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TITLE: FLY LEAVES
AUTHOR: C. S. CALVERLEY
EBOOK: E01986 (O'Briens Book Cellar)

From the 1884 Deighton, Bell, and Co. edition.

FLY LEAVES

Contents:

   Morning
   Evening
   Shelter
   In the Gloaming
   The Palace
   Peace--a study
   The Arab
   Lines on Hearing the Organ
   Changed
   First Love
   Wanderers
   Sad Memories
   Companions
   Ballad
   Precious Stones
   Disaster
   Contentment
   The Schoolmaster
   Arcades Ambo
   Waiting
   Play
   Love
   Thoughts at a Railway Station
   On the Brink
   "Forever"
   Under the Trees
   Motherhood
   Mystery
   Flight
   On the Beach
   Lovers, and a Reflection
   The Cock and the Bull
   An Examination Paper

MORNING.

'Tis the hour when white-horsed Day
Chases Night her mares away;
When the Gates of Dawn (they say)
   Phobus opes:
And I gather that the Queen
May be uniformly seen,
Should the weather be serene,
   On the slopes.

When the ploughman, as he goes
Leathern-gaitered o'er the snows,
From his hat and from his nose
   Knocks the ice;
And the panes are frosted o'er,
And the lawn is crisp and hoar,
As has been observed before
   Once or twice.

When arrayed in breastplate red
Sings the robin, for his bread,
On the elmtree that hath shed
   Every leaf;
While, within, the frost benumbs
The still sleepy schoolboy's thumbs,
And in consequence his sums
   Come to grief.

But when breakfast-time hath come,
And he's crunching crust and crumb,
He'll no longer look a glum
   Little dunce;
But be brisk as bees that settle
On a summer rose's petal:
Wherefore, Polly, put the kettle
   On at once.

EVENING.

Kate! if e'er thy light foot lingers
   On the lawn, when up the fells
Steals the Dark, and fairy fingers
   Close unseen the pimpernels:
When, his thighs with sweetness laden,
   From the meadow comes the bee,
And the lover and the maiden
   Stand beneath the trysting tree:-

Lingers on, till stars unnumber'd
   Tremble in the breeze-swept tarn,
And the bat that all day slumber'd
   Flits about the lonely barn;
And the shapes that shrink from garish
   Noon are peopling cairn and lea;
And thy sire is almost bearish
   If kept waiting for his tea:-

And the screech-owl scares the peasant
   As he skirts some churchyard drear;
And the goblins whisper pleasant
   Tales in Miss Rossetti's ear;
Importuning her in strangest,
   Sweetest tones to buy their fruits:-
O be careful that thou changest,
   On returning home, thy boots.

SHELTER.

By the wide lake's margin I mark'd her lie -
   The wide, weird lake where the alders sigh -
A young fair thing, with a shy, soft eye;
   And I deem'd that her thoughts had flown
To her home, and her brethren, and sisters dear,
As she lay there watching the dark, deep mere,
   All motionless, all alone.

Then I heard a noise, as of men and boys,
   And a boisterous troop drew nigh.
Whither now will retreat those fairy feet?
   Where hide till the storm pass by?
One glance--the wild glance of a hunted thing -
She cast behind her; she gave one spring;
And there follow'd a splash and a broadening ring
   On the lake where the alders sigh.

She had gone from the ken of ungentle men!
   Yet scarce did I mourn for that;
For I knew she was safe in her own home then,
And, the danger past, would appear again,
   For she was a water-rat.

IN THE GLOAMING.

In the Gloaming to be roaming, where the crested waves are foaming,
   And the shy mermaidens combing locks that ripple to their feet;
When the Gloaming is, I never made the ghost of an endeavour
   To discover--but whatever were the hour, it would be sweet.

"To their feet," I say, for Leech's sketch indisputably teaches
   That the mermaids of our beaches do not end in ugly tails,
Nor have homes among the corals; but are shod with neat balmorals,
   An arrangement no one quarrels with, as many might with scales.

Sweet to roam beneath a shady cliff, of course with some young lady,
   Lalage, Neaera, Haidee, or Elaine, or Mary Ann:
Love, you dear delusive dream, you!  Very sweet your victims deem
you,
   When, heard only by the seamew, they talk all the stuff one can.

Sweet to haste, a licensed lover, to Miss Pinkerton the glover,
   Having managed to discover what is dear Neaera's "size":
P'raps to touch that wrist so slender, as your tiny gift you tender,
   And to read you're no offender, in those laughing hazel eyes.

Then to hear her call you "Harry," when she makes you fetch and
carry -
   O young men about to marry, what a blessed thing it is!
To be photograph'd--together--cased in pretty Russia leather -
   Hear her gravely doubting whether they have spoilt your honest
phiz!

Then to bring your plighted fair one first a ring--a rich and rare
one -
   Next a bracelet, if she'll wear one, and a heap of things beside;
And serenely bending o'er her, to inquire if it would bore her
   To say when her own adorer may aspire to call her bride!

Then, the days of courtship over, with your WIFE to start for Dover
   Or Dieppe--and live in clover evermore, whate'er befalls:
For I've read in many a novel that, unless they've souls that
grovel,
   Folks PREFER in fact a hovel to your dreary marble halls:

To sit, happy married lovers; Phillis trifling with a plover's
   Egg, while Corydon uncovers with a grace the Sally Lunn,
Or dissects the lucky pheasant--that, I think, were passing
pleasant;
   As I sit alone at present, dreaming darkly of a Dun.

THE PALACE.

They come, they come, with fife and drum,
   And gleaming pikes and glancing banners:
Though the eyes flash, the lips are dumb;
   To talk in rank would not be manners.
Onward they stride, as Britons can;
The ladies following in the Van.

Who, who be these that tramp in threes
   Through sumptuous Piccadilly, through
The roaring Strand, and stand at ease
   At last 'neath shadowy Waterloo?
Some gallant Guild, I ween, are they;
Taking their annual holiday.

To catch the destin'd train--to pay

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