Betrayal

The world forsaken, all its busy cares
And stirring interests shunned with desperate flight,
All trust abandoned in the healing might
Of virtuous action; all that courage dares,
Labour accomplishes, or patience bears
Those helps rejected, they, whose minds perceive
How subtly works man's weakness, sighs may heave
For such a One beset with cloistral snares.
Father of Mercy! rectify his view,
If with his vows this object ill agree;
Shed over it thy grace, and thus subdue
Imperious passion in a heart set free:
That earthly love may to herself be true,
Give him a soul that cleaveth unto thee.

Th' sun shone breet at early morn,
Burds sang sweetly on the trees;
Larks wor springin from the corn,
Tender blossoms sowt the breeze.
Jockey whistled as he went
O'er rich meadows wet wi' dew;
In his breast wor sweet content,
For his wants an cares were few.
Dolly passed him on his way,
Fresh an sweet an fair wor she;
Jockey lost his heart that day,
To the maid ov Salterlee.
Jockey an Dolly
Had allus been jolly,
Till Love shot his arrow an wounded the twain;
Their days then pass sadly,
Yet man an maid madly,
In spite ov the torture, they nursed the sweet pain.

Since that day did jockey pine,
Dolly shyly kept apart;
Still shoo milk'd her willin kine,
Tho' shoo nursed a braikin heart,
But one neet they met i'th' fold,
Whe...

Oh! Arranmore, loved Arranmore,
    How oft I dream of thee,
And of those days when, by thy shore,
    I wandered young and free.
Full many a path I've tried, since then,
    Thro' pleasure's flowery maze,
But ne'er could find the bliss again
    I felt in those sweet days.

How blithe upon thy breezy cliffs,
    At sunny morn I've stood,
With heart as bounding as the skiffs
    That danced along thy flood;
Or, when the western wave grew bright
    With daylight's parting wing,
Have sought that Eden in its light,
    Which dreaming poets sing;[1]--

That Eden where the immortal brave
    Dwell in a land serene,--
Whose bowers beyond the shining wave,
    At sunset, oft are seen.
Ah dream too full of saddening truth!

Standing aloof in giant ignorance,
Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades,
As one who sits ashore and longs perchance
To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas.
So thou wast blind; but then the veil was rent,
For Jove uncurtain'd Heaven to let thee live,
And Neptune made for thee a spumy tent,
And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive;
Aye on the shores of darkness there is light,
And precipices show untrodden green
There is a budding morrow in the midnight,
There is a triple sight in blindness keen;
Such seeing hadst thou, as it once befel
To Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell.

(Moon Poems for the Children/Fairy-tales for the Children)

    Two statesmen met by moonlight.
    Their ease was partly feigned.
    They glanced about the prairie.
    Their faces were constrained.
    In various ways aforetime
    They had misled the state,
    Yet did it so politely
    Their henchmen thought them great.
    They sat beneath a hedge and spake
    No word, but had a smoke.
    A satchel passed from hand to hand.
    Next day, the deadlock broke.

Là ver l' aurora, che sì dolce l' aura.

SHE IS MOVED NEITHER BY HIS VERSES NOR HIS TEARS.


    When music warbles from each thorn,
And Zephyr's dewy wings
Sweep the young flowers; what time the morn
Her crimson radiance flings:
Then, as the smiling year renews,
I feel renew'd Love's tender pain;
Renew'd is Laura's cold disdain;
And I for comfort court the weeping muse.

Oh! could my sighs in accents flow
So musically lorn,
That thou might'st catch my am'rous woe,
And cease, proud Maid! thy scorn:
Yet, ere within thy icy breast
The smallest spark of passion's found,
Winter's cold temples shall be bound
With all the blooms that paint spring's glowing vest.

The drops that bathe the grief-dew'd eye,
The love-impass...

"O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?" -
"O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she.

- "You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;
And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!" -
"Yes: that's how we dress when we're ruined," said she.

- "At home in the barton you said 'thee' and 'thou,'
And 'thik oon,' and 'theas oon,' and 't'other'; but now
Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compa-ny!" -
"Some polish is gained with one's ruin," said she.

- "Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak,
But now I'm bewitched by your delicate cheek,
And your little gloves fit as o...

What can I give you, my lord, my lover,
You who have given the world to me,
Showed me the light and the joy that cover
The wild sweet earth and the restless sea?
All that I have are gifts of your giving,
If I gave them again, you would find them old,
And your soul would weary of always living
Before the mirror my life would hold.
What shall I give you, my lord, my lover?
The gift that breaks the heart in me:
I bid you awake at dawn and discover
I have gone my way and left you free.

"Thou hast not lived! No aim of earth
Thy body serves, nor home nor birth;
No children's eyes look up to thee
To solace thy mortality."

"Thou hast not lived! Forbidden seas
Shut thee from Beauty's treasuries;
Not for those hungry eyes of thine
Her marbles gleam, her colors shine."

"Thou hast not lived! Hast never brought
To steadfast form thy hidden thought;
Striving to speak, thou still art mute.
And fain to bear, hast yet no fruit."

So spake the Tempter, at his plot,
But thee, my Soul, he counted not!
Who mad'st me stand, serene and free.
And give him answer dauntlessly:

"Yea, shapes of earth are sweet and near.
And home and child are very dear;
Yet do I live, to be denied
These things, and still be satisfied."

Backward turn, oh! recollection!
Far, far back to childhoods' days;
To those treasures of affection,
'Round which loving memory plays
Show to me the loving faces
Of my parents, now no more, -
Fill again the vacant places
With the images of yore.

Conjure up the home where comfort
Seemed to make its cosy nest;
Where the stranger's only passport,
Was the need of food and rest.
Show the schoolhouse where with others,
I engaged in mental strife,
And the playground, where as brothers
Running, jumping, full of life.

Now I see the lovely maiden,
That my young heart captive led;
Like a sylph, with gold curls laden,
And her lips of cherry red.
Now fond voices seem to echo,
Tones as when I heard them last;
And my heart sighs sadl...

One's ardour, Nature, makes you bright,
One finds within you mourning, grief!
What speaks to one of tombs and death
Says to the other, Splendour! Life!

Mystical Hermes, help to me,
Intimidating though you are,
You make me Midas' counterpart,
No sadder alchemist than he;

My gold is iron by your spell,
And paradise turns into hell;
I see in winding-sheets of clouds

A dear cadaver in its shroud,
And there upon celestial strands
I raise huge tombs above the sands.

DEAR COUSIN JOHN:

    We got here safe - my worthy wife an' me,
    An' then I looked the village through to see what I could see:
    I rode upon the cur'us track with stations all up-stairs;
    I walked through Wall Street all its length, an' saw no bulls or bears;
    I patronized a red-nosed chap with manners very queer,
    Who hadn't had a thing to eat for somethin' like a year;

    I saw the road commissioners to work upon a bridge
    A million times as large as that we built at Tompkins' Ridge -
    (I'm told that they are makin' it, though maybe that's all fun,
    To use the coming century, an' hope to get it done) -
    When who should up an' grasp my hand, with face of genuine joy,
    But Cousin Jeroboam Jones, my cousin's oldest boy!

    I h...

    Silent I'm biding,
    While softly gliding
Sink the still hours to eternity's sleep.
    My fancies roaming
    List in the gloaming: -
Will she the trysting now keep?

    Winter is dreaming,
    Bright stars are beaming,
Smiling their light through its cloud-veil they pour,
    Summer foretelling
    Sweet love compelling; -
Dare she not meet me here more?

    'Neath the ice lying,
    Longing and sighing,
Ocean would wander and warmer lands woo.
    Anchored ships swinging,
    Sail-thoughts outflinging; -
Come we together, we two!

    Whirling and fallings
    Pictures enthralling,
Fairy-light made in the forest the snow;
    Wood-folk are straying,
    Shadows are playing; -
Was it your footstep? Oh...

"While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand;
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall."

Full sevenscore years our city's pride -
The comely Southern spire -
Has cast its shadow, and defied
The storm, the foe, the fire;
Sad is the sight our eyes behold;
Woe to the three-hilled town,
When through the land the tale is told -
"The brave 'Old South' is down!"

Let darkness blot the starless dawn
That hears our children tell,
"Here rose the walls, now wrecked and gone,
Our fathers loved so well;
Here, while his brethren stood aloof,
The herald's blast was blown
That shook St. Stephen's pillared roof
And rocked King George's throne!

"The home-bound wanderer of the main
Looked from his deck afar,
To where the gilded, glittering va...

The Text of the ballad is here given from Kinloch's MSS., where it is in the handwriting of John Hill Burton when a youth. The text of the song Waly, waly, I take from Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. The song and the ballad have become inextricably confused, and the many variants of the former contain a greater or a smaller proportion of verses apparently taken from the latter.


The Story of the ballad as here told is nevertheless quite simple and straightforward. It is spoken in the first person by the daughter of the Earl of Mar. (She also says she is sister to the Duke of York, 7.4, a person often introduced into ballads.) Blacklaywood, the lady complains, has spoken calumniously of her to her lord, and she leaves him, saying farewell to her children, and taking her youngest son with her.

The bal...

The sylvan slopes with corn-clad fields
Are hung, as if with golden shields,
Bright trophies of the sun!
Like a fair sister of the sky,
Unruffled doth the blue lake lie,
The mountains looking on.

And, sooth to say, yon vocal grove,
Albeit uninspired by love,
By love untaught to ring,
May well afford to mortal ear
An impulse more profoundly dear
Than music of the Spring.

For 'that' from turbulence and heat
Proceeds, from some uneasy seat
In nature's struggling frame,
Some region of impatient life:
And jealousy, and quivering strife,
Therein a portion claim.

This, this is holy; while I hear
These vespers of another year,
This hymn of thanks and praise,
My spirit seems to mount above
The anxieties of human love,

Some say the spot is banned; that the pillar Cross-and-Hand
Attests to a deed of hell;
But of else than of bale is the mystic tale
That ancient Vale-folk tell.

Ere Cernel's Abbey ceased hereabout there dwelt a priest,
(In later life sub-prior
Of the brotherhood there, whose bones are now bare
In the field that was Cernel choir).

One night in his cell at the foot of yon dell
The priest heard a frequent cry:
"Go, father, in haste to the cot on the waste,
And shrive a man waiting to die."

Said the priest in a shout to the caller without,
"The night howls, the tree-trunks bow;
One may barely by day track so rugged a way,
And can I then do so now?"

No further word from the dark was heard,
And the priest moved never a limb;
And he s...

He who wears blacks, and mourns not for the dead,
Does but deride the party buried.