Betrayal

HE.

On to the field, our doom is sealed,
    To conquer or be slaves:
This sun shall see our nation free,
    Or set upon our graves.

SHE.

Farewell, oh farewell, my love,
    May heaven thy guardian be,
And send bright angels from above
    To bring thee back to me.

HE.

On to the field, the battle-field,
    Where freedom's standard waves,
This sun shall see our tyrant yield,
    Or shine upon our graves.

Surrounded by flasks, and by spangled lames,
All matter of sumptuous goods,
Marble sculptures, fine paintings, and perfumed peignoirs
That trail in voluptuous folds,

In a room like a greenhouse, both stuffy and warm,
An atmosphere heavy with death,
Where arrangements of flowers encoffined in glass
Exhale their ultimate breath,

A headless cadaver spills out like a stream
On a pillow adorning the bed,
A flow of red blood, which the linen drinks up
With a thirsty meadow's greed.

Like pale apprehensions born in the dark,
And that enchain the eyes,
The head - the pile of its ebony mane
With precious jewels entwined

On the night table, like a ranunculus
Reposes; and a gaze,
Mindless and vague and as black as the dusk
Escapes fr...

(Gratefully Dedicated to Mrs. Pankhurst)


She bore us in her dreaming womb,
    And laughed into the face of Death;
She laughed, in her strange agony, -
    To give her little baby breath.

Then, by some holy mystery,
    She fed us from her sacred breast,
Soothed us with little birdlike words -
To rest - to rest - to rest - to rest;

Yea, softly fed us with her life -
    Her bosom like the world in May:
Can it be true that men, thus fed,
    Feed women - as I hear them say?

Long ere we grew to girl and boy,
    She sewed the little things we wore,
And smiled unto herself for joy -
    Mysterious Portress of the Door.

Shall she who bore the son of God,
    And made the rose of Sappho's song,
She who saved...

Away by the lands of the Japanee
Where the paper lanterns glow
And the crews of all the shipping drink
In the house of Blood Street Joe,
At twilight, when the landward breeze
Brings up the harbour noise,
And ebb of Yokohama Bay
Swigs chattering through the buoys,
In Cisco's Dewdrop Dining-Rooms
They tell the tale anew
Of a hidden sea and a hidden fight,
When the Baltic ran from the Northern Light
And the Stralsund fought the two.

Now this is the Law of the Muscovite, that he proves with shot and steel,
When ye come by his isles in the Smoky Sea ye must not take the seal,
Where the gray sea goes nakedly between the weed-hung shelves,
And the little blue fox he is bred for his skin and the seal they breed for themselves;
For when the matkas seek the s...

When Love in myrtle shades reposed,
His bow and darts behind him slung;
As dewey twilight round him closed,
Lisette these numbers sung:
"O Love! thy sylvan bower
I'll fly while I've the power;
Thy primrose way leads maids where they
Love, honor, and obey!"

"Escape," the boy-god said, "is vain,"
And shook the diamonds from his wings:
"I'll bind thee captive to my train,
Fairest of earthy things!"
"Go, saucy archer, go!
I freedom's value know:
Begon, I pray--to none I'll say
Love, honor, and obey!"

"Speed, arrow, to thy mark!" he cried--
Swift as a ray of light it flew!
Love spread his purple pinions wide,
And faded from her view!
Joy filled that maiden's eyes--
Twin load-stars from the skies!--
And one bright day her li...

‘The ladies are coming,’ the super says
To the shearers sweltering there,
And ‘the ladies’ means in the shearing shed:
‘Don’t cut ’em too bad. Don’t swear.’
The ghost of a pause in the shed’s rough heart,
And lower is bowed each head;
And nothing is heard, save a whispered word,
And the roar of the shearing-shed.

The tall, shy rouser has lost his wits,
And his limbs are all astray;
He leaves a fleece on the shearing-board,
And his broom in the shearer’s way.
There’s a curse in store for that jackaroo
As down by the wall he slants,
And the ringer bends with his legs askew
And wishes he’d ‘patched them pants.’

They are girls from the city. (Our hearts rebel
As we squint at their dainty feet.)
And they gush and say in a girly way
That ‘...

In the midst of Life we are in Death.


What is it that has stilled the usual hurry,
    Checking the eager tread of rapid feet?
Why does the business face look sad and sorry
    Within the place where merchants choose to meet?
A something not unusual or strange,
One face is missing on the Corn Exchange.

Alas! they say he had uncommon merit,
    High the esteem and confidence he won;
He brought to business life a joyous spirit,
    And mixed commercial tact with boyish fun.
We miss his breezy laugh, his pleasant face,
The skill that marked him for the foremost place.

There is a ship steaming across the billow,
    That should have brought him to his mother's knee;
Did warning dreams hover around her pillow,
    Of the dear face she never ...

Tell me fayre flocke, (if so you can conceaue)
The sodaine cause of my night-sunnes eclipse,
If this be wrought me my light to bereaue,
By Magick spels, from some inchanting lips
Or vgly Saturne from his combust sent,
This fatall presage of deaths dreryment.

Oh cleerest day-starre, honored of mine eyes,
Yet sdaynst mine eyes should gaze vpon thy light,
Bright morning sunne, who with thy sweet arise,
Expell'st the clouds of my harts lowring night,
Goddes reiecting sweetest sacrifice,
Of mine eyes teares ay offered to thine eyes.

May purest heauens scorne my soules pure desires?
Or holy shrines hate Pilgrims orizons?
May sacred temples gaynsay sacred prayers?
Or Saints refuse the poores deuotions?
Then Orphane thoughts with sorrow be you waind,
...

Why dost thou shrink from my approach, O Man?
Why dost thou ever flee in fear, and cling
To my false rival, Life?    I do but bring
Thee rest and calm.    Then wherefore dost thou ban
And curse me?    Since the forming of God's plan
    I have not hurt or harmed a mortal thing,
    I have bestowed sweet balm for every sting,
And peace eternal for earth's stormy span.

The wild mad prayers for comfort sent in vain
    To knock at the indifferent heart of Life,
    I, Death, have answered.    Knowest thou not 'tis he,
My cruel rival, who sends all thy pain
    And wears the soul out in unending strife?
    Why dost thou hold to him, then, spurning me?

        The setting dog the stubble tried,
        And snuffed the breeze with nostrils wide;
        He set - the sportsmen from behind,
        Conscious of game, the net unwind.

        A partridge, which as warder stood,
        Warned, and the covey sought the wood.
        But, ere she followed from her cover,
        Thus she discharged her mind on Rover:

        "Thou fawning slave and sneaking cheat,
        Subservient unto man's deceit!
        Disgrace unto thy honest race,
        Unto the race of dogs disgrace;
        Who ere to men they bent the knee
        Were noted for fidelity."

        The dog retorted with a sneer:
        "Since you are safe, enjoy your jeer;
        Rustic alike in kind and mind,
        And igno...

When the mist drives past and the wind blows high,
And the harbour lights are dim -
See where they circle, and dip and fly,
The grey free-lances of wind and sky,
To the water's distant rim!

Like spirits possessed of a fierce delight,
A courage that cannot fail,
They face the breakers - they face the night -
The mad storm-horses are silvery white,
They ride through the bitter gale!

They seem like the souls of the long, long lost,
Who breasted the ocean-main -
Vikings whose vessels were tempest-tossed,
Voyagers who sailed, whatever the cost,
And never came home again.

Or stranger and wilder fancy - it seems
As I hear their wind-torn cry,
No birds fly there through the sun's last gleams,
But the wraiths of hopes - the ghosts of dreams<...

I love the fitful gust that shakes
The casement all the day,
And from the glossy elm tree takes
The faded leaves away,
Twirling them by the window pane
With thousand others down the lane.

I love to see the shaking twig
Dance till the shut of eve,
The sparrow on the cottage rig,
Whose chirp would make believe
That Spring was just now flirting by,
In Summer's lap with flowers to lie.

I love to see the cottage smoke
Curl upwards through the trees,
The pigeons nestled round the cote
On November days like these;
The cock upon the dunghill crowing,
The mill sails on the heath a-going.

The feather from the raven's breast
Falls on the stubble lea,
The acorns near the old crow's nest
Drop pattering down the tree;
The grun...

        Long have the poets vaunted, in their lays,
    Old times, old loves, old friendship, and old wine.
        Why should the old monopolize all praise?
    Then let the new claim mine.

        Give me strong new friends when the old prove weak
    Or fail me in my darkest hour of need;
        Why perish with the ship that springs a leak
    Or lean upon a reed?

        Give me new love, warm, palpitating, sweet,
    When all the grace and beauty leave the old;
        When like a rose it withers at my feet,
    Or like a hearth grows cold.

        Give me new times, bright with a prosperous cheer,
    In place of old, tear-blotted, burdened days;
        I hold a sunlit present far more dear,
    And worthy of my praise.

        ...

Now the shiades o’ the elems da stratch muore an muore,
Vrom the low-zinkàn zun in the west o’ the sky;
An’ the mâidens da stan out in clusters avore
The doors, var to chatty an’ zee vo’ke goo by.

An’ ther cuombs be a-zet in ther bunches o’ hiair,
An’ ther curdles1 da hang roun’ ther necks lily-white,
An’ ther cheëaks tha be ruosy, ther shoulders be biare,
Ther looks tha be merry, ther lims tha be light.

An’ the times have a been but tha cëant be noo muore
When I, too, had my jây under evemen’s dim sky,
When my Fanny did stan’ out wi’ others avore
Her door, var to chatty an’ zee vo’ke goo by.

An’ up there, in the green, is her own honey-zuck,
That her brother trâin’d up roun’ her winder; an’ there
Is the ruose an’ the jessamy, where she did pluck
...

As toilsome I wander'd Virginia's woods,
To the music of rustling leaves, kick'd by my feet, (for 'twas autumn,)
I mark'd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier,
Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat, (easily all could I understand;)
The halt of a mid-day hour, when up! no time to lose--yet this sign left,
On a tablet scrawl'd and nail'd on the tree by the grave,
Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.

Long, long I muse, then on my way go wandering;
Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of life;
Yet at times through changeful season and scene, abrupt, alone, or in the crowded street,
Comes before me the unknown soldier's grave--comes the inscription rude in Virginia's woods,
Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade.

'Mid crowded obelisks and urns
I sought the untimely grave of Burns;
Sons of the Bard, my heart still mourns
With sorrow true;
And more would grieve, but that it turns
Trembling to you!

Through twilight shades of good and ill
Ye now are panting up life's hill,
And more than common strength and skill
Must ye display;
If ye would give the better will
Its lawful sway.

Hath Nature strung your nerves to bear
Intemperance with less harm, beware!
But if the Poet's wit ye share,
Like him can speed
The social hour, of tenfold care
There will be need;

For honest men delight will take
To spare your failings for his sake,
Will flatter you, and fool and rake
Your steps pursue;
And of your Father's name will make
A snare ...

Deplorable his lot who tills the ground,
His whole life long tills it, with heartless toil
Of villain-service, passing with the soil
To each new Master, like a steer or hound,
Or like a rooted tree, or stone earth-bound;
But mark how gladly, through their own domains,
The Monks relax or break these iron chains;
While Mercy, uttering, through their voice, a sound
Echoed in Heaven, cries out, "Ye Chiefs, abate
These legalized oppressions! Man whose name
And nature God disdained not; Man whose soul
Christ died for, cannot forfeit his high claim
To live and move exempt from all control
Which fellow-feeling doth not mitigate!"

CALLICLES (front below)


Through the black, rushing smoke-bursts,
Thick breaks the red flame;
All Etna heaves fiercely
Her forest-cloth’d frame.

Not here, O Apollo
Are haunts meet for thee.
But, where Helicon breaks down
In cliff to the sea,

Where the moon-silver’d inlets
Send far their light voice
Up the still vale of Thisbe,
O speed, and rejoice!

On the sward at the cliff-top
Lie strewn the white flocks;
On the cliff-side the pigeons
Roost deep in the rocks.

In the moonlight the shepherds,
Soft lull’d by the rills,
Lie wrapt in their blankets,
Asleep on the hills.

What forms are these coming
So white through the gloom:’
What garments out-glistening
The gold-flower’d broom?
...