Part 1 (1/2)

Souvenir of the George Borrow Celebration.

by James Hooper.

FOREWORD.

The Committee are indebted to numerous Borrovians for the loan of Ill.u.s.trations and Contributions of literary items to the text, to Miss C.

M. Nichols, R.E., for her charming Pen Pictures of nooks and corners of Borrow's old home in Willow Lane, the Rev. F. W. Orde Ward for his appreciative stanzas, and Mr. E. Peake for his Ode to the Flower, whilst special mention must be made of Mr. A. J. Munnings' inspiring design of George Borrow and Petulengro overlooking the City of Norwich for the cover.

George Borrow.

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Man of the Book, thou Pilgrim of the Road, The love of travel Drave thee on ever with pursuing goad; Trust was thy burning light, Truth was thy load-- Sweet riddles for the weary to unravel, Within thy breast Glowed the pure fire of an Eternal Quest.

2

The Bible was thy chart, the open sky Thy roof and rafter Often, and thou didst learn night's mystery; Learning some tale from each poor pa.s.ser-by, Some gracious secret for the grand Hereafter.

Master of lore Occult, and wanderer on the wildest sh.o.r.e.

3

What country was not trodden by thy feet, Nor bared its bosom And fragrance to the life it leapt to greet?

From field and upland or where waters meet Was stolen, the virgin dew, the veiled blossom.

Its native tongue On stranger lips, in every climate hung.

4

Pursuer of shy paths, all hunted things All creatures lonely, Gypsy and fox and hawk with slanted wings; These drank with thee at the same cosmic springs, These were thy teachers and thy playmates only.

Nature gave up To them and thee alike, her hidden cup.

5

Who brought its glory back to cloistered Wales, And wrung their treasure From sacred books and dim sequestered vales?

Who found the gold in haunted heights and dales, And showed a wondering world its pride and pleasure?

Divine and strong Stood out the altar, with its flame of song.

6

Thy bardlike power, the pa.s.sion of thy thirst For something greater, Awoke old Cymric melodies the first; Till all the mountains into music burst, And their lost glory crowned the recreator.

Outpoured as wine Thy magic words made every shade a shrine.

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