Life of James Clerk Maxwell | Project Gutenberg

THERE lies within a long recess a bay,

An isle with gulfing sides restrains the sea,

The waves, divided ere they reach the shore,

Run through the winding bay, and cease to roar;

On this side and on that vast rocks arise,

And two twin crags ascending threat the skies,

Beneath whose shade the water silent lies;

Above, with waving branches, stands a wood,

A grove with awful shade o’erhangs the flood,

And on the further side a cave is shown,—

Within, fresh springs, and seats of living stone—

The nymphs’ abode; no chains or anchors bind

The worn-out ships, secure from waves and wind.

O ACADEMIC muse that hast for long

Charmed all the world with thy disciples’ song,

As myrtle bushes must give place to trees,

Our humbler strains can now no longer please.

Look down for once, inspire me in these lays

In lofty verse to sing our Lector’s praise.

The mighty wheel of Time to light has rolled

That golden age by ancient bards foretold.

Minerva now descends upon our land,

And scatters knowledge with unsparing hand;

Long since Ulysses saw the heavenly maid,

In Mentor’s form and Mentor’s dress arrayed,

But now to Cambrian lands the goddess flies,

And drops in Williams’ form from out the skies;

And as at dawn the brilliant orb of light,

With his bright beams dispels the gloomy night,

So sunk in ignorance our land he finds,

But with his learning drives it from our minds,

And he, a hero, shall with joyful eyes

See crowds of heroes all around him rise;

With great Minerva’s wisdom he shall rule

Those boisterous youths—the rector’s class at school,

And when in the fifth class begins his power,

And he begins to teach us, from that hour

Dame Poetry begins to show her face,

And witty epigrams the plaster grace;

There growing wild are often to be seen

The names of boys that Duxes erst have been,

And at the chimney-piece is seen the same

All thickly scribbled with the boobie’s name.

Ne’er shall the dreadful tawse be heard again,

The lash resounding, and the cry of pain;

Carmichael’s self will change (O that he would!)

From the imperative to wishing mood;

Ye years roll on, and haste the expected time

When flogging boys shall be accounted crime.

But come, thy real nature let us see,

No more the rector but the goddess be,

Come in thy might and shake the deep profound,

Let the Academy with shouts resound.

While radiant glory all thy head adorns,

And slippers on thy feet protect thy corns;

O may I live so long on earth below,

That I may learn the things that thou dost know!

Then will I praise thee in heroic verse

So good that Linus’ will be counted worse;

The Thracian Orpheus never will compare

With me, nor Dods that got the prize last year.

But stay, O stay upon this earth a while,

Even now thou seest the world’s approving smile,

And when thou goest to taste celestial joys,

Let thy great nephew[261] teach the mourning hoys,

Then mounting to the skies upon the wind,

Lead captive ignorance in chains behind.

TORTO VOLITANS SUB VERBERE TURBO

QUEM PUERI MAGNO IN GYRO VACUA ATRIA CIRCUM

INTENTI LUDO EXERCENT.

Virgil, Æn. VII. 378.

Nov. 1844

OF pearies[262] and their origin I sing:

How at the first great Jove the lord of air

Impelled the planets round the central sun

Each circling within each, until at last

The winged Mercury moves in molten fire.

And which of you, ye heavenly deities,

That hear the endless music of the spheres,

Hast given to man the secret of the Top?

Say, was it thou, O Fun, that dost prefer,

Before all temples, liberty and play?

Yes, yes, ’twas only thou, thou from the first

Wast present when the Roman children came

To the smooth pavement, where with heavy lash

They chased the wooden plaything without end.

But not to tell of these is now my task,

Nor yet of humming-tops, whose lengthened neck,

With packthread bound, and handle placed above,

Amuses little children. Not of these,

But of the pearie, chief of all his tribe,

Do I now sing. He with a sudden bound

From out his station in the player’s hand

Descends like Maia’s son, on one foot poised,

And utters gentle music circling round,

Till in the centre of the ring it sleeps.

When lo, as in the bright blue vault of heaven

A falcon, towering in his pride of place

Perceives from far a partridge on the wing,

And stoops to seize him, even so comes down

Another pearie, and as when the sword

Of faithful Abdiel struck the apostate’s crest

And “sent him reeling back ten paces huge,”

So reeled the former pearie, nor can stand

The latter’s iron peg, and more come down;

Innumerable hosts of pearies, armed

With dire destructive steel. The players shout;

It is the shout of battle; the loud cry

Of victors rushing to the spoil; the wail

Of ruined boys, their pearie split, and all,

All lost.

Thus wags this ever-changing world,

And we may morals from the pearie draw.

BLEAK was the pathway and barren the mountain,

As the traveller passed on his wearisome way;

Sealed by the frost was each murmuring fountain,

And the sun shone through mist with a blood-coloured ray.

But neither the road nor the danger together,

Could alter his purpose, nor yet the rough weather;

So on went the wayfarer through the thick heather,

Till he came to the cave where the dread witches stay.

II.

Hewn from the rock was that cavern so dreary,

And the entrance by bushes was hid from the sight,

But he found his way in, and with travelling weary,

With joy he beheld in the darkness a light

And in a recess of that wonderful dwelling,

He heard the strange song of the witch wildly swelling,

In magical numbers unceasingly telling

The fortunes of kingdoms, the issue of fight.

III.

Up rose the witch as the traveller entered,

“Welcome,” she said, “and what news from the king;

And why to inquire of me thus has he ventured,

When he knows that the answer destruction will bring?

Sit here and attend.” Then her pale visage turning

To where the dim lamp in the darkness was burning,

She took up a book of her magical learning,

And prepared in prophetical numbers to sing.

IV.

Now she is seated, the curtain is o’er her,

The god is upon her; attend then and hear!

The vapour is rising in volumes before her,

And forms of the future in darkness appear.

Hark, now the god inspiration is bringing,

’Tis not her voice through the cavern is ringing;

No, for the song her familiar is singing,

And these were the words of the maddening seer.

“Slave of the monarch, return to thy master,

Whisper these words in Nathalocus’ ear;

Tell him, from me, that Old Time can fly faster

Than he is aware, for his death hour is near;

Tell him his fate with the mystery due it,

But let him not know of the hand that shall do it

“Tell me, vile witch, or I swear thou shalt rue it!”

“Thou art the murderer,” answered the seer.

VI.

“Am I a dog that I’d do such an action!”

Answered the chief as in anger he rose,

“Would I, ungrateful, be head of a faction.

And call myself one of Nathalocus’ foes?”

“No more,” said the witch, “the enchantment is ended,

I brave not the wrath of the demon offended,

Whatever thy fate, ’tis not now to be mended.”

So the stranger returned through the thick-driving snows.

VII.

High from his eyrie the eagle was screaming,

Pale sheeted spectres stalked over the heath;

Bright in his mind’s eye a dagger was gleaming,

Waiting the moment to spring from its sheath.

Hoarse croaked the raven that eastward was flying;

Well did he know of the king that was dying;

Down in the river the Kelpie was sighing,

Mourning the king in the water beneath.

VIII.

His mind was confused with this terrible warning,

Horrible spectres were with him by night;

Still in his sorrow he wished for the morning,

Cursing the day when he first saw the light.

He said in his raving, “The day that she bore me,

Would that my mother in pieces had tore me;

See there is Nathalocus’ body before me;

Hence, ye vain shadows, depart from my sight!”

IX.

And when from the palace the king sent to meet him,

To ask what response from the witch he might bear;

When the messenger thought that the strangerwould greet him,

He answered by nought but a meaningless stare.

On his face was a smile, but it was not of gladness,

For all was within inconsolable sadness.

And aye in his eye was the fixt glare of madness,—

“In the long’s private chamber, I’ll answer him there.”

“Tell me, my sovereign, have I been unruly;

Have I been ever found out of my place;

Have not I followed thee faithfully, truly,

Though danger and death stared me full in the face?

Have I been seen from the enemy flying,

Have I been wanting in danger most trying?

Oh, if I have, judge me worthy of dying,

Let me be covered with shame and disgrace!

XI.

“Couldst thou imagine that I should betray thee,

I whom thy bounty with friendship has blessed?

But the witch gave for answer that my hand should slay thee,

’Tis this that for long has deprived me of rest,

Ever since then have my slumbers been broken,

But true are the words that the prophet has spoken,

Nathalocus, now receive this as a token,”

So saying the dagger he plunged in his breast.

“Men may weill wyt, thouch nane thaim tell,

How angry for sorow, and how fell,

Is to tyne sic a Lord as he

To thaim that war off hys mengye.”

Barbour’s Bruce, B. XX. i. 507.

WHERE rich Seville’s proud turrets rise

A foreign ship at anchor lies;

The pennons, floating in the air.

Proclaim that one of rank is there—

The Douglas, with a gallant band

Of warriors, seeks the Holy Land.

But wherefore now the trumpet’s bray,

The clang of arms and war’s array,

The atabal and martial drum?

The Moor—the infidel is come;

And there is Sultan Osmyn—see!

With all his Paynim chivalry;

And they have sworn to glut their steel

With the best blood of fair Castile.

“And do we here inactive stand?”

The Douglas cries; “Land! comrades, land!”

Then for the Christian camp he makes,

When thus Alphonso silence breaks:

“What news from Scotland do you bring;

And where is now your patriot king?”

“Alas! within this casket lies

The heart so valiant, good, and wise,

This to the Holy Land we bear,

For we have sworn to lay it there.

But let us forward to the fight,

And God protect the Christian right!”

To whom Alphonso—“Scottish lord,

That now for Spain dost draw that sword,

The terror of thy English foes,

When for her freedom Scotland rose;

With knights like thee and thy brave band

We’ll drive the Moslem from the land.”

The Douglas thus his comrades cheers—

“Be brave! and as for him that fears,

Let the base coward turn and fly,

For we will gain the day, or die.

How couch the trusty Scottish spear,

And think King Robert’s heart is here,

And boldly charge—already, see

The dogs of Moslems turn and flee.”

At the first onset, with the slain

Those valiant warriors strew the plain;

But, hark! the Allah Hu! the foes

Rally, and hot the combat grows,

For here the Spaniards yield, and there

The Moors have slain the brave St. Clair.

Then, midst the thickest of his foes,

The precious casket Douglas throws—

“Pass on before us,” hear him cry,

“For I will follow thee, or die.”

He rushes on—but all in vain,

For thicker comes the arrowy rain;

And now, by multitudes opprest,

With many a wound upon his breast.

Where ’midst the slain the casket lies,

A noble death the Douglas dies.

THAIR is a knichte rydis through the wood,

And a douchty knichte is hee,

And sure hee is on a message sent,

He rydis sae hastilie.

Hee passit the aik, and hee passit the birk,

And hee passit monie a tre,

Bot plesant to him was the saugh sae slim,

For beneath it hee did see

The boniest ladye that ever he saw,

Scho was sae schyn and fair.

And there scho sat, beneath the saugh,

Kaiming hir gowden hair.

And then the knichte—“Oh ladye brichte,

What chance hes broucht you here,

But say the word, and ye schall gang

Back to your kindred dear.”

Then up and spok the Ladye fair—

“I have nae friends or kin,

Bot in a littel boat I live,

Amidst the waves’ loud din.”

Then answered thus the douchty knichte—

“I’ll follow you through all,

For gin ye bee in a littel boat,

The world to it seemis small.”

They gaed through the wood, and through the wood

To the end of the wood they came:

And when they came to the end of the wood

They saw the salt sea faem.

And then they saw the wee, wee boat,

That daunced on the top of the wave,

And first got in the ladye fair,

And then the knichte sae brave;

They got into the wee, wee boat,

And rowed wi’ a’ their micht;

When the knichte sae brave, he turnit about,

And lookit at the ladye bricht;

He lookit at her bonie cheik.

And hee lookit at hir twa bricht eyne,

Bot hir rosie cheik growe ghaistly pale,

And scho seymit as scho deid had been.

The fause fause knichte growe pale wi frichte,

And his hair rose up on end,

For gane-by days cam to his mynde,

And his former luve he kenned.

Then spake the ladye,—“Thou, fause knichte,

Hast done to mee much ill,

Thou didst forsake me long ago,

Bot I am constant still;

For though I ligg in the woods sae cald,

At rest I canna bee

Until I sucke the gude lyfe blude

Of the man that gart me dee.”

Hee saw hir lipps were wet wi’ blude,

And hee saw hir lyfelesse eyne,

And loud hee cry’d, “Get frae my syde,

Thou vampyr corps uncleane!”

Bot no, hee is in hir magic boat,

And on the wyde wyde sea;

And the vampyr suckis his gude lyfe blude,

Sho suckis hym till hee dee.

So now beware, whoe’re you are,

That walkis in this lone wood;

Beware of that deceitfull spright,

The ghaist that suckis the blude.

ALL the snows have fled, and grass springs up on the meadows,

And there are leaves on the trees:

Earth has changed her looks, and turbulent rivers decreasing,

Slowly meander along;

How, with the naked nymphs and her own twin sisters,

Aglaïa

Gracefully dances in time.

But the Year, and the Hours which hurry along our existence,

Solemnly warn us to die.

Zephyr removes the frost, and Summer, soon destined to perish,

Treads in the footsteps of Spring,

After the joyous reign of Autumn, abounding in apples,

Shivering Winter returns.

Heavenly waste is repaired by the moon in her quick revolutions,

But when we go to the grave,

Beside the pious Æneas, and rich old Tullus, and Ancus,

We are but dust and a shade.

Who knows if the gods above have determined whether to-morrow

We shall be living or dead.

Nothing will come to the greedy hands of your spendthrift

successor

Which you have given away.

When you are gone to the grave, and Minos, sitting in judgment,

Utters your terrible doom,

Neither your rank nor your talents will bring you to life, 0

Torquatus,

Nor will affection avail;

Even the chaste Hippolytus was not released by Diana

From the infernal abyss,

Nor could Theseus break from his friend the rewards of

presumption

Which the stern monarch imposed.

Horace.

While I was your beloved one,

And while no other youth threw his fond arms around

Your white neck so easily,

Than the King of the world I was far happier.

Lydia.

While you loved not another one,

While you did not prefer Chloë to Lydia,

I then thought myself happier

Than the mother of Rome, great Rhea Silvia.

Horace.

Thracian Chloë now governs me,

She can merrily sing, playing the cithara;

I’d not scruple to die for her,

If the Implacable spared Chloë, the auburn haired.

Lydia.

I now love and am loved again,

By my Calaïs, son of the old Omytus;

Twice I’d die for him willingly.

If the terrible fates spared but my Calaïs.

Horace.

What if love should return again,

And unite us by ties more indissoluble?

What if Chloë were cast away,

And the long-closèd door open to Lydia?

Lydia.

My love’s brighter than any star;

You, too, lighter than cork, tossed on the waves of the

Hadriatic so terrible;

Still I’d live but with thee, and I could die with thee.

WHITHER, whither, reckless Romans,

Are you rushing, sword in hand?

Has not yet the blood of brothers,

Fully stained the sea and land?

Not that raging conflagration

Should o’er fallen Carthage play;

Not that the unconquered Briton

Should descend the sacred way.

“Rome,” exclaims the joyful Parthian,

“Ruin for herself prepares;

Wolves with wolves are never savage,

Lion lion never tears.”

Is this fury? is it madness?

Speedy answer I demand;

Foolish, blinded, guilty Romans,

Silent, stupefied you stand.

Thus ’tis fated, blood of brothers

Must atone for brothers’ guilt,

Since the blood of injured Remus

Romulus in anger spilt.

HALLO ye, my fellows! arise and advance,

See the white-crested waves how they stamp and they

dance!

High over the reef there in anger and might,

So wildly we dance to the bloody red fight.

Than gather, now gather, come gather ye all,

Each thing that hath legs and arms, come to our call;

Like reeds on the moor when the whirlwinds vie

Our lances and war-axes darken the sky;

Sharp, sharp, as the tooth of the sea-hound and shark,

They’ll tear ye, they’ll split ye, fly lance to the mark,

Home, home to the heart, and thou battle-axe grim,

Split, splintring and shivering through brain-pan and limb;

To-day we ask vengeance, to-day we ask blood,

We ask it; we’re coming to make our’ words good;

The storm flinches not tho’ the woods choke its path,

We ask it; we’re coming, beware of our wrath.

At home wives and children a hearth for us lay,

A savoury flesh-feast awaits us to-day;

Behind yonder mountains e’en now the smoke streams,

And the blaze of the bush fire crackles and gleams.

Long, long have we hungered and thirsted for you,

At home the dogs bark round the clean table too,

Loud shouting we’ll eat you to-night every one,

Devour you clean to the white sinewy bone.

Rush, rush ye my fellows, rush on them like hail,

Soon, soon shall their roasting your nostrils regale,

The fire is flaring, the oven’s a glow,

Heave to now, hew thro’ now, Holloa, Hollo.

IF ony here has got an ear,

He’d better tak’ a haud o’ me,

Or I’ll begin, wi’ roarin’ din,

To cheer our old Academy.

Dear old Academy,

Queer old Academy,

A merry lot we were, I wot,

When at the old Academy.

There’s some may think me crouse wi’ drink,

And some may think it mad o’ me,

But ither some will gladly come

And cheer our old Academy.

Some set their hopes on Kings and Popes,

But, o’ the sons of Adam, he

Was first, without the smallest doubt,

That built the first Academy.

Let Pedants seek for scraps of Greek,

Their lingo to Macadamize;

Give me the sense, without pretence,

That comes o’ Scots Academies.

Let scholars all, both grit and small,

Of Learning mourn the sad demise;

That’s as they think, but we will drink

Good luck to Scots Academies.

O had he first been swept away,

Through air by wild winds tossed,

Or sunk from Heaven’s ethereal ray,

To Pluto’s dreary coast.

Who trained the Grecians to the field,

Taught them the sword, the spear to wield,

And steeled the gentle mind!

Hence toil gives birth to toil again,

Hence carnage stains the ensanguined plain,

For he destroyed mankind.

Nor the brow with chaplets bound,

Breathing balmy odours round,

Nor the social glow of soul,

Kindling o’er the generous bowl,

Nor the dulcet strain that rings

Jocund from the sounding strings,

Nor endearing love’s delight,

Which with rapture fills the night,

Me will he permit to prove,

He, alas! hath murdered love.

But neglected here I lie,

Open to the inclement sky;

And my rough and matted hair

Drinks the dews of night’s moist air.

Memorials sad of Troy.

Yet till now, when pale affright

Rolled her hideous form through night

Great in arms, thy shield to oppose,

Ajax at his rampire rose,

And my terror was no more.

Now the hero I deplore,

To the gloomy god consigned,

Now, what joy can touch the mind?

O that on the pine-clad brow,

Darkening o’er the sea below,

Where the cliffs of Sunium rise,

Rocky bulwarks to the skies,

I were placed—with sweet address

Sacred Athens would I bless,

And feel a social joy.

PART III.

POEMS.

FOOTNOTES:

PART III. POEMS.

FOOTNOTES:

PART III.

POEMS.