Heartbreak

Celebrate our anniversary – can’t you see
tonight the snowy night of our first winter
comes back again in every road and tree -
that winter night of diamantine splendour.

Steam is pouring out of yellow stables,
the Moika river’s sinking under snow,
the moonlight’s misted as it is in fables,
and where we are heading – I don’t know.

There are icebergs on the Marsovo Pole.
The Lebyazh’ya’s crazed with crystal art.....
Whose soul can compare with my soul,
if joy and fear are in my heart? -

And if your voice, a marvellous bird’s,
quivers at my shoulder, in the night,
and the snow shines with a silver light,
warmed by a sudden ray, by your words?

I never cared for Life: Life cared for me,
And hence I owed it some fidelity.
It now says, "Cease; at length thou hast learnt to grind
Sufficient toll for an unwilling mind,
And I dismiss thee not without regard
That thou didst ask no ill-advised reward,
Nor sought in me much more than thou couldst find."

The midnight is not more bewildering
To her drowsed eyes, than to her ears, the sound
Of dim, sweet singing voices, interwound
With purl of flute and subtle twang of string,
Strained through the lattice, where the roses cling
And, with their fragrance, waft the notes around
Her haunted senses. Thirsting beyond bound
Of her slow-yielding dreams, the lilt and swing
Of the mysterious delirious tune,
She drains like some strange opiate, with awed eyes
Upraised against her casement, where aswoon,
The stars fail from her sight, and up the skies
Of alien azure rolls the full round moon
Like some vast bubble blown of summer noon.

Bright stars of Faith and Hope, her eyes
Shall shine for us through all the years.
For all her life was Love, and fears
Touch not the love that never dies.

And Death itself, to her, was but
The wider opening of the door
That had been opening, more and more,
Through all her life, and ne'er was shut.

--And never shall be shut. She left
The door ajar for you and me,
And, looking after her, we see
The glory shining through the cleft.

And when our own time comes,--again
We'll meet her face to face;--again
Well see the star-shine; and again
She'll greet us with her soft, "Come ben!"

        Upon a gnarly, knotty limb
            That fought the current's crest,
        Where shocks of reeds peeped o'er the brim,
            Wild wasps had glued their nest.

        And in a sprawling cypress' grot,
            Sheltered and safe from flood,
        Dirt-daubers each had chosen a spot
            To shape his house of mud.

        In a warm crevice of the bark
            A basking scorpion clung,
        With bright blue tail and red-rimmed eyes
            And yellow, twinkling tongue.

        A lunging trout flashed in the sun,
            To do some petty slaughter,
        And set the spiders all a-run
            On little stilts of water.

        Toward noon upon the swamp there stole
            A deep, ...

Look on him! through his dungeon grate,
Feebly and cold, the morning light
Comes stealing round him, dim and late,
As if it loathed the sight.
Reclining on his strawy bed,
His hand upholds his drooping head;
His bloodless cheek is seamed and hard,
Unshorn his gray, neglected beard;
And o'er his bony fingers flow
His long, dishevelled locks of snow.
No grateful fire before him glows,
And yet the winter's breath is chill;
And o'er his half-clad person goes
The frequent ague thrill!
Silent, save ever and anon,
A sound, half murmur and half groan,
Forces apart the painful grip
Of the old sufferer's bearded lip;
Oh, sad and crushing is the fate
Of old age chained and desolate!
Just God! why lies that old man there?
A murderer shares his pri...

Dear Judy, I sind you this bit of a letther,
By mail-coach conveyance--for want of a betther--
To tell you what luck in this world I have had
Since I left the sweet cabin, at Mullinafad.
Och, Judy, that night!--when the pig which we meant
To dry-nurse in the parlor, to pay off the rent,
Julianna, the craythur--that name was the death of her--[1]
Gave us the shlip and we saw the last breath of her!
And there were the childher, six innocent sowls,
For their nate little play-fellow turning up howls;
While yourself, my dear Judy (tho' grievin's a folly),
Stud over Julianna's remains, melancholy--
Cryin', half for the craythur and half for the money,
"Arrah, why did ye die till we'd sowled you, my honey?"

But God's will be done!--and then, faith, sure...

Yo fowk 'at's some brass to invest,
Luk sharp an mak th' best ov yor chonce!
Aw'll gie yo a tip, - one o'th' best,
Whear ther's profit an safety for once.
Yo needn't be feeard th' bank 'll brust,
Or at onny false 'Jabez' will chait, -
Depend on't its one yo can trust,
For th' balance sheet's sewer to be reight.

Yo've heeard on it oftimes befooar, -
But mooast fowk are apt to forget; -
Yet yo know if yo give to the poor,
At yo're gettin the Lord i' yor debt.
Its as plain as is th' nooas o' yor face,
An its true too, - believe it or net, -
It's a bargain God made i' this case,
An He'll nivver back aght on't, - yo bet.

All th' wealth yo may have can't prevent
Grim Deeath commin to yo some day;
An yo'll have to give up ivvery cent,
When ...

All the aim of life is just
    Getting back to God.
Spirit casting off its dust,
    Getting back to God.
Every grief we have to bear
Disappointment, cross, despair
Each is but another stair
    Climbing back to God.

Step by step and mile by mile -
    Getting back to God;
Nothing else is worth the while -
    Getting back to God.
Light and shadow fill each day
Joys and sorrows pass away,
Smile at all, and smiling, say,
    Getting back to God.

Do not wear a mournful face
    Getting back to God;
Scatter sunshine on the place
    Going back to God;
Take what pleasure you can find,
But where'er your paths may wind.
Keep the purpose well in mind, -
    Getting back to God.

A son of elder sons I am,
Whose boyhood days were cramped and scant,
Through ages of domestic sham
And family lies and family cant.
Come, elder brothers mine, and bring
Dull loads of care that you have won,
And gather round me while I sing
The ballad of the elder son.

’Twas Christ who spake in parables,
To picture man was his intent;
A simple tale He simply tells,
And He Himself makes no comment.
A morbid sympathy is felt
For prodigals, the selfish ones,
The crooked world has ever dealt
Unjustly by the elder sons.

The elder son on barren soil,
Where life is crude and lands are new,
Must share the father’s hardest toil,
And share the father’s troubles too.
With no child-thoughts to meet his own
His childhood is a lonely one:...

- Placidâque ibi demum morte quievit.—Virg.


There calm at length he breathed his soul away.


“O most delightful hour by man
Experienced here below,
The hour that terminates his span,
His folly and his woe!


“Worlds should not bribe me back to tread
Again life’s dreary waste,
To see again my day o’erspread
With all the gloomy past.


“My home henceforth is in the skies,
Earth, seas, and sun, adieu!
All heaven unfolded to my eyes,
I have no sight for you.”


So spake Aspasio, firm possess’d
Of faith’s supporting rod,
Then breathed his soul into its rest,
The bosom of his God.


He was a man among the few
Sincere on virtue’s side;
And all his strength from Scripture drew,
To ...

Mind not tho' daylight around us is breaking,--
Who'd think now of sleeping when morn's but just waking?
Sound the merry viol, and daylight or not,
Be all for one hour in the gay dance forgot.

See young Aurora up heaven's hill advancing,
Tho' fresh from her pillow, even she too is dancing:
While thus all creation, earth, heaven, and sea.
Are dancing around us, oh, why should not we?

Who'll say that moments we use thus are wasted?
Such sweet drops of time only flow to be tasted;
While hearts are high beating and harps full in tune,
The fault is all morning's for coming so soon.

    Climbing the heights of Berkeley
    Nightly I watch the West.
    There lies new San Francisco,
    Sea-maid in purple dressed,
    Wearing a dancer's girdle
    All to inflame desire:
    Scorning her days of sackcloth,
    Scorning her cleansing fire.

    See, like a burning city
    Sets now the red sun's dome.
    See, mystic firebrands sparkle
    There on each store and home.
    See how the golden gateway
    Burns with the day to be -
    Torch-bearing fiends of portent
    Loom o'er the earth and sea.

    Not by the earthquake daunted
    Nor by new fears made tame,
    Painting her face and laughing
    Plays she a new-found game.
    Here on her half-cool cinders
    'Frisco abides in mirth,
    Plannin...

The day is fading from the sky,
    And softly shines the Star of Even,
As watching with a lover's eye
    The rest of Earth the peace of Heaven;
The dew is rising cool and sweet,
    And, zephyr-rock'd, the flowers are closing,
The Night steals on with noiseless feet,
    Oh! gentle be my love's reposing.

The streamlet, as it flows along,
    Sounds like a voice 'mid childhood's slumbers;
And from the brake the Queen of Song
    Pours forth her softest, clearest numbers;
And ever through the stirless leaves
    The summer moon is brightly streaming,
Light fancies on the sward it weaves,--
    As radiant be my lady's dreaming.

The silent hours move swiftly on,
    With many a blessed vision laden,
That all the night has softly shone
...

Weary soul, by care oppressed,
Wouldst thou find a place of rest?
Listen, Jesus calls to thee,
Come, and find thy rest in me!

Hungry soul, why pine and die
With exhaustless stores so nigh?
Lo, the board is spread for thee,
Come, and feast to-day with me!

Thirsty soul, earth's sweetest rill
Mocks thee with its promise still;
Hark, the Saviour calls to thee,
Here is water, come to me!

Homeless soul, thy path is drear,
Angry tempests gather near,
Night is darkening over thee,
Here is shelter, come to me!

Heavenly bread and heavenly wine,
Living waters, all are mine! -
Mine they are, and thine may be,
Weary wand'rer, come to me!

Upon the summit of his Century
He reared a Palace of enduring Art,
From whose wild windows never more depart
Beauty's pale light and starry fantasy:
Within is music, sobbing ceaselessly;
And phantom terror, spectres of the heart
And ghosts of grief and love that ever start
From haunted places, fleeing what none may see.
Around its towers the bird, that never dies,
Circles; the tempest beats with black alarm
On one red window where, beyond the storm,
The Lord of that high Palace dreams and sighs,
His Soul, with its Despair, a kingly form,
And Death with infinite pity in his eyes.

"Bright shines the summer sun,
Soft is the summer air;
Gayly the wood-birds sing,
Flowers are blooming fair.

"But, deep in the dark, cold rock,
Sadly I dwell,
Longing for thee, dear friend,
Lily-Bell! Lily-Bell!"


"Through sunlight and summer air
I have sought for thee long,
Guided by birds and flowers,
And now by thy song.

"Thistledown! Thistledown!
O'er hill and dell
Hither to comfort thee
Comes Lily-Bell."

Earthquake.

I am a memory of cosmogony,
That first great hour of travail when the voice
Of God called suns and systems from the void;
I am the dream He dreams of that last day
When mountains by the roots shall be plucked up
And headlong flung into the raging sea!


Hurricane.

I am the breath that fills the organ pipes
When through the vast cathedral of the world
Death's stormy threnody sweeps, wave on wave,
The symboled note that one day will be blown
By a great angel standing in the sun,
At which the heaven and earth shall pass away!


Fire.

I am the letters of that fateful word
Writ with a flaming sword above the gates
Of Eden when God spelled the doom of man;
I am the wrath that on the jud...