Betrayal

For ever hallowed be this morning fair,
Blest be the unconscious shore on which ye tread,
And blest the silver Cross, which ye, instead
Of martial banner, in procession bear;
The Cross preceding Him who floats in air,
The pictured Saviour! By Augustin led,
They come, and onward travel without dread,
Chanting in barbarous ears a tuneful prayer
Sung for themselves, and those whom they would free!
Rich conquest waits them: the tempestuous sea
Of Ignorance, that ran so rough and high
And heeded not the voice of clashing swords,
These good men humble by a few bare words,
And calm with fear of God's divinity.

Play on thy mother's bosom, babe, for in that holy isle
The error cannot find thee yet, the grieving, nor the guile;
Held in thy mother's arms above life's dark and troubled wave,
Thou lookest with thy fearless smile upon the floating grave.
Play, loveliest innocence! Thee yet Arcadia circles round,
A charmed power for thee has set the lists of fairy ground;
Each gleesome impulse Nature now can sanction and befriend,
Nor to that willing heart as yet the duty and the end.
Play, for the haggard labor soon will come to seize its prey.
Alas! when duty grows thy law, enjoyment fades away!

        'Mong silver hills of Nevada
        There is many a wild bravado,
        Who oft indulge in lawless vice,
        And there are pearls of great price.

        Rough hearts, but true at the core,
        There is the genuine silver ore,
        But it needs skill of the refiner
        To find pure gems in the miner.

        Far from their home two children stray,
        Among the mountains far away,
        The eldest of these travellers bold,
        Jack Smith he was but six years old.

        So far poor children went abroad,
        That both at last they lost their road,
        But their good dog the trusty Rover,
        By scent and search doth them discover.

        Their friends they search for them in vain,
  ...

Why was it that the thunder voice of Fate
Should call thee, studious, from the classic groves,
Where calm-eyed Pallas with still footstep roves,
And charge thee seek the turmoil of the state?
What bade thee hear the voice and rise elate,
Leave home and kindred and thy spicy loaves,
To lead th' unlettered and despised droves
To manhood's home and thunder at the gate?

Far better the slow blaze of Learning's light,
The cool and quiet of her dearer fane,
Than this hot terror of a hopeless fight,
This cold endurance of the final pain,--
Since thou and those who with thee died for right
Have died, the Present teaches, but in vain!

Tune - *Laddie, lie near me.*


I.

    'Twas na her bonnie blue een was my ruin;
    Fair tho' she be, that was ne'er my undoing:
    'Twas the dear smile when naebody did mind us,
    'Twas the bewitching, sweet stown glance o' kindness.

II.

    Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me,
    Sair do I fear that despair maun abide me!
    But tho' fell fortune should fate us to sever,
    Queen shall she be in my bosom for ever.

III.

    Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest,
    And thou hast plighted me love o' the dearest!
    And thou'rt the angel that never can alter -
    Sooner the sun in his motion would falter.

If the muse were mine to tempt it
And my feeble voice were strong,
If my tongue were trained to measures,
I would sing a stirring song.
I would sing a song heroic
Of those noble sons of Ham,
Of the gallant colored soldiers
Who fought for Uncle Sam!

In the early days you scorned them,
And with many a flip and flout
Said "These battles are the white man's,
And the whites will fight them out."
Up the hills you fought and faltered,
In the vales you strove and bled,
While your ears still heard the thunder
Of the foes' advancing tread.

Then distress fell on the nation,
And the flag was drooping low;
Should the dust pollute your banner?
No! the nation shouted, No!
So when War, in savage triumph,
Spread abroad his funeral pall--

We zot bezide the leafy wall,
Upon the bench at evenfall,
While aunt led off our minds wrom ceare
Wi' veairy teales, I can't tell where,
An' vound us woone among her stock
O' feables, o' the gert Year-clock.
His feace wer blue's the zummer skies,
An' wide's the zight o'looken eyes,
For hands, a zun wi' glowen feace,
An' pealer moon wi' swifter peace,
Did wheel by stars o' twinklen light,
By bright-wall'd day, an' dark-treed night;
An' down upon the high-sky'd land,
A'reachen wide, on either hand,
Wer hill an' dell, wi' win'-sway'd trees,
An' lights a'zweepen over seas,
An' gleamen cliffs, an' bright-wall'd tow'rs,
Wi' sheades a-marken on the hours;
An' as the feace, a-rollen round,
Brought comely sheapes along the ground,
The Spring did com...

"The night wind is moaning with mournful sigh,
"There gleameth no moon in the misty sky
    "No star over Helle's sea;
"Yet, yet, there is shining one holy light,
"One love-kindled star thro' the deep of night,
    "To lead me, sweet Hero, to thee!"

Thus saying, he plunged in the foamy stream,
Still fixing his gaze on that distant beam
    No eye but a lover's could see;
And still, as the surge swept over his head,
"To night," he said tenderly, "living or dead,
    "Sweet Hero, I'll rest with thee!"

But fiercer around him, the wild waves speed;
Oh, Love! in that hour of thy votary's need,
    Where, where could thy Spirit be?
He struggles--he sinks--while the hurricane's breath
Bears rudely away his last farewell in death--
    "Sweet Hero, I ...

Were not the sinful Mary's tears
    An offering worthy Heaven,
When, o'er the faults of former years,
    She wept--and was forgiven?

When, bringing every balmy sweet
    Her day of luxury stored,
She o'er her Saviour's hallowed feet
    The precious odors poured;--
And wiped them with that golden hair,
    Where once the diamond shone;
Tho' now those gems of grief were there
    Which shine for GOD alone!

Were not those sweets, so humbly shed--
    That hair--those weeping eyes--
And the sunk heart, that inly bled--
    Heaven's noblest sacrifice?

Thou that hast slept in error's sleep,
    Oh, would'st thou wake in Heaven,
Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep,
    "Love much" and be forgiven![1]

A truth that has long lain buried
    At Superstition's door,
I see, in the dawn uprising
    In all its strength once more.

Hidden away in the darkness,
    By Ignorance crucified,
Crushed under stones of dogmas -
    Yet lo! it has not died.

It stands in the light transfigured,
    It speaks from the heights above,
"EACH SOUL IS ITS OWN REDEEMER;
    THERE IS NO LAW BUT LOVE."

And the spirits of men are gladdened
    As they welcome this Truth re-born
With its feet on the grave of Error
    And its eyes to the Easter Morn.

Through the strait gate of passion,
Between the bickering fire
Where flames of fierce love tremble
On the body of fierce desire:

To the intoxication,
The mind, fused down like a bead,
Flees in its agitation
The flames' stiff speed:

At last to calm incandescence,
Burned clean by remorseless hate,
Now, at the day's renascence
We approach the gate.

Now, from the darkened spaces
Of fear, and of frightened faces,
Death, in our awful embraces
Approached and passed by;

We near the flame-burnt porches
Where the brands of the angels, like torches
Whirl, - in these perilous marches
Pausing to sigh;

We look back on the withering roses,
The stars, in their sun-dimmed closes,
Where 'twas given us to repose us

Scheherazade immediately began the following story.


I.

Ali Ben Ali (did you never read
His wond'rous acts that chronicles relate, -
How there was one in pity might exceed
The Sack of Troy?) Magnificent he sate
Upon the throne of greatness - great indeed!
For those that he had under him were great -
The horse he rode on, shod with silver nails,
Was a Bashaw - Bashaws have horses' tails.


II.

Ali was cruel - a most cruel one!
'Tis rumored he had strangled his own mother -
Howbeit such deeds of darkness he had done,
'Tis thought he would have slain his elder brother
And sister too - but happily that none
Did live within harm's length of one another,
Else he had sent the Sun in all its blaze
To endless night, and shorte...

Fold up the tent!
The sun is in the West.
To-morrow my untented soul will range
Among the blest.
    And I am well content,
    For what is sent, is sent,
    And God knows best.

Fold up the tent,
And speed the parting guest!
The night draws on, though night and day are one
On this long quest.
    This house was only lent
    For my apprenticement--
    What is, is best.

Fold up the tent!
Its slack ropes all undone,
Its pole all broken, and its cover rent,--
Its work is done.
    But mine--tho' spoiled and spent
    Mine earthly tenement--
    Is but begun.

Fold up the tent!
Its tenant would be gone,
To fairer skies than mortal eyes
May look upon.
All that I loved has passed,
And left me at th...

Lonely her fate was,
Environed from sight
In the house where the gate was
Past finding at night.
None there to share it,
No one to tell:
Long she'd to bear it,
And bore it well.

Elsewhere just so she
Spent many a day;
Wishing to go she
Continued to stay.
And people without
Basked warm in the air,
But none sought her out,
Or knew she was there.
Even birthdays were passed so,
Sunny and shady:
Years did it last so
For this sad lady.
Never declaring it,
No one to tell,
Still she kept bearing it -
Bore it well.

The days grew chillier,
And then she went
To a city, familiar
In years forespent,
When she walked gaily
Far to and fro,
But now, moving frailly,
Could nowhere go.
The...

It is the dawn! the rosy day awakes;
From her bright hair pale showers of dew she shakes,
And through the heavens her early pathway takes;
    Why art thou sleeping?

It is the noon! the sun looks laughing down
On hamlet still, on busy shore, and town,
On forest glade, and deep dark waters lone;
    Why art thou sleeping?

It is the sunset! daylight's crimson veil
Floats o'er the mountain tops, while twilight pale
Calls up her vaporous shrouds from every vale;
    Why art thou sleeping?

It is the night! o'er the moon's livid brow,
Like shadowy locks, the clouds their darkness throw,
All evil spirits wake to wander now;
    Why art thou sleeping?

To me, whom in their lays the shepherds call
Actaea, daughter of the neighbouring stream,
This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine,
Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot,
Were plac'd by Glycon. He with cowslips pale,
Primrose, and purple lychnis, deck'd the green
Before my threshold, and my shelving walls
With honeysuckle cover'd. Here at noon,
Lull'd by the murmur of my rising fount,
I slumber: here my clustering fruits I tend;
Or from the humid flowers, at break of day,
Fresh garlands weave, and chace from all my bounds
Each thing impure or noxious. Enter-in,
O stranger, undismay'd. nor bat, nor toad
Here lurks: and if thy breast of blameless thoughts
Approve thee, not unwelcome shalt thou tread
My quiet mansion: chiefly, if thy name
Wise Pal...

"My house is thatched with violet leaves
And paved with daisies fine,
Scarlet berries droop over its eaves,
Tall grasses round it shine;
With softest down I have lined my nest,
Securely now will I sit and rest.

"When their wings break from their silvery shell,
Touched by my tender care,
Here shall my little ones safely dwell,
Little ones soft and fair;
Some summer morn they shall try their wings
While their father sits by my side and sings."

Hard by, just over the streamlet's edge
A great rock towered in might,
High up, half hidden in moss and sedge,
Were safe little nooks and bright;
Ah well for the bird with her tender breast,
Had she flown to the rock to build her nest!

Poor bird, she built her nest too low;
Alas! for the bi...

Redoubted King, of courage leonine,
I mark thee, Richard! urgent to equip
Thy warlike person with the staff and scrip;
I watch thee sailing o'er the midland brine;
In conquered Cyprus see thy Bride decline
Her blushing cheek, love-vows upon her lip,
And see love-emblems streaming from thy ship,
As thence she holds her way to Palestine.
My Song, a fearless homager, would attend
Thy thundering battle-axe as it cleaves the press
Of war, but duty summons her away
To tell how, finding in the rash distress
Of those Enthusiasts a subservient friend,
To giddier heights hath clomb the Papal sway.