Heartbreak

Ye vales and hills whose beauty hither drew
The poet's steps, and fixed him here, on you
His eyes have closed! And ye, loved books, no more
Shall Southey feed upon your precious lore,
To works that ne'er shall forfeit their renown,
Adding immortal labours of his own,
Whether he traced historic truth, with zeal
For the State's guidance, or the Church's weal,
Or Fancy, disciplined by studious art,
Informed his pen, or wisdom of the heart,
Or judgments sanctioned in the Patriot's mind
By reverence for the rights of all mankind.
Wide were his aims, yet in no human breast
Could private feelings meet for holier rest.
His joys, his griefs, have vanished like a cloud
From Skiddaw's top; but he to heaven was vowed
Through his industrious life, and Christian faith
...

Woe to the Crown that doth the Cowl obey!
Dissension, checking arms that would restrain
The incessant Rovers of the northern main,
Helps to restore and spread a Pagan sway:
But Gospel-truth is potent to allay
Fierceness and rage; and soon the cruel Dane
Feels, through the influence of her gentle reign,
His native superstitions melt away.
Thus, often, when thick gloom the east o'ershrouds,
The full-orbed Moon, slow-climbing, doth appear
Silently to consume the heavy clouds;
'How' no one can resolve; but every eye
Around her sees, while air is hushed, a clear
And widening circuit of ethereal sky.

A man that's spent years knocking round "out in front"
    Has most usually had lots of pals--
He's mixed up with pardners at various times
    And he's had his affairs with the gals.
Now, a pardner's peculiar in lots of his ways
    And he'll ditch you for various reasons,
And a gal never knows straight up from twice
    And her mind seems to change with the seasons.

I've been in on good ground with pardners I've staked
    And I thought they were square, till I found
They were trying to cross me, the miserable pups,
    And whipsaw me out of my ground.
I've had a few pards that would stand the hard grind
    And they'd stick through hard luck night and day;
They were all you could ask while you rustled for grub,
    But they blew up when you uncovered the "...

In the chill grey summer dawn-light
    We pass through the empty streets;
The rattling wheels are all silent;
    No friend his fellow greets.

Here and there, at the corners,
    A man in a great-coat stands;
A bayonet hangs by his side, and
    A rifle is in his hands.

This is a conquered city;
    It speaks of war not peace;
And that's one of the English soldiers
    The English call "police."

You see, at the present moment
    That noble country of mine
Is boiling with indignation
    At the memory of a "crime."

In a path in the Phoenix Park where
    The children romped and ran,
An Irish ruffian met his doom,
    And an English gentleman.

For a hundred and over a hundred
    Years on the country side<...

Bet wor a stirrin, strappin lass,
Shoo lived near Woodus Moor; -
An varry keen shoo wor for brass,
Tho little wor her stoor.
Shoo'd wed for love - and as luck let,
It proved a lucky hit;
A finer chap yo've seldom met,
Or one wi better wit.

His name awm net inclined to tell,
But he'd been kursend John;
An he wor rayther praad hissel,
An anxious to get on.
At neet they'd sit an tawk, an plan,
Some way to mend ther state;
"What one chap's done another can,"
Sed Bet, "let's get agate."

"This morn wol darnin socks for thee
This thowt coom i' mi nop,
An do't we will if tha'll agree; -
Let's start a little shop.
We'll sell all sooarts o' useful things
'At ivverybody needs;
Like scaarin-stooan, an tape an pins,
An buttons...

Let mine not be that saddest fate of all
    To live beyond my greater self; to see
    My faculties decaying, as the tree
Stands stark and helpless while its green leaves fall.
Let me hear rather the imperious call,
    Which all men dread, in my glad morning time,
    And follow death ere I have reached my prime,
Or drunk the strengthening cordial of life's gall.
The lightning's stroke or the fierce tempest blast
    Which fells the green tree to the earth to-day
Is kinder than the calm that lets it last,
    Unhappy witness of its own decay.
    May no man ever look on me and say,
"She lives, but all her usefulness is past."

Sing us a song in this cynical age,
Sing us a song, my friend,
While the Flesh and the Devil are all the rage
And Death seems the only end.
Give it the clatter of hoof-clipped bones
And a note like a dingo’s yell,
And the long, low sigh when the big mob moans
Out on the roofs of hell.

For Wool, Tallow, and Hides and Co.,
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides,
Over the roofs of hell we go
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides.

We take the route or we take the track,
Hell-doomed by the greed of man,
And we leave our wives in the scrubs out back
To struggle as best they can.
For the credit is short and the flour is low,
And this is the tale we tell,
A check must be made and the stock must go
Over the roofs of hell.

Wake ere the burst of the grea...

I did not know that life could be so sweet,
I did not know the hours could speed so fleet,
Till I knew you, and life was sweet again.
The days grew brief with love and lack of pain--

I was a slave a few short days ago,
The powers of Kings and Princes now I know;
I would not be again in bondage, save
I had your smile, the liberty I crave.

I do not resemble your other lovers, my lady
should another give you a cloud
I give you rain
Should he give you a lantern, I
will give you the moon
Should he give you a branch
I will give you the trees
And if another gives you a ship
I shall give you the journey.

After the songless rose of evening,
Night quiet, dark, still,
In nodding cavalcade advancing
Starred the deep hill:
You, in the valley standing,
In your quiet wonder took
All that glamour, peace, and mystery
In one grave look.
Beauty hid your naked body,
Time dreamed in your bright hair,
In your eyes the constellations
Burned far and fair.

I

Lady and Queen and Mystery manifold
And very Regent of the untroubled sky,
Whom in a dream St. Hilda did behold
And heard a woodland music passing by:
You shall receive me when the clouds are high
With evening and the sheep attain the fold.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.

II

Steep are the seas and savaging and cold
In broken waters terrible to try;
And vast against the winter night the wold,
And harbourless for any sail to lie.
But you shall lead me to the lights, and I
Shall hymn you in a harbour story told.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.

III

Help of the half-defeated, House of gold,
Shrine of the Swo...