for words to name;
That in this blindness of the frame
My Ghost may feel that thine is near.
XCIV.
How pure at heart and sound in head,
With what divine affections bold
Should be the man whose thought would hold
An hour’s communion with the dead.
In vain shalt thou, or any, call
The spirits from their golden day,
Except, like them, thou too canst say,
My spirit is at peace with all.
They haunt the silence of the breast,
Imaginations calm and fair,
The memory like a cloudless air,
The conscience as a sea at rest:
But when the heart is full of din,
And doubt beside the portal waits,
They can but listen at the gates,
And hear the household jar within.
XCV.
477
By night we linger’d on the lawn,
For underfoot the herb was dry;
And genial warmth; and o’er the sky
The silvery haze of summer drawn;
And calm that let the tapers burn
Unwavering: not a cricket chirr’d:
The brook alone far-off was heard,
And on the board the fluttering urn:
And bats went round in fragrant skies,
And wheel’d or lit the filmy shapes
That haunt the dusk, with ermine capes
And woolly breasts and beaded eyes;
While now we sang old songs that peal’d
From knoll to knoll, where, couch’d at ease,
The white kine glimmer’d, and the trees
Laid their dark arms about the field.
But when those others, one by one,
Withdrew themselves from me and night,
And in the house light after light
Went out, and I was all alone,
A hunger seized my heart; I read
Of that glad year which once had been,
In those fall’n leaves which kept their green,
The noble letters of the dead:
And strangely on the silence broke
The silent-speaking words, and strange
Was love’s dumb cry defying change
To test his worth; and strangely spoke
The faith, the vigour, bold to dwell
On doubts that drive the coward back,
And keen thro’ wordy snares to track
Suggestion to her inmost cell.
So word by word, and line by line,
The dead man touch’d me from the past,
478
And all at once it seem’d at last
The living soul was flash’d on mine,
And mine in this was wound, and whirl’d
About empyreal heights of thought,
And came on that which is, and caught
The deep pulsations of the world,
Æonian music measuring out
The steps of Time–the shocks of Chance–
The blows of Death. At length my trance
Was cancell’d, stricken thro’ with doubt.
Vague words! but ah, how hard to frame
In matter-moulded forms of speech,
Or ev’n for intellect to reach
Thro’ memory that which I became:
Till now the doubtful dusk reveal’d
The knolls once more where, couch’d at ease,
The white kine glimmer’d, and the trees
Laid their dark arms about the field:
And suck’d from out the distant gloom
A breeze began to tremble o’er
The large leaves of the sycamore,
And fluctuate all the still perfume,
And gathering freshlier overhead,
Rock’d the full-foliaged elms, and swung
The heavy-folded rose, and flung
The lilies to and fro, and said
‘The dawn, the dawn,’ and died away;
And East and West, without a breath,
Mixt their dim lights, like life and death,
To broaden into boundless day.
XCVI.
479
You say, but with no touch of scorn,
Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes
Are tender over drowning flies,
You tell me, doubt is Devil-born.
I know not: one indeed I knew
In many a subtle question versed,
Who touch’d a jarring lyre at first,
But ever strove to make it true:
Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds,
At last he beat his music out.
There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.
He fought his doubts and gather’d strength,
He would not make his judgment blind,
He faced the spectres of the mind
And laid them: thus he came at length
To find a stronger faith his own;
And Power was with him in the night,
Which makes the darkness and the light,
And dwells not in the light alone,
But in the darkness and the cloud,
As over Sinaï’s peaks of old,
While Israel made their gods of gold,
Altho’ the trumpet blew so loud.
XCVII.
My love has talk’d with rocks and trees;
He finds on misty mountain-ground
His own vast shadow glory-crown’d;
He sees himself in all he sees.
Two partners of a married life–
I look’d on these and thought of thee
In vastness and in mystery,
And of my spirit as of a wife.
480
These two–they dwelt with eye on eye,
Their hearts of old have beat in tune,
Their meetings made December June,
Their every parting was to die.
Their love has never past away;
The days she never can forget
Are earnest that he loves her yet,
Whate’er the faithless people say.
Her life is lone, he sits apart,
He loves her yet, she will not weep,
Tho’ rapt in matters dark and deep
He seems to slight her simple heart.
He
He
He
He
thrids the labyrinth of the mind,
reads the secret of the star,
seems so near and yet so far,
looks so cold: she thinks him kind.
She keeps the gift of years before,
A wither’d violet is her bliss:
She knows not what his greatness is,
For that, for all, she loves him more.
For him she plays, to him she sings
Of early faith and plighted vows;
She knows but matters of the house,
And he, he knows a thousand things.
Her faith is fixt and cannot move,
She darkly feels him great and wise,
She dwells on him with faithful eyes,
‘I cannot understand: I love.’
XCVIII.
You leave us: you will see the Rhine,
And those fair hills I sail’d below,
When I was there with him; and go
481
By summer belts of wheat and vine
To where he breathed his latest breath,
That City. All her splendour seems
No livelier than the wisp that gleams
On Lethe in the eyes of Death.
Let her great Danube rolling fair
Enwind her isles, unmark’d of me:
I have not seen, I will not see
Vienna; rather dream that there,
A treble darkness, Evil haunts
The birth, the bridal; friend from friend
Is oftener parted, fathers bend
Above more graves, a thousand wants
Gnarr at the heels of men, and prey
By each cold hearth, and sadness flings
Her shadow on the blaze of kings:
And yet myself have heard him say,
That not in any mother town
With statelier progress to and fro
The double tides of chariots flow
By park and suburb under brown
Of lustier leaves; nor more content,
He told me, lives in any crowd,
When all is gay with lamps, and loud
With sport and song, in booth and tent,
Imperial halls, or open plain;
And wheels the circled dance, and breaks
The rocket molten into flakes
Of crimson or in emerald rain.
XCIX.
Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again,
So loud with voices of the birds,
482
So thick with lowings of the herds,
Day, when I lost the flower of men;
Who tremblest thro’ thy darkling red
On yon swoll’n brook that bubbles fast
By meadows breathing of the past,
And woodlands holy to the dead;
Who murmurest in the foliaged eaves
A song that slights the coming care,
And Autumn laying here and there
A fiery finger on the leaves;
Who wakenest with thy balmy breath
To myriads on the genial earth,
Memories of bridal, or of birth,
And unto myriads more, of death.
O wheresoever those may be,
Betwixt the slumber of the poles,
To-day they count as kindred souls;
They know me not, but mourn with me.
C.
I climb the hill: from end to end
Of all the landscape underneath,
I find no place that does not breathe
Some gracious memory of my friend;
No gray old grange, or lonely fold,
Or low morass and whispering reed,
Or simple stile from mead to mead,
Or sheepwalk up the windy wold;
Nor hoary knoll of ash and haw
That hears the latest linnet trill,
Nor quarry trench’d along the hill
And haunted by the wrangling daw;
Nor runlet tinkling from the rock;
Nor pastoral rivulet that swerves
483
To left and right thro’ meadowy curves,
That feed the mothers of the flock;
But each has pleased a kindred eye,
And each reflects a kindlier day;
And, leaving these, to pass away,
I think once more he seems to die.
CI.
Unwatch’d, the garden bough shall sway,
The tender blossom flutter down,
Unloved, that beech will gather brown,
This maple burn itself away;
Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair,
Ray round with flames her disk of seed,
And many a rose-carnation feed
With summer spice the humming air;
Unloved, by many a sandy bar,
The brook shall babble down the plain,
At noon or when the lesser wain
Is twisting round the polar star;
Uncared for, gird the windy grove,
And flood the haunts of hern and crake;
Or into silver arrows break
The sailing moon in creek and cove;
Till from the garden and the wild
A fresh association blow,
And year by year the landscape grow
Familiar to the stranger’s child;
As year by year the labourer tills
His wonted glebe, or lops the glades;
And year by year our memory fades
From all the circle of the hills.
484
CII.
We leave the well-beloved place
Where first we gazed upon the sky;
The roofs, that heard our earliest cry,
Will shelter one of stranger race.
We go, but ere we go from home,
As down the garden-walks I move,
Two spirits of a diverse love
Contend for loving masterdom.
One whispers, ‘Here thy boyhood sung
Long since its matin song, and heard
The low love-language of the bird
In native hazels tassel-hung.’
The other answers, ‘Yea, but here
Thy feet have stray’d in after hours
With thy lost friend among the bowers,
And this hath made them trebly dear.’
These two have striven half the day,
And each prefers his separate claim,
Poor rivals in a losing game,
That will not yield each other way.
I turn to go: my feet are set
To leave the pleasant fields and farms;
They mix in one another’s arms
To one pure image of regret.
CIII.
On that last night before we went
From out the doors where I was bred,
I dream’d a vision of the dead,
Which left my after-morn content.
Methought I dwelt within a hall,
And maidens with me: distant hills
485
From hidden summits fed with rills
A river sliding by the wall.
The hall with harp and carol rang.
They sang of what is wise and good
And graceful. In the centre stood
A statue veil’d, to which they sang;
And which, tho’ veil’d, was known to me,
The shape of him I loved, and love
For ever: then flew in a dove
And brought a summons from the sea:
And when they learnt that I must go
They wept and wail’d, but led the way
To where a little shallop lay
At anchor in the flood below;
And on by many a level mead,
And shadowing bluff that made the banks,
We glided winding under ranks
Of iris, and the golden reed;
And still as vaster grew the shore
And roll’d the floods in grander space,
The maidens gather’d strength and grace
And presence, lordlier than before;
And I myself, who sat apart
And watch’d them, wax’d in every limb;
I felt the thews of Anakim,
The pulses of a Titan’s heart;
As one would sing the death of war,
And one would chant the history
Of that great race, which is to be,
And one the shaping of a star;
Until the forward-creeping tides
Began to foam, and we to draw
From deep to deep, to where we saw
A great ship lift her shining sides.
486
The man we loved was there on deck,
But thrice as large as man he bent
To greet us. Up the side I went,
And fell in silence on his neck:
Whereat those maidens with one mind
Bewail’d their lot; I did them wrong:
‘We served thee here’ they said, ‘so long,
And wilt thou leave us now behind?’
So rapt I was, they could not win
An answer from my lips, but he
Replying, ‘Enter likewise ye
And go with us:’ they enter’d in.
And while the wind began to sweep
A music out of sheet and shroud,
We steer’d her toward a crimson cloud
That landlike slept along the deep.
CIV.
The time draws near the birth of Christ;
The moon is hid, the night is still;
A single church below the hill
Is pealing, folded in the mist.
A single peal of bells below,
That wakens at this hour of rest
A single murmur in the breast,
That these are not the bells I know.
Like strangers’ voices here they sound,
In lands where not a memory strays,
Nor landmark breathes of other days,
But all is new unhallow’d ground.
CV.
487
To-night ungather’d let us leave
This laurel, let this holly stand:
We live within the stranger’s land,
And strangely falls our Christmas-eve.
Our father’s dust is left alone
And silent under other snows:
There in due time the woodbine blows,
The violet comes, but we are gone.
No more shall wayward grief abuse
The genial hour with mask and mime;
For change of place, like growth of time,
Has broke the bond of dying use.
Let cares that petty shadows cast,
By which our lives are chiefly proved,
A little spare the night I loved,
And hold it solemn to the past.
But let no footstep beat the floor,
Nor bowl of wassail mantle warm;
For who would keep an ancient form
Thro’ which the spirit breathes no more?
Be neither song, nor game, nor feast;
Nor harp be touch’d, nor flute be blown;
No dance, no motion, save alone
What lightens in the lucid east
Of rising worlds by yonder wood.
Long sleeps the summer in the seed;
Run out your measured arcs, and lead
The closing cycle rich in good.
CVI.
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
488
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.
Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.
Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.
Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.
Ring
Ring
Ring
Ring
out old shapes of foul disease;
out the narrowing lust of gold;
out the thousand wars of old,
in the thousand years of peace.
Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
CVII.
It is the day when he was born,
A bitter day that early sank
489
Behind a purple-frosty bank
Of vapour, leaving night forlorn.
The time admits not flowers or leaves
To deck the banquet. Fiercely flies
The blast of North and East, and ice
Makes daggers at the sharpen’d eaves,
And bristles all the brakes and thorns
To yon hard crescent, as she hangs
Above the wood which grides and clangs
Its leafless ribs and iron horns
Together, in the drifts that pass
To darken on the rolling brine
That breaks the coast. But fetch the wine,
Arrange the board and brim the glass;
Bring in great logs and let them lie,
To make a solid core of heat;
Be cheerful-minded, talk and treat
Of all things ev’n as he were by;
We keep the day. With festal cheer,
With books and music, surely we
Will drink to him, whate’er he be,
And sing the songs he loved to hear.
CVIII.
I will not shut me from my kind,
And, lest I stiffen into stone,
I will not eat my heart alone,
Nor feed with sighs a passing wind:
What profit lies in barren faith,
And vacant yearning, tho’ with might
To scale the heaven’s highest height,
Or dive below the wells of Death?
What find I in the highest place,
But mine own phantom chanting hymns?
490
And on the depths of death there swims
The reflex of a human face.
I'll rather take what fruit may be
Of sorrow under human skies:
’Tis held that sorrow makes us wise,
Whatever wisdom sleep with thee.
CIX.
Heart-affluence in discursive talk
From household fountains never dry;
The critic clearness of an eye,
That saw thro’ all the Muses’ walk;
Seraphic intellect and force
To seize and throw the doubts of man;
Impassion’d logic, which outran
The hearer in its fiery course;
High nature amorous of the good,
But touch’d with no ascetic gloom;
And passion pure in snowy bloom
Thro’ all the years of April blood;
A love of freedom rarely felt,
Of freedom in her regal seat
Of England; not the schoolboy heat,
The blind hysterics of the Celt;
And manhood fused with female grace
In such a sort, the child would twine
A trustful hand, unask’d, in thine,
And find his comfort in thy face;
All these have been, and thee mine eyes
Have look’d on: if they look’d in vain,
My shame is greater who remain,
Nor let thy wisdom make me wise.
491
CX.
Thy converse drew us with delight,
The men of rathe and riper years:
The feeble soul, a haunt of fears,
Forgot his weakness in thy sight.
On thee the loyal-hearted hung,
The proud was half disarm’d of pride,
Nor cared the serpent at thy side
To flicker with his double tongue.
The stern were mild when thou wert by,
The flippant put himself to school
And heard thee, and the brazen fool
Was soften’d, and he knew not why;
While I, thy nearest, sat apart,
And felt thy triumph was as mine;
And loved them more, that they were thine,
The graceful tact, the Christian art;
Nor mine the sweetness or the skill,
But mine the love that will not tire,
And, born of love, the vague desire
That spurs an imitative will.
CXI.
The churl in spirit, up or down
Along the scale of ranks, thro’ all,
To him who grasps a golden ball,
By blood a king, at heart a clown;
The churl in spirit, howe’er he veil
His want in forms for fashion’s sake,
Will let his coltish nature break
At seasons thro’ the gilded pale:
For who can always act? but he,
To whom a thousand memories call,
492
Not being less but more than all
The gentleness he seem’d to be,
Best seem’d the thing he was, and join’d
Each office of the social hour
To noble manners, as the flower
And native growth of noble mind;
Nor ever narrowness or spite,
Or villain fancy fleeting by,
Drew in the expression of an eye,
Where God and Nature met in light;
And thus he bore without abuse
The grand old name of gentleman,
Defamed by every charlatan,
And soil’d with all ignoble use.
CXII.
High wisdom holds my wisdom less,
That I, who gaze with temperate eyes
On glorious insufficiencies,
Set light by narrower perfectness.
But thou, that fillest all the room
Of all my love, art reason why
I seem to cast a careless eye
On souls, the lesser lords of doom.
For what wert thou? some novel power
Sprang up for ever at a touch,
And hope could never hope too much,
In watching thee from hour to hour,
Large elements in order brought,
And tracts of calm from tempest made,
And world-wide fluctuation sway’d
In vassal tides that follow’d thought.
493
CXIII.
’Tis held that sorrow makes us wise;
Yet how much wisdom sleeps with thee
Which not alone had guided me,
But served the seasons that may rise;
For can I doubt, who knew thee keen
In intellect, with force and skill
To strive, to fashion, to fulfil–
I doubt not what thou wouldst have been:
life in civic action warm,
soul on highest mission sent,
potent voice of Parliament,
pillar steadfast in the storm,
Should licensed boldness gather force,
Becoming, when the time has birth,
A lever to uplift the earth
And roll it in another course,
With thousand shocks that come and go,
With agonies, with energies,
With overthrowings, and with cries,
And undulations to and fro.
CXIV.
Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail
Against her beauty? May she mix
With men and prosper! Who shall fix
Her pillars? Let her work prevail.
But on her forehead sits a fire:
She sets her forward countenance
And leaps into the future chance,
Submitting all things to desire.
Half-grown as yet, a child, and vain–
She cannot fight the fear of death.
494
What is she, cut from love and faith,
But some wild Pallas from the brain
Of Demons? fiery-hot to burst
All barriers in her onward race
For power. Let her know her place;
She is the second, not the first.
A higher hand must make her mild,
If all be not in vain; and guide
Her footsteps, moving side by side
With wisdom, like the younger child:
For she is earthly of the mind,
But Wisdom heavenly of the soul.
O, friend, who camest to thy goal
So early, leaving me behind,
I would the great world grew like thee,
Who grewest not alone in power
And knowledge, but by year and hour
In reverence and in charity.
CXV.
Now fades the last long streak of snow,
Now burgeons every maze of quick
About the flowering squares, and thick
By ashen roots the violets blow.
Now rings the woodland loud and long,
The distance takes a lovelier hue,
And drown’d in yonder living blue
The lark becomes a sightless song.
Now dance the lights on lawn and lea,
The flocks are whiter down the vale,
And milkier every milky sail
On winding stream or distant sea;
Where now the seamew pipes, or dives
495
In yonder greening gleam, and fly
The happy birds, that change their sky
To build and brood; that live their lives
From land to land; and in my breast
Spring wakens too; and my regret
Becomes an April violet,
And buds and blossoms like the rest.
CXVI.
Is it, then, regret for buried time
That keenlier in sweet April wakes,
And meets the year, and gives and takes
The colours of the crescent prime?
Not all: the songs, the stirring air,
The life re-orient out of dust,
Cry thro’ the sense to hearten trust
In that which made the world so fair.
Not all regret: the face will shine
Upon me, while I muse alone;
And that dear voice, I once have known,
Still speak to me of me and mine:
Yet less of sorrow lives in me
For days of happy commune dead;
Less yearning for the friendship fled,
Than some strong bond which is to be.
CXVII.
O days and hours, your work is this
To hold me from my proper place,
A little while from his embrace
For fuller gain of after bliss:
That out of distance might ensue
Desire of nearness doubly sweet;
496
And unto meeting when we meet,
Delight a hundredfold accrue,
For every grain of sand that runs,
And every span of shade that steals,
And every kiss of toothed wheels,
And all the courses of the suns.
CXVIII.
Contemplate all this work of Time,
The giant labouring in his youth;
Nor dream of human love and truth,
As dying Nature’s earth and lime;
But trust that those we call the dead
Are breathers of an ampler day
For ever nobler ends. They say,
The solid earth whereon we tread
In tracts of fluent heat began,
And grew to seeming-random forms,
The seeming prey of cyclic storms,
Till at the last arose the man;
Who throve and branch’d from clime to clime,
The herald of a higher race,
And of himself in higher place,
If so he type this work of time
Within himself, from more to more;
Or, crown’d with attributes of woe
Like glories, move his course, and show
That life is not as idle ore,
But iron dug from central gloom,
And heated hot with burning fears,
And dipt in baths of hissing tears,
And batter’d with the shocks of doom
To shape and use. Arise and fly
497
The reeling Faun, the sensual feast;
Move upward, working out the beast,
And let the ape and tiger die.
CXIX.
Doors, where my heart was used to beat
So quickly, not as one that weeps
I come once more; the city sleeps;
I smell the meadow in the street;
I hear a chirp of birds; I see
Betwixt the black fronts long-withdrawn
A light-blue lane of early dawn,
And think of early days and thee,
And bless thee, for thy lips are bland,
And bright the friendship of thine eye;
And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh
I take the pressure of thine hand.
CXX.
I trust I have not wasted breath:
I think we are not wholly brain,
Magnetic mockeries; not in vain,
Like Paul with beasts, I fought with Death;
Not only cunning casts in clay:
Let Science prove we are, and then
What matters Science unto men,
At least to me? I would not stay.
Let him, the wiser man who springs
Hereafter, up from childhood shape
His action like the greater ape,
But I was born to other things.
498
CXXI.
Sad Hesper o’er the buried sun
And ready, thou, to die with him,
Thou watchest all things ever dim
And dimmer, and a glory done:
The team is loosen’d from the wain,
The boat is drawn upon the shore;
Thou listenest to the closing door,
And life is darken’d in the brain.
Bright Phosphor, fresher for the night,
By thee the world’s great work is heard
Beginning, and the wakeful bird;
Behind thee comes the greater light:
The market boat is on the stream,
And voices hail it from the brink;
Thou hear’st the village hammer clink,
And see’st the moving of the team.
Sweet Hesper-Phosphor, double name
For what is one, the first, the last,
Thou, like my present and my past,
Thy place is changed; thou art the same.
CXXII.
Oh, wast thou with me, dearest, then,
While I rose up against my doom,
And yearn’d to burst the folded gloom,
To bare the eternal Heavens again,
To feel once more, in placid awe,
The strong imagination roll
A sphere of stars about my soul,
In all her motion one with law;
If thou wert with me, and the grave
Divide us not, be with me now,
And enter in at breast and brow,
499
Till all my blood, a fuller wave,
Be quicken’d with a livelier breath,
And like an inconsiderate boy,
As in the former flash of joy,
I slip the thoughts of life and death;
And all the breeze of Fancy blows,
And every dew-drop paints a bow,
The wizard lightnings deeply glow,
And every thought breaks out a rose.
CXXIII.
There rolls the deep where grew the tree.
O earth, what changes hast thou seen!
There where the long street roars, hath been
The stillness of the central sea.
The hills are shadows, and they flow
From form to form, and nothing stands;
They melt like mist, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.
But in my spirit will I dwell,
And dream my dream, and hold it true;
For tho’ my lips may breathe adieu,
I cannot think the thing farewell.
CXXIV.
That which we dare invoke to bless;
Our dearest faith; our ghastliest doubt;
He, They, One, All; within, without;
The Power in darkness whom we guess;
I found Him not in world or sun,
Or eagle’s wing, or insect’s eye;
Nor thro’ the questions men may try,
The petty cobwebs we have spun:
500
If e’er when faith had fall’n asleep,
I heard a voice ‘believe no more’
And heard an ever-breaking shore
That tumbled in the Godless deep;
A warmth within the breast would melt
The freezing reason’s colder part,
And like a man in wrath the heart
Stood up and answer’d ‘I have felt.’
No, like a child in doubt and fear:
But that blind clamour made me wise;
Then was I as a child that cries,
But, crying, knows his father near;
And what I am beheld again
What is, and no man understands;
And out of darkness came the hands
That reach thro’ nature, moulding men.
CXXV.
Whatever I have said or sung,
Some bitter notes my harp would give,
Yea, tho’ there often seem’d to live
A contradiction on the tongue,
Yet Hope had never lost her youth;
She did but look through dimmer eyes;
Or Love but play’d with gracious lies,
Because he felt so fix’d in truth:
And if the song were full of care,
He breathed the spirit of the song;
And if the words were sweet and strong
He set his royal signet there;
Abiding with me till I sail
To seek thee on the mystic deeps,
And this electric force, that keeps
501
A thousand pulses dancing, fail.
CXXVI.
Love is and was my Lord and King,
And in his presence I attend
To hear the tidings of my friend,
Which every hour his couriers bring.
Love is and was my King and Lord,
And will be, tho’ as yet I keep
Within his court on earth, and sleep
Encompass’d by his faithful guard,
And hear at times a sentinel
Who moves about from place to place,
And whispers to the worlds of space,
In the deep night, that all is well.
CXXVII.
And all is well, tho’ faith and form
Be sunder’d in the night of fear;
Well roars the storm to those that hear
A deeper voice across the storm,
Proclaiming social truth shall spread,
And justice, ev’n tho’ thrice again
The red fool-fury of the Seine
Should pile her barricades with dead.
But ill for him that wears a crown,
And him, the lazar, in his rags:
They tremble, the sustaining crags;
The spires of ice are toppled down,
And molten up, and roar in flood;
The fortress crashes from on high,
The brute earth lightens to the sky,
And the great Æon sinks in blood,
502
And compass’d by the fires of Hell;
While thou, dear spirit, happy star,
O’erlook’st the tumult from afar,
And smilest, knowing all is well.
CXXVIII.
The love that rose on stronger wings,
Unpalsied when he met with Death,
Is comrade of the lesser faith
That sees the course of human things.
No doubt vast eddies in the flood
Of onward time shall yet be made,
And throned races may degrade;
Yet O ye mysteries of good,
Wild Hours that fly with Hope and Fear,
If all your office had to do
With old results that look like new;
If this were all your mission here,
To
To
To
To
draw, to sheathe a useless sword,
fool the crowd with glorious lies,
cleave a creed in sects and cries,
change the bearing of a word,
To shift an arbitrary power,
To cramp the student at his desk,
To make old bareness picturesque
And tuft with grass a feudal tower;
Why then my scorn might well descend
On you and yours. I see in part
That all, as in some piece of art,
Is toil coöperant to an end.
CXXIX.
503
Dear friend, far off, my lost desire,
So far, so near in woe and weal;
O loved the most, when most I feel
There is a lower and a higher;
Known and unknown; human, divine;
Sweet human hand and lips and eye;
Dear heavenly friend that canst not die,
Mine, mine, for ever, ever mine;
Strange friend, past, present, and to be;
Loved deeplier, darklier understood;
Behold, I dream a dream of good,
And mingle all the world with thee.
CXXX.
Thy voice is on the rolling air;
I hear thee where the waters run;
Thou standest in the rising sun,
And in the setting thou art fair.
What art thou then? I cannot guess;
But tho’ I seem in star and flower
To feel thee some diffusive power,
I do not therefore love thee less:
My love involves the love before;
My love is vaster passion now;
Tho’ mix’d with God and Nature thou,
I seem to love thee more and more.
Far off thou art, but ever nigh;
I have thee still, and I rejoice;
I prosper, circled with thy voice;
I shall not lose thee tho’ I die.
CXXXI.
504
O living will that shalt endure
When all that seems shall suffer shock,
Rise in the spiritual rock,
Flow thro’ our deeds and make them pure,
That we may lift from out of dust
A voice as unto him that hears,
A cry above the conquer’d years
To one that with us works, and trust,
With faith that comes of self-control,
The truths that never can be proved
Until we close with all we loved,
And all we flow from, soul in soul.
_________
O true and tried, so well and long,
Demand not thou a marriage lay;
In that it is thy marriage day
Is music more than any song.
Nor have I felt so much of bliss
Since first he told me that he loved
A daughter of our house; nor proved
Since that dark day a day like this;
Tho’ I since then have number’d o’er
Some thrice three years: they went and came,
Remade the blood and changed the frame,
And yet is love not less, but more;
No longer caring to embalm
In dying songs a dead regret,
But like a statue solid-set,
And moulded in colossal calm.
Regret is dead, but love is more
Than in the summers that are flown,
For I myself with these have grown
To something greater than before;
Which makes appear the songs I made
505
As echoes out of weaker times,
As half but idle brawling rhymes,
The sport of random sun and shade.
But where is she, the bridal flower,
That must he made a wife ere noon?
She enters, glowing like the moon
Of Eden on its bridal bower:
On me she bends her blissful eyes
And then on thee; they meet thy look
And brighten like the star that shook
Betwixt the palms of paradise.
O when her life was yet in bud,
He too foretold the perfect rose.
For thee she grew, for thee she grows
For ever, and as fair as good.
And thou art worthy; full of power;
As gentle; liberal-minded, great,
Consistent; wearing all that weight
Of learning lightly like a flower.
But now set out: the noon is near,
And I must give away the bride;
She fears not, or with thee beside
And me behind her, will not fear.
For I that danced her on my knee,
That watch’d her on her nurse’s arm,
That shielded all her life from harm
At last must part with her to thee;
Now waiting to be made a wife,
Her feet, my darling, on the dead;
Their pensive tablets round her head,
And the most living words of life
Breathed in her ear. The ring is on,
The ‘wilt thou’ answer’d, and again
The ‘wilt thou’ ask’d, till out of twain
506
Her sweet ‘I will’ has made you one.
Now sign your names, which shall be read,
Mute symbols of a joyful morn,
By village eyes as yet unborn;
The names are sign’d, and overhead
Begins the clash and clang that tells
The joy to every wandering breeze;
The blind wall rocks, and on the trees
The dead leaf trembles to the bells.
O happy hour, and happier hours
Await them. Many a merry face
Salutes them–maidens of the place,
That pelt us in the porch with flowers.
O happy hour, behold the bride
With him to whom her hand I gave.
They leave the porch, they pass the grave
That has to-day its sunny side.
To-day the grave is bright for me,
For them the light of life increased,
Who stay to share the morning feast,
Who rest to-night beside the sea.
Let all my genial spirits advance
To meet and greet a whiter sun;
My drooping memory will not shun
The foaming grape of eastern France.
It circles round, and fancy plays,
And hearts are warm’d and faces bloom,
As drinking health to bride and groom
We wish them store of happy days.
Nor count me all to blame if I
Conjecture of a stiller guest,
Perchance, perchance, among the rest,
And, tho’ in silence, wishing joy.
507
But they must go, the time draws on,
And those white-favour’d horses wait;
They rise, but linger; it is late;
Farewell, we kiss, and they are gone.
A shade falls on us like the dark
From little cloudlets on the grass,
But sweeps away as out we pass
To range the woods, to roam the park,
Discussing how their courtship grew,
And talk of others that are wed,
And how she look’d, and what he said,
And back we come at fall of dew.
Again the feast, the speech, the glee,
The shade of passing thought, the wealth
Of words and wit, the double health,
The crowning cup, the three-times-three,
And last the dance;–till I retire:
Dumb is that tower which spake so loud,
And high in heaven the streaming cloud,
And on the downs a rising fire:
And rise, O moon, from yonder down,
Till over down and over dale
All night the shining vapour sail
And pass the silent-lighted town,
The white-faced halls, the glancing rills,
And catch at every mountain head,
And o’er the friths that branch and spread
Their sleeping silver thro’ the hills;
And touch with shade the bridal doors,
With tender gloom the roof, the wall;
And breaking let the splendour fall
To spangle all the happy shores
By which they rest, and ocean sounds,
And, star and system rolling past,
508
A soul shall draw from out the vast
And strike his being into bounds,
And, moved thro’ life of lower phase,
Result in man, be born and think,
And act and love, a closer link
Betwixt us and the crowning race
Of those that, eye to eye, shall look
On knowledge; under whose command
Is Earth and Earth’s, and in their hand
Is Nature like an open book;
No longer half-akin to brute,
For all we thought and loved and did,
And hoped, and suffer’d, is but seed
Of what in them is flower and fruit;
Whereof the man, that with me trod
This planet, was a noble type
Appearing ere the times were ripe,
That friend of mine who lives in God,
That God, which ever lives and loves,
One God, one law, one element,
And one far-off divine event,
To which the whole creation moves.
~ Alfred Lord Tennyson,#NFDB
26 Poetry
4 Philosophy
3 Integral Yoga
3 Fiction
2 Yoga
2 Mysticism
1 Occultism
1 Mythology
1 Alchemy
6 Walt Whitman
4 William Wordsworth
4 John Keats
3 Nolini Kanta Gupta
2 Sri Ramakrishna
2 Robert Browning
2 Rabindranath Tagore
2 Percy Bysshe Shelley
2 H P Lovecraft
6 Whitman - Poems
4 Wordsworth - Poems
4 Keats - Poems
2 The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna
2 Tagore - Poems
2 Shelley - Poems
2 Lovecraft - Poems
2 Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07
2 Browning - Poems
1.02 - BEFORE THE CITY-GATE, #Faust, #Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, #Poetry
And Lisp like angels, when with lies they meet us.
But, let us go! 'Tis gray and dusky all:
1.04 - Sounds, #Walden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience, #Henry David Thoreau, #Philosophy
I rejoice that there are owls. Let them do the idiotic and maniacal hooting for men. It is a sound admirably suited to swamps and twilight woods which no day illustrates, suggesting a vast and undeveloped nature which men have not recognized. They represent the stark twilight and unsatisfied thoughts which all have. All day the sun has shone on the surface of some savage swamp, where the single spruce stands hung with usnea lichens, and small hawks circulate above, and the chickadee Lisps amid the evergreens, and the partridge and rabbit skulk beneath; but now a more dismal and fitting day dawns, and a different race of creatures awakes to express the meaning of Nature there.
Late in the evening I heard the distant rumbling of wagons over bridges,a sound heard farther than almost any other at night,the baying of dogs, and sometimes again the lowing of some disconsolate cow in a distant barn-yard. In the mean while all the shore rang with the trump of bullfrogs, the sturdy spirits of ancient wine-bibbers and wassailers, still unrepentant, trying to sing a catch in their Stygian lake,if the Walden nymphs will pardon the comparison, for though there are almost no weeds, there are frogs there,who would fain keep up the hilarious rules of their old festal tables, though their voices have waxed hoarse and solemnly grave, mocking at mirth, and the wine has lost its flavor, and become only liquor to distend their paunches, and sweet intoxication never comes to drown the memory of the past, but mere saturation and waterloggedness and distention. The most aldermanic, with his chin upon a heart-leaf, which serves for a napkin to his drooling chaps, under this northern shore quaffs a deep draught of the once scorned water, and passes round the cup with the ejaculation _tr-r-r-oonk, tr-r-r-oonk, tr-r-r-oonk!_ and straightway comes over the water from some distant cove the same password repeated, where the next in seniority and girth has gulped down to his mark; and when this observance has made the circuit of the shores, then ejaculates the master of ceremonies, with satisfaction, _tr-r-r-oonk!_ and each in his turn repeats the same down to the least distended, leakiest, and flabbiest paunched, that there be no mistake; and then the bowl goes round again and again, until the sun disperses the morning mist, and only the patriarch is not under the pond, but vainly bellowing _troonk_ from time to time, and pausing for a reply.
1.06 - THE MASTER WITH THE BRAHMO DEVOTEES, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
Speaking of householders entangled in worldliness, the Master said: "They are like the silk-worm. They can come out of the cocoon of their worldly life if they wish. But they can't bear to; for they themselves have built the cocoon with great love and care. So they die there. Or they are like the fish in a trap. They can come out of it by the way they entered, but they sport inside the trap with other fish and hear the sweet sound of the murmuring water and forget everything else. They don't even make an effort to free themselves from the trap. The Lisping of children is the murmur of the water; and the other fish are relatives and friends. Only one or two make good their escape by running away. They are the liberated souls."
The Master then sang:
1.09 - BOOK THE NINTH, #Metamorphoses, #Ovid, #Poetry
Imperfect words, and Lisp his mother's name,
To hail this tree, and say with weeping eyes,
1.28 - On holy and blessed prayer, mother of virtues, and on the attitude of mind and body in prayer., #The Ladder of Divine Ascent, #Saint John of Climacus, #unset
9. Do not be over-sophisticated in the words you use when praying, because the simple and unadorned Lisping of children has often won the heart of their heavenly Father.
10. Do not attempt to talk much when you pray lest your mind be distracted in searching for words. One word of the publican propitiated God, and one cry of faith saved the thief. Loquacity in prayer often distracts the mind and leads to phantasy, whereas brevity2 makes for concentration.
1.31 - Adonis in Cyprus, #The Golden Bough, #James George Frazer, #Occultism
and his feeble Lispings echoed with a rolling reverberation in the
musical prose of Newman. Indeed the influence of music on the
1f.lovecraft - The Dunwich Horror, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
displayed a freedom from infantile Lisping of which many children of
three or four might well be proud. The boy was not talkative, yet when
1.fs - The Infanticide, #Schiller - Poems, #Friedrich Schiller, #Poetry
And the Lisped music glides from that sweet well
Lo, in that breast a red wound shall be yawning,
--
Lisped the mute innocence with thunder-sound;
"Woman, where is thy husband?"called unto me,
1.jk - Endymion - Book I, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
Round every leaf, that all those gentle Lispers
May sigh my love unto her pitying!
1.jk - Endymion - Book III, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
O Moon! old boughs Lisp forth a holier din
The while they feel thine airy fellowship.
1.jk - Endymion - Book IV, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
I Lisp'd thy blooming titles inwardly;
For at the first, first dawn and thought of thee,
1.jk - Isabella; Or, The Pot Of Basil - A Story From Boccaccio, #Keats - Poems, #John Keats, #Poetry
And straight all flush'd; so, Lisped tenderly,
"Lorenzo!"here she ceas'd her timid quest,
1.lovecraft - The Poe-ets Nightmare, #Lovecraft - Poems, #unset, #Zen
And Lisp this awesome Poe-em in blank verse:
Aletheia Phrikodes
1.pbs - Queen Mab - Part IV., #Shelley - Poems, #Percy Bysshe Shelley, #Fiction
Ere he can Lisp his mother's sacred name,
Swells with the unnatural pride of crime, and lifts
1.pbs - Song. To [Harriet], #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
Mild accents of happiness Lisp in his ear,
When the hope-winged moments athwart him are flying,
1.poe - Romance, #Poe - Poems, #unset, #Zen
To Lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
1.rb - Cleon, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
And laugh their pride when the light wave Lisps "Greece")
To Protus in his Tyranny: much health!
1.rb - Popularity, #Browning - Poems, #Robert Browning, #Poetry
As if they still the water's Lisp heard
Through foam the rock-weeds thresh.
1.rt - Fireflies, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
The jasmine's Lisping of love to the sun is her flowers.
The tyrant claims freedom to kill freedom
1.rt - The Homecoming, #Tagore - Poems, #Rabindranath Tagore, #Poetry
In this world of human affairs there is no worse nuisance than a boy at the age of fourteen. He is neither ornamental, nor useful. It is impossible to shower affection on him as on a little boy; and he is always getting in the way. If he talks with a childish Lisp he is called a baby, and if he answers in a grown-up way he is called impertinent. In fact any talk at all from him is resented. Then he is at the unattractive, growing age. He grows out of his clothes with indecent haste; his voice grows hoarse and breaks and quavers; his face grows suddenly angular and unsightly. It is easy to excuse the shortcomings of early childhood, but it is hard to tolerate even unavoidable lapses in a boy of fourteen. The lad himself becomes painfully self-conscious. When he talks with elderly people he is either unduly forward, or else so unduly shy that he appears ashamed of his very existence.
Yet it is at this very age when in his heart of hearts a young lad most craves for recognition and love; and he becomes the devoted slave of any one who shows him consideration. But none dare openly love him, for that would be regarded as undue indulgence, and therefore bad for the boy. So, what with scolding and chiding, he becomes very much like a stray dog that has lost his master.
1.whitman - 1861, #Whitman - Poems, #unset, #Zen
Not you as some pale poetling, seated at a desk, Lisping cadenzas
piano;
1.whitman - Carol Of Words, #Whitman - Poems, #unset, #Zen
Watery, vegetable, sauroid advancesbeings, premonitions, Lispings
of the future,
1.whitman - Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking, #Whitman - Poems, #unset, #Zen
Lisp'd to me the low and delicious word death,
And again death, death, death, death,
1.whitman - Sea-Shore Memories, #Whitman - Poems, #unset, #Zen
Lisp'd to me the low and delicious word DEATH;
And again Deathever Death, Death, Death,
1.whitman - Song of Myself, #Whitman - Poems, #unset, #Zen
The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending Lisp,
The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanksgiving dinner,
1.whitman - Song Of Myself- XV, #Whitman - Poems, #unset, #Zen
The carpenter dresses his plank, the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending Lisp,
The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanks- giving dinner,
1.ww - Book Fifth-Books, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
Even in the time of Lisping infancy;
And later down, in prattling childhood even,
1.ww - Guilt And Sorrow, Or, Incidents Upon Salisbury Plain, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
To Lisp, he made me kneel beside my bed,
And in his hearing there my prayers I said:
1.ww - The Excursion- X- Book Ninth- Discourse of the Wanderer, and an Evening Visit to the Lake, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
This sacred right, the Lisping babe proclaims
To be inherent in him, by Heaven's will,
1.ww - To May, #Wordsworth - Poems, #unset, #Zen
Who tripping Lisps a merry song
Amid his playful peers?
2.13 - THE MASTER AT THE HOUSES OF BALARM AND GIRISH, #The Gospel of Sri Ramakrishna, #Sri Ramakrishna, #Hinduism
His tongue can Lisp but a single word.
Says Basu: Why is Gora so restless?
30.01 - World-Literature, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
Now, what is meant by popular - "plebeian" - literature? It is the literature of the people, the common man, the literature that has grown up around the ordinary life of the ordinary run. When man is in his early childhood, when he has just dissociated himself from his mere animality and has begun to know and feel his own self, when he has learnt first to Lisp, the delight which he then derives from expressing his feelings and perceptions through articulate words marks the origin of the first poet of nature. At this stage we find a spontaneous exuberance of kindly experiences. The poet's vision is utterly physical here. His eyes turn exclusively to the external world confined within his limited ken. The poet portrays through word and rhythm his normal daily experiences acquired in his own private chamber or while roving in the open fields around homely hamlets. His imagination is also circumscribed. by such or similar environments. The language is soft, fluid and partly expressive - it is molten and gliding. His themes stem from the happiness and sorrow of the common life, ready at hand; nothing complex is to be found there.
Literary creation starts with proverbs and fairy tales. Another stage sets in when men do not relish merely the simple narration but want to narrate in a lucid and artistic manner. Not only that, they do not want to indulge in any ordinary subject but want to speak of something momentous and significant. And here is the foundation of true literature. But still there is the admixture of popular, plebeian manners, modes of rustic consciousness. The touch of spirituality, i.e.Soulfulness, the savour of a bliss found elsewhere in seclusion and isolation and the wide universal experiences of a true seer have not yet penetrated there. The great poet exceeds not only his surroundings - his own people and land; he is able to acquaint us with other climes and times, and he succeeds even in expressing .the thoughts of humanity at large; but in the parochial poet who may speak of such things there is still a reflection of narrowness, similar to tall talk In the mouths of children. Here there is not much selection, no restraint, no constructiveness, no high seriousness - there is instead an abundance, a prolixity, almost a confusion and an irresponsibility, as it were, and as in the ordinary life there is a pull towards the physical, the external and the small. The Ballads of the English and the Romantic Songs of the French fall under this category. Likewise, however deep in spiritual significance may be our kirtansor the songs of the religious wanderers of our country, they can, without injustice, be classed with those Ballads and Romances of the West.
30.17 - Rabindranath, Traveller of the Infinite, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 07, #Nolini Kanta Gupta, #Integral Yoga
Tagore, as it appears to me, never again reached such heights of bold imageries and in such an amplitude of melody. Enchanting moods and manners, figures and symbols, diverse and varied, were there, every one of them with its own speciality, beauty and gracefulness but it is doubtful whether they possess the sense of vastness and loftiness and epic sweep and grandeur to that extent as here. The urge, the movement that finds expression here is not concerned merely with the aspiration of human beings or individuals; here is expressed in a profound, grandiose voice the aspiration of the inert soil and the mute earth; not merely in conscious beings but also in the subconscient world there vibrates an intense, passionate, vast, upward longing. A sleepless march proceeds towards the light from the bottom of the entire creation - not only it is finely and adequately expressed but that reality has assumed its own form as it were in word and rhythm, as a living embodiment. In 'The Awakening of the Fountain' we notice the Lisping of this grand message, although the .fountain there is a mere symbol or an image, and the significance too is to a considerable extent of the nature of an oration or discourse, nevertheless fundamentally the poet's dream remains the same. So, we can say, what commenced with the 'Fountain', with the cry of a chord and the invocation of a single limb, has become a full-fledged orchestral symphony in 'Balaka': the wheel has come full circle.
***
36.07 - An Introduction To The Vedas, #Collected Works of Nolini Kanta Gupta - Vol 08, #unset, #Zen
Europe made bold to launch an assault on this inaccessible fortress. There is no reason why the Europeans should have the same feeling of reverence as is aroused in our hearts at the mere mention of the Vedas. To them the Veda is but an ancient human product. They did not approach it to derive any cultural benefit from it. All that they wanted was to make themselves acquainted with the Aryan Hindus. The nebulous veil that existed round the Vedas was rent and set aside by them and they replaced it with the daylight of modern thought. We shall later on deal with what followed their rash attempt, but it must be admitted at the very outset that, inspired by their example, the Hindus mustered courage to delve into the Vedas. And what did the European scholars, freed from bias, discover? They found that the unusual reverence of the Hindus for these scriptures was simply due to the traditional superstition devoid of any rational cause. According to them, the Vedas are the first attempt of man at literature. They are a mere collection of pastoral songs comparable to the Lispings of a baby. Man in his uncultured and innocent state used to feel every object infused with life and imagined spirits behind the forces Nature. Therefore he prayed to Indra and Varuna for rain, to the Sun for its rays of light. Frightened by the hurricane and storm he would implore the Maruts for safety, and harmed by the soothing beauty of Dawn he would sing her eulogy.
The gods and demons imagined by the naive and simple mind possessed miraculous powers prompted by such notions men used to convey their salutations to those mighty Beings, ask them for their daily necessities, material prosperity, and welfare in the other world after death. Cow and horses were the chief means of their livelihood. So they prayed for cows yielding abundant milk and horses possessing dynamic strength and energy. They used to fight among themselves one clan against another and specially against the robbers who were the Dravidians of ancient; India, while they were the Aryans who had come from abroad. Hence they needed arms and weapons and they naturally wanted to defeat the enemy. And that is why they sought the help of the gods for victory.
--
However, to be at home in the central theme of the Vedas, the method that we should follow is: to proceed from the known to the unknown. In the Vedic texts we often come across some important words that admit of no ambiguity. With the help of the obvious meanings of these words we have to find out the implications of the words partly obscure or totally obscure. In the Vedas there are such mantras (incantations), sentences and words in abundance which reflect modern ideas and appear quite familiar to the present-day intellect. It is at once advisable and reasonable to accept such self-evident meanings. It is of no avail to leave aside such clear meanings and seek out roundabout abstruse meanings on the ground that what we are dealing with are the Vedas, the writings of hoary antiquity. Ekam sad vipra bahudha vadanti (The one Truth is expressed differently by the men of knowledge) or, tat Visno param padam...diviva cakuratatam (That is the supreme Status of Vishnu, as if an Eye wide open in the heavens) or, Brhaspatih prathamam jayama mano jyotisah parame Vyoman (Brihaspati being born first as a great Light in the supreme Heaven)-the meanings of these words are by no means obscure or ambiguous. The meanings as well as the ideas with which these words are infused are quite plain and clear enough. These expressions convey no indication of the Lisping of the babe or an aborigine or an uncultured mind or even a ritualistic mind. Here we find expressions of a mature mind enlightened with knowledge flowing from a profound realisation of Truth. Neither the befitting rhythm nor rhyme is missing. Further,
Codayitri sunrtanam cetanti sumatinam
4.05 - The Passion Of Love, #Of The Nature Of Things, #Lucretius, #Poetry
The stuttering and tongue-tied "sweetly Lisps";
The mute girl's "modest"; and the garrulous,
Gorgias, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
This is the truth, Socrates, as you will be convinced, if you leave philosophy and pass on to the real business of life. A little philosophy is an excellent thing; too much is the ruin of a man. He who has not 'passed his metaphysics' before he has grown up to manhood will never know the world. Philosophers are ridiculous when they take to politics, and I dare say that politicians are equally ridiculous when they take to philosophy: 'Every man,' as Euripides says, 'is fondest of that in which he is best.' Philosophy is graceful in youth, like the Lisp of infancy, and should be cultivated as a part of education; but when a grown-up man Lisps or studies philosophy, I should like to beat him. None of those over-refined natures ever come to any good; they avoid the busy haunts of men, and skulk in corners, whispering to a few admiring youths, and never giving utterance to any noble sentiments.
For you, Socrates, I have a regard, and therefore I say to you, as Zethus says to Amphion in the play, that you have 'a noble soul disguised in a puerile exterior.' And I would have you consider the danger which you and other philosophers incur. For you would not know how to defend yourself if any one accused you in a law-court,there you would stand, with gaping mouth and dizzy brain, and might be murdered, robbed, boxed on the ears with impunity. Take my advice, then, and get a little common sense; leave to others these frivolities; walk in the ways of the wealthy and be wise.
--
but anything in which he is inferior, he avoids and depreciates, and praises the opposite from partiality to himself, and because he thinks that he will thus praise himself. The true principle is to unite them. Philosophy, as a part of education, is an excellent thing, and there is no disgrace to a man while he is young in pursuing such a study; but when he is more advanced in years, the thing becomes ridiculous, and I feel towards philosophers as I do towards those who Lisp and imitate children. For I love to see a little child, who is not of an age to speak plainly, Lisping at his play; there is an appearance of grace and freedom in his utterance, which is natural to his childish years. But when I hear some small creature carefully articulating its words, I am offended; the sound is disagreeable, and has to my ears the twang of slavery. So when I hear a man Lisping, or see him playing like a child, his behaviour appears to me ridiculous and unmanly and worthy of stripes. And I have the same feeling about students of philosophy; when I see a youth thus engaged,the study appears to me to be in character, and becoming a man of liberal education, and him who neglects philosophy I regard as an inferior man, who will never aspire to anything great or noble. But if I see him continuing the study in later life, and not leaving off, I should like to beat him, Socrates; for, as I was saying, such a one, even though he have good natural parts, becomes effeminate. He flies from the busy centre and the market-place, in which, as the poet says, men become distinguished; he creeps into a corner for the rest of his life, and talks in a whisper with three or four admiring youths, but never speaks out like a freeman in a satisfactory manner. Now I, Socrates, am very well inclined towards you, and my feeling may be compared with that of Zethus towards Amphion, in the play of Euripides, whom I was mentioning just now: for I am disposed to say to you much what Zethus said to his brother, that you, Socrates, are careless about the things of which you ought to be careful; and that you
'Who have a soul so noble, are remarkable for a puerile exterior; Neither in a court of justice could you state a case, or give any reason or proof, Or offer valiant counsel on another's behalf.'
The Dwellings of the Philosophers, #unset, #Arthur C Clarke, #Fiction
(chene) is Lisped, phonetically corresponds to the Greek word [*520-1] ( Khen ), and designates
the common goose. The old oak tree, because of this fact, takes on the same value as the
--- Overview of noun lisp
The noun lisp has 2 senses (no senses from tagged texts)
1. lisp ::: (a speech defect that involves pronouncing `s' like voiceless `th' and `z' like voiced `th')
2. LISP, list-processing language ::: (a flexible procedure-oriented programing language that manipulates symbols in the form of lists)
--- Overview of verb lisp
The verb lisp has 1 sense (no senses from tagged texts)
1. lisp ::: (speak with a lisp)
--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun lisp
2 senses of lisp
Sense 1
lisp
=> speech disorder, speech defect, defect of speech
=> disorder, upset
=> physical condition, physiological state, physiological condition
=> condition, status
=> state
=> attribute
=> abstraction, abstract entity
=> entity
Sense 2
LISP, list-processing language
=> programming language, programing language
=> artificial language
=> language, linguistic communication
=> communication
=> abstraction, abstract entity
=> entity
--- Hyponyms of noun lisp
--- Synonyms/Hypernyms (Ordered by Estimated Frequency) of noun lisp
2 senses of lisp
Sense 1
lisp
=> speech disorder, speech defect, defect of speech
Sense 2
LISP, list-processing language
=> programming language, programing language
--- Coordinate Terms (sisters) of noun lisp
2 senses of lisp
Sense 1
lisp
-> speech disorder, speech defect, defect of speech
=> anarthria
=> aphonia, voicelessness
=> cataphasia
=> dysarthria
=> dyslogia
=> dysphonia
=> lallation
=> lambdacism
=> lisp
=> stammer, stutter
Sense 2
LISP, list-processing language
-> programming language, programing language
=> algorithmic language
=> assembly language
=> computer language, computer-oriented language, machine language, machine-oriented language
=> multidimensional language
=> object language, target language
=> object-oriented programming language, object-oriented programing language
=> one-dimensional language
=> stratified language
=> unstratified language
=> LISP, list-processing language
=> Prolog, logic programing, logic programming
=> COBOL
=> C
=> BASIC
=> Pascal
--- Grep of noun lisp
lisp
lisp compiler
lisp program
lisper
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Clarice Lispector ::: Born: December 10, 1920; Died: December 9, 1977; Occupation: Writer;
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The Sylvester & Tweety Show (1976 - 1978) - Sylvester Cat is a lisping, inept, and often loud-mouthed cartoon alley cat with a penchant for chasing elusive mice and a weakness for various types of fowl, especially an innocent-looking but fiesty yellow canary named Tweety, whom Sylvester would like nothing better than to roast and eat. Each ep...
The Sylvester & Tweety Show ::: 30min | Animation, Family, Comedy | TV Series (1976 ) A pitiful cat with a pronounced lisp spends his time trying to catch and eat a little yellow canary, who always seems to outsmart his wicked plans. Stars: Mel Blanc, June Foray, Daws Butler
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Acanthemblemaria exilispinus
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