Complete Works of Lewis Carroll (136 page)

DREAMLAND

(Verses written to the dream-music written down by C.
E.
Hutchinson, of Brasenose College.)

When midnight mists are creeping,

And all the land is sleeping,

Around me tread the mighty dead,

And slowly pass away.

Lo, warriors, saints, and sages,

From out the vanished ages,

With solemn pace and reverend face

Appear and pass away.

The blaze of noonday splendour,

The twilight soft and tender,

May charm the eye: yet they shall die,

Shall die and pass away.

But here, in Dreamland's centre,

No spoiler's hand may enter,

These visions fair, this radiance rare,

Shall never pass away.

I see the shadows falling,

The forms of old recalling;

Around me tread the mighty dead,

And slowly pass away.

1882.

TO MY CHILD-FRIEND

DEDICATION TO “THE GAME OF LOGIC”

I charm in vain: for never again,

All keenly as my glance I bend,

Will Memory, goddess coy,

Embody for my joy

Departed days, nor let me gaze

On thee, my Fairy Friend!

Yet could thy face, in mystic grace,

A moment smile on me, 'twould send

Far-darting rays of light

From Heaven athwart the night,

By which to read in very deed

Thy spirit, sweetest Friend!

So may the stream of Life's long dream

Flow gently onward to its end,

With many a floweret gay,

A-down its willowy way:

May no sigh vex, no care perplex,

My loving little Friend!

1886.

A RIDDLE

(To Miss Gaynor Simpson.)

My first lends his aid when I plunge into trade:

My second in jollifications:

My whole, laid on thinnish, imparts a neat finish

To pictorial representations.

Answer.
Copal.

A LIMERICK

(To Miss Vera Beringer.)

There was a young lady of station,

“I love man” was her sole exclamation;

But when men cried, “You flatter,”

She replied, “Oh!
no matter,

Isle of Man is the true explanation.”

RHYME?
AND REASON?

(To Miss Emmie Drury.)

“I'm EMInent in RHYME!”
she said.

“I make WRY Mouths of RYE-Meal gruel!”

The Poet smiled, and shook his head:

“Is REASON, then, the missing jewel?”

A NURSERY DARLING

DEDICATION TO THE NURSERY “ALICE,” 1889

A Mother's breast:

Safe refuge from her childish fears,

From childish troubles, childish tears,

Mists that enshroud her dawning years!

See how in sleep she seems to sing

A voiceless psalm—an offering

Raised, to the glory of her King,

In Love: for Love is Rest.

A Darling's kiss:

Dearest of all the signs that fleet

From lips that lovingly repeat

Again, again, their message sweet!

Full to the brim with girlish glee,

A child, a very child is she,

Whose dream of Heaven is still to be

At Home: for Home is Bliss.

MAGGIE'S VISIT TO OXFORD (June 9th to 13th, 1889)

(Written for Maggie Bowman.)

When Maggie once to Oxford came,

On tour as “Bootles Baby,”

She said, “I'll see this place of fame,

However dull the day be.”

So with her friend she visited

The sights that it was rich in:

And first of all she popped her head

Inside the Christ Church kitchen.

The Cooks around that little child

Stood waiting in a ring:

And every time that Maggie smiled

Those Cooks began to sing—

Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom!

“Roast, boil and bake,

For Maggie's sake:

Bring cutlets fine

For
her
to dine,

Meringues so sweet

For her to eat—

For Maggie may be

Bootles' Baby!”

Then hand in hand in pleasant talk

They wandered and admired

The Hall, Cathedral and Broad Walk,

Till Maggie's feet were tired:

To Worcester Garden next they strolled,

Admired its quiet lake:

Then to St.
John, a college old,

Their devious way they take.

In idle mood they sauntered round

Its lawn so green and flat,

And in that garden Maggie found

A lovely Pussy-Cat!

A quarter of an hour they spent

In wandering to and fro:

And everywhere that Maggie went,

The Cat was sure to go—

Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom!

“Maiow!
Maiow!

Come, make your bow,

Take off your hats,

Ye Pussy-Cats!

And purr and purr,

To welcome
her
,

For Maggie may be

Bootles' Baby!”

So back to Christ Church, not too late

For them to go and see

A Christ Church undergraduate,

Who gave them cakes and tea.

Next day she entered with her guide

The garden called “Botanic,”

And there a fierce Wild Boar she spied,

Enough to cause a panic:

But Maggie didn't mind, not she,

She would have faced, alone,

That fierce wild boar, because, you see,

The thing was made of stone.

On Magdalen walls they saw a face

That filled her with delight,

A giant face, that made grimace

And grinned with all its might.

A little friend, industrious,

Pulled upwards all the while

The corner of its mouth, and thus

He helped that face to smile!

“How nice,” thought Maggie, “it would be

If
I
could have a friend

To do that very thing for
me

And make my mouth turn up with glee,

By pulling at one end.”

In Magdalen Park the deer are wild

With joy, that Maggie brings

Some bread a friend had given the child,

To feed the pretty things.

They flock round Maggie without fear:

They breakfast and they lunch,

They dine, they sup, those happy deer—

Still, as they munch and munch,

Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom!

“Yes, Deer are we,

And dear is she!

We love this child

So sweet and mild:

We all rejoice

At Maggie's voice:

We all are fed

With Maggie's bread ...

For Maggie may be

Bootles' Baby!”

They met a Bishop on their way ...

A Bishop large as life,

With loving smile that seemed to say

“Will Maggie be my wife?”

Maggie thought
not
, because, you see,

She was so
very
young,

And he was old as old could be ...

So Maggie held her tongue.

“My Lord, she's Bootles' Baby, we

Are going up and down,”

Her friend explained, “that she may see

The sights of Oxford Town.”

“Now say what kind of place it is,”

The Bishop gaily cried.

“The best place in the Provinces!”

That little maid replied.

Away, next morning, Maggie went

From Oxford town: but yet

The happy hours she there had spent

She could not soon forget.

The train is gone, it rumbles on:

The engine-whistle screams;

But Maggie deep in rosy sleep ...

And softly in her dreams,

Whispers the Battle-cry of Freedom.

“Oxford, good-bye!”

She seems to sigh.

“You dear old City,

With gardens pretty,

And lanes and flowers,

And college-towers,

And Tom's great Bell ...

Farewell—farewell:

For Maggie may be

Bootles' Baby!”

MAGGIE B—-

(To Maggie Bowman)

Written by Maggie B—-

Bought by me:

A present to Maggie B—-

Sent by me:

But
who
can Maggie be?

Answered by me:

“She is she.”

Aug.
13, 1891.

INSCRIBED TO A DEAR CHILD

IN MEMORY OF GOLDEN SUMMER HOURS AND WHISPERS OF A SUMMER SEA

Girt with a boyish garb for boyish task,

Eager she wields her spade: yet loves as well

Rest on a friendly knee, intent to ask

The tale he loves to tell.

Rude spirits of the seething outer strife,

Unmeet to read her pure and simple spright,

Deem, if you list, such hours a waste of life,

Empty of all delight!

Chat on, sweet Maid, and rescue from annoy

Hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled.

Ah, happy he who owns that tenderest joy,

The heart-love of a child!

Away, fond thoughts, and vex my soul no more!

Work claims my wakeful nights, my busy days—

Albeit bright memories of that sunlit shore

Yet haunt my dreaming gaze!

FIVE FATHOM SQUARE THE BELFRY FROWNS

Five fathom square the Belfry frowns;

All its sides of timber made;

Painted all in grays and browns;

Nothing of it that will fade.

Christ Church may admire the change—

Oxford thinks it sad and strange.

Beauty's dead!
Let's ring her knell.

Hark!
now I hear them—ding-dong, bell.

THE WANDERING BURGESS

Our Willie had been sae lang awa'

Frae bonnie Oxford toon,

The townsfolk they were greeting a'

As they went up and doon.

He hadna been gane a year, a year,

A year but barely ten,

When word came unto Oxford toon,

Our Willie wad come agen.

Willie he stude at Thomas his Gate,

And made a lustie din;

And who so blithe as the gate-porter

To rise and let him in?

“Now enter Willie, now enter Willie,

And look around the place,

And see the pain that we have ta'en

Thomas his Quad to grace.”

The first look that our Willie cast,

He leuch loud laughters three,

The neist look that our Willie cast

The tear blindit his e'e.

Sae square and stark the Tea-chest frowned

Athwart the upper air,

But when the Trench our Willie saw,

He thocht the Tea-chest fair.

Sae murderous-deep the Trench did gape

The parapet aboon,

But when the Tunnel Willie saw

He loved the Trench eftsoon.

'Twas mirk beneath the tane archway,

'Twas mirk beneath the tither;

Ye wadna ken a man therein,

Though it were your ain dear brither.

He turned him round and round about,

And looked upon the Three;

And dismal grew his countenance,

And drumlie grew his e'e.

“What cheer, what cheer, my gallant knight?”

The gate-porter 'gan say.

“Saw ever ye sae fair a sight

As ye have seen this day?”

“Now hand your tongue of your prating, man:

Of your prating now let me be.

For, as I'm a true knight, a fouler sight

I'll never live to see.

“Before I'd be the ruffian dark

Who planned this ghastly show,

I'd serve as secretary's clerk

To Ayrton or to Lowe.

“Before I'd own the loathly thing

That Christ Church Quad reveals,

I'd serve as shoeblack's underling

To Odger and to Beales!”