Death

I.

    When round the earth the Father's hands
        Have gently drawn the dark;
    Sent off the sun to fresher lands,
        And curtained in the lark;
    'Tis sweet, all tired with glowing day,
        To fade with fading light,
    And lie once more, the old weary way,
        Upfolded in the night.

    If mothers o'er our slumbers bend,
        And unripe kisses reap,
    In soothing dreams with sleep they blend,
        Till even in dreams we sleep.
    And if we wake while night is dumb,
        'Tis sweet to turn and say,
    It is an hour ere dawning come,
        And I will sleep till day.


II.

    There is a dearer, warmer bed,
        Where one all day may lie,
    Earth's bosom pillowing the hea...

As I ebb'd with the ocean of life,
As I wended the shores I know,
As I walk'd where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok,
Where they rustle up hoarse and sibilant,
Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her castaways,
I musing late in the autumn day, gazing off southward,
Held by this electric self out of the pride of which I utter poems,
Was seiz'd by the spirit that trails in the lines underfoot,
The rim, the sediment that stands for all the water and all the land of the globe.

Fascinated, my eyes reverting from the south, dropt, to follow those slender windrows,
Chaff, straw, splinters of wood, weeds, and the sea-gluten,
Scum, scales from shining rocks, leaves of salt-lettuce, left by the tide,
Miles walking, the sound of breaking waves the other side of me...

Granny's gone a-visitin',
Seen huh git huh shawl
W'en I was a-hidin' down
Hime de gyahden wall.
Seen huh put her bonnet on,
Seen huh tie de strings,
An' I'se gone to dreamin' now
'Bout dem cakes an' t'ings.

On de she'f behime de do'--
Mussy, what a feas'!
Soon ez she gits out o' sight,
I kin eat in peace.
I bin watchin' fu' a week
Des fu' dis hyeah chance.
Mussy, w'en I gits in daih,
I'll des sholy dance.

Lemon pie an' gingah-cake,
Let me set an' t'ink--
Vinegah an' sugah, too,
Dat'll mek a drink;
Ef dey's one t'ing dat I loves
Mos' pu'ticlahly,
It is eatin' sweet t'ings an'
A-drinkin' Sangaree.

Lawdy, won' po' granny raih
W'en she see de she'f;
W'en I t'ink erbout huh face,
I's mos' 'sha...

SHOWING THE CRUELTY OF A JEW'S DAUGHTER


Four and twenty bonny boys
Were playing at the ba',
And up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh,
The flower among them a'.

He kicked the ba' there wi' his foot,
And keppit it wi' his knee,
Till even in at the Jew's window
He gart the bonny ba' flee.

"Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid,
Cast out the ba' to me."
"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter,
Till ye come up to me."

"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh,
Come up and get the ba'."
"I winna come, I mayna come,
Without my bonny boys a'."

She's ta'en her to the Jew's garden,
Where the grass grew lang and green,
She's pu'd an apple red and white,
To wyle the bonny boy in.

She's wyled him in through ae chamber...

    Jack's dead an' buried; it seems odd,
    A deep hole covered up with sod
    Lyin' out there on the hill,
    An' Jack, as never could keep still,
    A sleepin' in it. Jack could race,
    And do it at a good old pace,
    Could sing a song, an' laugh so hard
    That I could hear him in our yard
    When he was half a mile away.
    Why, not another boy could play
    Like him, or run, or jump so high,
    Or swim, no matter how he'd try;
    An' I can't get it through my head
    At all, at all, that Jack is dead.

    Jack's mother didn't use to be
    So awful good to him and me,
    For often when I'd go down there
    On Saturdays, when it was fair,
    To get him out to fish or skate,
    She'd catch me hangin' round the gate

Is there, in you or me,
Seed of that poison-tree
Which, in its bitter fruiting, bore
Such vintage sore
Of red calamity--
Black wine of horror and of Death,
And soul-catastrophe?
Search well and see!

Yea--search and see!
And, if there be--
Tear up its roots with zealous care,
With deep soul-probing and with prayer,
Lest, in the coming years,
Again it bear
This same dread fruit of blood and tears,
And ruth beyond compare.

Each soul that strips it of one evil thing
Lifts all the world towards God's good purposing.

How the wind howls this morn
About the end of May,
And drives June on apace
To mock the world forlorn
And the world's joy passed away
And my unlonged-for face!
The world's joy passed away;
For no more may I deem
That any folk are glad
To see the dawn of day
Sunder the tangled dream
Wherein no grief they had.
Ah, through the tangled dream
Where others have no grief
Ever it fares with me
That fears and treasons stream
And dumb sleep slays belief
Whatso therein may be.
Sleep slayeth all belief
Until the hopeless light
Wakes at the birth of June
More lying tales to weave,
More love in woe's despite,
More hope to perish soon.

I halted at the margin of the wood,
For tortuous was the path, and overhead
Low branches hung, and roots and fragments rude
Of rock hindered the tardy foot. I led
My timid horse, that started at our tread
And looked about on every side in fear,
Until, arising from the jocund shed,
The voice of laughter broke upon our ear,
And through the chinks the light shone out as we drew near.

I tied the bridle rain about a tree,
And on the ample flatness of a stone
Awhile I lay. 'Tis very sweet to be
In social mirth's domain, unseen, alone,
Sweet to make others' happiness one's own:
And he who views the dance from still recess,
Or reads a love tale in a meadow, prone,
Secures the joy without the weariness.
And fills with love's delight, nor feels its sore distr...

Why, when I hear the stormy breath
Of the wild winter wind
Rushing o'er the mountain heath,
Does sadness fill my mind?

For long ago I loved to lie
Upon the pathless moor,
To hear the wild wind rushing by
With never ceasing roar;

Its sound was music then to me;
Its wild and lofty voice
Made by heart beat exultingly
And my whole soul rejoice.

But now, how different is the sound?
It takes another tone,
And howls along the barren ground
With melancholy moan.

Why does the warm light of the sun
No longer cheer my eyes?
And why is all the beauty gone
From rosy morning skies?

Beneath this lone and dreary hill
There is a lovely vale;
The purling of a crystal rill,
The sighing of the gale,

The s...

I.

Small twilight singer
Of dew and mist: thou ghost-gray, gossamer winger
Of dusk's dim glimmer,
How cool thy note sounds; how thy wings of shimmer
Vibrate, soft-sighing,
Meseems, for Summer that is dead or dying.

I stand and listen,
And at thy song the garden-beds, that glisten
With rose and lily,
Seem touched with sadness; and the tuberose chilly,
Breathing around its cold and colorless breath,
Fills the pale evening with wan hints of death.

II.

I see thee quaintly
Beneath the leaf; thy shell-shaped winglets faintly
As thin as spangle
Of cobwebbed rain held up at airy angle;
I hear thy tinkle,
Thy fairy notes, the silvery stillness sprinkle;

Investing wholly
The moonlight with divinest melancholy:
...

My garden roses long ago
Have perished from the leaf-strewn walks;
Their pale, fair sisters smile no more
Upon the sweet-brier stalks.

Gone with the flower-time of my life,
Spring's violets, summer's blooming pride,
And Nature's winter and my own
Stand, flowerless, side by side.

So might I yesterday have sung;
To-day, in bleak December's noon,
Come sweetest fragrance, shapes, and hues,
The rosy wealth of June!

Bless the young bands that culled the gift,
And bless the hearts that prompted it;
If undeserved it comes, at least
It seems not all unfit.

Of old my Quaker ancestors
Had gifts of forty stripes save one;
To-day as many roses crown
The gray head of their son.

And with them, to my fancy's eye,
The fres...

(Supposed To Be Written By Miss B***, His Sister.)

At God's command the vital spirit fled,
And thou, my Brother! slumber'st with the dead.
Alas! how art thou changed! I scarcely dare
To gaze on thee; dread sight! death, death is there.
How does thy loss o'erwhelm my heart with grief!
But tears, kind nature's tears afford relief.
Reluctant, sad, I take my last farewell:
Thy virtues in my mind shall ever dwell;
Thy tender friendship felt so long for me,
Thy frankness, truth, thy generosity,
Thy tuneful tongue's persuasive eloquence,
Thy science, learning, taste, wit, common sense,
Thy patriot love of genuine liberty,
Thy heart o'erflowing with philanthropy;
And chiefly will I strive henceforth to feel
Thy firm religious faith and pious zeal,
Enlighten...