Robert Fuller Murray

The lady stood at the station bar,
    (Three currants in a bun)
And oh she was proud, as ladies are.
    (And the bun was baked a week ago.)

For a weekly wage she was standing there,
    (Three currants in a bun)
With a prominent bust and light gold hair.
    (And the bun was baked a week ago.)

The express came in at half-past two,
    (Three currants in a bun)
And there lighted a man in the navy blue.
    (And the bun was baked a week ago.)

A stout sea-captain he was, I ween.
    (Three currants in a bun)
Much travel had made him very keen.
    (And the bun was baked a week ago.)

A sober man and steady was he.
    (Three currants in a bun)
He called not for brandy, but called for tea.
    (And the bun was baked a week a...

It is the Police Commissioners,
    All on a winter's day;
And they to prove the town water
    Have set themselves away.

They went to the north, they went to the south,
    And into the west went they,
Till they found a civil, civil engineer,
    And unto him did say:

'Now tell to us, thou civil engineer,
    If this be fit to drink.'
And they showed him a cup of the town water,
    Which was as black as ink.

He took three sips of the town water,
    And black in the face was he;
And they turned them back and fled away,
    Amazed that this should be.

And he has written a broad letter
    And sealed it with a ring,
And the letter saith that the town water
    Is not a goodly thing.

And they have met, and the B...

No gift I bring but worship, and the love
    Which all must bear to lovely souls and pure,
    Those lights, that, when all else is dark, endure;
Stars in the night, to lift our eyes above;

To lift our eyes and hearts, and make us move
    Less doubtful, though our journey be obscure,
    Less fearful of its ending, being sure
That they watch over us, where'er we rove.

And though my gift itself have little worth,
    Yet worth it gains from her to whom 'tis given,
            As a weak flower gets colour from the sun.
Or rather, as when angels walk the earth,
    All things they look on take the look of heaven--
            For of those blessed angels thou art one.

TO ---

You like the trifling triolet:
    Well, here are three or four.
Unless your likings I forget,
You like the trifling triolet.
Against my conscience I abet
    A taste which I deplore;
You like the trifling triolet:
    Well, here are three or four.

Have you ever met with a pretty girl
    Walking along the street,
With a nice new dress and her hair in curl?
Have you ever met with a pretty girl,
When her hat blew off and the wind with a whirl
    Wafted it right to your feet?
Have you ever met with a pretty girl
    Walking along the street?

I ran into a lady's arms,
    Turning a corner yesterday.
To my confusion, her alarms,
I ran into a lady's arms.
So close a vision of her charms
    Left me without a w...

            Early on Christmas Day,
            Love, as awake I lay,
And heard the Christmas bells ring sweet and clearly,
            My heart stole through the gloom
            Into your silent room,
And whispered to your heart, 'I love you dearly.'

            There, in the dark profound,
            Your heart was sleeping sound,
And dreaming some fair dream of summer weather.
            At my heart's word it woke,
            And, ere the morning broke,
They sang a Christmas carol both together.

            Glory to God on high!
            Stars of the morning sky,
Sing as ye sang upon the first creation,
            When all the Sons of God
            Shouted for joy abroad,
And earth was laid upon a sure foundation.

    ...

Every critic in the town
Runs the minor poet down;
Every critic--don't you know it?
Is himself a minor poet.

I

When one is young and eager,
    A bejant and a boy,
Though his moustache be meagre,
    That cannot mar his joy
When at the Competition
He takes a fair position,
And feels he has a mission,
    A talent to employ.

With pride he goes each morning
    Clad in a scarlet gown,
A cap his head adorning
    (Both bought of Mr. Brown);
He hears the harsh bell jangle,
And enters the quadrangle,
The classic tongues to mangle
    And make the ancients frown.

He goes not forth at even,
    He burns the midnight oil,
He feels that all his heaven
    Depends on ceaseless toil;
Across his exercises
A dream of many prizes
Before his spirit rises,
    And makes his raw blood boil.

II

Though he b...

How often have the critics, trained
    To look upon the sky
Through telescopes securely chained,
    Forgot the naked eye.

Within the compass of their glass
    Each smallest star they knew,
And not a meteor could pass
    But they were looking through.

When a new planet shed its rays
    Beyond their field of vision,
And simple folk ran out to gaze,
    They laughed in high derision.

They railed upon the senseless throng
    Who cheered the brave new light.
And yet the learned men were wrong,
    The simple folk were right.

Blue, blue is the sea to-day,
    Warmly the light
Sleeps on St. Andrews Bay--
    Blue, fringed with white.

That's no December sky!
    Surely 'tis June
Holds now her state on high,
    Queen of the noon.

Only the tree-tops bare
    Crowning the hill,
Clear-cut in perfect air,
    Warn us that still

Winter, the aged chief,
    Mighty in power,
Exiles the tender leaf,
    Exiles the flower.

Is there a heart to-day,
    A heart that grieves
For flowers that fade away,
    For fallen leaves?

Oh, not in leaves or flowers
    Endures the charm
That clothes those naked towers
    With love-light warm.

O dear St. Andrews Bay,
    Winter or Spring
Gives not nor takes away
    M...

    Blue, blue is the sea to-day,
            Warmly the light
    Sleeps on St. Andrews Bay--
            Blue, fringed with white.

    That's no December sky!
            Surely 'tis June
    Holds now her state on high,
            Queen of the noon.

    Only the tree-tops bare
            Crowning the hill,
    Clear-cut in perfect air,
            Warn us that still

    Winter, the aged chief,
            Mighty in power,
    Exiles the tender leaf,
            Exiles the flower.

    Is there a heart to-day,
            A heart that grieves
    For flowers that fade away,
            For fallen leaves?

    Oh, not in leaves or flowers
            Endures the charm
    That clothes those naked tow...

As I was walking down the street
    A week ago,
Near Henderson's I chanced to meet
    A man I know.

His name is Alexander Bell,
    His home, Dundee;
I do not know him quite so well
    As he knows me.

He gave my hand a hearty shake,
    Discussed the weather,
And then proposed that we should take
    A stroll together.

Down College Street we took our way,
    And there we met
The beautiful Miss Mary Gray,
    That arch coquette,
Who stole last spring my heart away
    And has it yet.

That smile with which my bow she greets,
    Would it were fonder!
Or else less fond--since she its sweets
    On all must squander.
Thus, when I meet her in the streets,
    I sadly ponder,
And after her, as she r...

The mist hangs round the College tower,
    The ghostly street
Is silent at this midnight hour,
    Save for my feet.

With none to see, with none to hear,
    Downward I go
To where, beside the rugged pier,
    The sea sings low.

It sings a tune well loved and known
    In days gone by,
When often here, and not alone,
    I watched the sky.

That was a barren time at best,
    Its fruits were few;
But fruits and flowers had keener zest
    And fresher hue.

Life has not since been wholly vain,
    And now I bear
Of wisdom plucked from joy and pain
    Some slender share.

But, howsoever rich the store,
    I'd lay it down,
To feel upon my back once more
    The old red gown.

On the field of Waterloo we made Napoleon rue
    That ever out of Elba he decided for to come,
For we finished him that day, and he had to run away,
    And yield himself to Maitland on the Billy-ruffium.

'Twas a stubborn fight, no doubt, and the fortune wheeled about,
    And the brave Mossoos kept coming most uncomfortable near,
And says Wellington the hero, as his hopes went down to zero,
    'I wish to God that Blooker or the night was only here!'

But Blooker came at length, and we broke Napoleon's strength,
    And the flower of his army--that's the old Imperial Guard--
They made a final sally, but they found they could not rally,
    And at last they broke and fled, after fighting bitter hard.

Now Napoleon he had thought, when a British ship he sought,

My lamp is out, my task is done,
    And up the stair with lingering feet
I climb.    The staircase clock strikes one.
    Good night, my love! good night, my sweet!

My solitary room I gain.
    A single star makes incomplete
The blackness of the window pane.
    Good night, my love! good night, my sweet!

Dim and more dim its sparkle grows,
    And ere my head the pillows meet,
My lids are fain themselves to close.
    Good night, my love! good night, my sweet!

My lips no other words can say,
    But still they murmur and repeat
To you, who slumber far away,
    Good night, my love! good night, my sweet!

One dark, dark night--it was long ago,
    The air was heavy and still and warm--
It fell to me and a man I know,
    To see two girls to their father's farm.

There was little seeing, that I recall:
    We seemed to grope in a cave profound.
They might have come by a painful fall,
    Had we not helped them over the ground.

The girls were sisters.    Both were fair,
    But mine was the fairer (so I say).
The dark soon severed us, pair from pair,
    And not long after we lost our way.

We wandered over the country-side,
    And we frightened most of the sheep about,
And I do not think that we greatly tried,
    Having lost our way, to find it out.

The night being fine, it was not worth while.
    We strayed through furrow and corn ...

When people tell me they have loved
    But once in youth,
I wonder, are they always moved
    To speak the truth?

Not that they wilfully deceive:
    They fondly cherish
A constancy which they would grieve
    To think might perish.

They cherish it until they think
    'Twas always theirs.
So, if the truth they sometimes blink,
    'Tis unawares.

Yet unawares, I must profess,
    They do deceive
Themselves, and those who questionless
    Their tale believe.

For I have loved, I freely own,
    A score of times,
And woven, out of love alone,
    A hundred rhymes.

Boys will be fickle.    Yet, when all
    Is said and done,
I was not one whom you could call
    A flirt--not one

Of those w...

The sun shines fair on Tweedside, the river flowing bright,
Your heart is full of pleasure, your eyes are full of light,
Your cheeks are like the morning, your pearls are like the dew,
Or morning and her dew-drops are like your pearls and you.

Because you are a princess, a princess of the land,
You will not turn your lightsome eyes a moment where I stand,
A poor unnoticed poet, a-making of his rhymes;
But I have found a mistress, more fair a thousand times.

'Tis May, the elfish maiden, the daughter of the Spring,
Upon whose birthday morning the birds delight to sing.
They would not sing one note for you, if you should so command,
Although you are a princess, a princess of the land.

You found my life, a poor lame bird
    That had no heart to sing,
You would not speak the magic word
    To give it voice and wing.

Yet sometimes, dreaming of that hour,
    I think, if you had known
How much my life was in your power,
    It might have sung and flown.