Freedom

When the wind storms by with a shout, and the stern sea-caves
Rejoice in the tramp and the roar of onsetting waves,
Then, then, it comes home to the heart that the top of life
Is the passion that burns the blood in the act of strife -
Till you pity the dead down there in their quiet graves.

But to drowse with the fen behind and the fog before,
When the rain-rot spreads and a tame sea mumbles the shore,
Not to adventure, none to fight, no right and no wrong,
Sons of the Sword heart-sick for a stave of your sire's old song -
O, you envy the blessed death that can live no more!

        When I do sit apart
        And commune with my heart,
She brings me forth the treasures once my own;
        Shows me a happy place
        Where leaf-buds swelled apace,
And wasting rims of snow in sunlight shone.

        Rock, in a mossy glade,
        The larch-trees lend thee shade,
That just begin to feather with their leaves;
        From out thy crevice deep
        White tufts of snowdrops peep,
And melted rime drips softly from thine eaves.

        Ah, rock, I know, I know
        That yet thy snowdrops grow,
And yet doth sunshine fleck them through the tree,
        Whose sheltering branches hide
        The cottage at its side,
That nevermore will shade or shelter me.

        I know the stockdoves' note
    ...

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed His grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet,
Whose stern, impassioned stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!

O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved,
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine,
Till all success be nobleness,
And every gain divine!

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years<...

    Now that the sun the faded charms
    Of heaven again restores,
    And gentle zephyr the sick air revives,
    And the dark shadows of the clouds
    Are put to flight,
    And birds their naked breasts confide
    Unto the wind, and the soft light,
    With new desire of love, and with new hope,
    The conscious beasts, in the deep woods,
    Amid the melting frosts, inspires;
    May not to you, poor human souls,
    Weary, and overborne with grief,
    The happy age return, which misery,
    And truth's dark torch, before its time, consumed?
    Have not the golden rays
    Of Phoebus vanished from your gaze
    Forever? Say, O gentle Spring,
    Canst thou this icy heart inspire, and melt,
    That in the bloom of youth, the frost of age ha...

All hail to thee, noble and generous Land!
    With thy prairies boundless and wide,
Thy mountains that tower like sentinels grand,
    Thy lakes and thy rivers of pride!

Thy forests that hide in their dim haunted shades
    New flowers of loveliness rare -
Thy fairy like dells and thy bright golden glades,
    Thy warm skies as Italy's fair.

Here Plenty has lovingly smiled on the soil,
    And 'neath her sweet, merciful reign
The brave and long suff'ring children of toil
    Need labor no longer in vain.

I ask of thee shelter from lawless harm,
    Food - raiment - and promise thee now,
In return, the toil of a stalwart arm,
    And the sweat of an honest brow.

But think not, I pray, that this heart is bereft
    Of fond recollect...

O friend! I know not which way I must look
For comfort, being, as I am, opprest,
To think that now our life is only drest
For show; mean handy-work of craftsman, cook,
Or groom!—We must run glittering like a brook
In the open sunshine, or we are unblest:
The wealthiest man among us is the best:
No grandeur now in nature or in book
Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense,
This is idolatry; and these we adore:
Plain living and high thinking are no more:
The homely beauty of the good old cause
Is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence,
And pure religion breathing household laws.

When each white moon, her lantern idly swinging,
    Comes out to join the star night-watching band,
Across the grey-green sea, a ship is bringing
    For me a letter, from the Motherland.

Naught would I care to live in quaint old Britain,
    These wilder shores are dearer far to me,
Yet when I read the words that hand has written,
    The parent sod more precious seems to be.

Within that folded note I catch the savour
    Of climes that make the Motherland so fair,
Although I never knew the blessed favour
    That surely lies in breathing English air.

Imagination's brush before me fleeing,
    Paints English pictures, though my longing eyes
Have never known the blessedness of seeing
    The blue that lines the arch of English skies.

A...

When the sap runs up the tree.
And the vine runs o’er the wall,
When the blossom draws the bee,
From the forest comes a call,
Wild, and clear, and sweet, and strange,
Many-tongued and murmuring
Like the river in the range,
’Tis the joyous voice of Spring!

On the boles of grey, old trees,
See the flying sunbeams play
Mystic, soundless melodies,
A fantastic march and gay;
But the young leaves hear them, hark
How they rustle, every one!
And the sap beneath the bark
Hearing, leaps to meet the sun.

Oh, the world is wondrous fair
When the tide of life’s at flood!
There is magic in the air,
There is music in the blood;
And a glamour draws us on
To the distance, rainbow-spanned,
And the road we tread upon
Is the road to F...

A necklace in the depth of blue
Of scintillating, silvery pearls,
Which peering eagerly we view
As gracefully it curves and whirls,
Safely and swiftly, far away
They seek the groves of date and lime;
Naught can arrest and naught dismay
From heights so lofty and sublime.

In dreams alone their wintry home
Can haunt them with its ice and snow;
Mingled with visions as they come
Of shimmering waves where lilies grow
And open lakes are fresh and clear,
Fit mirror for a plumaged breast,
Shaded by moss-grown trees. 'Tis here
They'll dip and dive in gleeful rest.

Vanished! and vainly do we try
To trace upon the distant air
That scroll which written on the sky
Told of the hand which led them there.
Could we upon our heavenward way
Fr...

        Well, how has it been with you since we met
    That last strange time of a hundred times?
        When we met to swear that we could forget -
    I your caresses, and you my rhymes -
        The rhyme of my lays that rang like a bell,
        And the rhyme of my heart with yours, as well?

        How has it been since we drank that last kiss,
    That was bitter with lees of the wasted wine,
        When the tattered remains of a threadbare bliss,
    And the worn-out shreds of a joy divine,
        With a year's best dreams and hopes, were cast
        Into the rag-bag of the Past?

        Since Time, the rag-buyer, hurried away,
    With a chuckle of glee at a bargain made,
        Did you discover, like me, one day,
    That, hid in the fold...

I

He sang above the vineyards of the world.
    And after him the vines with woven hands
Clambered and clung, and everywhere unfurled
    Triumphing green above the barren lands;
Till high as gardens grow, he climbed, he stood,
    Sun-crowned with life and strength, and singing toil,
And looked upon his work; and it was good:
                The corn, the wine, the oil.

He sang above the noon. The topmost cleft
    That grudged him footing on the mountain scars
He planted and despaired not; till he left
    His vines soft breathing to the host of stars.
He wrought, he tilled; and even as he sang,
    The creatures of his planting laughed to scorn
The ancient threat of deserts where there sprang
                The wine, the oil, the corn!

First in these fields I try the sylvan strains,
Nor blush to sport on Windsor's blissful plains:
Fair Thames, flow gently from thy sacred spring,
While on thy banks Sicilian Muses sing;
Let vernal airs tho' trembling osiers play,
And Albion's cliffs resound the rural lay.
You, that too wise for pride, too good for pow'r,
Enjoy the glory to be great no more,
And carrying with you all the world can boast,
To all the world illustriously are lost!
O let my Muse her slender reed inspire,
Till in your native shades you tune the lyre:
So when the Nightingale to rest removes,
The Thrush may chant to the forsaken groves,
But, charm'd to silence, listens while she sings,
And all th' aerial audience clap their wings.
Soon as the flocks shook off the nightly dews,
Tw...

One's-self I sing - a simple, separate Person;
Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse.

Of Physiology from top to toe I sing;
Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse - I say the Form complete is worthier far;
The Female equally with the male I sing.

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power,
Cheerful - for freest action form'd, under the laws divine,
The Modern Man I sing.

Too much my heart of Beauty's power hath known,
Too long to Love hath reason left her throne;
Too long my genius mourn'd his myrtle chain,
And three rich years of youth consum'd in vain.
My wishes, lull'd with soft inglorious dreams,
Forgot the patriot's and the sage's themes:
Through each Elysian vale and fairy grove,
Through all the enchanted paradise of love,
Misled by sickly hope's deceitful flame,
Averse to action, and renouncing fame.

At last the visionary scenes decay,
My eyes, exulting, bless the new-born day,
Whose faithful beams detect the dangerous road
In which my heedless feet securely trod,
And strip the phantoms of their lying charms
That lur'd my soul from Wisdom's peaceful arms.

For silver streams and banks bespread with flowers,

My Juggins, see: the pasture green,
    Obeying Nature's kindly law,
Renews its mantle; there has been
    A thaw.

The frost-bound earth is free at last,
    That lay 'neath Winter's sullen yoke
'Till people felt it getting past
    A joke.

Now forth again the Freshers fare,
    And get them tasty summer suits
Wherein they flaunt afield and scare
    The brutes.

Again the stream suspects the keel;
    Again the shrieking captain drops
Upon his crew; again the meal
    Of chops

Divides the too-laborious day;
    Again the Student sighs o'er Mods,
And prompts his enemies to lay
    Long odds.

Again the shopman spreads his wiles;
    Again the organ-pipes, unbound,
Distract the populace for miles
  ...

Like pensive cattle lying on the sands
They gaze upon the endless seas, until
Feet grope for feet, and hands close over hands,
In languid sweetness or with quivering chill.

Some, with full hearts from long and private talk
In deep groves, where the brooks will chide and tease,
Spell out the love of fretful girlishness,
Carving the fresh green wood of tender trees.

Others, like sisters, walk with stately pace
Where apparitions live in craggy piles,
Where rose like lava for St Anthony
The naked, purple breasts of his great trial.

Some there may be, by sinking resin glow,
Deep in a cave where ancient pagans met,
Who call to help for fevers in a rage,
o Bacchus, silencer of all regret!

And others, with a taste for monkish cloaks,
Who, ...

Forced from home and all its pleasures,
Afric’s coast I left forlorn;
To increase a stranger’s treasures,
O’er the raging billows borne.
Men from England bought and sold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold;
But, though slave they have enroll’d me,
Minds are never to be sold.


Still in thought as free as ever,
What are England’s rights, I ask,
Me from my delights to sever,
Me to torture, me to task?
Fleecy locks and black complexion
Cannot forfeit nature’s claim;
Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in white and black the same.


Why did all-creating Nature
Make the plant for which we toil?
Sighs must fan it, tears must water,
Sweat of ours must dress the soil.
Think, ye masters iron-hearted,
Lolling at your jovial b...

Among the legends sung or said
Along our rocky shore,
The Wishing Bridge of Marblehead
May well be sung once more.

An hundred years ago (so ran
The old-time story) all
Good wishes said above its span
Would, soon or late, befall.

If pure and earnest, never failed
The prayers of man or maid
For him who on the deep sea sailed,
For her at home who stayed.

Once thither came two girls from school,
And wished in childish glee
And one would be a queen and rule,
And one the world would see.

Time passed; with change of hopes and fears,
And in the self-same place,
Two women, gray with middle years,
Stood, wondering, face to face.

With wakened memories, as they met,
They queried what had been
"A poor man's wife a...