Part 1 (1/2)

The Scarlet Gown.

by R. F. Murray.

PREFACE

St. Andrews, but for its Town Council and its School Board, is a quiet place; and the University, except during the progress of a Rectorial Election, is peaceable and well-conducted. I hope these verses may so far reflect St. Andrews life as to be found pleasant, if not over exciting.

I am able to reprint the verses on 'The City of Golf' by the special courtesy of the Editor of the _Sat.u.r.day Review_.

A few explanatory notes are given at the end of the book.

R. F. MURRAY.

THE VOICE THAT SINGS

The voice that sings across the night Of long forgotten days and things, Is there an ear to hear aright The voice that sings?

It is as when a curfew rings Melodious in the dying light, A sound that flies on pulsing wings.

And faded eyes that once were bright Brim over, as to life it brings The echo of a dead delight, The voice that sings.

THE BEST PIPE

In vain you fervently extol, In vain you puff, your cutty clay.

A twelvemonth smoked and black as coal, 'Tis redolent of rank decay And bones of monks long pa.s.sed away-- A fragrance I do not admire; And so I hold my nose and say, Give me a finely seasoned briar.

Macleod, whose judgment on the whole Is faultless, has been led astray To nurse a high-born meerschaum bowl, For which he sweetly had to pay.

Ah, let him nurse it as he may, Before the colour mounts much higher, The grate shall be its fate one day.

Give me a finely seasoned briar.

The heathen Turk of Istamboul, In oriental turban gay, Delights his unbelieving soul With hookahs, bubbling in a way To fill a Christian with dismay And wake the old Crusading fire.

May no such pipe be mine, I pray; Give me a finely seasoned briar.

Clay, meerschaum, hookah, what are they That I should view them with desire?

Both now, and when my hair is grey, Give me a finely seasoned briar.

HYMN OF HIPPOLYTUS TO ARTEMIS