Friendship

In books I read, how men have lived and died,
    With hopeless love deep in their bosoms hidden.
While she for whom they long in secret sighed,
    Went on her way, nor guessed this flame unbidden.

In real life, I never chanced to see
    The woman who was loved, and did not know it,
And observation proves this fact to me:
    No man can love a woman and not show it.

Tho’ Sin too oft, when smitten by Thy rod,
Rail at ‘Blind Fate’ with many a vain ‘Alas’’
From sin thro’ sorrow into Thee we pass
By that same path our true forefathers trod;
And let not Reason fail me, nor the sod
Draw from my death Thy living flower and grass,
Before I learn that Love, which is, and was
My Father, and my Brother, and my God!
Steel me with patience! soften me with grief!
Let blow the trumpet strongly while I pray,
Till this embattled wall of unbelief
My prison, not my fortress, fall away!
Then, if Thou willest, let my day be brief,
So Thou wilt strike Thy glory thro’ the day.

When through the nations stalks contagion wild,

We from them cautiously should steal away.

E'en I have oft with ling'ring and delay
Shunn'd many an influence, not to be defil'd.

And e'en though Amor oft my hours beguil'd,

At length with him preferr'd I not to play,

And so, too, with the wretched sons of clay,
When four and three-lined verses they compil'd.

But punishment pursues the scoffer straight,

As if by serpent-torch of furies led

From bill to vale, from land to sea to fly.

I hear the genie's laughter at my fate;

Yet do I find all power of thinking fled

In sonnet-rage and love's fierce ecstasy.

        [A north-country song.]

    Says t'auld man tit oak tree,
    Young and lusty was I when I kenn'd thee;
    I was young and lusty, I was fair and clear,
    Young and lusty was I mony a lang year;
    But sair fail'd am I, sair fail'd now,
    Sair fail'd am I sen I kenn'd thou.

When the grey geese heard the Fool's tread
Too near to where they lay,
They lifted neither voice nor head,
But took themselves away.
No water broke, no pinion whirred,
There went no warning call.
The steely, sheltering rushes stirred
A little, that was all.
Only the osiers understood,
And the drowned meadows spied
What else than wreckage of a flood
Stole outward on that tide.
But the far beaches saw their ranks
Gather and greet and grow
By myriads on the naked banks
Watching their sign to go;
Till, with a roar of wings that churned
The shivering shoals to foam,
Flight after flight took air and turned
To find a safer home;
And, far below their steadfast wedge,
They heard (and hastened on)
Men thresh and clamour through the sedge

    "I wish I had a quiet tomb,
    Beside a little rill;
    Where birds, and bees, and butterflies,
    Would sing upon the hill."

How fast the Marian death-list is unrolled!
See Latimer and Ridley in the might
Of Faith stand coupled for a common flight!
One (like those prophets whom God sent of old)
Transfigured, from this kindling hath foretold
A torch of inextinguishable light;
The Other gains a confidence as bold;
And thus they foil their enemy's despite.
The penal instruments, the shows of crime,
Are glorified while this once-mitred pair
Of saintly Friends the "murtherer's chain partake,
Corded, and burning at the social stake:"
Earth never witnessed object more sublime
In constancy, in fellowship more fair!

All night the flares go up; the Dragon sings
And beats upon the dark with furious wings;
And, stung to rage by his own darting fires,
Reaches with grappling coils from town to town;
He lusts to break the loveliness of spires,
And hurls their martyred music toppling down.

Yet, though the slain are homeless as the breeze,
Vocal are they, like storm-bewilder'd seas.
Their faces are the fair, unshrouded night,
And planets are their eyes, their ageless dreams.
Tenderly stooping earthward from their height,
They wander in the dusk with chanting streams;
And they are dawn-lit trees, with arms up-flung,
To hail the burning heavens they left unsung.

By that Lake, whose gloomy shore
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,[2]
Where the cliff hangs high and steep,
Young St. Kevin stole to sleep.
"Here, at least," he calmly said,
"Woman ne'er shall find my bed."
Ah! the good Saint little knew
What that wily sex can do."

'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew,--
Eyes of most unholy blue!
She had loved him well and long
Wished him hers, nor thought it wrong.
Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly,
Still he heard her light foot nigh;
East or west, where'er he turned,
Still her eyes before him burned.

On the bold cliff's bosom cast,
Tranquil now, he sleeps at last;
Dreams of heaven, nor thinks that e'er
Woman's smile can haunt him there.
But nor earth nor heaven is free,
From her power, ...

(Prologue To The University Of Oxford, Spoken By Mr Hart, At The Acting Of "The Silent Woman.")


    No poor Dutch peasant, wing'd with all his fear,
    Flies with more haste, when the French arms draw near,
    Than we with our poetic train come down,
    For refuge hither, from the infected town:
    Heaven, for our sins, this summer has thought fit
    To visit us with all the plagues of wit.
    A French troop first swept all things in its way;
    But those hot Monsieurs were too quick to stay:
    Yet, to our cost, in that short time, we find
    They left their itch of novelty behind.
    The Italian Merry-Andrews took their place,
    And quite debauch'd the stage with lewd grimace:
    Instead of wit and humours, your delight
    Was there to see tw...

A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.

In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before me.

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.

Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second-comer, waiting.

He lifted his he...

Obscurest night involved the sky,
The Atlantic billows roar’d,
When such a destined wretch as I,
Wash’d headlong from on board,
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,
His floating home for ever left.


No braver chief could Albion boast
Than he with whom he went,
Nor ever ship left Albion’s coast
With warmer wishes sent.
He loved them both, but both in vain,
Nor him beheld, nor her again.


Not long beneath the whelming brine,
Expert to swim, he lay;
Nor soon he felt his strength decline,
Or courage die away:
But waged with death a lasting strife,
Supported by despair of life.


He shouted; nor his friends had fail’d
To check the vessel’s course,
But so the furious blast prevail’d,
That, pitiless perforce,

On the Mountains of the Prairie,
On the great Red Pipe-stone Quarry,
Gitche Manito, the mighty,
He the Master of Life, descending,
On the red crags of the quarry
Stood erect, and called the nations,
Called the tribes of men together.
    From his footprints flowed a river,
Leaped into the light of morning,
O'er the precipice plunging downward
Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet.
And the Spirit, stooping earthward,
With his finger on the meadow
Traced a winding pathway for it,
Saying to it, "Run in this way!"
    From the red stone of the quarry
With his hand he broke a fragment,
Moulded it into a pipe-head,
Shaped and fashioned it with figures;
From the margin of the river
Took a long reed for a pipe-stem,
With its dark green leaves upon...

The true faith discovered was
When painted panel, statuary.
Glass-mosaic, window-glass,
Amended what was told awry
By some peasant gospeler;
Swept the Sawdust from the floor
Of that working-carpenter.
Miracle had its playtime where
In damask clothed and on a seat
Chryselephantine, cedar-boarded,
His majestic Mother sat
Stitching at a purple hoarded
That He might be nobly breeched
In starry towers of Babylon
Noah's freshet never reached.
King Abundance got Him on
Innocence; and Wisdom He.
That cognomen sounded best
Considering what wild infancy
Drove horror from His Mother's breast.

    In Dublin town the people see
    Gorgeous clouds sail gorgeously,
    They are finer, I declare,
    Than the clouds of anywhere.

    A swirl of blue and red and green,
    A stream of blinding gold, a sheen
    From silver hill and pearly ridge
    Comes each evening on the bridge.

    So when you walk in a field, look down,
    Lest you tramp on a daisy's crown,
    But in a city look always high
    And watch the beautiful clouds go by.

My temples throb, my pulses boil,
    I'm sick of Song and Ode and Ballad -
So Thyrsis, take the midnight oil,
    And pour it on a lobster salad.

My brain is dull, my sight is foul,
    I cannot write a verse, or read -
Then Pallas, take away thine Owl,
    And let us have a Lark instead.

                        Thomas Hood.

    Alas! alas! what impious hands are these?
    They have cut down my dark mysterious trees,
    Defied the brooding spell
    That sealed my sacred well,
    Broken my fathers' fixed and ancient bars,
    And on the mouldering shade
    Wherein my dead were laid
    Let in the cold clear aspect of the stars.

    Slumber hath held the grove for years untold:
    Is there no reverence for a peace so old?
    Is there no seemly awe
    For bronze-engraven law,
    For dust beatified and saintly name?
    When they shall see the shrine
    Princes have held divine,
    Will they not bow before the eternal flame?

    Vain! vain! the wind of heaven for ages long
    Hath whispered manhood, "Let thine arm be strong!
    Hew down and fling awa...

Deep in the night the cry of a swallow,
Under the stars he flew,
Keen as pain was his call to follow
Over the world to you.

Love in my heart is a cry forever
Lost as the swallow's flight,
Seeking for you and never, never
Stilled by the stars at night.