Complete Works of Lewis Carroll (133 page)

FACES IN THE FIRE.

The night creeps onward, sad and slow:

In these red embers’ dying glow

The forms of Fancy come and go.

An island-farm—broad seas of corn

Stirred by the wandering breath of morn—

The happy spot where I was born.

The picture fadeth in its place:

Amid the glow I seem to trace

The shifting semblance of a face.

’Tis now a little childish form—

Red lips for kisses pouted warm—

And elf-locks tangled in the storm.

’Tis now a grave and gentle maid,

At her own beauty half afraid,

Shrinking, and willing to be stayed.

Oh, Time was young, and Life was warm,

When first I saw that fairy-form,

Her dark hair tossing in the storm.

And fast and free these pulses played,

When last I met that gentle maid—

When last her hand in mine was laid.

Those locks of jet are turned to gray,

And she is strange and far away

That might have been mine own to-day—

That might have been mine own, my dear,

Through many and many a happy year—

That might have sat beside me here.

Ay, changeless through the changing scene,

The ghostly whisper rings between,

The dark refrain of ‘might have been.’

The race is o’er I might have run:

The deeds are past I might have done;

And sere the wreath I might have won.

Sunk is the last faint flickering blaze:

The vision of departed days

Is vanished even as I gaze.

The pictures, with their ruddy light,

Are changed to dust and ashes white,

And I am left alone with night.

Jan., 1860.
 

A LESSON IN LATIN.

Our Latin books, in motley row,

Invite us to our task—

Gay Horace, stately Cicero:

Yet there’s one verb, when once we know,

No higher skill we ask:

This ranks all other lore above—

We’ve learned “‘
Amare
’ means ‘
to love
’!”

So, hour by hour, from flower to flower,

We sip the sweets of Life:

Till, all too soon, the clouds arise,

And flaming cheeks and flashing eyes

Proclaim the dawn of strife:

With half a smile and half a sigh,

“
Amare!
Bitter One!
” we cry.

Last night we owned, with looks forlorn,

“Too well the scholar knows

There is no rose without a thorn”—

But peace is made!
We sing, this morn,

“No thorn without a rose!”

Our Latin lesson is complete:

We’ve learned that Love is Bitter-Sweet!

May, 1888.
 

PUCK LOST AND FOUND.

Puck has fled the haunts of men:

Ridicule has made him wary:

In the woods, and down the glen,

No one meets a Fairy!

“Cream!”
the greedy Goblin cries—

Empties the deserted dairy—

Steals the spoons, and off he flies.

Still we seek our Fairy!

Ah!
What form is entering?

Lovelit eyes and laughter airy!

Is not this a better thing,

Child, whose visit thus I sing,

Even than a Fairy?

Nov.
22, 1891.

Puck has ventured back agen:

Ridicule no more affrights him:

In the very haunts of men

Newer sport delights him.

Capering lightly to and fro,

Ever frolicking and funning—

“Crack!”
the mimic pistols go!

Hark!
The noise is stunning!

All too soon will Childhood gay

Realise Life’s sober sadness.

Let’s be merry while we may,

Innocent and happy Fay!

Elves were made for gladness!

Nov.
25, 1891.
 

A SONG OF LOVE.

Say, what is the spell, when her fledgelings are cheeping,

That lures the bird home to her nest?

Or wakes the tired mother, whose infant is weeping,

To cuddle and croon it to rest?

What the magic that charms the glad babe in her arms,

Till it cooes with the voice of the dove?

’Tis a secret, and so let us whisper it low—

And the name of the secret is Love!

For I think it is Love,

For I feel it is Love,

For I’m sure it is nothing but Love!

Say, whence is the voice that, when anger is burning,

Bids the whirl of the tempest to cease?

That stirs the vexed soul with an aching—a yearning

For the brotherly hand-grip of peace?

Whence the music that fills all our being—that thrills

Around us, beneath, and above?

’Tis a secret: none knows how it comes, how it goes—

But the name of the secret is Love!

For I think it is Love,

For I feel it is Love,

For I’m sure it is nothing but Love!

Say, whose is the skill that paints valley and hill,

Like a picture so fair to the sight?

That flecks the green meadow with sunshine and shadow,

Till the little lambs leap with delight?

’Tis a secret untold to hearts cruel and cold,

Though ’tis sung, by the angels above,

In notes that ring clear for the ears that can hear—

And the name of the secret is Love!

For I think it is Love,

For I feel it is Love,

For I’m sure it is nothing but Love!

Oct., 1886.

PUZZLES FROM WONDERLAND

I

[Dreaming of apples on a wall]

Dreaming of apples on a wall,

And dreaming often, dear,

I dreamed that, if I counted all,

—How many would appear?

II

[A stick I found that weighed two pound]

A stick I found that weighed two pound:

I sawed it up one day

In pieces eight of equal weight!

How much did each piece weigh?

(Everybody says “a quarter of a pound,” which is wrong.)

III

[John gave his brother James a box]

John gave his brother James a box:

About it there were many locks.

James woke and said it gave him pain;

So gave it back to John again.

The box was not with lid supplied,

Yet caused two lids to open wide:

And all these locks had never a key—

What kind of a box, then, could it be?

IV

[What is most like a bee in May?]

What is most like a bee in May?

“Well, let me think: perhaps—” you say.

Bravo!
You're guessing well to-day!

V

[Three sisters at breakfast were feeding the cat]

Three sisters at breakfast were feeding the cat,

The first gave it sole—Puss was grateful for that:

The next gave it salmon—which Puss thought a treat:

The third gave it herring—which Puss wouldn't eat.

(Explain the conduct of the cat.)

VI

[Said the Moon to the Sun]

Said the Moon to the Sun,

“Is the daylight begun?”

Said the Sun to the Moon,

“Not a minute too soon.”

“You're a Full Moon,” said he.

She replied with a frown,

“Well!
I never
did
see

So uncivil a clown!”

(Query.
Why was the moon so angry?)

VII

[“Seven blind of both eyes]

When the King found that his money was nearly all gone, and that he really
must
live more economically, he decided on sending away most of his Wise Men.
There were some hundreds of them—very fine old men, and magnificently dressed in green velvet gowns with gold buttons: if they
had
a fault, it was that they always contradicted one another when he asked for their advice—and they certainly ate and drank enormously.
So, on the whole, he was rather glad to get rid of them.
But there was an old law, which he did not dare to disobey, which said that there must always be

“Seven blind of both eyes:

Two blind of one eye:

Four that see with both eyes:

Nine that see with one eye.”

(Query.
How many did he keep?)