Death

Kindle the taper like the steadfast star
Ablaze on evening's forehead o'er the earth,
And add each night a lustre till afar
An eightfold splendor shine above thy hearth.
Clash, Israel, the cymbals, touch the lyre,
Blow the brass trumpet and the harsh-tongued horn;
Chant psalms of victory till the heart takes fire,
The Maccabean spirit leap new-born.


Remember how from wintry dawn till night,
Such songs were sung in Zion, when again
On the high altar flamed the sacred light,
And, purified from every Syrian stain,
The foam-white walls with golden shields were hung,
With crowns and silken spoils, and at the shrine,
Stood, midst their conqueror-tribe, five chieftains sprung
From one heroic stock, one seed divine.


Five branches grown from Mat...

With quiet heart, I climbed the hill,
from which one can see, the city, complete,
hospitals, brothels, purgatory, hell,

prison, where every sin flowers, at our feet.
You know well, Satan, patron of my distress,
I did not trudge up there to vainly weep,

but like an old man with an old mistress,
I longed to intoxicate myself, with the infernal delight
of the vast procuress, who can always make things fresh.

Whether you still sleep in the morning light,
heavy, dark, rheumatic, or whether your hands
flutter, in your pure, gold-edged veils of night,

I love you, infamous capital! Courtesans
and pimps, you often offer pleasures
the vulgar mob will never understand.

I dreamed a dream: I dreamt that I espied,
Upon a stone that was not rolled aside,
A Shadow sit upon a grave, a Shade,
As thin, as unsubstantial, as of old
Came, the Greek poet told,
To lick the life-blood in the trench Ulysses made,
As pale, as thin, and said:
‘I am the Resurrection of the Dead.
The night is past, the morning is at hand,
And I must in my proper semblance stand,
Appear brief space and vanish, listen, this is true,
I am that Jesus whom they slew.’

And shadows dim, I dreamed, the dead apostles came,
And bent their heads for sorrow and for shame,
Sorrow for their great loss, and shame
For what they did in that vain name.

And in long ranges far behind there seemed
Pale vapoury angel forms; or was it cloud? that kept
Strange w...

God gave to mortals birth,

In his own image too;
Then came Himself to earth,

A mortal kind and true.

                    1821.*
-
Barbarians oft endeavour

Gods for themselves to make
But they're more hideous ever

Than dragon or than snake.

                    1821.*
-
What shall I teach thee, the very first thing?
Fain would I learn o'er my shadow to spring!

                    1827.*
-
"What is science, rightly known?
'Tis the strength of life alone.
Life canst thou engender never,
Life must be life's parent ever.

                    1827.*
-
It matters not, I ween,

Where worms our friends consume,
Beneath the turf so green,

Or 'neath a marble tomb.
R...

    The harvest moon in yellow haze
    Is steeping all the sea and land,
    Is kindling paths and shining ways
    Around the hills, across the sand.

    And there are only thou and I -
    O sweetheart, I've no eyes to note
    The glory of the sea and sky,
    I see a softly rounded throat,

    A face uplifted, pure and sweet,
    Two blue eyes filled with trust and love;
    Enough, the sea sings at our feet,
    The harvest moon sails just above.

- Proverbs xxiv. 11, 12.

1.

I have done I know not what, - what have I done?
My brother's blood, my brother's soul, doth cry:
And I find no defence, find no reply,
No courage more to run this race I run
Not knowing what I have done, have left undone;
Ah me, these awful unknown hours that fly
Fruitless it may be, fleeting fruitless by
Rank with death-savor underneath the sun.
For what avails it that I did not know
The deed I did? what profits me the plea
That had I known I had not wronged him so?
Lord Jesus Christ, my God, him pity Thou;
Lord, if it may be, pity also me:
In judgment pity, and in death, and now.


2.

Thou Who hast borne all burdens, bear our load,
Bear Thou our load whatever load it be;
Our guilt, our s...

Miss Danae, when Fair and Young
(As Horace has divinely sung)
Could not be kept from Jove's Embrace
By Doors of Steel, and Walls of Brass.
The Reason of the Thing is clear;
Would Jove the naked Truth aver:
Cupid was with Him of the Party;
And show'd himself sincere and hearty:
For, give That Whipster but his Errand;
He takes my Lord Chief Justice' Warrant:
Dauntless as Death away He walks;
Breaks the Doors open; snaps the Locks;
Searches the Parlour, Chamber, Study;
Nor stops, 'till He has Culprit's Body.

Since This has been Authentick Truth,
By Age deliver'd down to Youth;
Tell us, mistaken Husband, tell us,
Why so Mysterious, why so Jealous?
Does the Restraint, the Bolt, the Bar
Make Us less Curious, Her less Fair?

The Spy, wh...

In the depths of a Forest secluded and wild,
The night voices whisper in passionate numbers;
And I’m leaning again, as I did when a child,
O’er the grave where my father so quietly slumbers.

The years have rolled by with a thundering sound
But I knew, O ye woodlands, affection would know it,
And the spot which I stand on is sanctified ground
By the love that I bear to him sleeping below it.

Oh! well may the winds with a saddening moan
Go fitfully over the branches so dreary;
And well may I kneel by the time-shattered stone,
And rejoice that a rest has been found for the weary.

'Twas April when she came to town;
    The birds had come; the bees were swarming.
Her name, she said, was Doctor Brown;
    I saw at once that she was charming.
She took a cottage tinted green,
    Where dewy roses loved to mingle;
And on the door, next day, was seen
    A dainty little shingle.

Her hair was like an amber wreath;
    Her hat was darker, to enhance it.
The violet eyes that glowed beneath
    Were brighter than her keenest lancet,
The beauties of her glove and gown
    The sweetest rhyme would fail to utter.
Ere she had been a day in town
    The town was in a flutter.

The gallants viewed her feet and hands,
    And swore they never saw such wee things;
The gossips met in purring bands,
    And tore her piecemeal o'er...

I heard you, solemn-sweet pipes of the organ, as last Sunday morn I pass'd the church;
Winds of autumn! - as I walk'd the woods at dusk, I heard your long-stretch'd sighs, up above, so mournful;
I heard the perfect Italian tenor, singing at the opera - I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing;
Heart of my love! - you too I heard, murmuring low, through one of the wrists around my head;
Heard the pulse of you, when all was still, ringing little bells last night under my ear.

I cannot tell what you say, green leaves,
    I cannot tell what you say:
But I know that there is a spirit in you,
    And a word in you this day.

I cannot tell what you say, rosy rocks,
    I cannot tell what you say:
But I know that there is a spirit in you,
    And a word in you this day.

I cannot tell what you say, brown streams,
    I cannot tell what you say:
But I know that in you too a spirit doth live,
    And a word doth speak this day.

'Oh green is the colour of faith and truth,
And rose the colour of love and youth,
    And brown of the fruitful clay.
    Sweet Earth is faithful, and fruitful, and young,
    And her bridal day shall come ere long,
And you shall know what the rocks and the streams
    And the whispering ...

If the sudden tidings came
That on some far, foreign coast,
Buried ages long from fame,
Had been found a remnant lost
Of that hoary race who dwelt
By the golden Nile divine,
Spake the Pharaoh's tongue and knelt
At the moon-crowned Isis' shrine -
How at reverend Egypt's feet,
Pilgrims from all lands would meet!


If the sudden news were known,
That anigh the desert-place
Where once blossomed Babylon,
Scions of a mighty race
Still survived, of giant build,
Huntsmen, warriors, priest and sage,
Whose ancestral fame had filled,
Trumpet-tongued, the earlier age,
How at old Assyria's feet
Pilgrims from all lands would meet!


Yet when Egypt's self was young,
And Assyria's bloom unworn,
Ere the mythic Homer sung,
...

It came from gettin' 'eated, that was 'ow the thing begun,
And 'ackin' back to kennels from a ninety-minute run;
'I guess I've copped brownchitis,' says I to brother Jack,
An' then afore I knowed it I was down upon my back.

At night there came a sweatin' as left me deadly weak,
And my throat was sort of tickly an' it 'urt me for to speak;
An' then there came an 'ackin' cough as wouldn't leave alone,
An' then afore I knowed it I was only skin and bone

I never was a 'eavy weight. I scaled at seven four,
An' rode at eight, or maybe at just a trifle more;
And now I'll stake my davy I wouldn't scale at five,
And I'd 'old my own at catch-weights with the skinniest jock alive.

And the doctor says the reason why I sit an' cough an wheeze
Is all along o' varmint, li...

God's pity on poor kings,
    They know no gentle rest;
The North and South cry out,
    Cries come from East and West,
"Come, open this new Dock,
    Building, Bazaar or Fair."
Lord, what a wretched life
    Such men must bear.

They're followed, watched and spied,
    No liberty they know;
Some eye will watch them still,
    No matter where they go.
When in green lanes I muse,
    Alone, and hear birds sing,
God's pity then, say I,
    On some poor king.

Cannot happiness perfect be found on this earth?
How absurd to expect it - sin comes with our birth.
As soon from spring bitter, sweet water procure,
Rich clusters of grapes from the thorn;
Look for figs upon thistles, when seeking for food,
Or bread from the cold flinty stone.
The wealth of the Indies, true peace can't bestow,
The Crown Royal oft presses an aching brow,
E'en in laughter there's madness - mirth coupled with woe.

As true peace in this world, then, can never be found,
Until deep in the heart Christian graces abound,
Give diligent heed to the keeping thy heart;
Unwearied in effort, repel every dart
So dextrously pointed by Satan's black art.
True peace is from Heaven - a child of the skies,
And feeble exertions secure not the prize.
...

Whom should I fear to write to if I can
Stand before you, my learn'd diocesan?
And never show blood-guiltiness or fear
To see my lines excathedrated here.
Since none so good are but you may condemn,
Or here so bad but you may pardon them.
If then, my lord, to sanctify my muse
One only poem out of all you'll choose,
And mark it for a rapture nobly writ,
'Tis good confirm'd, for you have bishop'd it.

Tarry thou yet, late lingerer in the twilight's glory:
Gay are the hills with song: earth's faery children leave
More dim abodes to roam the primrose-hearted eve,
Opening their glimmering lips to breathe some wondrous story.
Hush, not a whisper! Let your heart alone go dreaming.
Dream unto dream may pass: deep in the heart alone
Murmurs the Mighty One his solemn undertone.
Canst thou not see adown the silver cloudland streaming
Rivers of faery light, dewdrop on dewdrop falling,
Starfire of silver flames, lighting the dark beneath?
And what enraptured hosts burn on the dusky heath!
Come thou away with them, for Heaven to Earth is calling.
These are Earth's voice--her answer--spirits thronging.
Come to the Land of Youth: the trees grown heavy there
Drop on the purple wave...

I

Let others sing of gold and gear, the joy of being rich;
But oh, the days when I was poor, a vagrant in a ditch!
When every dawn was like a gem, so radiant and rare,
And I had but a single coat, and not a single care;
When I would feast right royally on bacon, bread and beer,
And dig into a stack of hay and doze like any peer;
When I would wash beside a brook my solitary shirt,
And though it dried upon my back I never took a hurt;
When I went romping down the road contemptuous of care,
And slapped Adventure on the back - by Gad! we were a pair;
When, though my pockets lacked a coin, and though my coat was old,
The largess of the stars was mine, and all the sunset gold;
When time was only made for fools, and free as air was I,
And hard I hit and hard I lived bene...