robert louis stevenson- 第39部分

CHAPTER　XXXIV　…　LETTERS　AND　POEMS　IN　TESTIMONY



AMONG　many　letters　received　by　me　in　acknowledgment　of；　or　in　　commentary　on；　my　little　tributes　to　R。　L。　Stevenson；　in　various　　journals　and　magazines；　I　find　the　following；　which　I　give　here　for　　reasons　purely　personal；　and　because　my　readers　may　with　me；　join　　in　admiration　of　the　fancy；　grace　and　beauty　of　the　poems。　　I　must　　preface　the　first　poem　by　a　letter；　which　explains　the　genesis　of　　the　poem；　and　relates　a　striking　and　very　touching　incident：


〃37　ST　DONATT'S　ROAD；　LEWISHAM　HIGH　ROAD；　S。E。；　1ST　MARCH　1895。

〃DEAR　SIR；　…　As　you　have　written　so　much　about　your　friend；　the　　late　Robert　Louis　Stevenson；　and　quoted　many　tributes　to　his　genius　　from　contemporary　writers；　I　take　the　liberty　of　sending　you　　herewith　some　verses　of　mine　which　appeared　in　THE　WEEKLY　SUN　of　　November　last。　　I　sent　a　copy　of　these　verses　to　Samoa；　but　　unfortunately　the　great　novelist　died　before　they　reached　it。　　I　　have；　however；　this　week；　received　a　little　note　from　Mrs　Strong；　　which　runs　as　follows：

〃'Your　poem　of　〃Greeting〃　came　too　late。　　I　can　only　thank　you　by　　sending　a　little　moss　that　I　plucked　from　a　tree　overhanging　his　　grave　on　Vaea　Mountain。'

〃I　trust　you　will　appreciate　my　motive　in　sending　you　the　poem。　　I　　do　not　wish　to　obtrude　my　claims　as　a　verse…writer　upon　your　　notice；　but　I　thought　the　incident　I　have　recited　would　be　　interesting　to　one　who　is　so　devoted　a　collector　of　Stevensoniana。　　…　Respectfully　yours；

F。　J。　COX。〃


GREETING

（TO　ROBERT　LOUIS　STEVENSON；　IN　SAMOA）

We；　pent　in　cities；　prisoned　in　the　mart；　Can　know　you　only　as　a　man　apart；　But　ever…present　through　your　matchless　art。

You　have　exchanged　the　old；　familiar　ways　For　isles；　where；　through　the　range　of　splendid　days；　Her　treasure　Nature　lavishly　displays。

There；　by　the　gracious　sweep　of　ampler　seas；　That　swell　responsive　to　the　odorous　breeze。　You　have　the　wine　of　Life；　and　we　the　lees！

You　mark；　perchance；　within　your　island　bowers；　The　slow　departure　of　the　languorous　hours；　And　breathe　the　sweetness　of　the　strange　wild…flowers。

And　everything　your　soul　and　sense　delights　…　But　in　the　solemn　wonder　of　your　nights；　When　Peace　her　message　on　the　landscape　writes；

When　Ocean　scarcely　flecks　her　marge　with　foam　…　Your　thoughts　must　sometimes　from　your　island　roam；　To　centre　on　the　sober　face　of　Home。

Though　many　a　league　of　water　rolls　between　The　simple　beauty　of　an　English　scene；　From　all　these　wilder　charms　your　love　may　wean。

Some　kindly　sprite　may　bring　you　as　a　boon　Sweets　from　the　rose　that　crowns　imperial　June；　Or　reminiscence　of　the　throstle's　tune；

Yea；　gladly　grant　you；　with　a　generous　hand；　Far　glimpses　of　the　winding；　wind…swept　strand；　The　glens　and　mountains　of　your　native　land；

Until　you　hear　the　pipes　upon　the　breeze　…　But　wake　unto　the　wild　realities　The　tangled　forests　and　the　boundless　seas！

For　lo！　the　moonless　night　has　passed　away；　A　sudden　dawn　dispels　the　shadows　grey；　The　glad　sea　moves　and　hails　the　quickening　day。

New　life　within　the　arbours　of　your　fief　Awakes　the　blossom；　quivers　in　the　leaf；　And　splendour　flames　upon　the　coral　reef。

If　such　a　prospect　stimulate　your　art；　More　than　our　meadows　where　the　shadows　dart；　More　than　the　life　which　throbs　in　London's　heart；

Then　stay；　encircled　by　your　Southern　bowers；　And　weave；　amid　the　incense　of　the　flowers；　The　skein　of　fair　romance　…　the　gain　is　ours！

F。　J。　COX。

WEEKLY　SUN；　11TH　November　1904。



R。　L。　S。；　IN　MEMORIAM。



AN　elfin　wight　as　e'er　from　faeryland　Came　to　us　straight　with　favour　in　his　eyes；　Of　wondrous　seed　that　led　him　to　the　prize　Of　fancy；　with　the　magic　rod　in　hand。　Ah；　there　in　faeryland　we　saw　him　stand；　As　for　a　while　he　walked　with　smiles　and　sighs；　Amongst　us；　finding　still　the　gem　that　buys　Delight　and　joy　at　genius's　command。

And　now　thy　place　is　empty：　　fare　thee　well；　Thou　livest　still　in　hearts　that　owe　thee　more　Than　gold　can　reckon；　for　thy　richer　store　Is　of　the　good　that　with　us　aye　most　dwell。　Farewell；　sleep　sound　on　Vaea's　windy　shrine；　While　round　the　songsters　join　their　song　to　thine。

A。　C。　R。



APPENDIX



The　following　appeared　some　time　ago　in　one　of　the　London　evening　　papers；　and　I　make　bold；　because　of　its　truth　and　vigour；　to　insert　　it　here：


THE　LAND　OF　STEVENSON；

ON　AN　AFTERNOON'S　WALK


WILL　there　be　a　〃Land　of　Stevenson；〃　as　there　is　already　a　〃Land　of　　Burns；〃　or　a　〃Land　of　Scott；〃　known　to　the　tourist；　bescribbled　by　　the　guide…book　maker？　　This　the　future　must　tell。　　Yet　will　it　be　　easy　to　mark　out　the　bounds　of　〃Robert　Louis　Stevenson's　Country〃；　　and；　taking　his　native　and　well…loved　city　for　a　starting…point；　a　　stout　walker　may　visit　all　its　principal　sites　in　an　afternoon。　　　The　house　where　he　was　born　is　within　a　bowshot　of　the　Water　of　　Leith；　some　five　miles　to　the　south　are　Caerketton　and　Allermuir；　　and　other　crests　of　the　Pentlands；　and　below　them　Swanston　Farm；　　where　year　after　year；　in　his　father's　time；　he　spent　the　summer　　days　basking　on　the　hill　slopes；　two　or　three　miles　to　the　westward　　of　Swanston　is　Colinton；　where　his　mother's　father；　Dr　Balfour；　was　　minister；　and　here　again　you　are　back　to　the　Water　of　Leith；　which　　you　can　follow　down　to　the　New　Town。　　In　this　triangular　space　　Stevenson's　memories　and　affections　were　firmly　rooted；　the　fibres　　could　not　be　withdrawn　from　the　soil；　and　〃the　voice　of　the　blood〃　　and　the　longing　for　this　little　piece　of　earth　make　themselves　　plaintively　heard　in　his　last　notes。　　By　Lothian　Road；　after　which　　Stevenson　quaintly　thought　of　naming　the　new　edition　of　his　works；　　and　past　Boroughmuirhead　and　the　〃Bore　Stane；〃　where　James　　FitzJames　set　up　his　standard　before　Flodden；　wends　your　southward　　way　to　the　hills。　　The　builder　of　suburban　villas　has　pushed　his　　handiwork　far　into　the　fields　since　Stevenson　was　wont　to　tramp　　between　the　city　and　the　Pentlands；　and　you　may　look　in　vain　for　　the　flat　stone　whereon；　as　the　marvelling　child　was　told；　there　　once　rose　a　〃crow…haunted　gibbet。〃　　Three…quarters　of　an　hour　of　　easy　walking；　after　you　have　cleared　the　last　of　the　houses　will　　bring　you　to　Swanston；　and　half　an　hour　more　will　take　the　stiff　　climber；　a　little　breathless；　to


THE　TOP　OF　CAERKETTON　CRAGS。


You　may　follow　the　high　road　…　indeed　there　is　a　choice　of　two；　　drawn　at　different　levels　…　athwart　the　western　skirts　of　the　Braid　　Hills；　now　tenanted；　crown　and　sides　of　them；　by　golf；　then　to　the　　crossroads　of　Fairmilehead；　whence　the　road　dips　down；　to　rise　　again　and　circumvent　the　most　easterly　wing　of　the　Pentlands。　　You　　would　like　to　pursue　this　route；　were　it　only　to　look　down　on　Bow　　Bridge　and　recall　how　the　last…century　gauger　used　to　put　together　　his　flute　and　play　〃Over　the　hills　and　far　away〃　as　a　signal　to　his　　friend　in　the　distillery　below；　now　converted　into　a　dairy　farm；　to　　stow　away　his　barrels。　　Better　it　is；　however；　to　climb　the　stile　　just　past　the　poor…house　gate；　and　follow　the　footpath　along　the　　smoothly　scooped　banks　of　the　Braid　Burn　to　〃Cockmylane〃　and　to　　Comiston。　　The　wind　has　been　busy　all　the　morning　spreading　the　　snow　over　a　glittering　world。　　The　drifts　are　piled　shoulder…high　　in　the　lane　as　it　approaches　Comiston；　and　each　old　tree　grouped　　around　the　historic　mansion　is　outlined　in　snow　so　virgin　pure　that　　were　the　Ghost　…　〃a　lady　in　white；　with　the　most　beautiful　clear　　shoes　on　her　feet〃　…　to　step　out　through　the　back　gate；　she　would　　be　invisible；　unless；　indeed；　she　were　between　you　and　the　ivy…　draped　dovecot　wall。　　Near　by；　at　the　corner　of　the　Dreghorn　Woods；　　is　the　Hunters'　Tryst；　on　the　roof　of　which；　when　it　was　still　a　　wayside　inn；　the　Devil　was　wont　to　dance　on　windy　nights。　　In　the　　field　through　which　you　trudge　knee…deep　in　drift　rises　the　〃Kay　　Stane；〃　looking　to…day　like　a　tall　monolith　of　whitest　marble。　　　Stevenson　was　mistaken　when　he　said　that　it　was　from　its　top　a　　neighbouring　laird；　on　pain　of　losing　his　lands；　had　to　〃wind　a　　blast　of　bugle　horn〃　each　time　the　King


VISITED　HIS　FOREST　OF　PENTLAND。


That　honour　belongs　to　another　on　the　adjacent　farm　of　Buckstane。　　　The　ancient　monument　carries　you　further　back；　and　there　are　Celtic　　authorities　that　translate　its　name　the　〃Stone　of　Victory。〃　　The　　〃Pechtland　Hills〃　　…　their　elder　name　…　were　once　a　refuge　for　the　　Picts；　and　Caerketton　…　probably　Caer…etin；　the　giant's　strong…hold　　…　is　one　of　them。　　Darkly　its　cliffs　frown　down　upon　you；　while　all　　else　is　flashing　white　in　the　winter　sunlight。　　For　once；　in　this　　last　buttress　thrown　out　into　the　plain　of　Lothian　towards　the　　royal　city；　the　outer　folds　of　the　Pentlands　loses　its　boldly…　rounded　curves；　and　drops　an　almost　sheer　descent　of　black　rock　to　　the　little　glen　below。　　In　a　wrinkle　of　the　foothills　Swanston　farm　　and　hamlet　are　snugly　tucked　away。　　The　spirit　that　breathes　about　　it　in　summer　time　is　gently　pastoral。　　It　is　sheltered　from　the　　rougher　blasts；　it　is　set　about　with　trees　and　green　hills。　　It　was　　with　this　aspect　of　the　place　that　Stevenson；　coming　hither　on　　holiday；　was　best　acquainted。　　The　village　green；　whereon　the　　windows　of　the　neat　white　cottages　turn　a　kindly　gaze　under　low　　brows