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This scarce antiquarian book is a selection from Kessinger Publishing's Legacy Reprint Series. Due to its age, it may contain imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed pages. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment to protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature. Kessinger Publishing is the place to find hundreds of thousands of rare and hard-to-find books with something of interest for everyone!
PREFACE AMONG my husbands papers I found, under his title of By the Way, a series of paragraphs and notes on various subjects, literary, ethical, critical. A selection from these, with others gathered from his note-books, form the nucleus of this little volume. To them have been added, at the beginning of the book, a number of short poems and fragments of verse, mostly of an earlier date than the prose notes. Many of these fragments sometimes only a couple of lines giving a vivid picture of a natural scene or effect must have been written when Allingham was a very young man living in Ire land, closely watching and noting the moods of Nature in sea and sky. In my selection and arrangement greatly assisted by Mrs. Ernest Radford and Mrs. I have been Baumer Williams for the publication, I alone am responsible. HELEN ALLINGHAM. HAMPSTEAD, 1912. TO THE FELLOW TRAVELLER Jog on, jog on, by valley and hill Sight and Thought are never still. Selfsame Worldfor you and me we think and see. Variously Here I show some thoughts of mine Gladly would 1 look at thine. Jog on agree or not agree, Friendly pilgrims let us be. VERSES AND FRAGMENTS VERSES THE HERMITAGE Far from the citys smoke and stir My quiet Hermitage is made, Where summer beech and winter fir Conjoin their hospitable shade. The north-star crowns my wooded hill Of devious paths and thicket mild, And by my garden foot a rill Sings to itself, like happy child. Childlike, I love that skylarks trills This airy bloom along the hills Enchants me newly budding trees, The bright brook shivering in the breeze, The clumps of flowrs, the wandering smells, And every voice that sinks or swells, And all the streaky blue above, As many years ago, I love.Thank Heavn for thisIbut childlike, no Experience will not come and go.
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