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Updated: May 23, 2025
"Yes, sir. On with your clothes immediately, as we have work on hand, I expect." And Swinburne left the cabin, and I heard him calling the other men who were below. I knew that Swinburne would not give a false alarm. In a minute I was on deck, and was looking at the stern of the schooner. "What is that, Swinburne?" said I. "Silence, sir. Hark! don't you hear them?"
No, no, Mr Simple, the best plan is to grin and bear it, and keep a sharp look-out; for depend upon it, Mr Simple, in the best ship's company in the world, a spy captain will always find spy followers." "Do you refer that observation to me, Mr Swinburne?" said a voice from under the bulwark.
Helen, pouring yellow cream from a fat silver jug into thin hexagonal cups, sent an interested glance across the table at her daughter. "Tell us," she said. "It's quite new," said Catherine, hesitating a little. "In fact it's not a half-hour old, but I do believe it is a good plan. You know Algernon Swinburne?" "We have met him," agreed Dr. Harlow cautiously.
He belongs to someone else, and I would rather die than that he should ever dream what a fool I am; and now I know it myself it will be harder and harder as he gets better to be talking to him indifferently." Accordingly the next morning, when she went down, she told Dr. Swinburne that she felt that she must, at any rate for a time, give up nursing.
"To be sure I have; and it's sharp work that I've seen here, Mr Simple. Work, that I've an idea our captain won't have much stomach for." "Swinburne, I beg you will keep your thoughts relative to the captain to yourself; recollect the last time. It is my duty not to listen to them."
In 1804 Sir Walter Scott edited a metrical version which he fondly believed to be the work of the somewhat mythical Thomas the Rhymer and to afford evidence that the oldest literary form of the legend was British. Of modern poets Tennyson, Matthew Arnold, and Swinburne have sung the passion of the ill-starred lovers.
So far as literature is a luxury, and for the cultured, privileged few, its interests are not in Whitman; so far as poetry represents the weakness of man rather than his strength; so far as it expresses a shrinking from reality and a refuge in sentimentalism; so far as it is aristocratic as in Tennyson, or mocking and rebellious as in Byron, or erotic and mephitic as in Swinburne, or regretful and reminiscent as in Arnold, or a melodious baying of the moon as in Shelley, or the outcome of mere scholarly and technical acquirements as in so many of our younger poets, so far as literature or poetry, I say, stand for these things, there is little of either in Whitman.
The next day I commenced my defence, and I preferred calling my own witnesses first, and, by the advice of my counsel, and at the request of Swinburne, I called him. I put the following questions: "When we were talking on the quarter-deck, was it fine weather?" "Yes, it was." "Do you think that you might have heard any one coming on deck, in the usual way, up the companion ladder?" "Sure of it."
He was frank, straightforward, and outspoken, and his face was an index of his mind. Every thought was visible just "as through a crystal case the figured hours are seen." He was always Burton, never by any chance any one else. As. Mr. A. C. Swinburne said of him: "He rode life's lists as a god might ride." Of English Literature and especially of poetry he was an omnivorous reader.
I mentioned before, that when Swinburne joined us at Plymouth, he had recommended a figure-head being put on the brig. This had been done at O'Brien's expense not in the cheap way recommended by Swinburne, but in a very handsome manner. It was a large snake coiled up in folds, with its head darting out in a menacing attitude, and the tail, with its rattle, appeared below.
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