Poets ’ Corner—

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 381, 15 June 1928, Page 14

Poets ’ Corner—

THE MASTER (Written for THE SUN) The dim musician in his organ-loft, lost high amid the choir's colonnade (soaring loftily, and made to arch in curves like rockets meeting) he may soft press the keyboard of the heart, that fleeting time and tide dissolve at the beating of his bars; rising in gold harmony beyond the rafters that fade away, and leave the pricken canopy of stars a-tingle with delight in the night; dipping low in their heaven to receive man's paean with a host of little laughters, singing far away and dim in needlepoints with him. Or hand on the keyboard, peremptory he rides imperiously summoning his hosts to the war, his cavalry and cannonry and tall ironsides, pikeman and trumpeter, and vassals from afar. He leads them forth to battle triumphing, for his hosts to prove their mettle. Clash and cling, and the swords on the battlefields ring. As the tall files reel helm and steel clang together in the dust. . . . His invisible reserves are keeping watch and ward, crouching eagerly, unsleeping, in the camp of the stopped pipes, throbbing to the thunder and the roll and the quick sharp sobbing of the tumult in the pipes all around — Go they must, death or victory is one, and hearts sing happy for the deeds to be done. While he, in control, flings his squadrons to the fray with a motion of his hand, battalion on battalion at his will; and his, his alone is the dominant command swift in strategy and guile, manoeuvring his armies to the flank where the battle is a-f lagging: rank on rank come the reinforcing warriors; or fleet go his hosts in an orderly retreat. He saith to his mighty hounds: “Go! and they leap baying in unison, deep, deep, deep; then, silver whistle to his lips, he calls — back they come pattering with sioift footfalls. And quickly the music of his sword’s own flashing rise and fall: he can modulate it all till it gathers a rhythm and the clashing dies away to the pulse and the play of shuttles moving slow to and fro weaving steadily away at a shroud soft, soft as a summery cloud, for the slim little nymph ivho died long ago by the dim riverside. Or his fingers that fly back and forth limberly to ply his shuttles, may go slowlier , and his pipes mellowly mingle lowlier, gray and gold: lovely shadows manifold, born of many lamps lit high leaving silverly and yellowly in the softly breathing sigh of dusky airs that die to a still whispering as the fairies of his brain flit again to their home, tip-toe. And they go with a quietness that only ruffles the feathers of the lonely sweet sleepy bird whose name, half-heard, is Silence, with his head beneath his wing. His hosts have departed, his slaves arc gone. Messengers to them from his will supple hands, swift feet, fall still. The lights flick on. —.A. W. RUSSELL. Auckland.

BOOKS IN DEMAND AT THE AUCKLAND PUBLIC LIBRARY FICTION “JACOB'S ROOM,” by Virginia WoolJ. “THE LAST CHUKKA . by Alec Waugh. “THE TRIALS OF TOPSY,” by A. P. Herbert. “THE AGE OF REASONby Sir Philip Gibbs. “GEMEL IN LONDON,” by J. Agate. “THE ROVER,” by Joseph Conrad. “CLAIRE AMBLER,” by Booth Tarkington. “BROOK EVANS,” by Susan Glaspell. “HELEN.” by G. Heyer. “THE BRIDGE OF SAN LUTS REY,” by Thornton Wilder. NON-FICTION “THE FIRST WORLD FLIGHT,” by Lowel Thomas. “A NOVELIST’S TOUR OF THE WORLD,” by V. B. Ibanez. “DIARY OF LADY FREDERICK CAVENDISH.” “ON EDUCATIONby Bertrand Russell. “SCOUTING ON TWO CONTINENTS,” by T. R. Burnham. “EDISON,” by G. S. Bryan. “AN AFRICAN ELDORADO,” by T. -1. Barns. “THE DIARY OF ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON.” “MASTER AND MEN: PINK’UN YESTERDAYS,” by J. B. Booth. “PALMERSTONby Philip Guedalla.