Gentle stranger, have you seenA woodnymph pass this way?A blue-eyed maid of cheerful mien,Attired in green array.A bugle in her hand she bore,Which loud and oft she blew;And buskins on her feet she wore,Gemmed with the silver dew.Oft, at the early peep of morn,She courts this sylvan scene;And winds her joy inspiring horn,Melodious o'er the green.Responsive echo swells the layIn loud resounding strains;And wafts the dying harmonyO'er all the neighb'ring plains.A graceful nymph this morn I've seen,With glitt'ring zone displayed;And, as she brushed the dew-decked green,I hailed the beauteous maid.Swift as the fearful hind she flies,When hounds and horns pursue;And up yon sloping woodland hiesTo join the huntress crew.
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Between 1909 and 1914 a few married; but, as thenecessity for earning a living was their first concern inthose days, the majority were for the present as muchdebarred from matrimony as from public life. A fewwent utterly to pieces, ranging in their downfall fromthe squalor of touting among their friends for insignificantloans to the supreme waste of suicide. One or twoflashed meteorically to the highest plane of their professions.The rest followed an average course and in diplomacyor in the civil service, in the army or in holyorders, in commerce or at the bar, in medicine or injournalism worked with what patience they could musterthrough the unproductive years of early plodding. By1914 the original fortunate three or four who had entered[97]public life as soon as they came down from Oxford werereinforced by a dozen more who had made enough progressin five years to fight an election or at least tonurse a constituency; and five years were long enough toenable the rest to decide whether they had made wisechoice of a career. Some of those who had been calledto the bar now abandoned their wearisome inactivity inorder to make a livelihood in the City; the young soldierswho had been sent into the army to be kept out ofmischief now assumed that they had reached years of discretionand resigned their commissions; and any one whohad obstinately cherished the ambition of a literary lifemight well, after five years, be deemed incurable.
It is useless to speculate how much the loss has costhumanity; to the men in the middle twenties at least asmuch as to the men of any age it was left to pay for themadness of the world and the crimes of its rulers. Theywere at the summit of their physical condition; theirspirit and training carried them unfalteringly into thewar; and, enrolling themselves in the first days, theysupported the chief burden of a game in which the oddslengthened against them with every hour of immunity.A strange marching-song sent them to their death: stridentand shrill cries of impatience with everything, revoltagainst everything; catches of crooning waltz and clatteringrag-time to bring back memories and to twisthearts; the craving for excitement and the whimper offretfulness; the sigh of a world in despair heard in thesilent pause of mankind bewildered; all blended theirnotes to a thunder of confusion, banishing thought. Theonlookers cried in rival tumult that this, at all events,would be the last war in history; and an echo of their consolingphilosophy carried to the departing troops and,in the belief that this was a war to end war, furnishedthem at last with a ready explanation of their going.
At two o'clock the special train left Euston for a portchosen by the Admiralty, but not disclosed. At a timechosen by the Admiralty, the mission was to embark onan unknown ship for an unknown destination on thewestern side of the Atlantic, there to escape for a fewweeks from the imminence of war and to look upon acountry which seemed own sister to the England whichall had known before August 4, 1914.
A drawback more serious in the eyes of those whothink that life should go with a swing is that the democratisationof society tends to suppress all individuality.There is probably as much wit, charm and wisdom inLondon to-day as at any time, but over the new vastarea it is spread so thin that it is almost imperceptible.The strident egotism and resounding, inverted platitudeswith which Oscar Wilde once held dinner-tables inmarvelling subjection would now be drowned in themore strident babel of cliché patter and the stolenhumour of public comedians. The intelligent foreigner,revisiting London after twenty years, would find difficultyin discovering the new great hostesses, the newgreat conversationalists, the wits, the beauties, even theeccentrics. The most famous Duchess of Devonshire isdead; Stafford House is a museum; where are the newstars shining? Who are the successors to the "Souls"?Among the authors and statesmen, the artists and actors,the soldiers and musicians, the journalists and financiersof the day there is abundant wisdom and wit, theirwomen are sometimes radiantly beautiful; but it wouldbe difficult to name more than six of the younger generation[254]whose force of personality or strength of lung couldprevail over the clatter of a society wherein a machine-gun-fireof colloquialisms, Robeyisms and the signs andcountersigns of an exotic group do duty for intellect.Not until society has subdivided into manageable groupswill a single weak human voice be able to make itselfheard; and, until it is less blatantly vulgar, it would besurprising if a voice worth hearing cared to try. 2ff7e9595c
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