Classic Audiobook Collection - Songs of Travel and Other Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

Starting point is 00:00:00 Songs of Travel and Other Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson Preface The following collection of verses written at various times and places, principally after the author's final departure from England in 1887, was sent home by him for publication some months before his death. He had tried them in several different orders and under several different titles as songs and notes of travel, posthumous poems, etc, and in the end left their naming an arrangement to the present editor with the suggestion that they should be added as book three to further editions of Underwoods. This suggestion it is proposed to carry out, but in the meantime, for the benefit of those who possess Underwoods in its original form, it has been thought desirable to publish them separately in the present volume. They have already been included in the

Starting point is 00:01:06 Edinburgh edition of the author's works. End of preface. Read by Alan Mapstone. The Vagabond by Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for liverybox.org by Alan Mapstone. To an heir of Schubert. give to me the life i love let the lave go by me give the jolly heaven above and the by-way nigh me bed in the bush with stars to sea bread i dip in the river there's the life for a man like me there's the life for ever let the blow for soon or late let what will be oar me give the face of earth earth around and the road before me wealth i seek not hope nor love nor a friend to know me all i seek the heaven above and the road below me or let autumn fall on me where a field i linger silencing the bird on tree biting the blue finger white as meal the frosty field warm the fireside haven not to autumn will i yield not to winter even

Starting point is 00:02:42 let the blow fall soon or late let what will be o'er me give the face of earth around and the road before me wealth i ask not hope nor love, nor a friend to know me. All I ask, the heaven above, and the road below me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:03:17 Youth and Love One by Robert Lewis Stevenson. Read for lubavox.org by stunning. Once, only by the garden gate, our lips be joined and parted. I must fulfill an empty fate, and travel the uncharted. Hail and farewell, I must arise, leave here the fatted cattle, and paint on foreign lands and skies, my odyssey of battle. The untented cosmos, my abode,

Starting point is 00:03:45 I pass a willful stranger, my mistress still the open road, and the bright eyes of danger. Come ill or well, the cross, the crown, the rainbow, or the thunder, I fling my soul and body down, forgot to plow them under. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Youth and Love 2 by Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for Librivox.org by Stunning. To the heart of youth, the world is a highway side.

Starting point is 00:04:19 Passing forever, he fares and on either hand, deep in the gardens, golden pavilions hide, nestle in orchard bloom, and far on the level land, call him with lighted lamp in the even tide. Thick as the stars at night when the moon is down, pleasures assail him. He to his noble fate, fares, and but waves a hand as he passes on, cries but a wayside word to her at the garden gate,

Starting point is 00:04:48 sings but a boyish stave and his face is gone. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. In Dreams Unhappy I Behold You Stand by Robert Lewis Stevenson. Read for Libravox.org by Rafi. In dreams unhappy, I behold you stand as heretofore. The unremembered tokens in your hand avail no more. No more the morning glow, no more the grace, in shrines and dears.

Starting point is 00:05:20 Cold beats the light of time upon your face and shows your tears. He came and went. Perchance you wept a while and then forgot. Ah, me, but he that left you with a smile forgets you not. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. She rested by the broken brook by Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for Librevox.org by Rafi. She rested by the broken brook, she drank of weary well. She moved beyond my lingering look. Ah, whither none can tell. She came, she went, in other lands, perchance in fairer skies. Her hands shall cling with other hands, her eyes to other eyes.

Starting point is 00:06:11 She vanished in the sounding town. Will she remember too? Will she recall the eyes of brown, as I recall the blue? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Infinite Shining Heavens by Robert Louis Stevenson. read for liverybox.org by Alan Mapstone. The infinite shining heavens rose and I saw in the night,

Starting point is 00:06:45 uncountable angel stars, showering sorrow and light. I saw them distant as heaven, dumb and shining and dead, and the idle stars of the night were dearer to me than bread. night after night in my sorrow the stars stood over the sea till though i looked in the dusk and the star had come down to me end of poem this recording is in the public domain playing as the glistering planets shine by robert louis stevenson read for livervox dot org playing as the glistering planets shine when winds have cleaned the skies her love appeared appealed for mine and wanton'd in her eyes clear as the shining tapers burned on cytheria's shrine those brimming lustrous beauty turned and called and conquered mine the beacon lamp that hero lit no fairer

Starting point is 00:07:55 shone on sea no plainlier summoned will and wheat then hers encouraged me I thrilled to feel her influence near I struck my flag at sight Hachari's silence smote my ear like sudden drums at night. I ran as at the cannon's roar, the troops the tramper's men, as in the holy house of yore, the willing ill I ran. Here, lady, lo, that servant stands you picked from passing men, and should you need nor heart nor hands, he bows and goes again. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:08:34 To you let snow and roses by Robert Lewis Stevenson read for Librevox.org by Sonia To you let snow and roses and golden locks belong. These are the worlds and slavers. Let these delight the throng. For her of duskier luster, whose favour still I wear, the snow be in her curdle, the rose be in her hair. The hue of Highland rivers, Careering full and cool,

Starting point is 00:09:12 From sable onto golden, From rapid on to pool, The hue of heather honey, Honeybees, Shall tinge her golden shoulder, Shall gild her tawny knees. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:09:31 Let Beauty Awake By Robert Louis Stevenson, Read for Libribox.org by Alan Matstone Let's beauty awake in the morn from beautiful dreams, beauty awake from rest. Let beauty awake for beauty's sake, In the hour when the birds awake in the break, And the stars are bright in the west. Let beauty awake in the eve from the slumber of day,

Starting point is 00:10:10 awake in the crimson eve. In the day's dusk end, when the shades ascend, let her wait to the kiss of a tender friend to render again and receive. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. I know not how it is with you by Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for liverybox.org by ed. I know not how it is with you. I love the first and last. The whole field of the present view, the whole flow of the past. One titill of the things that are, nor you should change nor I, one pebble in our path, one star, in all our heaven up sky. Our lives in every day and hour,

Starting point is 00:11:10 one symphony appear, one road, one garden, every flower, and every bramble tear. And a poem. This recording is in the public domain. I will make you broaches by Robert Lewis Stevenson. Read for Libravox.org by Stunning. I will make you brooches and toys for your delight of birdsong at morning and star shine at night. I will make a palace fit for you and me Of green days and forests and blue days at sea I will make my kitchen

Starting point is 00:11:53 And you shall keep your room Where white flows the river And bright blows the broom And you shall wash your linen And keep your body white In rainfall at morning And do fall at night And this shall be for music

Starting point is 00:12:08 When no one else is near The fine song for singing The rare song to hear that only I remember, that only you admire, of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. We have loved of yore by Robert Lewis Stevenson,

Starting point is 00:12:37 read for Librivox.org by Sonia. Buried break and read the island, heaven below and only heaven above, through the sky's inverted azure, softly swam the boat that bore our love. Bright were your eyes as the day. Bright ran the stream. Bright hung the sky above.

Starting point is 00:12:59 Days of April, heirs of Eden, how the glory died through golden hours, and the shining moon arising, how the boat drew homeward, filled with flowers. Bright were your eyes in the night. We have lived, my love. Oh, we have loved, my love.

Starting point is 00:13:17 frost has bound our flowing river snow has whitened all our island break and beside the winter faggot joan and derby doze and dream and wake still in the river of dreams swims the boat of love hark chimes the falling oar and again in winter evens when on firelight dreaming fancy feeds in those ears of aged lovers Love's own river warbles in the weeds. Love still the past, oh my love. We have lived of yore. Oh, we have loved of your. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:14:10 Mater Triumphance by Robert Louis Stevenson. Red for Libbervox.org. Son of my woman's body. you go, to the drum and fife, to taste the color of love and the other side of life, from out of the dainty, the rude, the strong, from out of the frail. Eternally through the ages from the female comes the male. The ten fingers and toes, and the shell-like nail on each.

Starting point is 00:14:56 The eyes blind as gems, and the tongue attempting speech, impotent hands in my bosom, and yet they shall wield the sword. Drugged with slumber and milk, you wait the day of the day of, the Lord, infant bridegroom, uncrowned king, unannointed priest, soldier, lover, explorer, I see you nuzzle the breast. You that grope in my bosom shall load the ladies with rings. You, that came forth through the doors, shall burst the doors of kings. End of poem.

Starting point is 00:15:52 This recording is in the public domain. Bright is the ring of words by Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for liverybox.org by Alan Mapstone. Bright is the ring of words when the right man of words when the right man rings them fare the fall of songs when the singer sings them still they are carolled and said on wings they are carried after the singer is dead and the maker buried though as the singer lies in the field of heather songs of his fashion bring the swains together and when the wands is red with the sunset embers, the lover lingers and sings, and the maid remembers. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:17:06 In the Highlands by Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for LibriVox.org by Sonia. In the Highlands, in the country places, where the old plain men have rosy faces, and the young fair maidens, quiet eyes, where essential silence, cheers and blesses, And forever in the hill recesses, Her more lovely music, broods and dies. O to mount again, where earth I haunted,

Starting point is 00:17:37 Where the old red hills are bird enchanted, And the low green meadows, Bright with sword, And when even dies, the million tinted, And the night has come, And planets glinted, Lo, the valley hollow, lamp be starred. O to dream, O to awake and wonder, there, And with delight to take and render, Through the trance of silence, quiet breath.

Starting point is 00:18:06 Lo, for there, among the flowers and grasses, Only the mightier movement, sounds and passes, Only winds and rivers, life and death. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain Home No More Home to Me By Robert Louis Stevenson Read for liverybox.org by Alan Matstone

Starting point is 00:18:38 To the tune of Wandering Willey Home No More Home to Me Whither must I wander Hunger my driver I go where I must Cold blows the winter wind over hill and heather. Thick drives the rain, and my roof is in the dust. Loved of wise men was the shade of my roof tree. The true word of welcome was spoken in the door.

Starting point is 00:19:14 Dear days of old, with the faces in the firelight, kind folks of old, you come again no more. Home was home, then, my dear, Full of kindly faces. Home was home, then, my dear, Happy for the child. Fire and the windows bright, Glittered on the moorland. Song, tuneful song,

Starting point is 00:19:41 built a palace in the wild. Now when day dawns on the brow of the moorland, Lone stands the house, and the chimney stone is cold. lone let it stand now the friends are all departed the kind hearts the true hearts that love the place of old spring shall come come again calling up the more fowl spring shall bring the sun and rain bring the bees and flowers red shall the heather bloom over hill and valley soft flow the stream through the even flowing hours Fair the day shine as it shone on my childhood. Fair shine the day on the house with open door.

Starting point is 00:20:33 Birds come and cry there and twitter in the chimney. But I go forever and come again no more. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Read for Libravox.org by Marie Christian. In rigorous hours when down the iron lane, the red breast looks in vain for hips and haws. Low, shining flowers upon my window pane, the silver pencil of the winter draws.

Starting point is 00:21:20 When all the snowy hill and the bare woods are still, when snipes are silent in the frozen bogs, and all the garden garth is whelmed in mire. Lo, by the hearth, the laughter of the logs. More fair than roses, low, the flowers of fire. Serenac Lake End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:21:55 The stormy evening closes now in vain. By Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for Libbervox.org The stormy evening closes now in vain. Loud wails the wind and beats the driving rain. While here, in sheltered house, with fiery painted walls, I hear the wind abroad. I hark the calling squalls.

Starting point is 00:22:32 Blow, blow. I cry. You burst your cheeks in vain. Blow, blow, I cry. My love is home again. Yon ship you chase perchance, but yesternight bore still the precious freight of my delight, that here in sheltered house with fiery painted walls. Now hears the wind of the wind of abroad. Now harks the calling squalls. Blow, blow, I cry. In vain you rouse the sea. My rescued sailor shares the fire with me. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. by Marie Christian. In the beloved hour that ushers day,

Starting point is 00:23:46 in the pure dew under the breaking gray, one bird, ere yet the woodland choirs awake, with brief revet summons all the break. Chirp, chirp, it goes, nor waits an answer long, and that small signal fills the grove with song. Thus on my pipe I breathed a strain or two. It scarce was music, but twas all I knew.

Starting point is 00:24:20 It was not music, for I lacked the art. Yet what but frozen music filled my heart. Chirp, chirp I went, nor hoped a nobler strain. But heaven decreed I should not pipe in vain, for lo, not far from there, in secret dale, all silent, sat an ancient nightingale. My Sparrow notes he heard, thereat awoke, and with a tide of song his silence broke. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:25:12 Read Vilibrevox.org by Sonia I knew thee strong and quiet like the hills. I knew thee, apt to pity, brave to endure. In peace or war, a Roman full equipped. And just I knew thee, like the fabled kings, who by the loud seashore gave judgment forth, from dawn to Eve, bearded and few of words. What?

Starting point is 00:25:40 What was I to honor thee? a child a youth in ardour but a child in strength who after virtue's golden chariot wheels runs ever panting nor attains the goal so thought i and was sorrowful at heart since then my steps have visited that flood along whose shore to numerous footfalls seize the voices and the tears of life expire thither the prince go down, the hero's way trod large upon the sand, the trembling maids, Nimrod, that wound his trumpet in the wood, and the poor, dreaming child, hunter of flowers, that here his hunting closes with the great, so one and all go down, nor aught returns. For thee, for us, the sacred river waits, for me the unworthy, thee, the perfect friend. There blame desists,

Starting point is 00:26:44 There his unfaltering dogs, He from the chase recalls, and homeward rides, Yet praise and love pass over and go in. So when, beside that margin, I discard my more than mortal weakness, And with thee, through that still land, Unfearing I advance, If then at all we keep the touch of joy,

Starting point is 00:27:09 Thou shalt rejoice to find me altered. I, O Felix, to behold thee, still unchanged. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Morning Drum Call by Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for liverybox.org by Alan Matstone. The morning drum call on my eager ear thrills unforgotten yet.

Starting point is 00:27:45 The morning due, lies yet undried along my field of noon. But now I pause at Wiles in what I do, and count the bell, and tremble lest I hear my work untrimmed, the sunset gun too soon. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. I have trod the upward and the downward slope by Robert Louis Stevenson Read for liverybox.org by Alan Mapstone I have trod the upward and the downward slope I have endured and done in days before I have longed for all and bid farewell to hope

Starting point is 00:28:44 and I have lived and loved and closed the door. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. He hears with gladdened heart by Robert Lewis Stevenson. Read for Libervox.org by stunning. He hears with gladdened heart the thunder peel and loves the falling dew. He knows the earth above and under, sits and is content to be. view. He sits beside the dying ember, God for hope and man for friend, content to see, glad to remember, expectant of the certain end. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:29:55 with westward sight marks the huge sun now downward sore farewell we twain shall meet no more farewell I watch with bursting sigh my late contempt

Starting point is 00:30:11 occasion die I linger useless in my tent farewell fair day so foully spent farewell fair day if any god at all consider this poor clod he who the fair occasion sent prepared and placed the impediment.

Starting point is 00:30:32 Let him diviner vengeance take, give me to sleep, give me to wake, girded and shod, and bid me play the hero in the coming day. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. If this were Faith by Robert Lewis Stevenson, read for LibriVox.orgue. by Sonia.

Starting point is 00:31:02 God, if this were enough, that I see things bear to the buff and up to the buttocks in myre, that I ask nor hope nor higher, not in the husk, nor dawn beyond the dusk, nor life beyond death, God, if this were faith. Having felt thy wind in my face, spit sorrow and disgrace, having seen thine evil doom in Golgotha and Khartoum, and the brutes, the work of thine hands, fill with injustice lands, and stain with blood to sea, if still in my veins the glee of the black night and the sun, and the lost battle run, if, an adapt, the iniquitous lists

Starting point is 00:31:49 I still accept with joy, and joy to endure and be withstood, and still to battle and perish for a dream of good, God, if that were enough. If to feel, in the ink of the slough, and the sink of the mire, veins of glory and fire, run through and transpires and transpire, and the secret purpose of glory in every part, and the answering glory of battle fill my heart, to thrill with the joy of girded men,

Starting point is 00:32:23 to go on forever and fail and go on again, and be mauled to the earth and arise, and content for the shade of a word and the thing not seen with the eyes, with the half of a broken hope for a pillow at night, that somehow the right is the right, and the smooth shall bloom from the rough. Lord, if that were enough. End of poem.

Starting point is 00:32:51 This recording is in the public domain. My wife, by Reworthy, Robert Louis Stevenson Read for liverybox.org by Alan Mapstone Trusty, dusky, vivid, true, With eyes of gold and bramble dew, Steel true and blade straight, The great artificer made my mate.

Starting point is 00:33:25 Honor, anger, valor, fire, A love that life could never tire, Death quench nor evil stir The mighty master gave to her Teacher tender comrade wife A fellow-farer true through life Heart, whole and soul-free The August father gave to me

Starting point is 00:33:53 End of poem This recording is in the public domain To the Muse By Robert Louis Steve Evanson. Read for Lubrovocs.org by Stunning. Resigned the Rhapsody, the dream, to men of larger reach. B.R.'s the quest of a plain theme, the piety of speech.

Starting point is 00:34:19 As monkish scribes from morning break toiled till the close of light, nor thought a day too long to make one line or letter bright. We also with an ardent mind, time, wealth, and fame forgot, Our glory in our patience find And skim and skim the pot Till last When round the house we hear The even song of birds

Starting point is 00:34:42 One corner of blue heaven appear In our clear well of words Leave, leave it then, muse of my heart Sands finish and sans frame Leave unadorned by needless art The picture as it came End of poem This recording is in the public domain

Starting point is 00:35:02 to an island princess by robert louis stevenson read for liverybox dot org by all of the mapstone since long ago a child at home i read and long to rise and roam where'er i went whate'er i willed one promised land my fancy filled hence the long roads my home i made tossed much in ship have often laid below the uncurtains sky my head rain deluge and wind buffeted and many a thousand hills i crossed and corners turned love's labour lost till lady to your isle of sun i came not hoping and like one snatched out of blindness rubbed my eyes and hailed my promised land with cries yes lady here i was at last here found i all i had forecast the long roll of the sapphire sea that keeps the land's virginity the stalwart giants of the wood laden with toys and flowers and food the precious forest pouring out to compass the whole town about the town itself with streets of lawn loved of the moon loved of the moon blessed by the dawn where the brown children all the day keep up a ceaseless noise of play play in the sun play in the rain nor ever quarrel or complain and late at night in the woods of fruit hark do you hear the passing flute i threw one look to either hand and knew i was in fairyland and yet one point

Starting point is 00:37:07 point of being so i lacked for lady as you know whoever by his might of hand one entrance into fairyland found always with admiring eyes a fairy princess kind and wise it was not long i waited soon upon my threshold in broad noon gracious and helpful wise and good the fairy princess moey stood tarntera tahitahe november fifth eighteen eighty eight end of poem this recording is in the public domain to cala caula by robert lewis stevenson read for lebravox dot org by lorry wilson with the present of a pearl the silver ship my king that was her name in the bright islands went you fathers came. The silvership addressed from winds and tides, below your palace in your harbor rides, and the seafarers sitting safe on shore, like eager merchants count their treasure o'er. One gift they find, one strange and lovely thing, now doubly precious since it pleased to king. The right, my liege, as ancient as the liar, for barge to give to kings what kings admire,

Starting point is 00:38:39 "'Tis mine to offer for Apollo's sake, "'and since the gift is fitting, yours to take, "'to golden hands the golden pearl I bring, "'the ocean jewel to the island king.'" Honolulu, February 3, 1889. "' End a poem. "'This recording is in the public domain. "'To Princess Kaulani by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Starting point is 00:39:10 "'read for Libravox.org "'by Larry Wilson. written in april to caiulani in the april of her age and at wikiki within easy walk of cao lani's banyanion when she comes to my land and her father's and the rain beats upon the window as i fear it will let her look at this page it will be like a weed gathered and pressed at home and she will remember her own islands and the shadow of the mighty tree and she will hear the peacock screaming in the dusk and the wind blowing in the palms and she will think of her father sitting there alone r l s forth from her land to mine she goes the island maid the island rose light of heart and bright of face the daughter of a double race her islands here and southern sun shall mourn their caulani gan and i in her dear banyan shade look vainly for my little maid but our scots islands far away shall glitter with unwonted day and come Cast for once their tempest by to smile in Kailani's eye. Onolulu.

Starting point is 00:40:21 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. To Mother Mary Anne by Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for Libbybox.org by Algae Pug. To see the infinite pity of this place, the mangled limb, the devastated face, the innocent sufferer smiling at the rod, A fool were tempted

Starting point is 00:40:50 To deny his God He sees He shrinks But if he gaze again Low, beauty springing From the breast of pain He marks the sisters On the mournful shores

Starting point is 00:41:04 And even a fool Is silent And adores Guesthouse Colowal Mollicai End of poem This recording as in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:41:53 life that delights in the brave, give it himself for a gauge. Fair was the crown to behold, and beauty its poorest part, at once the scar of the wound and the order pinned on the heart. The beauties of man are frail, and the silver lies in the dust, and the queen that we call to mine sleeps with the brave and the just, sleeps with the weary at length, but, honoured and ever fair, shines in the eye of the mind the crown of the silver hair. Honolulu And if poem this recording is in the public domain. chance the dwarfish huts, and rambler's donkey drinking from the ruts. Long air you trace how deviously it leads, back from man's chimneys in the bleeding

Starting point is 00:43:10 meads, to the woodland shadow, to the sylvan hush, when but the brooklet chuckles in the brush, back from the sun and bustle of the veil, to where the great voice of the nightingale, fills all the forests like a single broom, and all the bank smell of the golden broom, So wander on till the eve descends, and back returning to your fire-lit friends. You see the rosy sun, despoiled of light, hung cotton thickets like a schoolboy's kite. Here from the sea the unfruitful sun shall rise, bathe the bare deck and beline the unshielded eyes. The allot is ours aloft shall weal in vain, and in the unprignant ocean plunge again. a salt of squall that mark the watchful guard

Starting point is 00:43:58 and pluck the bursting canvas from the yard and senseless clamour of the calm at night must maw your slumbers by the plunging light in beetle-haunted most unwomanly bower of the wildswerving cabin hour by hour schooner Equator

Starting point is 00:44:18 End of poem This recording is in the public domain To my old familiars by Robert Lewis Stevenson, read Philippeirox.org by Inkel. Do you remember? Can we ayer forget how in the coiled perplexities of youth, in our wild climate, in our scowling town, we gloomed and shivered, sorrowed, sobbed and feared, the belching winter wind, the missile rain, the rare and welcome silence of the snows, the lagged morn, the haggard day, the night, the grimy spell of the nocturnal town,

Starting point is 00:44:59 do you remember ah could one forget it's when the fevered sick that all night long listed the wind in tone and here at last the ever-welcome voice of chanticleer sing in the bitter hour before the dawn with sudden ardour these desired the day so sang in the gloom of youth the bird of hope so we exulting hearkened and desired for lo as in the palace porch of life we huddled with chimeras from within how sweet to hear the music swelled and fell and through the breach of the revolving doors what dreams of splendor blinded us and fled i have since then contended and rejoiced amid the glories of the house of life profoundly entered and the shrine beheld yet when the lamp from my expiring eyes shall dwindle and recede the voice of love for all insignificant on my closing ears what sound shall come but the old cry of the wind in our inclement city what return but the image of the emptiness of youth filled with the sound of footsteps and that voice of discontent and rapture and despair so as in darkness from the magic lamp the momentary pictures gleam and fade and perish and the night resurges these shall i remember and then all forget Appamama. And a poem this recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:46:37 The tropics vanish by Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for Libbyrox.org by Algae Pag. The tropics vanish and meseems that I, from Halcasside, from topmost Allamure, or steep care keton, dreaming, gaze again. Far set in fields and woods, The town I see spring gallant From the shallows of her smoke

Starting point is 00:47:04 Cragged, spired and turreted Her virgin fort beflagged About, on seawooded ripping hills Newfolds of city glitter Last, the fourth wields ample waters Set with sacred aisles And populous fife smokes With a score of towns

Starting point is 00:47:26 There, on the sunny frontage of a hill hill, hard by the house of kings, repose the dead. My dead, the ready and the strong of word. Their works, the salt encrusted, still survive. The sea bombards their founded towers, the night thrills, pierced with their strong lamps. The artifices, one after one, here in this grated cell, where the rain arrayed, and the rust consumes fell upon lasting silence. Continents and continental oceans intervene. A sea uncharted, on a lampless aisle,

Starting point is 00:48:13 environs and confines their wandering child in vain. The voice of generations dead summons me, sitting distant, to arise, my numerous footsteps nimbly to retrace, and, all mutation over, stretch me down in that denoted city of the dead. Ape Mama End of poem.

Starting point is 00:48:41 This recording is in the public domain. To S.C. by Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for Libbybox.org by Algae Pag. I heard the pulse of the besieging sea throb far away all night. I heard the wind fly crying and convulsed tumultuous palms. I rose and strolled.

Starting point is 00:49:12 The isle was all bright sand and flailing fans and shadows of the palm. The heaven all moon and wind and the blind vault, the keenest planet slain, for Venus slept. The king, my neighbour, with his host of wives, slept in the precinct of the palisade, where, single, in the wind, under the moon, among the slumbering cabins,

Starting point is 00:49:42 blazed a fire, sole street lamp, and the only sentinel. To other lands and nights, my fancy turned, to London first, and chiefly, to your house, the many pillared,

Starting point is 00:49:58 and the well-beloved. There, ewing fancy lighted, There again in the upper room I lay, and heard, far off, the unsleeping city murmur like a shell. The muffled tramp of the museum guard once more went by me. I beheld again lamps vainly brighten, the dispeopled street. Again I longed for the returning morn, the awaking traffic, the bestirring birds, the constantaneous trill of tiny song that weaves round monumental cornices

Starting point is 00:50:36 a passing charm of beauty most of all for your light foot are wearied and your knock that was the glad revelli of my day low now when to your task in the great house at morning through the portico you pass one moment a glance

Starting point is 00:50:58 where by the pillared wall wall, far-voyaging island gods, begrimed with smoke, sit now unworshipped, the rude monument of faithful got, and races undivined. Sit now, disconsolate, remembering well the priest, the victim, and the songful crowd, the blaze of the blue noon, and that huge voice incessant of the breakers on the shore. As far as these, from their ancestral shrine. So far, so foreign, your divided friends wander

Starting point is 00:51:37 estranged in body, not in mind. Upemama. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The House of Tembenoka by Robert Louis Stevenson read for liverybox.org

Starting point is 00:52:01 by Alan Matstone. At my deprary box, from the island of Appamama, for which you will look in vain in most atlases, the king and I agreed, since we both set up to be in the poetical way, that we should celebrate our separation in verse. Whether or not His Majesty has been true to his bargain, the laggard posts of the Pacific may perhaps inform me in six months, perhaps not before a year. The following lines represent my part of the contract, and it is hoped, by their pictures of strange manners, they may entertain a civilized audience. Nothing through act has been invented or exaggerated. The lady

Starting point is 00:52:48 herein referred to as the author's muse has confined herself to stringing into rhyme, facts or legends that I saw or heard during two months' residence upon the island. en v'ra let us who part like brothers part like bards and you in your tongue and measure i in mine our now division duly solemnise unlike the strains and yet the theme is one the strains unlike unlike their fate you to the blinding palace-yard shall call the prefect of the singers and how unlike their fate you to the blinding palace-yard shall call the prefect of the singers and the to him listening devout your valedictory verse deliver he his attribute fulfilled to the island chorus hand your measure on wed now with harmony so them at last night after night in the open hall of dance shall thirty matted men to the clapped hand in tone and bray and bark unfortunate paper and print alone shall honour mine the song let now the king his ear arouse and toss the bosky ringlets from his brows the while our bond to implement my muse relates and praises his descent one bride of the shark her valour first i sing who on the lone sees quickened of a king

Starting point is 00:54:34 king she from the shore and puny homes of men beyond the climbers sea discerning ken swam led by omens and devoid of fear beheld her monstrous paramour draw near she gazed all round her to the heavenly pale the simple sea was void of isle or sail sole overhead the unsparing sun was reared when the two deep bubbled and the brute appeared but she secure in the decrees of fate made strong her bosom and received the mate and men declare from that marine embrace conceive the virtues of a stronger race two her stern descendant next i praise survivor of a thousand phrase in the hall of tongues who ruled the throng led and was trusted by the strong and when spears were in the wood like a tower of vantage stood whom not till seventy years had sped unscarred of breast erect of head still light of step still bright of look the hunter death had overtook three his sons the brothers twain i sing of whom the elder reigned a king no children he yet much declined from his rude sire's imperious mind until his day came when he died he lived he reigned he versified but chiefly him i celebrate that was the pillar of the state ruled wise of word and bold of mean the peaceful and the warlike scene and played alike the leader's part in lawful and unlawful art

Starting point is 00:56:40 his soldiers with emboldened ears heard him laugh among the spears he could deduce from age to age the web of island parentage best lay the right best lead the dance for any festal circumstance and fitly fashion or an boat a palace or an armour coat none more availed than he to raise the strong suffumigating blaze or not the wizard leaf none more upon the untrodden windward shore of the isle beside the beating main to cure the sickly anchor and strain, with muttered words and waving rods, the gibbering and the whistling gods. But he, though thus with hand and head, he ruled, commanded, charmed and led, and thus in virtue and in might, towered to contemporary sight. Still in fraternal faith and love, remained below to reach above, gave and obeyed the apt command, pilot and vassal of the land.

Starting point is 00:57:58 4. My Tembinok, from men like these, inherited his palaces, his right to rule, his powers of mind, his cocoa islands see enshrined, stern-bearer of the sword and whip, a master passed in mastership. He learned, without, the spur of need, to write to cipher, and to read. From all that touch on his prone shore augments his treasury of lore, eager in age as erst in youth, to catch an art, to learn a truth, to paint on the internal page a clearer picture of the age. His age, you say? But ah, not so,

Starting point is 00:58:48 in his lone isle of long ago a royal lady of shallot sea sundered he beholds it not he only hears it far away the stress of equatorial day he suffers he records the while the vapid annals of the isle slaves bring him praise of his renown or cackle of the palm-tree town the rarer ship and the the rare boat he marks and only hears remote where thrones and fortunes rise and reel the thunder of the turning wheel five for the unexpected tears he shed at my departing may his lion head not whiten his revolving years no fresh occasion minister of tears at book or cards at work or sport, him may the breeze across the palace court, forever fan, and swelling near, forever the loud song divert his ear. Schooner Equator at sea. End of poem.

Starting point is 01:00:07 This recording is in the public domain. The Woodman by Robert Louis Stevenson, read for Libbybox.org by Al G. Pag. In all the grove, nor stream nor bird, nor aught beside my blows was heard, and all the woods wore their noonday dress, the glory of their silentness. From the island's summit to the seas, trees mounted, and trees drooped, and trees groped upward in the gaps, the green inhabited talus and ravine by fathoms. By the multitude the rugged columns of the wood, and bunches of the branches stood,

Starting point is 01:00:56 thick as a mob, deep as a sea, and silent as eternity. With lowered axe, with backward head, late from this scene my labourer fled, and with a ravelled tail to tell, returned.

Starting point is 01:01:12 Some denizen of hell, dead man, or disinvested God, had close behind him peered and trod, and triumphed when he turned to flee. How different fell the lines with me, whose eye explored the dim arcade, impation of the uncoming shade, shy elf, or dryad, pale and cold, or mystic lingerer from of old, vainly. The fair and stately things, impassive as departed kings, all still in the wood's stillness stood and dumb. The rooted multitude nodded and brooded, bloomed and dreamed, unmeaning, undivined.

Starting point is 01:02:01 It seemed no other art, no hope they knew, than clutched the earth and seek the blue, mid-vegetables king and priest, and stripling, I, the only beast, was at the beast's work, killing, hewed the stubborn roots across, bestrewed the gleeve with the dislusted leaves, and bade the saplings fall in sheaves. Bursting across the tangled meth, a ruin that I called a path, agogether that later on, when rains had watered, and sons shone, and seeds enriched the place, should bear and be called garden. Here and there I spied and plucked by the green hair A foe more resolute to live,

Starting point is 01:02:53 The toothed and killing sensitive. He, semi-conscious, fled the attack. He shrank and tucked his branches back And straining by his anchor strand, Captured and scratched the rooting hand. I saw him crouch, I felt him bite, and straight my eyes were touched with sight. I saw the wood for what it was, the lost and the victorious cause,

Starting point is 01:03:21 the deadly battle pitched in line, saw silent weapons cross and shine, silent defeat, silent assault, a battle, and a burial vault. Thick round me in the teeming mud, briar and fern strove to the blood, The hooked liana in his gin, noosed his reluctant neighbours in. There, the green murderer throve and spread, upon his smothering victims fed, and wantoned on his climbing coil.

Starting point is 01:03:54 Contending roots fought for the soil, like frightened demons, with despair competing branches pushed for air, green conquerors from overhead bestrored the bodies of their dead. The seizes of the silver field, unused to fail, for doomed to yield, For in the groins of branches, low,

Starting point is 01:04:18 The cancers of the orchid grow. Silent as in the listed ring, Two chartered wrestlers strain and cling, Dumb as by yellow hoagley's side, The suffocating captives died. So hushed the woodland warfare goes unceasing, And the silent firs grapple and smother, strain and clasp without a cry, without a gasp.

Starting point is 01:04:45 Here also sound thy fans, O God, Here too thy banners move abroad, Forest and city, sea and shore, And the whole earth thy threshing floor. The drums of war, the drums of peace, Roll through our cities without cease, And all the iron halls of life ring with the unremitting strife. The common lot we scarce perceive

Starting point is 01:05:11 Crowds perish We nor mark nor grieve The bugle calls We mourn a few What corporals guard at Waterloo What scanty hundreds More or less In the man devouring wilderness

Starting point is 01:05:27 What handful Bled on Delhi Ridge See rather London On thy bridge The pale battalions trampled by resolved to slay, resigned to die. Count, rather, all the maimed and dead in the unbrotherly war of bread. See, rather, under sultria skies, what vegetable London's rise, and team, and suffer without sound. Or, in your tranquil garden ground, contented, in the falling gloom, saunter, and see the roses bloom,

Starting point is 01:06:06 that these might live, what thousands died. All day the cruel hoe was plied, the ambulance barrow rolled all day. Your wife, the tender, kind and gay, donned her long gauntlets, caught the spud, and bathed in vegetable blood, and the long massacre, now at end, see where the lazy coils ascend, see where the bonfire splutters red at even, for the innocent dead. Why prate of peace? When warriors all, We clank in harness into hall

Starting point is 01:06:45 And ever bear upon the board Lies the necessary sword In the green field Or quiet street Besieged we sleep Belieged, eat Labor by day and waker nights In war with rival appetites

Starting point is 01:07:03 The Rose on Roses feeds the lark on larks, The sedentary clerk, Or mourning with a diligent pen, murders the babes of other men, And like the beasts of wood and park, Protects his whelps, defends his den. Unshamed the narrow aim I hold.

Starting point is 01:07:25 I feed my sheep, patrol my fold. Breathe war on wolves and rival flocks, A pious outlaw on the rocks of God and mourning. and when time shall bow, or rivals break me, climb where no undubbed civilian dares, in my war harness, the loud stares of honour, and my conqueror hail me a warrior, fallen in war. Vailima

Starting point is 01:07:53 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. as the single pang of the blow when the metal is mingled well rings and lives and resounds in all the bounds of the bell so the thunder above spoke with a single tongue so in the heart of the mountain the sound of it rumbled and clung sudden the thunder was drowned quenched was the leaven light and the angel spirit of rain laughed out loud in the night loud as the maddened river raves in the cloven glen angel of rain you laughed and leaped on the roofs of men and the sleepers sprang in their beds and joyed and feared as you fell you struck and my cabin quailed the roof of it roared like a bell you spoke and at once the mountain shouted and shook with brooks you ceased and the day returned rosy with virgin looks and we thought that beauty and terror are only one not two and the world has room for love and death and thunder and dew and all the sinnings of hell slumber in summer air and the face of god is a rock but the face of the rock is fair beneficent streams of tears flow at the finger of pain and out of the cloud that smites beneficent rivers of rain veileima and if poem this recording is in the public domain An End of Travel by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Starting point is 01:09:39 Read for Libbybox.org by Algae Pug. Let now your soul, in this substantial world, some anchor strike. Behere the body moored. This spectacle, immutably from now, the picture in your eye. And when time strikes, and the green seeing goes on the instant blind, The ultimate helpers Were your horse Today

Starting point is 01:10:06 Conveyed you dreaming Bear your body Dead Veilima End of poem This recording is in the public domain We Uncommiserate Pass Into the Night

Starting point is 01:10:28 By Robert Louis Stevenson Read for Libbyrox.org By Algae Pug We Uncommiserate Pass Into the Night From the Loud banquet, and, departing, leave a tremor in men's memories, faint and sweet, and frail as

Starting point is 01:10:47 music. Features of our face, the tones of the voice, the touch of the loved hand, perish one by one, from earth. Meanwhile, in the hall of song, the multitude applauds the new performer. One, perchance, one ultimate survivor, lingers. on and smiles, and to his ancient heart, recalls the long-forgotten. Ere the morrow die, he too, returning, through the curtain comes, and the new age forgets us, and goes on. End of poem. This recording is in a public domain.

Starting point is 01:11:37 Sing me a song of a lad that is gone by Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for Libbybox.org by Algae Pug Sing me a song of a lad that is gone Say, could that lad be I? Mary of a soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to sky Mal was a stern, rum on the port Ay on the starboard bow

Starting point is 01:12:03 Glory of youth glowed in his soul Where is that glory now? Sing me a song of a lad that is gone say, could that lad be I? Mary of a soul, he sailed on the day over the sea to sky. Give me again all that was there, give me the sun that shone,

Starting point is 01:12:25 give me the eyes, give me the soul, give me the lad that's gone. Sing me a song of a lad that is gone. Say, could that lad be I? Mary of a soul, he sailed on the day over the sea to sky. below and breeze islands and seas mountains of rain and sun all that was good all that was fair all that was me is gone end of poem this recording is in the public domain to s r crockett on receiving a dedication by robert louis stevenson read for liverybox dot org by algie pug

Starting point is 01:13:17 blows the wind to-day and the sun and the rain are flying blows the wind on the moors to-day and now whereabout the graves of the martyrs the whops are crying my heart remembers how grey recumbent tombs of the dead in desert places standing stones on the vacant wine-red moor hills of sheep and the howls of the silent vanished races and wind or steer and pure. Be it granted me to behold you again in dying, hills of home, and to hear again the call, hear about the graves of the martyrs, the pee-wees crying, and hear no more at all. Vilema

Starting point is 01:14:07 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Even Song by Robert Louis Stevenson. Read for Libravox by Nancy Mueller The embers of the day are red beyond the murky hill The kitchen smokes, the bed and the darkling house is spread, The great sky darkens overhead, and the great woods are shrill. So far have I been led, Lord, by thy will,

Starting point is 01:14:40 So far I have followed, Lord, and wondered still. The breeze from the embalmed land blows sudden toward the shore, and claps my cottage door. I hear the signal, Lord, I understand, the night at thy command comes, I will eat and sleep and will not question more. The Lima. End of poem. End of songs of travel and other verses by Robert Lewis Stevenson.

Classic Audiobook Collection - Songs of Travel and Other Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

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